PCS Kaneohe Marine

Tom had left, gone to his apartment to get cleaned up and get to work, and I got out of the shower . . . again . . . and actually had the coffee I needed now more than ever, despite it being late in the morning. My body was buzzed from the sex but my brain was dragging for lack of caffeine. Or maybe I'd just fucked my own brains out. I stood at the kitchen window, where I often did when I was naked in my apartment, looking out at the world, only able to be seen from outside from the waist up.

I had several days of leave, courtesy of my CO, after returning the day before from a mission he'd graciously loaned me to. Not that he had much choice, but a base commander having an adjutant who went on sudden, classified missions had some cachet.

I didn't really know what to do with my leave time. I knew one thing: I was going to sleep in my own bed, not go anywhere else anytime soon!

I refilled my coffee mug and took a walk over to my living area, but instead of sitting down, I took a moment to remember the four-way I'd had with three buds the night before. As I stood there remembering young Karl, the surfer guy who was just about the biggest cock whore I knew, and how good it felt to fill him with my seed first, then all of us filling him with our pissloads afterward, my cock thickened . . . again. As I thought of Daniels, my hairy, uncut, bodybuilder enlisted fuckbud, and Brad, my dark-furred, v-torso, brainiac college professor fuckbud, both of them fucking next to Karl and me, big low-hangers swinging and slapping into each other's, then all of us pissing into Karl's thirsty mouth, I was unconsciously stroking my full-staff hardon with my left hand, inanely holding my coffee mug with my right.

Jesus! I thought to myself, forcing my left hand to release my raging hardon. I'd cum what - about ten times since I got home yesterday morning! That last time with Tom had been hard-fought, too. My balls felt like they were going to frag when I finally did, the sign of excessive indulgence . . . but such an intense climax as only happens rarely. Fuck YEAH!

When I turned to look out my living room windows, which were a slider out to a small balcony facing across to the other arm of my building, I saw a young guy on the balcony rubbing his own hardon in his board shorts, watching me, smiling. I chuckled and held up my coffee in acknowledgement, then walked toward my bedroom, my hardon determinedly wagging in front of me like some divining rod, though if it had been it would have probably pointed to the door - two fucks had already entered there this morning alone.

I was whooped actually. The mission had really sapped me, and my serial welcomings - welCUMings! - had taken their toll, albeit exceptionally enjoyably. I thought about just going, around to the clean side of my bed and taking a nap, but then I decided not to give in to it.

My cockhead was slimy with precum, so I first took what I could swipe off with two fingers. Waste not, want not, or so they say - so I licked it off my fingers. Actually, it was true - my precum was GOOOOOD! So was Tom's ass for that matter, the taste of our fucking doing nothing to abate my rogue boner. I made sure I got any more, repeated the enjoyment, sucking my fingers more aggressively the second time, thinking that the guy in the board shorts would have enjoyed that! Laughing, I wiped my cock clean with the dirty sheet, then I pulled all the linens off the bed, trying to keep from snagging my intrepid fuckbone as I did, which with nine plus thick inches wasn't as easy as it sounds, and stuffed them in my hamper, along with the set I'd pulled off less than twenty-four hours before, for the same reason.

After hitting the shower, shaving and brushing my morning and coffee breath away, I dressed in my board shorts - commando, of course, stuffing my flagging but still persistent half-hardon down the right leg. I grabbed a t-shirt without putting it on, slipped into some flip-flops and grabbed a towel on the way out. My plan was to go relax on the beach and decompress, but when I was at my door, I threw my bicycle over my shoulder and took it with me. I wasn't planning to take any long rides, not commando in board shorts with flip-flops, that was for damn sure. But a leisurely ride along Waikiki after a respite on the beach might be fun.

"Going for a ride?"

I looked toward the deep voice - up, across the courtyard between the arms of my building. Not surprisingly, it was my spectator from earlier. "Nothing serious, just a relaxing beach ride," I called up, continuing on toward the parking, throwing a wave back.

"If you ever want a RIDE closer to home," he called after me.

I turned for a moment, walking backward awkwardly, particularly with the bike. "Sounds like a plan . . . someday!"

