Free Khyber Run by Amber Green Page B

unless I missed my guess, there'd be a hollow space behind it, the remnants of a room. Unstable as hell, or it would be under repair by now. Then again, I was no longer the kid-goat who felt compelled to climb every building, tree, and pile of rocks in sight. The gaps in the foot-thick walls wouldn't block the wind but should give a couple of minutes of privacy.
    Fuck . A hunched figure crouched there, swathed in a soiled burqa, too wrinkled to show whether it had ever been pleated.
    Mustache threw her a handful of coins. “Scram, Gramma."
    I translated, giving a polite twist to his words.
    A hand far too smooth to be a grandmother's gathered the coins. She limped away without a word.
    Mustache opened his pants, shoved them to knee level, and turned to plant his hands on the cold rock of the broken wall, near a shard of blue tile. “You got all day, or what?"
    My own mouth watered at the tight pair of buns he bared. But... “Got a rubber?"
    He dug impatiently in a pocket and shoved the square packet at me. Lubed, of course. At least the lube gel would be warm, body temp. My job was to not let it get cold.
    I rolled it on fast, my chest as tight as the fit. Then I grabbed his buns, spreading them so my thumbs pressed to either side of his asshole. It opened and winked at me, not quite closing. Oh, yeah, he was ready. More than ready. He pushed his feet farther apart, lifting his ass toward me.
    I leaned forward, pressing my cockhead against that puckered little asshole.
    "Do it.” He hissed. “ Do it."
    I pulled his hips back and pushed my thighs against his. Oh, hot! Tight ! And yeah, the word was hot. I reached around to grab his cock, made a fist for him to fuck.
    He grunted, swiveling his ass. “Harder!"
    I set to fucking him. I pumped his ass hard, driving my rod in and out of that hot hole, feeling my balls swing. He slammed his ass back at me and forward to drive that cock into my fist. His balls brushed my wrist.
    My own balls pulled up tight against me. Seething jizz hit the boiling point and scalded into my dick, hardening it. Felt like it was filling, packing in more jizz to let it spurt free in three, two—now!
    My knees unlocked. I nearly fell, but held on to Mustache with one hand on his hip and one planted on the broken wall in front of him.
    He bucked me off his back without a word, but continued humping my fist. I kneaded his rod, encouraging him, a wordless apology for my obvious failure to hit his sweet nut. After a few more thrusts, he stiffened and gasped and came in heated jets over my fingers and the stone wall.
    I pulled up my pants quickly and waited, guarding his back, for the few seconds it would take for him to pull himself together.
    "Thanks, man,” he muttered and strode off. I waited a moment to follow.
    Oscar leaned against the wall in a shady spot, cleaning his nails with a pocketknife. Under the concealing sunglasses, his mouth was pressed flat. No more give showed in it than in the man behind it.
    I strode past him, and he pushed off the wall to follow me. Fuck him.
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Chapter Six
    Half a dozen horses, half of them gray and half dun, milled in a paddock behind a chest-high mud-brick wall. Two of the grays were Arabs, one of them obviously aged and one—isolated in a cage near the earth-walled shed—heavily bandaged. The other horses came prancing up to us. The biggest, a bobtail gelding, was also gray. The big gray looked robustly healthy, but that tail was shameful.
    Maybe it took both gelding and disfiguring a good horse to keep him from being stolen.
    The dun mares were the tough little beasts I remembered so well: sort of like a quarter horse and sort of like a Welsh pony. Mike went to the gate while the rest of us went over the wall. The horses singled Oscar out from between me and Echo, muscling us aside to nudge him. He murmured to them with rough but obvious affection.
    "You'll need the smaller saddle,” Echo advised me. “Want to come help me