Drunken Softball Yokels
Doodle woke up the next morning with a throbbing headache and was confused as to why his softball leggings were stained with what looked like dried semen. Richie's sore, hair-choked asshole ached and leaked a discolored, viscous liquid tainted with blood that spotted the seat of his bleached-white tightie-whities but otherwise no one seemed to harbor any recollection of what had occurred in the video booths downstairs in the adult bookstore down on State Street the night before. Mikey Jr. harbored some vague waking dream of getting off in a dark place but he wrote whatever that was about off to hot, after-bar sexytime with his wife back at the hotel. In any case, regardless of what did or did not occur that hot, humid summer weekend in Wisconsin's capital city, the guys felt re-vitalized and raring to go both in the sack with their wives once they returned home. They spent more time with their kids, they set new goals and worked to achieve them and they vowed to set aside time to hop on their bikes and get away from obligations and responsibilities to enjoy some guy-time in God's country.
Richie even went so far as to invest in a free-weights set for the shed he wasn't using. In the early morning hours after milking was over and the cows were let out to pasture, he'd change into his nylon Army IPFU PT shorts, cross-trainers and nothing else to throw some barbells around in his man-cave while bugging out to some Lynyrd Skynyrd, Stones, Allman Brothers, Steve Miller Band and especially his faves: AC/DC. He loved nothing more than to do sets of squats in the rack to side one of AC/DC's `For Those About To Rock (We Salute You)' in front of his strategically placed mirror - so that he could see his hairy quads and calves bulge with every squat. The beefing up was matched by his beer intake to the point where he'd plow through 8 or so cans of Miller Genuine Draft while doing shoulder flies or pull-downs or leg curls and as a result he'd get a little tipsy and sometimes boned up and randy. If Holly was home and not too busy and the boys were off somewhere, he'd amble up to the house, sidle up behind her, grab her tightly by the waist, yank down his shorts and take her from behind at the kitchen sink or doggy-style on the living room floor. That happened less and less as Indian Summer came around as his wife grew weary of having a stinky, sweaty man demand sex, literally at the drop of a corn-seed hat, and hump and grind behind her or on top of her between her widespread legs. Fucking was fun but he wanted more. He craved a warm, wet blowjob. Holly would suck his cock but only on special occasions and whereas he had usually moaned until the kids overheard and had orgasmed like clockwork in five to ten minutes without fail before, her oral skills seemed blah if not downright toothy anymore. So on those mornings when Holly was being an uptight little bitch and Ritchie had had a few, he'd mosey over to the barn in his PT shorts, cross-trainers, corn-seed cap and nothing else, tugging at his swollen crotch all the way, stop by the milk-house, douse his husky dick with calf feed and head over to the calf pen. He'd yank his shorts down under his balls, thrust his hips forward and dangle it between the slats of wood in the hopes that one of those little bossies would suck his cock dry but usually within the span of ten minutes of desperate dangling, flexing and waggling either the disagreeably rough sensation of an investigative tongue or a depressing air of apathy on the part of the calves would leave frustrated Ritchie's pecker unsucked and his balls fat, heaving and aching for release.
He decided to try a different approach. He decided to try not thinking about sucking and fucking ever, at all.
Easier said than done, however. Ritchie's eyeballs began to drift and rove. Tits took on a new fascination. Also ass. Doodle's wife, Denean, had a nice, jiggly ass, Richie mentally noted. Most disturbing was the helpless attention Ritchie paid to Doodle's ass. It was high and tight – two dimpled, round mounds of virile yet vulnerable, ever-flexing muscle and just the right amount of beer-fed squish. Whenever he realized that he was noticing the way Doodle packed his Levi's with them haunches of his he'd wince to himself, avert his eyes swiftly and take another swig of the domestic canned beer in his hand as he focused on the fact that that ass of Doodle's was notorious for ripping the loudest, meanest farts in the tri-county area. But aside from that, that Doodle-butt was something to behold and his boyish face with that goofy, lopsided grin was endearing if not just downright All-American. Mikey, Jr.'s wife, Angela, was cute enough but nothing special. Mikey Jr. could've done better, Ritchie guessed, but his scrappy, dopey little buddy seemed pretty okay with her and their three scream-y little brats. MJ himself was a ruddy-faced, simian little shit and an ace wrestler back in the glory days of high school, weighing in at 135 lbs. all sinew, bulging shoulders and traps, mono-brow and a head of thick, curly hair. He was built low to the ground with those broad shoulders, a fairly imposing chest and proportionately thick thighs both covered in a dusting of Black Irish fur. A handyman of sorts he was quick with a laugh but was not exactly the sharpest tool in the shed. Ritchie liked him because he was a dopey yet scrappy, fun-loving little guy: game for anything and a loyal friend. Nice sturdy ass on him too. Ritchie couldn't help but notice.