"And be careful with that weapon you're carrying," he added lewdly, clearly gesturing down, toward my visible half-bone. I laughed as I walked away.

I drove over to Honolulu and down to Waikiki, parked my truck in the public parking by the zoo. So much traffic, both foot and cars, as opposed to just diagonally across the windward side to Kaneohe where I lived and the base. For a moment I thought I'd made a mistake, that I needed to isolate. But I really needed to just BE, and being in the midst of Americans (mostly) who enjoyed our way of life, freedom and affluence was where I wanted to be - among my own, among the people I fight for.

I rode my bike down the busy beach road, my shirt and towel tied to the bar, in the way of my knees, so I was sort of knees-splayed out. At least one guy I passed enjoyed looking up my board shorts leg and what he saw there. He made a lewd sign. He was hot enough to get away with it with just a roll of my eyes. I should have brought a pack to carry my gear . . . so I wouldn't be displaying my . . . gear! LOL

When I got to where the beach road begins to not be the beach road, where the grand old Moana Surfrider is on the beach, instead of across the street from it, I stopped and asked a particularly cute valet if he'd hold onto my bike while I ran inside for a minute. He had already given me an appraising once over very obviously, and his grin told me he wouldn't mind a bit.

A guy I know works there, managing the poolside/beachside equipment rental concession, and I was in luck because he was there. I quickly cleared that I could hang there - since I wasn't a guest I needed "sponsorship" - and he was only too glad, expressing his pleasure that I'd returned. Yeah, another fuckbud I'd force myself to service! LOL

I went back to the valet, got my towel and shirt and gave the valet a couple of bucks to take my bike for real, then I went back through and looked for a lounge by the pool. It was mid-week, but that never mattered here; if the sun was out, the place was mobbed.

"Why don't you let me set you up, Major James?"

I turned around to see a pool boy I didn't know from Adam, surprised until I saw my bud Fred across the way give me the thumbs-up sign. "Nah, I'm good, but thanks," I told the pool boy and gave him a couple of bucks because I know they work for the tips basically.

I headed out to the beach, which was less crowded than the pool, as it often is before noon, and found a place not far from the hotel's pool area but without anyone too close. As I lay down on my towel, using my folded-up t-shirt for a mini-pillow, I thought, I fucking love it here.

It was a feeling about the micro sense of being in Hawaii - what duty station could be better? - and in the macro sense - being home in the United States. I'd grown up with first my dad and then my stepdad who adopted me when he married my mom after my dad died, both of whom were subtle patriots. My dad had been a marine - enlisted, unlike me - and I knew he'd be proud of me. My second dad had been an army man, but he would have been proud of me, too. That gave me some comfort, because I loved and respected both of those men . . . and missed them after they each died. But I also was completely satisfied that I was a marine of my own choice, thrilled every single day to be one, happier defending my country than anything else. That was the tradeoff - duty like this during peacetime, which was important as every cog in the DOD is important, whether on the front line or not; OR being on the front line, being part of mission activity. Fortunately I'd been given the opp to go from this to that almost two months ago. Now I was still wound tight, even after the fun of catching up with my fuckbuds since I got home the day before.

My body was different. The twenty days after I flew out, before the mission actually started, we trained so hard I probably only jacked off twice the entire time, instead collapsing at the end of a day with barely the energy to strip and shower, and again, groggy and still exhausted the next morning. Not that I'm complaining about the training - we needed it to cover the hundreds of miles we did on foot and needed every bit of our physical stamina, strength and control. My lean-muscled body was the hardest it had ever been, and I liked it, if I looked a bit gaunt from the weight I'd lost, the mass I had fought so hard for diminishing. But for now I was home safe and knew I was smokin'! That was the last thought I had before I drifted off to a mercifully deep sleep without dreams.

"I like your longboard, man."

I heard the words, invading my sleep and instantly awakening me. Training - being awakened by the unexpected, I was fully awake instantly . . . and alert. I looked up into the sun and saw well-shaped legs, well-packed board shorts and the mounds of his abs and pecs, standing over me. On one side he'd rested his surfboard in the sand and had a well-shaped arm around the top end against himself. His other hand drifted to his crotch, and he very deliberately adjusted his big package.

