The blindfolded taste of lust-2

“You don’t know…” she says, out the blue it seems to him, from an eternity ago. “Well, I guess you’ll have to do what it takes to find out.”

He lets out a small gasp, in spite of himself.

“Get on your knees.”

He does, without letting the men go. He pulls them towards him. He opens his mouth.

“Close your mouth. I want you to smell.”

He brings the two cocks together, their heads are touching (he wonders how it must feel to have your cock pressing against someone else’s), and he runs his face along their length, breathing in deeply. The scent is, strangely, as he had always imagined it. Musk, but more, sweat, desire, pure lust. The promise of cum. When his nose is at the very base of their cocks, where the skin loosens into the scrotum, both their shafts rest on his face, push with a slight, warm pressure. He feels covered, submerged by cock. He climbs their length, feeling them first with his nose, smelling them, breathing their air, their warmth, then he feels them with his closed lips until he reaches their heads, their soft heads. Only, the cock in his right hand doesn’t feel the same as the one in his left, its texture is different. Its smell is less pronounced. It’s the hairier man, he’s circumsized. The other isn’t. So he pulls his right hand down, rolls down the foreskin, it brush against his lips as he uncovers the glans. It’s moist and its smell is stronger, more intoxicating.