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Love it indeed is, as evidenced not just by their tender breeding, but by the doctor's treatment thereafter. Mesmerized by the taste, his head bobs back and forth, taking everything Wolf has to offer. Every crevice, every button, every inch of flesh is pressed, kneaded, tasted. The size difference between these two won't slow him down—if anything, it just makes the twink hungrier.

Stirring into carnal rhythm, Dr. Wolf positions the pocket-sized bottom onto all fours. Caleb works slowly, steadily nursing Wolf's tip. Caleb isn't alone in his hunger. He has owned this bottom's body for several months now, repeatedly—in his office, in his country home, and now, in the garden of his estate. His mere presence flips a switch in the boy, and fills him with a heat far hotter than the rays of afternoon.

It's called Red Meat, it's in SoMa, and your very own SFist editor (a thirtysomething survivor of crimson-infused follicles) will be there for the kickoff to give you a blow-by-blow account, if you will. The anticipation of taking that massive cock raw sends shivers down the twink's spine as he spreads his legs eagerly, welcoming the deep penetration.