"I assume I don't know you, so you're not talking about my surfboard," I teased up at him, still unable to see his face for the midday sun.

As he chuckled I realized my board shorts were TIGHT . . . and realized I was fully hard, straining the leg of my shorts with my fat, long cock. Ahhhhhh, yes . . .

"You know exactly what I'm talking about, bud," he finally answered, his hand now permanently positioned where he could show me he, too, was going "longboard" with me.

"If you like to ride a longboard . . . " I teased, getting up on my elbows, changing my perspective enough to see he was at least decently handsome above that killer surfer body.

Another chuckle from him. "Say I do," he prompted.

He had enough fur on his pecs, abs, arms and legs to be just right for me. I wasn't a fan of his shaved head, which I'd caught glistening in the sun and could tell it was, in fact shaved; but hey, it's not like I have any hair to worry about or to criticize another guy who doesn't want the hassle, particularly with the amount he surfed, judging from his deep tan.

I made him ask for it, not responding to his prompt. "I'm staying here," he said simply, when he finally did make the next move. And then he added, "Alone."

"Is that an invitation?" I grinned up at him.

He was hard in his board shorts by then, so I knew it was. I just wanted to establish who was in control. "Would you like it engraved?" he smirked down at me.

"I'd like it many things, but engraved isn't one of them," I quipped back, still making no move whatsoever to get up, despite his obviously growing impatience.

"Let the record reflect that I'm up for anything based on what I see," he grinned.

"You're definitely UP," I observed, looking right up at the outline of his hardon in his board shorts. "Care to do a quick turn so I can check out what I want from you?"

That apparently excited him, because I could actually see his cock throb in his hand inside his shorts, and he rasped in a gasping breath at the same time. "FUCK I wish I could fucking sit on your fucking face right fucking here!" he growled, turning so his ass was directly above me.

And a very fine ass it was on him. "I'm not going anywhere . . . at least until I go to your room, that is. If you want to surf some more, it's totally cool. I could use some sun on my back - it feels awesome after being away a while."

"Playing HARD to get?" he asked.

"Not playing at all," I answered, a bit more sharply than I had intended - he started a little when I said it. "Just saying, you've closed this deal. You obviously came out to surf, and I'm in no hurry unless you are."

With that, uninvited, he plopped down next to me, letting his board fall to the sand. "I can't tell if you're fucking with me or not."

My eyes narrowed, and as I gave him my best evil grin I rubbed my long hardon in my shorts. "Oh, trust me you'll KNOW when I'm fucking you."

That same gasp - I couldn't see if his cock throbbed from the current angle - but added a little eye flutter. "You wouldn't mind if I surfed some more and it's not because you're not all that into me?"

Okay, this could go sideways fast if he was as insecure as he sounded. "I'm a marine. I told you this deal was closed. I told you I wouldn't mind. I'm not really much of a talker, so . . . " I deliberately was cold in my delivery.

"No wonder you're so fucking hot!" he exclaimed. I just looked at him. "I wouldn't mind surfing a little more . . . but I might have a problem with balance now," he said, gripping his cock aggressively, as if I had forgotten his hardon.

"You're obviously into some pain," I told him, gripping my own fat, big hardon with a smirk. "So I'm sure you'll survive your imbalance out there."

He went from that gasp of excitement to a full-on guffaw at the last, a broad grin emerging on what I now knew was a very handsome, chiseled face. "An hour, tops!" he said, bounding up and getting his surfboard.

"I prefer Bill, but since I do top, I don't mind being called Tops," I teased him.

"More evidence it's my lucking fucking day - it's fucking plural!"

He didn't stay for my reaction, just caught my own grin. At least the guy isn't an idiot, could make interesting conversation. And had a great ass on him, I thought as I enjoyed the sight of his bubble butt bouncing in his board shorts as he jogged down to the water. I also couldn't help but notice his narrow waist, the V up to his WIDE shoulders and the rippling muscles of his back. Before I lay back in the warm American sun on the warm American sand I added another thing I was thankful for.

"Hey, Tops." Again, for the second time that day, the same voice jolted me to full alertness. Tops? WTF?

