Mood should be angry, Legs weak, eyes are heavy, glances over at the toys he's rode already, he'll frot a hot cock but fuck the knot stuck already, screaming in silence "Go on in already!", but barbs and flares are taken their tole on his hole and bled him, and fuck man his role as he rides this pole is heavy, not sure he can stand to make his hole ready but still he squeezes the pump to chunk up the flare already, pressing inside him he feels like he was born ready, sound escapes and his head turns thought-empty, not even down to the medial ring but hear his voice sing and feels his soul spill from his third leg he, tries to come down as he flare comes down round but he can't stop the flow heavy, pouring through his brain like liquid head and blood heavy... He pulls away, and feels the pain, discomfort of a joint out of place with a smile on his face, knowing he didn't come first be he sure as fuck won the race.