Anwar, Yusuf & Me
by Arablover
I love to worship Islamic men with my mouth, Pakis, Banglas, Egyptians, Iranis, all those guys. About a year ago I put a classified in Screw Magazine ISO those swarthy, temperamental beauties. The head on the ad was: "Cabbies, You Are Sexy". I figured that was a good way to shag what I wanted because the typical New York taxi driver is a young (therefore horny), intelligent Islamic fella whose woman, if he has one at all, is back in the home country. The ad said I'd suck the guy's dick, ass, feet, etc. and that I was thirsty and a hungry bottom feeder. "No reciprocity. I service. You enjoy in Greenwich Village." I gave my description: blond, fat, soft-skinned pig, 45 (true in 2001).
And that was that. The ad ran for a long time and from time-to-time I'd check Screw's telephone message service for responses. Not a single nibble. Nothing. Nada. After a while I stopped checking.
Now, get this: About six months ago, I'm heading home to the Village from downtown, by cab. The driver's name was Anwar. He was young, cute, with fine brown skin like cocoa powder and he was, I learned, from Bangladesh. As is usual when I get a driver like that I strike up a conversation, but without ever expecting I'll get to do his asshole. I just enjoy talking to dark-skinned foreign guys. I know something about the politics and history of most countries. When I talk about current events from back where the guy came from, it makes him open up. He thinks (probably correctly) that most of us know shit about his part of the world and he gets a kick out of an American who knows the name of the Prime Minister back in Bangla or Iran or wherever and how his countrymen came to kick out the British or the Dutch or us. As we were coming up Sixth Avenue, though, the conversation quietened. After a little silence, Anwar who had just a rear view mirror image of me turned and quickly surveyed me. He smiled a brilliant, white, subcontinent smile that had a bit of mischief in it and returned his eyes to the road. As we braked to a smooth stop at my corner, he said: "How do you like gabbies?" First I thought he was implying he had talked too much. He asked again, more carefully this time, "How do you like cabbies?" With a shock, I understood. Wow.
"Cabbies are very sexy!" I said. "Especially you."
In my apartment, I was quickly on my knees before him, pulling down his pants and shorts. I went to licking the inside of his thighs. He cupped his hands under his wad and raised them so I could lick under his balls.
"Yes!" he said.
His skin was smooth, pure, hairless, a delight to lick. He released his hand and his hard, circumcised prick bounced onto my busy face. I plunged my mouth on it promptly and deep-throated it.
"Yes!" he said again.
But then he pulled out of my mouth.
"Let us not go too fast," he said. "I must call Yusuf, my brother, okay?"
He sat on my couch and dialed home in Queens while I pulled off his shoes and socks, then got off his pants and shorts. He giggled, getting a kick out of what I was doing, how I was operating.
"No," he told his brother, "you didn't say something funny. But I am here. With him. The guy in the ad. Remember? Yes, it is really him."
I separated Anwar's legs and started rooting with my nose under his groin trying to get to the good spot. Matter-of-factly, he drew his feet up to the couch and pushed his asscrack forward into my face. He gave a shout as I plunged my tongue up his whole. Like the rest of him, his crack was hairless and silky with a nice musty scent from a day of sitting and farting in that driver's seat.
"He just stuck his tongue in my ass," he said to Yusuf. "It is wonderful."
I was in hog heaven pushing my tongue further into his ass hoping to find something. But then his sphincter squeezed and my tongue was expelled. Anwar looked down at me in distress. He took the phone away from his ear and I could hear his brother talking.
" I'm afraid I will fart," Anwar whispered.
"Do!" I said.
The young man hooted and kicked his foot in the air with delight while I got my mouth back where it belonged and sucked. He gave me a big, loud, stinking fart in my mouth.
"Thank you, sir," I said, luxuriating in the taste and aroma.
He took the phone away from his ear again. "Yusuf wishes to join us. May he?"
"Of course," I said and went back to sucking his ass, hoping for another gift. After he had given his brother directions and hung up, he put his legs down.
"May I use the toilet," he said. "I must make water."
"Here is your toilet," I said, pointing a finger to my open mouth.
"Are you sure?" asked Anwar.
I nodded. He stood holding out his softening cock.
"Yusuf will surely like you."
The jet of piss was started strong and I closed my mouth over his cock and swallowed his stream with no trouble. It was exquisite. A quaff that only a man's body can brew: sweet, but astringently bitter, too, and with a creamy undertone, an assortment of flavors that should clash and yet...when put together in the lab of a man's warm belly combines to make a drink for gods and slaves. Anwar moaned at the perfection of the moment. As for me, I felt so complete with his pissing dick in my mouth.
