Somewhere on the streets of San Francisco, Alex Stone succumbs to the will of Kyle Brandon – Master and Gatekeeper. He leads Stone through a dank doorway – down a flight of concrete stairs – and then, into a cascade of flame and heat. Together they descend into a pit of seething hunger. For his curiosity, Stone is rewarded with a collar and chain; Brandon drags him to a corner of his lair and chains him to a boulder. In this cavern of leather and steel your nastiest fantasies are brought to life – played out with a cast of no less than eighteen eager men. Following, watching over them all is the Fallen Angel (a special appearance by Steve Cannon), brooding and distant.

High up on a scaffold of steel pipe, furry, beefy Mike Roberts gets down on his knees and slowly, thoroughly begins to suck Josh Perez’s cock. Roberts is mighty big, mighty handsome, and deliciously sweaty. When he stands up in those rubber chaps and starts fucking Perez’s tight, meaty ass, you see him plowing away from all angles – in real-time, in slow-motion – so close to the friction you can almost smell it. Perez wraps that pretty brown goatee of his around Harold Creg’s tasty manmeat, sucking and choking his way to delirium. While Roberts slams away at that ass, Creg pulls out of Perez’s mouth and squeezes out a load of cum so hot you’d swear it was steaming. Roberts wraps those big daddy paws of his around Perez’s hips and fucks like he’s in a dream: mouth open, eyes closed, back arched – with sweat flying all over the place.

Below them, Creg takes charge of nasty pig-boy Tex Matson. Matson’s one of those young little fuckers that needs a good deal of training, and Creg intends to give it to him. Creg starts off with a little throat work, dragging Matson over to Keith Webb’s extra thick, extra juicy slab. Matson’s a bit of a slow learner, though. Creg helps him out by force-feeding that dick down his throat, holding his head tight, keeping his mouth at the root of Webb’s cock. Creg’s not satisfied until atson starts gagging and spitting from the corners of his mouth. Web plows at Matson’s throat so roughly you can see the punk’s eyes start to water. But that nasty bastard Creg’s just not satisfied. Webb and Creg turn Matson loose long enough to let him start to jack his own pierced pigboy plug. Just when Matson thinks he’s going to get his own way, Creg and Webb pin him down and give his legs and thighs a vicious, relentless beating.

Kyle Brandon loves to rough up a man – and he loves to hear a man choke, especially when it’s his hand that’s doing the choking. Brandon shoves most of his hand down Frank Parker’s throat, who gags and moans and chokes loud and clear for him. Brandon spits into Parker’s face over and over again, repeatedly punching him in the chest and gut while he slaps the hell out of his crotch. Poor Parker. Even with that hand down his throat he manages to make enough noise to be heard through the first half of FA2.

Away from the tower of steel and leather – in a more private corner of hell – Damon Page and Thomas Lloyd are working out their own damnation. These two are lean, sticky, and itching to fuck. Lloyd is ravenous for that glorious, uncut dick of Page’s. The spit flows fast and easy from Lloyd’s mouth as he works his way up and down Page’s piece. Lloyd heads further south and warms up Page’s hot ass with some masterful butt-munching. Once he’s in, Thomas Lloyd ruts away at Page like a demon with a score to settle. He fucks Page on his back; he fucks him up against a chain-link fence. Page fucks back with everything he’s got, slapping Lloyd’s gut and chest, always begging and pleading for more. Hanging onto that fence, Page jacks his dick and tosses his load. Behind him, Lloyd pulls out of his ass and cums all over Page’s backside: between his shoulder blades, all the way down his spine and across his dark, furry ass cheeks. Page rolls over and Lloyd bends down to give him the kind of tender, brutal kiss that will sear its way into your memory for months.

Built like a big old Chevy pickup, Jackson Reid’s got a bad-ass gaze and a profile like a nicked axe. Reid’s desperate for brutality and tenderness, and his Master’s ready to give him plenty of each at the end of a whip. With his arms chained high over his head and his legs spread wide, Reid’s a fine sight to see. His Master starts him off slowly, kneading his arms, his shoulders and ass. He takes his time, moving that whip so lightly you can hear it whisper when it passes over Reid’s shoulder blades. He turns up the heat without changing the pace, and soon enough we get to hear Reid holler and groan and scream in a voice that sounds like a dog caught under a wheel. By the time he begins to count off strokes for his Master, Reid’s rugged face is shiny with sweat and tears. He travels from “Sir! Ten!” down to “Sir! One!” in a glorious aria of shrieks, rattling his chains all the way. When he’s had all the whippin’ he can take and all he can do is hang by his arms, whimpering, that’s when his Master puts down the lash. He wraps his arms around Reid’s thick body, holds his head and kisses him – slowly, gently. In a voice so quiet you can barely hear it, Reid mutters, “Thank you, Sir. Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”

Brandon decides he’s left Alex Stone chained up in the corner long enough. Brandon pummels Stone’s chest ruthlessly, spitting on his face and neck, holding his jaw open long enough to hack a frothy load of spittle down his throat. Stone gets down on his knees and tortures and chews on Brandon’s meaty man-tits. Brandon warms up most of his hand by plunging it past Stone’s teeth, shoving all five digits into his throat until he gags. Brandon gets down on all fours and starts spitting and sucking on Stone’s beefy, pierced dick. Tripp Doyle watches Brandon and Stone from high overhead, slowly jacking his cock, working up a sweat on his tight, furry body. Brandon senses Doyle’s gaze, turns, and commands him to come down from the scaffolding and join them. Doyle wastes no time working his impressive piece into Brandon’s ass and begins to fuck him fast and fierce while Brandon devours Stone’s cock. Stone jacks a large, thick load onto Brandon’s throat, then leans down and very slowly and carefully laps it up. Doyle’s got Brandon’s strong legs high up over his shoulders. As he jackhammers that hole in double-time, Brandon starts to cuss up a storm: “Good doggy! Good fuckin’ dog! Good boy!” Doyle pulls out and jacks a huge load onto his master’s cock and balls and thigh. Doyle grabs hold of Brandon’s tits, gives them a nasty, ferocious twisting, while Brandon wraps a fist around his slimy cock and fires a hot load onto his belly.

No tour of Hell could be complete without a little blood, and Paul King knows just where to draw it. King works on Brandon’s tortured, purple tits long enough to get his dick stiff, then carefully swabs his urethra with alcohol. While Brandon looks directly into the camera, King drives a long piercing needle through the head of his cock, and then inserts a ring through the fresh hole. Brandon does not flinch – he smiles into the camera through the entire procedure with an evil, damn-you-to-hell look in his eyes. Underneath Brandon’s dick, we see scarlet blood splatter onto the black floor. Behind him, the Fallen Angel (Steve Cannon) quickly unchains Stone and sets him free to return to the world above.