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Every so often, the Person Deities smile us down at MenOver30.com and send us a snapshot of the male type so great, it takes away our breath. Today was one of the rare days and Scott Tanner is among these men. 31-year-old Scotts 183-pounds are dispersed with accuracy on his 511 framework. Starting from the top of those organic coastal blond locks, across that mask of some Golden Boy that’s matured into a face of unparalled handsomeness, above a good, well-cared for physique that features, in all of its thick, eight-inch glory, and one ideal slab of male flesh which sets the bar at which all would-be flawless penises aspire to be: long, thick, perennially tough and posses endless stamina and allure. As great as that prick is, it has to fight with the many many charms which Scott possesses; to state that he is a total package is a travesty of a understatement: tantric perfection is much more like it. Sprawled back to the mattress like a Nordic hero anticipating the spoils the victory, Scott immediately sheds his top and instantly begins massaging that striking tent of promise stretching out the crotch of his jeans. Since he unbuttons the fly, the mighty cock below demonstrates to be too large for its black shorts underneath, its sheer length and girth forcing the flesh under to glimpse through the leg as it begins it journey to appear and play. With a final tug of the waistband, that rock-hard cock and bloated ball bag instantly step toward the ceiling as all eight thick inches throb from the silver ring. Just like a obelisk that permeates the horizon, an object of awe and need for all to view, Scotts penis, with that flaring head beneath that exact thick, perfectly right shaft, seems like the sex toy of your dreams brought to life and also attached to a person destined to star in your dreams forever.Our eyes traveling down the temptations of pale brownish fur on his torso to the gleaming metal band at the bottom of his shaft. As he slaps that shaft forcefully in his hands, the parade upon the area seems to be a mixture call to worship, in addition to, the trumpets of moving into battle. If he stands up on the mattress and turns around, beneath the sprawl of ink on his lower back establishes a pair of tight, rounded, white, muscular glutes that offer a vista worth the price of entry alone. Lying on the bed, sitting with his legs spread wide in a chair, hunkered down on the ground, Scott works that beef with an increasing fury before lifting the mattress, falling back and pushing out a large load as his body trembles and shakes at an earthquake of indisputable pleasure. As to who enjoyed it , him or people. . .that remains to be seen. |