Once, while masturbating, Ritchie fantasized about huffing Mikey's underwear but he conveniently forgot all about that within seconds of dumping his load on the toilet seat. Ritchie usually entertained the freakiest notion imaginable the closer he edged to a nut-bust so he didn't really pay it any mind.
So October came around and the three men decided it was time to plan a getaway on their bikes for a long weekend in the Wisconsin northwoods. Plenty of brats and beer was packed, Doodle crafted some mix cds of some choice rock and roll for Ritchie's boombox – so they kissed their wives and hugged their kids goodbye as they hit the road, off to God's country.
They hit St. Germain Lake right around dinner time. They found a secluded, relatively bare patch to set up camp and they pitched their tents straightaway so they could cook up some brats, break out the potato salad and get to drinkin' and talkin' shit. Doodle was an ace on the hibachi so he was in charge of the meat situation. Ritchie threw a mix on the boombox and Zeppelin's `Gallow's Pole' filled the air which was redolent of pine and lake water. The three drank and prepped and cooked and drank and ate and drank some more. Mikey Jr. surprised his pals with a bottle of Woodford Reserve whiskey that he pulled from his saddlebag and so they helped themselves to a round of shots after dinner was finished and dishes were rinsed. All three were feeling the Zeppelin and the booze and so naturally campfire chat came around to music, wives and then to sex as the sun set in the west over the lake and a harvest moon rose and cast an orange-y glow over the campsite.
"This is the shit, right here", Ritchie sighed all sleepy-eyed and content as he cracked another Leinie's in a can and reclined on his deluxe goose-down sleeping bag.
"No doubt about it." Doodle agreed and spread his legs in a vee as he propped his arm behind his head and mindlessly fiddled with his fuzzy tummy trail.
"What do you have to say, nutsack?" Ritchie posed the question to shirtless Mikey Jr. whose substantial scrotum spilled out over his hairy thigh from under the loose-legged confines of his own PT shorts.
"I'm fuggin' drunk as shit an' horny as a three-peckered billy goat." He replied with a dimpled, lopsided grin on his face.
"Shut the fuck up, ya monkeyfucking fuckheaded fucktard." Ritchie laughed in response.
"Yeah, nobody wants to hear that shit at all, bridge troll." Doodle snorted and fired a crumpled paper towel at him.
Mikey Jr. cackled at that and offered to pour another fucking round of whiskey shots. Ritchie and Doodle affirmed Mikey Jr.'s slurred proposal, loud and clear, as `Sweet Home Alabama' poured like slow-brewed molasses out of the boombox speakers. One, two, three, CHEERS! and down the hatch.
Mikey Jr. chuckled a bit and then pondered a thought which, after five or twenty minutes of ponderence, he managed to vocalize.
"I think my butthole's got a ingrown hair on it. I got a itch I can't seem to scratch."
Doodle snorted then laughed and laughed deliriously.
"Let Dr. Schiffmann check that shit out. I think he's got a license for that kind of thing."
"Oh fuck yeah! Bring that little ass over here and let me check it out." Ritchie tried to keep a straight face as he played the part of butt-doctor to the drunken delight of his pals.
Mikey Jr. got up and wobbled over to Ritchie. He turned around, pulled down his shorts, copped a slight squat, reached behind him and spread his beet-red, hairy cheeks wide.
"Whaddya make of that, doc?"
The fragrant, winking, brown, hairy hole tucked deep within the valley of Mikey Jr.'s dimpled, fuzzy asscheeks had an unexpectedly intoxicating effect on Dr. Asshole and much to the surprise of everyone present, drunken Ritchie Schiffmann leaned forward and stuck his tongue up into the warm, damp cleft of Michael Bruha Jr.'s woolly, widespread ass.
"Fucking weird." Doodle woozily editorialized.
Mikey Jr. dick throbbed to full bore erection until it finally poked into his furry gut as he bent over more to receive the full extent of Ritchie's dexterous, probing tongue.
