From Part 8
"OHHHHHHHHHHHH GODDDDDDDDDDDDDDD YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!" he shouted, over and over, and I felt him fighting his climax, wanting it but also wanting to keep working my cock and fucking into me fucking him. "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA SSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHIIIITTTTTTTTTTT OH GODDDDD YESSSSSS THERRRRRRRRRRRRE!" he almost screamed, as his body went rigid for a moment, his cuntclench excruciating around my fuckrod, which didn't care if his clench ripped the skin off, it was going to keep punching that cuntchute hard and fast and deep. And then he was crying out a long wail of ecstasy, as his body began to thrash violently.
I love fucking my bitches' loads out of them, particularly a stallion like Greg, out there in the sun and ocean breeze, our cries of pleasure carried across the pineapple fields. But even more so, a bitch who, while he's still cumming, still blasting his seed onto the ground as I continue to invade and fill him, as his cuntmuscles are spasming and massaging, demands my own load. Greg loosed his grip on the tailgate with one hand and reached back and got hold of one of my nuts and then worked that into a grip on both and pulled fiercely. "GIVE - ME - YOURS!" he growled.
When Greg gave my nuts a painful YANK, I was gone. It was like pulling the ring on a grenade with no handle, no timer. My climax exploded inside me and through me instantaneously, and my nuts began expelling my seed as savagely as I'd fucked him, as the ricochets of excruciatingly ecstatic sensation flowed from my core through my hair follicles.
"AAAHHHHH FUCK! YEAH GIVE IT TO ME!" he hissed and then shouted, when my first nutblast splattered his fuckchute DEEP inside him. As I pumped more, he yowled, "FUCK THAT FUCKING STINGS!"
I emptied myself into him . . . again. It felt like I'd shot more and shot harder than before, amazingly. I was moving from the dissociated bliss of ejaculation back into the now, aware that his grip on my nuts hadn't flagged, and the tantalizing pain from before was beginning to just be painful. I stood up straighter, serving to move my middle into him more, and I reached down and gently disengaged his hand. "I'd like to reuse those," I panted out, laughing.
Greg replaced his displaced hand with a grip backward on my ass and stood up and back against me, holding us together. I swung my arm that had been holding his shoulder still over, flattening my hand against his sweaty cobblestone abs, feeling us pant against each other, his sweat-slick back against my sweat-soaked chest fur and heaving muscles of my torso.
It was a little more intimacy than I was used to, but I held our position, there in the ocean breeze cooling our bodies, still joined together with my flagging fuckrod inside him. I didn't even pull back when he moved his head back and nuzzled the side of my face and murmured, "THAT was fucking AWESOME!" as he twisted his neck and kissed mine. Not only didn't I mind the intimacy, I found I didn't have to work too hard to tolerate the escalation, his kiss.
When he finally moved to pull away some, he apologized. "I really have to take a leak." I did, too, actually. His voice caught with a wince when my big cockhead re-spread his cuntring and plopped out. "DAMN!" he exclaimed.
I said, "Sorry," and rubbed the back of his head and neck.
"OH NO, don't you 'SORRY' me for fucking me better than I can remember getting fucked!" he admonished me, starting to hobble away to piss, his bike shorts impeding his thighs' movement.
Mine weren't so bad, the waist of my shorts under my balls, and I steadied Greg as we walked a few steps to the side of my truck and let our piss flow. The view of the ocean from the hill we were up on was expansive and magnificent, and it took my breath away in and of itself. To be standing, pissing with this sexy bitch I'd just fucked like a caveman, well, what could be better.
"Don't suppose you'd like to take that bike ride now, given your destroyed ass and all," I floated with a grin.
"FUCK THAT! I can do it!" he foolishly said. Then, as we got in the truck to head on down to the beach he added, "I might be riding standing up, though," with a grin. "Just like I was riding your mastodon-cock standing up before . . . and I hope will again."
Mastodon-cock was a new one . . . but I'd take it. And I'd take his HOT ass quite a few more times, if he let me.
We'd decided that, given the hour and that sunset was approaching, we'd take a detour and go to the west shore, instead of down to the north. We'd had a great view of the north shore approaching, driving along it from the city, but now we continued on and around to Wainaie and Makaha, about thirty minutes later. We got our bikes out of the truck, and I got my raggedy pair of "just in case" sneakers on - I couldn't ride in my flip-flops, after all.
