That was too much for Sam, who pounced fists first on the large man. The large man didn't even understand what was going on, Sam's onslaught failed to visibly influence his balance or produce any other notable effect. He turned around confused, incomprehending, in the process losing Pam's left nipple from between his lips. The Sergeant however went completely nuts.
"How dare you attack my own brother in my house! After I vouched for you at the station! I took you into my house when you had nowhere to go! I even cooked for you!"
There was stunned silence, Sam frozen with his inconsequential fists clenched, up in the air, Rodriguez's brother turned to the two, looking from one to the other while holding on to Pam with his right arm. Her eyes were still closed, her hips swaying slowly in a rhythm of their own, unrelated to the music playing, or perhaps just indirectly related.
"Who do you think you are! You can just spit on our hospitality like that?" Rodriguez was pale, screaming at the top of his lungs in a white hot fury. "I should just throw you into the street! Let the gangs have you both. They will not be as nice as the young men this afternoon, I can tell you that."
Through all the confusion, the last words made the most effect on Sam. His eyes opened wide. "Men ? What men ?" he babbled, but Rodriguez's brother simply pushed him back, open hand to the face. Sam fell on his ass near the couch and just sat there, dazed. Men ?
Rodriguez spat at him, then turned around and went across the room where he opened a door. His brother simply lifted Pam over his shoulder and followed. As Rodriguez' abundent, cohesive phlegm made its way slowly towards his right ear, Sam could see Pam wave at him as she was being submerged, ass first, into the mysterious au-dela of that fabled next room. Other than lions, and wolves and bears oh my! the deepest recesses of Rodriguez' lair held a whole lot of darkness and some excited, adolescentine giggles. One couldn't readily make out just how many different cousins there were, on account of boys all sounding essentially alike, and especially so when communicating their giddy sexual anticipation. Perhaps half a dozen, maybe less ? Maybe more ?
Sam couldn't stand up for the longest time. Perhaps it was the beer, if one could call Crap that, or perhaps it was the warm wind of the desert, although the locale had no deserts, but he fell asleep briefly. Maybe sleep isn't the exact word, a sort of waxy, comatose state. He passed out from the shock of falling on his ass and the accumulated excitement of the day like men pass out from taking 10g. Eventually he emerged, and hurriedly picked himself to his feet under the pressure of a very important realisation. He really must apologize to Rodriguez and his brother, he thought. If he could only explain to them, if he could... otherwise who knows what they were going to do to Pam. He must beg their forgiveness, he realised, panic grasping him viscerally. He must...
He rushed over to the closed door. Light came through the cracks and crannies, and even without the happy yelps and grunts the excitement was palpable. It hung about the door, in loose cottony clouds, you could definitely smell it. The setting was an outdoor patio, lit by the moon and a crude electric light hung by the bare wire. Pam was in the middle, half kneeling on some indistinct matter, like a cube made out of loose straw hat. A boy, completely naked, had a very firm grasp of her ass and was pumping her like his life depended on it. Sweat glistened on his body, his eyes betraying very frank ecstasy. Pam, with her back almost horizontal, her hourglass build readily amortizing the lunges of the boy having his way with her, was entirely focused on the thing in her hands. Very daintily, with extreme, loving care she kissed around it. The big man was not really so much big in his body as he was big in his privates. The schlong before her was enormous, it looked to Sam about the size of his forearm, at the least. Perhaps it was the angle, or perhaps it was the warm wind of the desert -- although there were no deserts anywhere.
Sam was transfixed. He couldn't look away. Without noticing he was leaning ever so slightly into the door, which was opening at the slowest of paces. Was he trying to expose himself ? He couldn't look away. His wife's mouth, the stranger's drill, it was intoxicating. Pam didn't look away either, she was utterly worshipping that thing. Eventually, as the boy pumping her lost his load somewhere inside Pam's welcoming, velvety depths and another boy moved in to take his place behind her, Rodriguez looked up, and caught Sam peeping.
How long had he been there, discreetly spying on his wife being used as a party favour by a bunch of smelly locals ? How long had they used Pam for their cum rag, and how long had he, Sam, watched them use her ? He swore to cherish and protect her, well she was being cherished alright. Not that much protected, however -- as most of the troop rushed towards him the only thing in Sam's mind, the only thought he could form was that nobody was wearing any condoms. How could they not wear condoms ?
They dragged him on the porch, yelling "Peeping Tom! Peeping Tom!" like it was some kind of birthday party anthem, twisting and twirling him around, a thousand hands grabbing on his clothes, a million arms pushing him this way or that. Sam was beside himself. Pam never looked up, her eyes entirely fixed on her meatstick. Eventually Rodriguez asked, loudly and formally, what should the peeping Tom's punishment be. "Paddling!!!" came as a rush, in unison from all mouths. He was going to be paddled. The thought suddenly rushed through his veins. They are going to paddle him. Here, on this porch, with the door open to the street behind, he noticed, with random locals standing around idly watching the show. They are going to paddle him!
"Take off your pants!" Rodriguez barked at him. Sam didn't know what to do. Rodriguez stepped over to him, pinched a solid grab of Sam's left ear in between his thumb and forefinger, and lifted him way up in the air. Then he shook his hand violently around. Sam's ear was a shade of scarlet not usually encountered in nature.
"Take off your pants!" Rodriguez barked again, and the others caught it and chanted it endlessly, like an undying echo. "Off your pants! Off your pants! Off your pants! Off your pants!" Slowly, like in a trance, Sam undid his belt and pushed his pants down. He looked at his pants, bunched up around his ankles, then he looked at Rodriguez. Then he looked at the indistinct crowd. Then he looked at Rodriguez again. Pam was looking at the huge penis filling both her hands, but Sam didn't look at her.
"Look him!" he heard around, and "what that ?" among a deluge of indistinct chatter, as the boys were pointing at him all around. Just as Rodriguez ordered him to remove his knickers too, the realisation struck Sam : men there didn't wear underwear. They didn't even know any words for male underwear. Underwear was all girly stuff as far as they were concerned. Knickers, silly frilly things. The shock made him blush, and it also prepared him for the impact of the laughter. As he bunched up his shorts with his pants at his ankles, the entire patio, and the whole street was alight with laughter. They were pointing at him, laughing, in sheer disbelief. What the hell is that ?
His penis, which Pam had always assured him worked great and was fine etcetera, his penis which had tented angrily against the pants all through the day, and had leaked substantial amounts of precum in multiple installments was now, in the presence of these boys fucking his wife entirely limp, tiny, almost completely retracted inside his body. It wasn't much below average size, perhaps a little thin, but Sam had never seen it this tiny, not even in primary school.