Ritchie lapped and licked at the clenching/relaxing hole until he finally arrived at the conclusion in his head that Mikey Jr.'s hot little ass did in fact taste like sweaty/tangy motherfucking man-ass. He removed his handsome face from that compact valley of ass, straightened up all cross-legged on his sleeping bag and announced that Mikey's butt was free and clear of blemish and tight as a motherfucking drum, another round of shots please.
Mikey Jr. hobbled, fully erect and drooling pre-cum from his gaping piss-slit, back to his own respective sleep bag, still speechless from the spontaneous and comprehensive rim-job he just received from his beefy hometown hero, Ritchie Schiffmann. He shucked his shorts once and for all, leaving him buck naked but for a well-worn t-shirt and tennis shoes.
"I'm sorry but I need to cum or I'll never get to sleep." Mikey Jr. announced as he squatted by the campfire and poured another round of shots.
"Two things." Ritchie wiped his mouth with a rippling, thickly-muscled forearm and then raised two fingers.
"Number `a'. Your tight lil' butthole is a tangled rainforest of hair."
Doodle could barely breathe he was laughing so hard. Ritchie raised another finger.
"Number 3. Your ass tastes like apple cider."
"That's, like, five things." Mikey Jr. asserted as he distributed shots to his buddies.
"Cheers." Doodle raised his shotglass and then downed it one gulp. Mikey Jr. sat down hard on his respective sleeping bag, raised his shotglass of Woodford Reserve, downed it, took off his glasses, spread his legs wide and joggled his commodious sac with his free hand as his stiff dick waggled and bounced.
"From here your hairy taint and ass-crack looks like pussy, MJ." Ritchie noted, all debonair like the Dos Equis: Most Interesting Man In The World guy.
"Why don't you get over here and eat it, tuff guy." MJ responded with ball-joggling smirk.
"This is getting freaky-deaky, guys. I might have to turn in." Doodle blushed but didn't appear to be going anywhere.
Ritchie's dick twitched and bloated as he copped glances at Mikey Jr.'s widespread legs, taint, nutsac and stiff dick.
"You wanna know what I wanna know?" Ritchie winked while posing the question.
"No. What." The other two men asked in concert.
Ritchie rose up on one elbow, his bicep bulging as he pounded most of a beer and then he slyly posed the question weighing so heavily on his mind. The Stones' "Tumbling Dice" backed him up on the boombox as he tongued his cheek and .
"I wanna know if Doodle is man enough to take all six fat fucking inches of my cock up his stinking, fart-knocking, motherfucking ass. That's what I wanna know."
Dicks twitched and throbbed all around the campfire at the mere suggestion. Doodle frowned and then grinned until his crinkling eyes were sparkling slits of intoxicated mischief and glee.
"I can take any fucking thing you have to offer, my man, and that is a natural fact."
Ritchie adjusted himself such that he could raise his hips up and slide his shorts down over his thighs and calves, clearing his size 11 feet and off to the side. His swollen dick pulsed itself erect as Doodle rose up and mimed a joke-y, seductive lap-dance for the amusement of his two best pals. Ritchie's cock throbbed at the spectacle of Doodle's clownish strip tease; his smirky, scruffy, boyish mugging, that head of thick auburn hair, his sturdy, sun-kissed upper body, those toned, sinewy, farm-worked thighs and that sweet, sweet dick bouncing around like a ferret in a gunny-sac. Ritchie wasn't joking anymore. He wanted to fuck and that was what was on the table right now, no ifs, ands or buts - no more funny stuff.
"Take your shorts off, dude." Ritchie spread his tree-trunk legs wide and held his thick, blood-engorged cock in place for what he hoped would be ball-deep penetration.
"Sit on my cock."
Mikey Jr. could not believe his eyeballs as mega-masculine, hometown hero and Homecoming King Donald "Doodle" Mulcahy slipped his shorts and Hanes briefs down past his thighs and straddled his best buddy Ritchie's groinal area. As he did so, he reached behind him and spread his ample ass-hams, exposing his rosy, amazing, athletic, All-American asshole to unworthy dorkmeister Mikey Bruha, Jr.
"Go ahead and fucking sit on it, Dee." Ritchie practically begged as a bead of amber pre-cum pearled at his piss-slit.