Setting off along the beach on the edge of Farrington Highway, we enjoyed the low, late-afternoon sun on our faces, bare torsos, arms and legs. It was warm; it was sunny; it was golden; and the ocean was already shimmering with the first stages of sun's descent toward the horizon. We didn't talk much, occasionally calling to one another to look at something - generally a bird or plane looping around to the east to land in Honolulu at the airport or at Pearl-Hickam - or at someone - the occasional can't-miss hottie surfer - but otherwise didn't talk, so my mind was full of my own thoughts.
The gratitude I had for my brothers and I having returned safely from our successful mission, back to our beloved country, and having my place in my country be paradise, otherwise known as Hawaii were what dominated my thoughts. I had no idea what Greg was thinking - in fact it never entered my mind, I was so at peace. Well-fucked didn't hurt, too!
We came to a place where we could ride off the highway, and I allowed Greg to come alongside me, seeing he, like me, had no discernable effects of our ride, now nearly an hour in. We'd ridden south and had turned at Makaha and headed north, nearly to where we'd left my truck parked. "What say we find a place and relax and take in the sunset?" I suggested. "We're only a short distance to the truck, and when the sun goes below the horizon we can enjoy the sky turning colors before it darkens and be back at the truck in plenty of light still."
Greg slowed, and I slowed with him, patient, awaiting his response. "Man, Bill, I wish this day could go on and on. Let's do the sunset thing. How about up there?" He pointed ahead to where there was a higher bluff area - bluffs in Hawaii being measured in single digit feet! - with grass. Looked good, and by way of response I headed there, Greg keeping up beside me.
It turned out to be a great place. We found a grassy area where we could sit looking due west at the setting sun with our legs out but have our backs against a rise to a higher level, our bikes right there behind us. There wasn't another person in sight.
Without warning, Greg put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me against him. I tensed, very noticeably, at the sudden - and unfamiliar - intimacy. "Easy, marine. There's nobody here to see us," he soothed me, his lips brushing my neck.
"I just don't . . . usually . . . " I said lamely, unable to finish the thought. But his lips on my neck felt so fucking good. And if I was truthful with myself - or with him - I'd have to admit that his embrace, being held close felt good, too.
"I know, Bill," Greg whispered into my ear, his breath hot, stirring my cock. "I'm the guy you've fucked repeatedly without so much as a hug, much less a kiss, remember?" I stiffened at being called-out so blatantly. "Relax," he soothed again, that hot breath and his deep, low voice again going straight to my balls.
Having a decision to make, I made it. I twisted around, took him roughly in my arms, pulled us TIGHT together and kissed his face off. I more than that invaded and thoroughly OWNED his mouth and tongue and lips. I pulled away very suddenly, and he did something like a movie director's take on someone overwhelmed by a kiss, blinking, gasping for breath and a wild look of surprise on his face. "WHOA!"
In response to his exclamation, I grabbed his stiff cock, prominently trapped in his bike shorts, and I squeezed HARD. Greg moaned, and I felt his pulse through the Lycra and knew if he wasn't already wet he would be soon.
He launched himself back at me, crushing his lips into my face, giving me back every bit of the aggressive, thoroughly gluttonous kiss I'd laid on him. We were both groping and at the same time holding each other tight together, writhing and threatening to go too far out there on that bluff.
When Greg took a breath - literally, his gasp of breath after we parted again audible over the surf - I pulled him against my shoulder, laying us both back against our grassy knoll-side as we'd been before. He nuzzled his forehead into my neck and then kissed my neck before resting his head there on my shoulder, his right hand on my left leg.
It was a departure for me - to allow myself the luxury of that kind of intimacy with another man. I NEVER did that! And my entire body was high on the feelings as we sat there in our earth-based lounger and watching the sun begin to dip below the horizon.
The sun was massive and bright orange, just like the biggest flameball anyone on earth had ever see with their naked eye should be. It was a perfect melding of what we see with what we know about it in a rarish display. Such was my inane deep, contented thought as we watched it slowly but surely dip before us in the cloudless, clear sky. If the sun hadn't been in our way, we might have seen Japan! Another inane thought that went through my head as we lay there in the warm breeze and the glow of the sun and our body heat radiated against and into each other.
When the sun's top-most visible edge dipped below the purple Pacific horizon, the sky began to put on its light show . . . and it was amazing. The sky went to very bright orange, radiating up from the horizon onto thin, far-off clouds we hadn't seen before. It was picture-postcard grade visuals. It was breathtaking. When the bright orange had gone to red, I was overtaken by it, feeling like we were there, in it, not on earth as people but at one with the universe.
