Calcutta Custard

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My second time with Beni. He’s an Indian guy, about 50, with a long beard. This time we’re in a hotel out near the airport. He paid for it. I think he regards me as his property, sexually, at least. But he’s respectful, and that’s what counts.

As soon as we enter the room he says we should strip to our underpants. I do so, and admire the view as he removes his clothes to reveal his smooth brown body The only hair he has apart from the beard is in his armpits (sexy as hell) and around his cock. He has very hairy balls and I am frustrated that I can’t see them because of his old-fashioned not-very-brief briefs.

I like a man in old-fashioned pants. I love to put my hand in there and feel his hair and his stirring cock and a nice big pair of balls.

At this point I’m expecting Beni to wrap his arms around me and get me to give him pleasure with my hands and tongue, but he doesn’t. He walks to the bathroom door and beckons me, so I follow.

The shower cubicle is big, with tiled walls and a non-slip floor. We stand there facing each other and Beni smiles. He comes closer and puts his hand in my boxer briefs.

“I like your lily white cock,” he says. He moves even closer and takes his limp cock out of his pants and puts into the top of mine. He’s a little taller than me, so this works well.

And then I feel something hot running down, over my cock and balls and into my crotch. This Indian guy is pissing in my pants. He is urinating in my underpants.

“Do you like that?” he asks with a smile.

“That is the rudest thing I’ve ever known,” I say. And it is. By far the rudest, sexiest, most outrageous thing.

Suddenly he stops and pulls out of my pants. It’s a difficult thing to do, stop in mid flow, and his dick dribbles down my leg.

“Take them off,” he says flatly, and I do.

“Kneel on the floor,” he commands, and I comply, looking up at him.

Beni starts up again, pissing down my casino oyna chest and into my lap. Then he stops again and moves around behind me. He pisses down my back and it runs down my spine and into my arse. I’m in heaven or hell, I don’t know which, but it’s fantastic anyway.

“Hands and knees,” my Indian master says. And of course I obey.

He kneels behind me and launches his stream of liquid waste again. He empties his bladder against my arsehole. This fucking Indian guy has pissed all over me, just like he said he would, but in the most thrilling, organized, commanding way.

This sort of thing is supposed to be demeaning, humiliating, but then so is licking an arse. In both cases, if you actually want to do it, there are no negative connotations. Beni wanted to urinate all over me. I loved it. It is, as they say, a win-win situation.

“Next time I will piss in your mouth,” he says, reading my mind. He is as comfortable with the situation as I am. We have a relationship. An unconventional one, certainly, but it is based on mutual respect. In sexual matters he is the master and i am… what? The servant? Not really. He’s serving me too. It just so happens that what he demands is what I want to give, and that what he inflicts is what I want to receive.

No pain is involved, so it’s not sadomasochism in the accepted sense. If he wanted to spank me I wouldn’t say no, but even then, it wouldn’t be like punishment, but excitement. There probably is a psychological term to describe it, but I don’t know what it is.

Now that Beni has done his pissing he can get a hardon, so he beckons me to stand up and he puts his long arms around me and kisses me deeply and with a sweeping of the tongue that deserves a word such as lurid. He tongues me luridly. That strange pink thing we all have and take for granted is for Beni an infinitely flexible magic wand. It send waves of erotic charge through me and his hands quickly find my buttocks canlı casino and my little ring to receive the charge that he knows will end up there.

We have a quick shower together, soaping each other up with naughty delight. I can hardly contain myself when he washes my crack, his fingers effortless and businesslike and yet incredibly exciting.

When I do it to him, my own fingers in this lovely man’s arse, I burn with lust and self-conscious depravity.

Back in the bedroom Beni tells me to lie on my back. He climbs astride me as if for a 69, but then lowers his crotch towards my face and plants his arse on my nose. He gives me a moment to smell him and then moves forwards a little so I can lick him. It is as if we had rehearsed this; we instinctively know what to do. We are partners in a long, complex, insatiable sexual dance and I love to think about exactly what is going on. In this case, this lavishly bearded, ace kisser of an Indian man is sitting over my face and I am licking his arse, willingly, eagerly, intensely. At this moment it is the one thing in life I want to do.

No, there is something else, and I have to tell him.

“Beni,” say when he has enjoyed being rimmed for five minutes or more. “I want to see you kneeling like a dog, so I can look at your big balls hanging down.”

“Anything you like, lover,” Beni says and quickly gets into position. He is like a smooth brown bear with his fucking equipment a work of art. His big hairy balls in their dark crinkled bag, and that thrilling blunt knob pointing menacingly. I take his balls in my hand and gently weigh them. Of course it is nice to feel a big cock, but substantial testicles are even more important for me.

I suck Beni’s scrotum, being careful not to hurt him, and this brings me into contact with his arsehole again. I lick that lovingly and wank him gently.

“You want me to lick your ass too?” he asks gently. The thought of that magic kaçak casino tongue literally sends a shiver through me.

“Fuck yes,” I almost laugh.

“On your back,” he orders, and when I do so he lifts my legs high in the air. It is the most exposed position, even more than being on all fours. He fucked me like that last time and it was sensational, but he wasn’t doing what he is doing now: looking at my exposed browneye.

Beni puts his long, wicked tongue right in the middle and prods. Then he licks me thoroughly , his tongue wet and strong. If this is designed to make me feel like having him fuck me, it is having the desired effect.

“I want your cock in my hole,” I whisper. “Bugger me.” It’s not a word that is often used in a positive way. Buggery is bad, that’s the convention. Buggery is brutal, unnatural, offensive.

“You want me to bugger you?” he whispers back. “You want my old Indian penis inside your back passage?”

“Bugger me, darling,” I say, surprising myself.

Beni is up in a flash, kissing me with the smell of my own arse on his beard and tongue. Quickly and with one hand he lubricates us and plunges his cock into me. He draws back and waits a second, then pushes slowly and hard, deep into my private property. His dirty brown cock is reaching parts no one has ever touched before.

My mind is flooded with lust and my eyes are rolling up into my head. Beni pumps and pumps.

We had sort of agreed that today he would cum in my mouth, but now we have come this far, what I want is his naughty, wicked Indian spunk right up inside me.

“I’m going to cum,” he says breathlessly.

“Yes, in there. Up my arse,” I beg him, and I feel his cock lurch as it spits his semen into me. It convulses and twitches as his Calcutta custard pours into me.

When Beni climbs off and lies next to me I feel like such a whore, with his spunk running out of my senseless, aching, adoring arse.

“A fucking Indian man,” I laugh out loud. “A fucking Indian guy turns out to be my greatest fuck.”

“I love fucking you, sensible white man,” he says. “I’m so happy to be your fucking Indian man.”

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