Doodle leveraged himself with sturdy legs shoulder-length apart as he copped a squat on his buddy Ritchie's aching, drooling prick. The self-lubricated prong slipped past Doodle's cinching, gripping ringmeat and sluiced through his tight ass like a hot knife through butter.
"oooooohhhfuuuuckkk.", Ritchie groaned helplessly as his buddy's tight, slick ass gripped his cock like a vice, milking his meat as Doodle fucked himself slowly on his best friend's sensitized wang.
"This is so fucked up, yo." Doodle bitched and moaned drunkenly as his ass flexed and yawned so as to accommodate all that dickmeat pistoning in and out of his virgin shitchute.
"Shut up and ride me." Ritchie couldn't believe the spectacle of his handsome life-long buddy fucking himself, athletically squatting up and down on his crotch, his very own dong disappearing up that moist, fuzzy crevice tucked away under that formidable dick and scrotum and then reappearing momentarily only to go balls-deep up that ass again. Both men whimpered and moaned louder and louder as Doodle's joggling nutsac, the thick, vascular, pendulating wang accelerated in speed, indicating a ball-freezing orgasm on the part of both men. Ritchie had never fucked a man in the ass ever, at all, and so thus had never felt anything so tight yet so ultimately expansive milk his sensitive, fat cock before. Doodle's squinty-eyed face sneered and grimaced in sheer pain and pleasure as he jacked his own cock while bouncing and grunting like a degraded fuck-piglet.
Ritchie squinched his ample ass-cheeks together as his cock surged, strained and twitched deep within his best buddy's shit-canal until the meatus atop his flaring cockhead gaped and fired volley after volley of astringent semen up into his guts. Doodle squatted balls-deep on the cock and ground it deep into his hot, sweaty ass as he siphoned every last drop of precious seed into his rectum. Ritchie mumbled and muttered nonsense all the while, his brain awash in endorphins. Finally, he sighed mightily as Doodle rose up and expelled the drained, flaccid dick from his yawning asshole.
"Goddamn, dude. You come like a race-horse." As he limped back to his sleeping bag on the opposite side of the campfire, Doodle raised up on one leg, reached behind and up and into his sturdy butt and dug a finger-full of thick cum out of his freshly-wrecked asshole. He sniffed it then flicked the glob away off into the bushes.
Mikey Jr. was amazed. He couldn't believe what he had just witnessed with his own two eyes. His dick was aching for release. Doodle sat back down on his down-filled sleep sack with more than a little trouble and then jacked his stiff dick drunkenly. Ritchie, although depleted and satisfied by the passive buttfucking to which he was just treated, found that his mouth was watering at the sight of Doodle's swollen cock twitching between his thighs on the other side of the fire. He was just drunk enough that he figured he could suck it right now in front of Mikey Jr. and not be too terribly embarrassed. So he crawled over, completely naked, on his hands and knees, his thick, vein-y boner swinging between his massive thighs. When he reached Doodle's sleeping bag, he clambered between his legs and gripped them, spreading them wide, roughly, with his massive, calloused meathooks. He reached forward and took Doodle's semi-flaccid dong into his fingers and leaned into it, taking the mushroom head into his warm, wet mouth. He swirled his tongue around the oozing corona, eliciting a gasp and moan of pure pleasure from his best buddy, Doodle. Doodle eased back into the downy softness of his sleeping bag and spread his legs just as wide as possible and let Ritchie go to work on his cock. Mikey Jr. was mesmerized by Ritchie's thickly muscled ass and haunches. He figured he'd risk life and limb to rape that fucking ass. Maybe Ritchie, in his drunken state of unusually heightened arousal, might not exactly mind if he rammed his throbbing pecker into that tight hair-choked hole tucked away between those two massive, fuzzy globes spread wide up in the air. As Ritchie's shaggy head bobbed up and down in Doodle's lap – wet, gobbling `glorp' sounds filling the air alongside Black Sabbath's "War Pigs", Mikey Jr. crawled over to get a closer look at Ritchie's pucker. It winked at him invitingly. Compactly muscled Mikey couldn't help but lean in and lick it. Ritchie shuddered a little at the strangely familiar sensation of soft, wet tongue and hot breath soothing his cinching bunghole. The view from Mikey's vantage point was something MJ could never have imagined in all of his 37 years: Ritchie Schiffmann's brawny bare ass coated as it was with downy black short n' curlies smothering his face, his lats, deltoids and traps rippling thickly and beading perspiration as he hunkered down to suckle and slobber all over his lifelong best friend's straining prong. Ritchie's thick, black hair glistened damply in the moonlight while, monitoring the situation from above, Doodle Mulcahy braced himself with his strapping, vascular arms. He wore a cock-eyed, dimpled grin which only served to accentuate the perpetual expression of loopy bemusement, his bushy eyebrows offsetting his twinkling eyes as they blinked and squinted behind his auburn bangs while his bushy eyebrows alternately arched then knit as waves of dazed pleasure played across his scruffy, boyish face. Chuckling helplessly, his head lolled narcotically and then rolled on his ropy neck when Ritchie sent a tingling rush of gratification as he stimulated the thick, flared corona of Doodle's pulsing cock. It wept a sticky, amber fluid as the tongue teased and probed, tickled and caressed the most sensitive part of a man's dong. Doodle winced and grimaced. His squinching eyes rolled to the starry heavens and then back down to his lap. His hips bucked and humped helplessly as his fuzzy tummy hitched and shuddered.