I shielded my eyes to the sun and followed dark wet leg hair up to board shorts I recognized as matching the voice, and then I met his grinning gaze. "It's Bill, by the way," I informed him.

He laughed. "Hey, I was just reminding you of your promise."

I smirked up at him then got to my feet and collected my towel and t-shirt without saying more, and he didn't either as we made our way up to the hotel. We got more than a couple admiring glances and outright leers, and a couple of attempts at conversation from women and men on the beach, but we just kept on going.

After we each rinsed off in the beach showers at the edge of the pool area - him the salt water, me the sweat of the hot sun and sand - he headed to the equipment concession, handed in the surf board and gave his room number and last name either without thought for his beach-pickup trick standing behind him or forgetting. Johnson. The guy I know who works there was facing away but threw a "NICE suite!" over his shoulder, and when he did he caught a glance at me. Looking from him to me and then back to him and finally back to me as the other equipment rental guy was handing Rodham a sheet of paper, my bud said, "And nice pull there, James!" Johnson didn't even notice, his attention back to the other equipment guy, but I laughed at Gary's comment.

As we passed the towel stand, Johnson took a towel to dry himself and offered me one. "Have towel; will travel," I said, motioning to my own, slung over my shoulder.

"Thought it might be sandy," he told me, adding, "The lobby floor is slippery when it's wet," and I followed the non-sequitor.

I took the towel he'd offered me and dried my legs and flip-flops and then followed his lead, wrapping the towel around my waist and following him inside. His ass was even more appealingly displayed with the towel wrapped tightly around him, loose at his tiny waist but stretched tight over his undulating buttglobes like two melons. My cock was stiffening - AGAIN! - in my board shorts under my own towel, and I hoped the elevators were close, because I didn't relish walking too much farther through the busy lobby with that kind of a bulge attracting attention.

We rode the elevator in silence. I liked a guy who could just BE and not feel like he had to fill the gap with pointless talk. By the time we got to the top floor - his - we'd been along in the elevator after the last guests got out a few floors below, and he had openly eyed me lustfully from his slouch against the opposite corner of the elevator. When the doors opened, he broke the silence. "Finally!"

Johnson's suite was amazing, and I couldn't stifle a "WOW!" when he'd unlocked it and we walked in.

He turned, casting off his towel, unlacing the waist of his board shorts. "It doesn't suck, does it? Fortunately I do!" he grinned, kicking his board shorts off as I was shucking my own, right there in the entry hall area of his massive suite.

My cock was well past half-hard, and he stood and eyed it even more lustfully than he'd taken me in while we were in the elevator. I also took stock of his not long but THICK cock and heavy nuts, the fur darker over the untanned portion of his skin.

Johnson dropped to his knees and took my buttcheeks in his hands as he swallowed me whole, pulling me toward him as I looked down and watched my length disappear into his maw. "WHOA!" I loosed, surprised he could take me that deep in the first swallow.

Pulling back he grinned up at me. "Told ya I sucked," he said, and then he was sucking me in again, working my shaft all the way up and down, swirling his tongue over my head and kneading my hard butt as he did it. I already had my hands clamped on his head, fucking his mouth and throat, and he was groaning and moaning, enjoying it.

He had me zero-to-sixty in no time flat. My cock was its full extension, my big nuts swinging into his throat hard when my cock distended his throat and invaded it with each thrust. He gagged often but not critically, powering through it and maintaining pace. Johnson was one talented cocksucker! And my own johnson was racing to the finish line faster than I'd expected, stoked by the twin-turbo of my nuts roiling and boiling.

When Johnson pushed a finger into my crack and started massaging and tickling my shithole, my nuts went afterburner, and my body exploded hard and fast. I SHOVED my cock DEEPER into his throat, hands clamped on his head despite his gagging and began BLASTING my seed HARD and FAST. "AWWFFFFUUUCCKKKKK!" shouted, as the explosion was mighty and intense, my nuts feeling like they'd been clapped between two bricks.

His "MMMRRRGGGGGMMGGGGG" over and over, as each blast caused my cock to throb and expel, was as hot as my own climax.

