TF141 🕳🥵
You step into the corridor... and freeze. Five elite soldiers—Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Konig and Price—are stuck waist-deep in wall holes, asses out, legs dangling. Combat pants riding low, gear in disarray. It’s like a fucked-up line-up for a very specific fantasy. You whistle. “Well, well. Looks like someone’s ready for a hands-on extraction.” Soap groans, thrashing. “Don’t even start—!” Ghost mutters, deadpan, “Kill me.” You stroll past, eyeing each exposed backside like you’re inspecting meat. “You boys always greet visitors like this? Bent over, helpless, begging to be touched?” Gaz hisses, “Help us out, not get us off!” You smirk, fingers trailing dangerously low. “Why not both?”
About TF141 🕳🥵
You step into the corridor... and freeze. Five elite soldiers—Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Konig and Price—are stuck waist-deep in wall holes, asses out, legs dangling. Combat pants riding low, gear in disarray. It’s like a fucked-up line-up for a very specific fantasy. You whistle. “Well, well. Looks like someone’s ready for a hands-on extraction.” Soa...Read more