"Holy shit."
Ritchie hum-sucked wetly in response. His calloused middle finger stroked the tawny fur lining the asscrack tucked beneath Doodles plump, heaving scrotum. He slipped it into Doodle's cum-slick anus forcefully causing his buddy to whimper and moan.
"Oh fuck, I want you to chug my cum when I get there."
Mikey Jr. sidled up to Ritchie's ass on his knees and hotdogged his stumpy cock in the crack.
"It's gonna be pretty soon." Doodle huffed.
MJ gobbed a viscous loogie onto his flexing dick and then slathered it completely, leaving it slick and slippery. He lined it up with the hole and prodded pointedly as sort of a head's up. Ritchie pulled his mouth off of his friend's flushed, spit-shined dick much to its owner's whining chagrin and dismay, a runner of spit and pre-cum webbing his glistening lip to the pulsating cockhead.
"Wha' the fuck do you think yer gonna do there, hombre."
"I'm gonna put this in yer ass, cocksucker."
"Oh okay."
Ritchie turned back to the business at hand. He lightly gripped the shaft and proceeded to slurp the entirety of Doodle's pecker into his hot, humid mouth. Doodle's toes curled and his sphincter tugged at Ritchie's probing finger mightily at the renewed sensation. MJ stuck his ruddy ass out into the night air and geared up for a punishing thrust. He gripped Ritchie's burly haunches and then hunched into his ass brutally. Ritchie grunted sharply in pain, his nose buried in Doodle's bush. He suckled and sucked on the cock in his mouth like a pacifier in an effort to process the burning sensation at his constricting asshole. Doodle gasped dramatically at the suckling sensation. MJ took mercy on his pal and held still for a bit and then churned his pecker in Ritchie's guts in ever-widening rotations so as to relax his powerful ass muscle and accustom his butt to the onslaught of piledriving fuck about to assault it. This action was exciting has hell for both MJ and Ritchie as tension tingled nutsac and prostate. In fact, the gyrating fuck-action was so hot for Mikey Jr. he lost all control and took to slamming into Ritchie's shit-chute like a man possessed. Ritchie fought for leverage on his knees as Mikey Jr.'s powerful hips pushed and bucked like a bunny on steroids. Doodle gaped at the scene before him. The soft, wet mouth moiling, suctioning and lapping at the head of his cock and the sight of MJ skinning his lips back and brutally butt-fucking big, beefy farmboy and stud Ritchie Schiffmann like a fucking porn star was just too much. His feet cramped as his toes curled and his chest heaved. His balls retracted tightly and The Cars' "Just What I Needed" filled his buzzing head with visuals of silvery-blue and blood red shafts of light. His strong, scruffy jaw went slack and his tongue instinctively strained to emulate the lapping sensation at his pulsing cock. Breaths came in panting, staccato gasps. Two warning shots of pre-cum seeped into Ritchie's unshaven suckhole and coated his lightly caressing tongue. Ritchie settled in to receive his buddy's astringent load while he remembered to massage the warm, nubby prostate at his fingertip. MJ was putting the hurt on Richie's slackened asshole as Doodle's expression of pending orgasmic bliss pushed him to fuck harder, deeper, faster.
"hah, hah, ohshit...Hah, here it comes...HAAAA-AA-AAA-AHH!!"
