Carlos returns to the village after two years of service and finds his wife Lucía and his stepdaughter Valeria on their knees before Ramón, the shopkeeper, cleaning with their tongues his penis covered in filth and mold. From the doorway, he watches the scene without moving, while Ramón penetrates them one after...
The dust of the road rises in small spirals behind Carlos's military boots as he walks along the secondary road. He has been trying to return to the village for three days. His first attempt was in a cattle truck that stopped fifteen kilometers away; the second, in a broken-down van that left him on foot next to an abandoned gas station. Now, with his backpack hanging from one shoulder and the midday sun falling on the back of his neck, he finally recognizes the white walls of the houses, the church tower with its clock stopped for a decade, the smell of stale bread and dry earth that belongs only to this place. He quickens his pace. His body, hardened by two years of service, moves with an automatic cadence, but something in the pit of his stomach pulls downward, a weight he doesn't know how to name.
When he reaches the door of his house, he finds it half-open. He pushes with his knuckles. The hallway smells of old bleach and something else, a dense, bodily smell that shouldn't be there. He leaves his backpack on the floor without making a sound. He moves forward two steps. Three. The kitchen door is open and from inside comes the wet, rhythmic, unmistakable sound of lips working on flesh.
He stands still in the doorway.
His wife, Lucía, is on her knees on the tile floor. Her blouse is unbuttoned to her navel, her breasts heavy outside her bra, her nipples brushing the kitchen air. Beside her, Carlos's stepdaughter, Valeria—twenty-three years old, her dark hair pulled back in a messy ponytail—is also kneeling, her mouth occupied at the base of the penis of the village shopkeeper, a man named Ramón whom everyone knows from the grocery store in the plaza. Ramón is sitting on a wooden chair, his legs spread, his pants pulled down to his ankles. His member sticks out between the two female bodies, thick, dark, covered in a layer of filth that accumulates in the folds of the skin, with greenish spots that look like mold on the glans and along the shaft.
Carlos does not move. His hands clench at his sides, his knuckles white.
Ramón strokes Lucía's head with his right hand, his fingers buried in her dark hair, moving her back and forth with a slow rhythm. With his left, he holds Valeria's nape, guiding her toward the base, where she licks with slow movements, her tongue brushing the green spots of the retractable foreskin. The sound of suction fills the kitchen: blup, blup, blup, wet and constant, interrupted only by the low groans coming from both women's throats.
"That's it, clean it well," Ramón says, his voice deep and calm, as if talking about the weather. "It hasn't been washed in days. Take all the filth off with your tongues."
Lucía obeys. Her tongue travels up the shaft from bottom to top, passing through the areas where the filth accumulates in thin layers. She swallows. Keeps going. Valeria concentrates on the glans, her lips closed around the head of the penis, sucking hard. The green mold leaves traces on her lips, mixing with the saliva dripping down her chin.
Carlos breathes through his mouth. The cold air enters his chest.
Ramón pushes Lucía away with a gentle nudge on her forehead and stands up from the chair. His member sticks out erect, shiny with saliva. He walks toward the kitchen table and slaps his palm on the surface.
"You, up," he points at Valeria. "Open your legs."
Valeria gets up and sits on the table with a natural movement, as if she had done it many times. She lifts her skirt. She isn't wearing underwear. Her thighs spread open, her bare feet hanging off the edge of the table. Ramón places himself between her legs, grabs his member with his right hand, and thrusts it with a single push inside Valeria's pussy. She throws her head back, her mouth open, a sharp sound escaping her throat.
Ramón doesn't stop. He doesn't look at her. He thrusts with his abdomen, driving his member in and out with a mechanical rhythm, as if using a urinal. The sound of thighs slapping the edge of the table mixes with the wet squelch of penetration. Schlap, schlap, schlap. The green filth on his member rubs against Valeria's inner walls, leaving traces that mix with the fluids falling onto the table.
"You're a hole," Ramón says, without looking at her, thrusting. "A hole to empty balls into."
Lucía remains on her knees on the floor, watching, her bare breasts rising and falling with rapid breathing. Her hands rest on her thighs, still.
Carlos watches as Ramón speeds up the pace, his testicles slapping the entrance of Valeria's pussy with every thrust. Then Ramón stops, his body tense, and ejaculates inside her. The stream of semen makes an audible noise coming out, a wet gurgle escaping around the edges of her pussy and falling onto the table in thick drops. Ramón grunts, thrusts one last time, and slowly pulls out. His member comes out covered in semen and Valeria's own fluids, still semi-erect.
Ramón turns to Lucía.
"Your turn."
Lucía gets up from the floor, turns around, and bends over the table, resting her forearms on the surface. Ramón spreads her legs open with his knees, places himself behind her, and penetrates her without foreplay. His member goes in easily, still covered in Valeria's semen, which mixes with Lucía's fluids. The sound changes: wetter, softer, as if Lucía's pussy swallows with every thrust. Schlick, schlick, schlick.
Carlos rests his hand on the doorframe. The wood creaks under his weight.
Ramón ejaculates inside Lucía with a longer grunt this time. The semen gurgles coming out, the thick stream echoing in the silence of the kitchen. He pulls out and sits back down on the chair, his member hanging between his legs, still dripping. He gestures to both women.
"Come here. Clean it."
Lucía and Valeria kneel before him again. Their tongues work over his member, removing the layers of semen, green filth, and mixed fluids. Valeria licks the glans with circular movements. Lucía moves down the shaft, cleaning the folds of skin where the mold accumulates. She swallows. Keeps going.
Ramón watches them work, his eyes half-closed, his hand stroking each of their heads slowly.
"You're good village sluts," he says, without malice, like a comment about the weather.
He leans toward Valeria, lifts her chin, and kisses her on the mouth. Their tongues meet, sharing the taste of semen and filth. Then he kisses Lucía the same way, slow, deep, his hand on her nape.
Carlos remains in the doorway.