When I finally loosed my grip on his head and pulled back some, he pulled back off me hard and fast, sucking in a loud, wheezing breath. I saw his face was deep red - I'd been blasting a while! "GODDAMMNNNNN!" he gasped.

I was wobbly on my legs, struggling for balance, my body still spinning after the explosive release, so when he'd let go of me after I'd let go of him, I stumbled back a bit before I found a table to take hold of behind me. "Yeah, that's one way to put it."

"FUCK, dude! It felt like you pumped a gastank load of cum down my throat!" He said that with obvious awe and definite appreciation. Then, suddenly, he scrambled forward and sucked me in again, swirling his tongue around my head and sucking hard, and that time my knees almost did buckle.

I shoved him off me laughing. "Give a man a moment, would ya? You just gave me an eye-popping blowjob, Johnson." I noticed him react to my use of his name. Pointing down to my cock waving toward him, wet with his slobber, I added, "At least a minute or two before round two!" with a wide smirk.

He laughed and got up and faced me close. "Round two isn't a blowjob," he growled and held my gaze. Then, "And for the record, you were about to drip a huge glob of cum, and you don't look like a man who likes it wasted!"

We were still face to face like that, but I roughly grabbed his shoulders and spun him around until he was facing away, then grabbed my hardon and rubbed it roughly in his crack, smearing his slobber and the cum I'd dribbled more during that exchange all up in there. "OHFUCK!" he gasped, pushing back HARD.

"Easy there, champ. This is just to make use of any residual cum," I told him, pulling back from his back-thrust and teasing his fuckpucker with my head.

"I fucking WANT it!" he begged, throatily, pushing back, gyrating to try and get on me.

His hole was tight and tiny . . . and my cockhead is huge . . . so I wondered how this was going to go down. I wrapped an arm over his shoulder and pulled his upper body back closer, leaning down slightly and putting my lips behind his ear. He moaned. "Impatient boy, aren't you?" I said low behind his ear.

That time he whimpered. "I WANT YOU TO FUCK ME!" he moaned loud. When I pushed hard against his pucker I felt no give whatsoever. "OH FUCK! Just DO IT!" he begged.

"If I rip you up the first time, well that might disrupt that plural plan you had going there on the beach," I teased him, still holding his shoulders against my pecs.

"I!" He pushed his ass back HARD against my cockhead. "CAN!" Another push back, harder this time, and I couldn't help but push into him harder. "TAKE!" A loud grunt accompanied that push back and a grind of his hips, causing his still-unyielding pucker to rub all over my slimy cockhead. "IIIIIIIIIITTTTTTTTT!" he mostly screamed, that time getting some give and making the most of it, SHOVING himself back onto me. "HOLLLYYYYFFFUUCCKKKK!" followed that.

He was so fucking tight it took my own breath away, and I froze, feeling my cockhead clenched tighter than I could remember. He either had amazing cuntmuscles or he was a rookie.

My left hand was flat on his heaving sternum as he panted and tried to get his body adjusted to my intrusion, and he felt good in my hold. I reached around with my other hand and gently rubbed his sac, feeling his heavy nuts but not disturbing them. I let my hand lightly run the short length of his fat cock once or twice, feeling his breathing catch differently when it was his rod or his tanks being rubbed. And then all of a sudden I felt his cuntring loosen just a little, felt his body go less tense just enough to know he was finally relaxing around me. My cockhead, though, still felt like it was in a compacting machine - a burning hot, wet compacting machine.

I knew my precum was flowing into him; I could feel his cunt getting gooier around my head, which gave some ease to move just slightly. He'd been silent except for his loud breathing for a minute or two, which seemed like an hour when what I really wanted to do was fuck him soundly. "Let's do this," he suggested in a very husky voice.

Pushing his shoulders forward, away from me, holding him at the waist with my other hand, I pushed . . . then harder . . . and finally I started invading him. "Mmmmmm," I moaned involuntarily. The heat of his fuckchannel was intense, and the tightness was like nothing I'd felt other than in a virgin, which for obvious reasons I attempted to avoid.