Finally, thick ropes of semen issued forth from Doodle's dong in convulsive, almost audible squirts. Ritchie intuitively suctioned and continued to stimulate the flexing pecker with a fluttering tongue as great gushers of ejaculate stung his tonsils and coated his throat. He fought to guzzle all of it so not to cough, gag or choke. Doodle's asshole was arrythmically pulsing and cinching around his stubby finger as his butt levitated off the sleeping bag in an effort to hump and grind all of his cum into that unrelenting mouth. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Ritchie was getting impatient with MJ because the fucker was jabbing his cock painfully into his tender rectal tissue, pleasuring himself without giving any thought to the fact that a man's ass is not as accommodating as a chick's pussy. Also the vice-like grip the little shit had on his burly hips would surely leave dark black-and-blue bruises (how would he explain them to Holly?). He would be sore as hell the next morning and probably nursing a whopper of a hangover. MJ fucked and fucked, Ritchie's ass had become one snug channel of undulating dick-pleasuring buttmeat. His abundance of downy ass-hair lightly stimulating his thighs. This was nothing like the fucks he'd throw to his wife, Angela. This was a whole new thing. Doodle must've been dumping a gallon of cum down Ritchie's throat. He was still squirming and moaning and whining like a new-born pup and Schiffmann was slurping and glorping' and huffing and choking like a cum-starved five-dollar whore. This was unbelievable. MJ smacked Ritchie's fuzzy ass just to watch it jiggle as he marveled at the crack in all its naked glory and that anus, stretched to its limit to accommodate his own dick-girth. He went balls deep now just as Ritchie bore down with his sphincter muscle. The sensation practically drained him of his precious nut right then and there. MJ, now at the apex of full-bore arousal, picked up the pace even more so that his hips were a blur and moist skin-on-skin slapping noises combined with The Cars' "Moving In Stereo" to complete this pornographic scene. Ritchie suckled the remaining drops of semen from the deflating dick in his mouth as Doodle sighed a profound "shoo". His buddy licked and lapped at the overly sensitized peter even as it his fell from his drooling mouth and landed with a sticky plop' on his flushed, depleted ballsac. Doodle could now relax and focus on the spectacle of Mikey Bruha, Jr. pounding Ritchies ass mercilessly, perspiration dripping in rivulets down his face, beet-red and frozen in a snarling grimace of unwavering concentration. Desperate adolescent grunts punctuated each and every thrust in quick succession.
"Fuggin' come ya fuggin' dwarf. My asshole is broke already, we get it. You can fuck like a grown ass man."
MJ grit his teeth and continued to brutalize Ritchie Schiffmann's ass. Ritchie dropped to his elbows, his dick throbbing to full erection again and grunted low as pain gave way to pleasure. Ritchie's heavy balls and thick cock joggled in response to the blows.
"Fuck yeah."
"I'm gonna squirt cum up your ass."
"Well go ahead and do it!"
MJ bucked three sharp, punishing thrust as, once again, Ritchie bore-down good and hard with his sphincter.
"OOOOOOOOOH FUUUUUCK!"
MJ's torso went rigid and his ample butt-muscles flexed as his face crumpled and his thick eyebrows knit his brow in pained ecstatic exaltation. Ritchie could actually feel Mikey Jr. orgasm in his ass. That dick wedged in his hole throbbed and twitched while MJ milked it with Ritchie's gaping butthole. Creamy, white fluid soaked his guts and seeped out around the shaft of his buttfucker's fat, pulsating cock, dripping down his hairy taint and dangling nutsac. Mikey Jr. pumped the last of his juice into Ritchie and then pulled out with sloppy, wet `pop'. The air lightly reeked of ass and cum and earth. Ritchie's asshole yawned wide as it drooled cum as he crouched there, lit by the firelight on his hands and knees. Suddenly Ritchie felt shy and embarrassed and he covered up with a nearby towel.
"Dude, I think I got you pregnant." Mikey Jr. joshed on his back as he came down from his orgasm, mindlessly itching his balls and then his sweaty asshole.
"You fucking tore my ass up, that much I know." Ritchie's mouth and throat was audibly thick with Doodle's cock-slime and the guys laughed at that.
"Man, I'm wiped. Let's hit the sack. Turn that fucking music off." Doodle instructed, as he crawled ass-up and bare-naked into his tent, his balls swinging low between his thighs. Ritchie watched that ass go with a little regret. That ass needed another good fuck. His dick twitched at the mere thought of it.