Also my inner peace level had increased even beyond where I'd been riding, lost in my own head about things that matter to me and for which I was grateful. I forced myself to say a prayer for my brothers - both Corpsmen and my own family - and, especially, for my mom, all either actually far away or seeming so because Greg and I were all that existed as we half lay on that beach.
"God!" Greg exclaimed, bringing his left arm across me and hugging me tight.
"No, just a marine," I joked, nervous, enjoying but being totally out of my element.
Greg looked up at me with amusement. Then he kissed me - a gentle kiss this time, lingering, luxurious - and put his head against my chest hugging me even tighter. "I don't want this dream to end," he murmured, and against the surf breaking I felt his words vibrate into my chest more than I heard him.
I enwrapped him, bringing my right arm around to complete my hold on him, holding him tight, enjoying the feel of his skin against my fingers, palm, arms and chest. "It has to sometime," I told him, speaking into his hair on the back of his head and then kissing the nape of his neck. He started to stir, but I held him tight and kissed him again. "But not yet. Not soon."
To that Greg held me tighter, squeezing me, as the sky had gone from red to now purple. We had to go soon or ride the couple of miles in the dark. And even though both our cocks had calmed themselves, the plans I had for Greg wouldn't be well-served at all by one or both of us injured - or worse - riding back to my truck.
When the purple sky was deep and beginning to gray, I kissed Greg again on the tasty nape of his neck. He hadn't moved, hadn't loosened his tight hug against me. I hadn't either. "We have to get back to the truck before it's too dangerous to ride along the highway," I told him, giving him a squeeze.
Greg slowly pulled away from me. "Kiss me again before we leave here?" he asked, looking deep into my eyes. In for a penny . . .
I pulled him to me and met his lips, and we kissed hungrily but gently, like we had all the time in the world. My brain was playing it that way to make it see exactly like that - if we got too over-heated, we'd have to stop, and even though we both knew we would have to, and the slow, HOT kiss made it seem like we had all the time in the world.
He pulled away first, and it was my turn for the exaggerated slapstick-style response. "Woweeeeeee kazoweeeee!" I mugged, grinning broadly.
Greg leaned in and kissed my throat and then pulled back and was on his feet very suddenly, his arm stretched down to help me get on mine. "You doing all right, marine?" he teased me, smirking.
But I saw the smirk was over a deep contentment he couldn't hide on his face. It was different than the deep satisfaction of a well-fucked bottom - which he'd had until now. I grasped his forearm tightly and pulled myself up and pulled him in, all in one continuing motion. "I left 'all right' in the dust, Greg," I told him honestly. That got the smirk to a beaming smile.
As we walked our bikes back to the road we were quiet. If Greg was feeling what I was, it was withdrawal, our bodies' contact having been broken. I couldn't imagine why I was letting myself skid down the slope of emotions toward the pit of eventual hurt and unhappiness when what really hadn't started yet - but was threatening to, and we were both playing to it, not resisting - ended. But I was, and I did, and when we got to the road I took Greg in my arm, one-handed so I could hold my bike with the other, him doing the same, and kissed him HARD and ground into him before I grabbed his ass through his padded shorts and growled.
"Look out! The marine is amping up and will need relief . . . SOON!" he mugged.
"Fortunately," I retorted, pushing him away and getting on my bike, I think there's a willing bitch at the ready.
"YES SIR!" he barked out, getting on his bike and following me.
When we got to the beach parking, there were people around. I felt my body adjust, my intent adjusted, being within sight of others. It was odd, too - for the first time I could remember, I minded having to change my behavior, to not show affection for the man I was with. I'd never honestly thought that way ever before, and it was both jarring and thrilling to have ricocheting through my thoughts.
"VERY deep thoughts," Greg's voice broke my thoughts, both of us in the truck. I realized we'd been sitting a bit, as the gray sky was going to darkness around us. "Second thoughts?" he asked, tentatively, regretfully.
I turned toward him, checking the urge to pull him into my arms. Instead I took his left hand with my right and squeezed it. "None whatsoever!" I got another of those brilliant grins from him, it bursting across his face as I'd answered. My breath caught. I took a chance. "Were you serious about spending some more time together?"