Presently, we went to my bedroom where Anwar fucked me. When he was done and pulled out, his dick was shitty.
"I must shower," he said.
"I'll take care of it," I told him.
I got my mouth down on his dick and sucked and licked it good until all my shit streaks were off his dick and down my slave mouth where they belonged. When I looked up, he was studying me thoughtfully.
"You really do you like the taste of shit?" he asked.
I nodded. He cocked his head as if to say, "Interesting," but he said no word. He slid off the bed and took me by the hand.
"Jim, we must shower. Yusuf will be here soon."
I washed him and he washed me. So sweet. I would have preferred just being the server without any reciprocity from my young master, but, I was touched by his gentleness, his kindness. As I dried him, I bent low and kissed his feet.
When next my ass was high in the air it was to get a belting from Yusuf for not having fallen to my knees fast enough when he came through the door. He gave me ten swats while Anwar sat coolly looking on. Yusuf was as smooth-skinned as Anwar but heavier, with a big ass and a full chest. In another ten years he'd have tits. But for now, his flesh was still firm. His erect dick was smaller than Anwar's and stuck out bluntly from under his belly.
"Do you want to be whipped more?" he demanded.
"No sir," I said, my ass still in the air and my chin on the living room rug.
"Then lay flat on the floor."
I did.
"Watch," he said to Anwar. "It is no great matter to shit in a white pig's mouth."
He squatted low over me and I spread his elephantine cheeks for him. He gave out with a loud, snoring fart and immediately I could see the brown tip of his shit log starting on its inevitable journey to my mouth. I opened wide as he squatted lower now right over my mouth and the turd, about as long as a hotdog, slid neatly on to my tongue.
"Don't swallow," he ordered. "Chew. Sit up."
I did as I was told. Yusuf went in the kitchen.
"Show him," he said as he came back to the living room wiping his ass with my towel.
I faced Anwar so he could see his brother's shit getting worked by my hungry mouth. Anwar was whacking off. After he came, I asked him for some piss to wash down the muck in my mouth. He obliged. But from a distance. The intimacy that accompanied my first draught from Anwar was not repeated.
"Stinky," commented Anwar, pissing in my mouth.
The high good humor this scene had inspired in Anwar at its beginning had subdued. He had become so quiet. Perhaps he was enthralled or dazed or had had an epiphany of sorts.
"Your nose gets dull after a few minutes," his brother explained. "After a while you won't even notice the stink. Isn't that true, white pig?"
I nodded as I swallowed the last of the Yusuf's shit with the help of Anwar's good yellow water.
"Thanks, Anwar," I said, starting to stand.
I was rudely pushed to my knees by Yusuf who now hosed my tonsils with his own urine. One guy so nice, one guy so crude. Both with delicious piss.
Whether Anwar's nostrils never got used to the smell of my shit breath or he was just shy, I don't know. But he never got too close to my face when it was his turn to shit. He squatted over my chest and dumped there instead. I rubbed it all over my chest, as instructed by Yusuf.
Seeing me , Anwar got a new erection and jerked off again. But he stayed away from my mouth.
Then we were all quiet. Yusuf broke the silence. "You have been good," he said to me, loudly. "But it is time for us to go."
It was.
First, though, he went in to my bedroom while Anwar stayed with me in the kitchen gazing oddly at me on my back. Moments later a fresh stink of shit blossomed from the bedroom refreshing the sense of smell in all of us.
My reward for service was Yusuf crapping in my bed.
After they left, I didn't shower. I wanted to keep Anwar's smell on me. Later that night I added to the pleasure by sleeping in Yusuf's shit. I should have kept the sheets and the underpad as keepsakes, but for some reason I didn't.
Yusuf never came to visit again, but Anwar comes from time to time. He is quiet but tender. He lets me suck him off and lick him and all that. But only before I eat his shit. He just doesn't like putting his pisser in a shitty mouth. When he dumps sometimes he does it directly into my mouth. But usually he prefers to bomb over a dinner plate and then watch me contemplatively as I make a meal of his bitter shit. Also, he has taken to beating me with a belt when he visits. Silently, intensely. With passion, but no anger toward me personally. He just loves to whip me. He's never hurt me, really. And I kinda like getting the belt from Anwar. I love that guy.
Comments welcome
Arablover100@hotmail.com