ABANDONED HOUSE RAUNCH - Part 2
A noise. Somebody at the front door!
He flinched, automatically reaching to shield his cock, but then caught himself: "Hey, what the fuck, I'm the owner of this toilet hole. I'm in my own fucking house!" Still, he braced himself. You never know.
Just one guy. The guy stepped into the entrance hall next to where Robert was standing, and closed the door. Robert stood, very quiet. After a minute Robert heard some noises he couldn't make out, then recognized: the flat metallic rattle of a belt pulling loose from its buckle, the softly muffled pops and rubs of denims being unbuttoned and tugged down, then the snap of an elastic band. Another silence, then the pinging scratch of a lighter. A sweet, wildflower smell told him his friend in the hall was planning to enjoy his stay as well. Robert wondered if it was the cutoffs he had seen that gave him the courage. That and his dick! He faced the archway as the guy stepped into the parlor.
Sweet Jesus! Maybe twenty-five. Tight-soft caramel skin. A thick eight inches was starting to stiffen. It bobbed a little to the side, tightening upward, then swaying from its own weight, then tightening upward again; flat along the top, paper-thin skin shaping around the head all the way up to the red piss slit. Curly black hair, a few mustache hairs curling softly over his upper lip. Brown eyes glistening with rut. They lit up as he saw Robert, the easy camaraderie of Latino males with other males. "Hey, man!" he grinned, flashing gleaming teeth, "take it easy! It's cool, man...it's cool...OK?" He swayed. His happy hour had started early. "Just gotta piss, man...OK?
Robert must have returned his grin. Their eyes, the place, their cocks, said the rest: "Baby, are we gonna fuck!!"
Their dicks quickly took charge, talking directly to each other. The guys attached to them could see that those cocks wanted each other real bad. Nothing to do but follow wherever their dicks decided to go.
The guy held out his joint so Robert could take a few hits. Then they just stood there and stared, letting the magic smoke turn the traffic and street noises coming in on the humid air into hyper-fuck from the far-off galaxy of Qum. "Go slow, OK?" Robert whispered, and the guy nodded, "I know, man..."
Slowly, they started to rape the air between them, never taking their eyes off each other. Robert started to go "UH-H!!" each time he snapped his groin toward the guy, and the guy began doing it too, both of them louder each time. Suddenly the guy stopped and leaned forward. In a second Robert knew why. His reflex was to resist the furnace of fart: rice and beans rotted in a six-pack of beer followed by what smelled like peanuts. Dark, bitter. Putrid. It was like the parlor was suddenly a tank of boiling raw shit, already over their heads, and... Robert sniffed loudly a couple of times and make kissy-sucky with his mouth.
The guy's brown eyes glittered. Never taking them off Robert, he shot him a wide grin and reached down behind himself with one hand, at the same time reaching down and cupping his other hand under the tip of his of his thick, slowly pulsing cock. Yellow started to dribble into his palm. He brought both hands back up to his mouth and licked them, watching Robert like a sly teenager. Robert could see brown in the palm of one hand. He had not taken his eyes off Robert.
"I love shit and piss, man!" he yelled, and his hands went back and forth several times. He didn't care. He laughed as he watched sweat roll off Robert as he reached frantically for his own shithole and cock to feed his own mouth. Their eyes locked.
"You goddam Puerto Rican toilet!"
"You shit-eating white bastard!"
The guy turned around and bent over and grabbed his ankles.
His ass Robert swore must have come down from some Watusi ancestor. It stuck out almost a foot, tight pinched globes making a brown crack shadow deeply. The guy reached back with both hands and began spreading it. Robert groaned like he'd been stabbed. The guy's hole was so far from the outside of his ass that he could shit himself anytime and only he would know. As he kept spreading Robert saw he must have been walking around for hours with a sticky, olive-gold smear getting ripe in his sweaty crack; it circled the inside of his cheeks, a powerful decayed cheese spice, shiny with a fine graininess.
"Eat my shit!!" he commanded hoarsely, and Robert lunged in and tasted bitter P.R. crap. The guy bent down further, reaching back and between his legs and cupping a palm to catch the cum starting to shoot from Robert's red cock. To Robert, it felt like it might split itself wide open shooting cum, but he didn't care; if it split, it split. The guy's hole began to squeeze Robert's tongue. He sat back hard into Robert's face, shuddered, and panted out yips like a hurt puppy as he bucked up and down.
Robert caressed the side of the guy's thighs. He reached back and gently tousled Robert's hair. They panted hard and sweat, slowly letting themselves down from twin explosions that had almost made them both pass out.
"Hector."
"Robert."
"Got to get together again, man."
"Yeah."
"Try some hot scenes."
"Yeah, man. Just getting started, you know?"
They were both stoned and Robert's balls were so drained they ached, but they carefully printed their numbers and each had the other one read it out loud. Robert got in a few more sniffs of dirty butt and Hector slowly pulled his clothes together, pausing and bending funny ways to open his hole each time he saw Robert heading in for another whiff. Robert walked him to the door. "Drink piss?" he asked.
Hector gave him a sideways look: "The pope shit in the woods?"
"Use the number, man!"
You too, shitlicker."
"Other guys OK?"
"Yeah man, sure; you and me doing 'em together!"
"Yeah! Gotta get in a pile, you know?"
"You mean a fuckpile, man, a shit-and-piss fuckpile!"
"Hey, you are one hot fucker," he said as he stepped out into the July sun with a laugh. He forced a long. loud fart like he was straining hard to shit his pants and wanted everybody on the block to know it.