When he answered - virtually immediately - I realized I'd stopped breathing for that moment as I asked. "You fucking kidding me?" he laughed. "DUH!" I laughed, and he joined in. It was obvious he was waiting for more than that from me, but I needed to breathe to drive, and I couldn't - apparently! - navigate these waters without my breathing being affected, so I just said quickly, "I'm going to go by my place and get some clothes."
As we drove down Farrington toward the H1, I still held Greg's hand . . . and he, a couple of times, pulled my hand up and kissed the back of it or my wrist or forearm, once rubbing the side of his face against my arm fur. It was GOOD . . . in ways I'd forgotten I knew. I kept my attention on my driving, let my thoughts enjoy themselves in the background.
Another train of thought came as we passed the Eva Plain and headed east toward Pearl City and Pearl Harbor. Should I drop Greg off at his hotel in Waikiki before I drove out to my apartment? Did I want to bring him to my apartment? I really had no idea who he was, just that he was obviously rich to be in the Kamehameha Suite at the Moana Surfrider. And my apartment was about as opposite of that as you could get, with its second-hand furniture and bare walls, not to mention the utter dive status of the building. Okay, that wasn't fair; it was hardly a dive, but it certainly wasn't luxury or anything close. Would he think less of me if we went there? Would he like me less, having whatever mystique surrounded me ripped away like that, showing what a very ordinary pauper I was, just a marine officer, without even a gay decorating gene. He only knew I was a great fuck and had a great truck. That made me laugh.
"What's so funny, marine?"
Greg startled me with his sudden words after such a long, comfortable silence. That startling pulled me out of my girly-crap thoughts and back to the present. Who gave a fuck if he liked my apartment or not? Who cared if he liked ME or not? This was a trick - a prolonged, extended trick, the way it was going, but a trick. And he certainly liked the way I fuck. And kiss. And . . . "SHIT!" I exclaimed, another laugh, rueful that time.
"Oh, is this the part where you tell me you forgot you really can't spend more time with me, have to get to . . . somewhere . . . and it's been great and do a Hollywood stop in the hotel portico before you speed off to freedom?" he asked, laughing, but not with humor.
I squeezed Greg's hand. "No, nothing whatsoever like that. How about I spill my guts about what was going on in my head over dinner - my treat?"
"After we get you some clothes, right? I mean, I'm lovin' you naked, certainly love the way you look right now with just board shorts on, but after all the fucking we've done - I've TAKEN from that Mastodon cock - I at least merit dinner at a place that requires shirts and shoes!" THAT was humor! We both laughed.
"Merit is a concept we marines understand," I chuckled.
Greg squeezed my hand as we laughed, and somehow that made it both weird and better, too. I really didn't do all this touchy-feely crap with a guy . . . but there were thoughts swirling in my head - and feelings in other parts of my body - that were saying WHY THE FUCK NOT? and THIS IS GREAT! and a few other, more focused observations . . . and desires. All of them were foreign to me, but I was enjoying it despite the discomfort and lack of training, so why not?
Of course there were plenty of reasons why not. Don't get involved. Get in. Get it done. Get out. That was what my training told me to do . . . and what my horny cock and nuts always appreciated. The specter of attachments, partings, hurt . . . that was not a specter I wanted to manifest in my real world. And Greg was leaving at the end of the week, so the end was nigh, as some writer, I thought to myself, had famously written . . . or said . . . or something. What the fuck did I know of famous writing or speeches or . . .
"You okay, marine?"
Greg's words tore me back from the darker swirl of my thoughts. "You keep asking me that," I barked, far sharper than I had intended. Greg's flinch, feeling it in the grip of our hands together, made me feel bad . . . and that was NOT good! "Look," I started, again sharper than I'd wanted, but in my own defense, I was WAY out of my wheelhouse, but before I could go on, Greg let go of my hand and straightened in his seat. And then I was awash in frustration. "You know what, Greg?"
"Yeah, I think I know what, BILL!" he shot back, startling me.
I concentrated on my driving, forcing my sudden anger into its place behind my concentration on the amateurs racing about me on the H1. "Enlighten me," I barked, my command voice instinctive.
"You know what?" he started, and I cut him off.
"NO! That was YOURs to answer," I almost bellowed, looking straight ahead, maintaining whatever control I had through my hands on the wheel.
"Just fucking forget it," he spat at me, and my peripheral vision caught his arms go crossed tight across his torso, his body taut.