Arching his back more he pushed back harder, with a long, loud, "AAARRRGGHHHH!" forcing his fuckhole to swallow more of me. He had to grind when we got to the impediment of his prostate to get my thick fuckshaft around it, then he moaned long and low as my veiny fuckstick scraped along it. "OOOOOhhhhhaaaaaaahhhh!" he growled until his hard buttglobes were against my groin. "OHFUCKINGHELL you're fucking HUGE!" he exclaimed.

Standing still, I reveled in the squeeze of his cuntchute muscles around me - intensely hot and the grip was so tight I could feel my heartbeat against his asswalls. "And your ass is amazingly hot and tight!" I countered. "Feels like you're molded to my cock."

All of a sudden he barked out a laugh at that. "Maybe that's it - this is a gay Cinderella story and you just found your glass slipper!"

"Who you callin' gay?" I teased him. He laughed again. I felt his cunt contract around my cock even more as he did. "Mmmmm that's some nice cuntwork," I told him. "Maybe I should just stand here and make you laugh and let you milk my second load out of my balls."

"Yeah, or you could turn me around with that driveshaft you call a cock shoved halfway up my gut and let me hold onto something so you could pound the life out of me!"

My nuts reacted before I did, causing me to rotate sideways, him following. My nuts did that often - they had as much control as my brain did. He now had hold of the big table there in the foyer, and he pulled himself off me a few inches and SHOVED back onto me, as if I needed jump starting. It worked.

Again my nuts were controlling me when I took hold of him by the shoulders, partially bent over him and began ramming him full of me. "AAAAAHHHHNNNGGG!" he exclaimed with every thrust, holding on and holding steady against my assault.

When I really revved up my fuckthrusts, his cries were interspersed with "OHFUCKINGHELLYESSS!" and "GODDAMNNN FUCCCKKKKK!" and stuff like that. He was highly verbal, and I didn't think until afterward that I bet anyone in the hall could probably hear us.

He was close to cumming not long after I started fucking him. Remembering the way he reacted to the hard friction on his prostate, that was the way I fucked him - minimal collision maximum rub. Johnson was bucking and crying out harder and louder. His cunt was still TIGHT around me but no longer clenched like it had been. It was so tight though it was tighter than most bitches when they do clench. Yet he took it hard and deep, the way I set the pace.

When Johnson started really fucking back, I knew he was at the edge and wanted to go over. I deliberately made him work for it, changing my angle enough that he had to chase the hardest of the friction. "OHFUCK I'm so fucking close!" he cried out in frustration and pounded his fist on the hall table. "C'mon fucker FUCK IT OUT OF ME!"

I held him there on that edge a bit longer, his cries going to just that, no words, just noise of frustration and want. And when he let out a long growl of frustration, I moved that slight bit back into alignment and pumped him hard just that way. Those cries went up in volume and in octave, until they cut off abruptly as his body tensed. And then, finally, he almost screamed, though it was a very baritone growl-scream, "YYYYEEEESSSSS!" and was bucking and writhing, inside and out.

At that point I started nailing his prostate HARD and FAST and pounded him that way through his climax, causing him to scream and shout and buck and even bang his forehead on the table as he growled through it.

When Johnson finally went to jello in front of me I took hold of him by his waist again and just pumped his cunt, long-dicking him, feeling and hearing him gasp when my flared, fat cockhead spread his cunthole open wide, almost out of him. Then I'd spear him again balls-deep, mercilessly . . . and repeat. All the while my balls were swinging in long arcs, smashing into his again, now that his had descended again after his climax.

We'd worked up another sweat and could smell myself and him and the smell of our sex and cumloads. That amped me up to another level, and my long-dicking went to high gear.

"OH FUCK YOU ARE A FUCK MACHINE!" he spat back over his shoulder at one point, upping his own game, slamming back into me harder.

"FUCK YEAH!" I yelled at that increased force of our collision.

Johnson was juiced up in his fuckchute from my flowing pre and probably his own juice. Still so fucking tight, boiling hot with the heat of our juices and the pumping friction. I wanted his cunt to be full of me seed . . . and I wanted to feel it being churned like butter as I fucked him the second time.

