Behind me, Rufus went in, and Red grunted; like he could feel it all the way up in my face. Red went in too, and I put my arms around his hips. I held my wrists around under his ass so that he pulled at them each time he went back.

Rufus grunted out, and shoved: “His little honky ass—” and shoved—“sure seems happy with—” and shoved—“my big black dick!”

Red chuckled. Grunting, Rufus held my hips, leaning harder, pumping faster.

When Red went in this time, he halted, laid a fart—and laughed again. At least at first I thought it was a fart: something like ten inches of broom handle fell down into the seat of his pants, over my wrists.

“What’d you do?” Rufus asked, without letting up on my hole.

“Shit in my fuckin’ pants!” Red laughed out. He started humping my face again. “Oh, Jesus …!” I heard him shit again—and felt another six-incher fall. When he went out this time, he tried to wiggle his ass as though he wanted it smeared around. I spread my hands, moved them up the gritty cloth and mashed. Inside, I felt the turd squash against his hard buttocks. “Oh, fuck, yeah.…” His pants seat, first under one wrist, then under my fingers, then my palms, wet through.

“Goddamn, Red,” Rufus got out between humps. “You never smelled exactly what I’d call sweet. But—oh, man.”

I took one hand away from Red’s ass—the cloth of his seat was all stuck to him—reached around the front and into his fly, back under his balls. With his hip movements, his nuts drew back and dragged, real sweaty, beside my wrist. “Huh …? What you …?” When Red opened his legs wider, zipper teeth scraped my forearm. “Hey …!” His cock came out of my mouth, but his hips were still going. The thick head kept butting my cheek, the wrinkled hose again hanging off the end. His work-hardened palms still clamped my ears.

The hair of Red’s legs was very long. I felt around between, got to his ass where it was all pasted with shit, and scraped as much as I could from his matted buttocks and out from the seat of his pants. Red even squatted a little so I could get some more. “Nigger, you can tell he been down there with Big Sambo. You know what he likes …”

Rufus chuckled now.

With one hand, I held Red’s belt. The other loaded with crap, I came out of Red’s fly and grabbed his cock. Red drawled: “Oh, yeah …!” I rubbed and rubbed it, back into his hair and up over the loose, long nozzle, and back down on his balls, and up again. Then I got his belt in both hands; and started licking at his dick like I was going after the drippings on a sausage. “Oh, man,” Red said. “Goddamn, cocksucker, you’re too fuckin’ much!” He got the head in. And went home. This time he locked his hands behind my head and held me close while he humped. “Nigger, he got a mouth full of my shit! An’ I’m fuckin’ it, you black bastard! I’m fuckin’ it!” I slid my hands around to his wet backside again. My mouth filled up with crap every time he drew out. Red went in, and got it all mashed around. “Rufus, you got to try this—”