It was a sudden awareness that my balls were pulled up and my cock was thicker and harder, my widely-flanged head reaming him tighter. "GIVE IT TO ME FUCKER!" he shouted, followed by a grunt of effort as I felt him squeezing with his cuntmuscles and milking my fuckrod inside him.

My senses sort of drifted from the moment to the destination as my body began to burn. It slowly enveloped me like I was self-combusting as I went onto and then over that edge in a burning blast, pounding him through it all. I felt myself taut and then felt the pain of my taut muscles straining against the jolts that wracked my body as I began to blast my jizzglobs into him over and over and over again. Somewhere in the middle of my expulsion my hearing came back.

"FUCK YEAH, FUCKER - FILLLLLLL ME! THAT'S FUCKING NINNEEEE!" he was shouting. I felt like I'd never stop shooting, and a stray thought went through me that maybe my nuts had gone into overdrive producing my semen after all I'd expelled the past day, so I had a ton to dump up his cunt now, even after the first load I'd delivered down his throat.

"HOLY SHIT you fucking CUM!" he finally exclaimed, softer, his body slack, leaning on the table.

"You-" I couldn't finish, for struggling to get my breath back and also because my mind short-circuited in mid-syllable, and I had no clue what I'd intended to say. Instead of finishing I just leaned over onto his sweaty back, still plugging his fuckhole, and rested on him with my nose in the sweaty nape of his neck.

Johnson reached back and grabbed my right buttcheek and gave it a squeeze. I guess that was by way of a hug or at least a caress.

We were both uncomfortable. I was, so he had to be with my weight on top of him, bent into that position. I raised myself slowly, not sure how long I'd been in that Raggedy Andy version of spooning with him, and I slowly pulled myself out of him.

"FUCCCCKKKKK!" he hissed, and when he did I just jerked the remaining six or seven inches out of him. His gasp told me I'd done the right thing, like pulling a bandage off fast. A glob of my cum plopped out of him onto my feet and the floor. I couldn't help but laugh.

"Go ahead, laugh," he told me, getting himself to standing, stretching his back muscles very enjoyably in front of me. I watched my cum run down over the back of his sac and down his thighs as he stretched to each side before he turned toward me. "Pretty proud of yourself, aren't you?" he grinned and smacked my abs with the back of his hand, pulling back hard, mocking pain and shaking his hand.

I did my own stretch for him, arms skyward, side to side, then touched my toes. Coming back to the naked gay sex version of parade rest I finally answered his question. "Proud, certainly. But more humming and buzzing than that."

We faced each other that way for a moment, both grinning. I was certain I was still running out of him, then a rivulet of my cum over his lower leg that came to the front at the top of his calf caught my eye, and I was gazing at it. "Oh, you have that, 'I fucking love watching my cum run out of the bitch I just fucked!' look," broke my gaze.

I looked up at him, and he was grinning wider. "You're partially right," I told him. "You forgot the, 'And I really need to refill that!' part of the look." His eyes narrowed as a shiver passed over him. I took a step and clamped my arm around over his shoulders, catching the crook of his neck, pulling him into me. "Hey, gimme some recharge time here! I'm really NOT that 'fuck machine' you called me."

Johnson turned his head, and being several inches shorter than me, got his nose in my sweaty pit and inhaled deeply, a long, low, "Mmmmm," coming out of him. Then he looked up at me sheepishly. "Sorry."

"I'm guessing what you want next is NOT a shower then," I joked. In response, Johnson licked at the hollow below my Adam's apple, the base of my neck, and smacked his lips. "I can enjoy that kind of shower, for sure!" I told him.

"C'mon," he urged, pulling me into the palatial suite.

When the magnitude of it was there, in front of me, I let my arm go off his shoulder and just stood there gaping. He had taken steps ahead, thinking I was following, and turned back. If that had been my apartment, he'd be across the room; here it was proportionately like he was a few steps away. "I've never . . . " I started, but I just stopped, taking in what must have been fifty feet of glass over the beach, a living room and dining area, each bigger than my entire apartment.

When I looked back at him, Johnson was smiling. "Well then," he picked up the gap of conversation. "I'm here the rest of the week, so we'd might as well enjoy it together!" he offered.

to be continued..