Yeah, I did know what. In a split second I knew what, and I knew what I was going to do. I was in the left, just passed onto the spur of the 201, more direct toward the H3, to head to Kaneohe, but I safely jerked my truck over a lane and passed the H3 and headed on toward Waikiki. This was a mistake - beyond that first great fuck up in that magnificent suite, this marine had overplayed this hand, bluffed beyond his core competencies, and now we were doing the kind of crap that I'd spent my adult life avoiding by instinct, survival instinct in some respects, given my position in the Corps, and just plain lack of interest in ALL THAT FUCKING CRAP.
"I'm surmising from the scowl on your face and the sudden change out of the exiting lane that our plans are off?" Greg posed, quieter, less argumentative.
"What the fuck do you want from me?" I fired back at him.
He was quiet for a minute or two, and I thought that had ended the debate . . . or hoped. And yet, I felt like shit. I felt like I wanted to pull over, scoop him up in my arms and pull him tight against me . . . again . . . like had felt so fucking good earlier. WHAT THE FUCK?!
I banged one fist against my steering wheel, fortunately "ram tough" so it could take a big marine's wrath without losing our direction or steering function entirely. And I saw when I did it that Greg started in his seat at the sudden show of forceful anger.
And I was ANGRY. Angry with myself. I'd had this in the bag. I'd been enjoying it, enjoying the departure, feeling peaceful and happy and aroused all at once. Feeling one-eighty the opposite of the way I'd felt the past week, the aftermath of the too-bloody mission, the letters I'd written while I was being debriefed in Washington to the families of my brothers lost, the human mixture of feelings over the enemy I'd had to dispatch. Yeah, that was always the hard part - the commitment, the duty and then the human feelings that cracked at that veneer after the mission was accomplished and threatened to haunt. That was why my CO had given me the time off . . . to decompress and recover myself, knowing what it was like himself and also knowing how the debriefings with the acronym agencies - and there were multiples! - took their own toll, too.
I'd let myself drift away from all of that with several fuckbuddies all too happy to welcome me home and then had found a . . . well, what was he anyway? A trick? A prolonged trick? Whatever he was, he wasn't someone who deserved an angry, fucked-up-in-the-head jarhead who couldn't give him what he wants. And I certainly couldn't give him what he wanted. Although . . .
"You want to know what I want, Bill?" he posed, as if reading my thoughts. I glanced over at him, afraid to let a sound escape because suddenly I felt choked, overcome, seeing him no longer coiled tight, no longer with his arms tightly crossed, just looking at me with a gaze that I realized in that split second was . . . mournful. My chest tightened more, not only out of guilt but also because that wasn't the way I wanted to see him. I wanted to see him smiling or grimacing in exquisite agony of pleasures. I wanted to feel him breathe against me. I wanted . . . him.
Strangely, I didn't rebuke the feelings; I . . . reveled in them actually, for reasons I didn't understand then and don't now. I guess I was just winging it, going with my gut, treading back into that dangerous territory. "I want whatever you can give me. Your cock . . . or your hand . . . or, if I'm really, really honest, your arms around me and your body pressed against mine. But that's not a requisite," he quickly added. "I'll take whatever you want to give," he repeated, quieter, slowly moving his left arm and hand, bringing his hand to rest on my shoulder.
We were well past the airport, about to rejoin the H1, passing the western edge of Honolulu. Likelike Highway was a half-mile ahead, and it was the more scenic way to, though slightly out of the way, to Kaneohe. Greg squeezed my shoulder, tentatively, then maintained when I didn't flinch or scowl or yell or do anything else trantrum-like. I chuckled at that. USE your anger . . . but control it . . . that tenet, courtesy of one of my instructors, rang in my head. Well, it had got him touching me again! And that I laughed out loud at.
"You back, marine?" Greg asked, a smile having crept across his handsome face when I stole a glance after hearing it in his voice.
"I never left, Greg. And that, my hot, handsome bitch, is the part you should be very certain of." I said it gravely, but with a smirk, not a sneer.
I didn't scare Greg away, and we took the very picturesque Likelike Highway up and through the mountains - that's what the Hawaiians called them; where I was from they were hills, maybe big hills if I was being charitable. I let myself go in the mirth of the moment, in the warmth of it, Greg's fingers now gently stroking the back of my neck, causing the stubble of my high-and-tight hairline to enhance the tingling.
"It's not a suite at the Moana Surfrider," I'd told him when I parked in my spot, needing something to say to release the tension I'd suddenly felt wondering if Tom's car would be there and I'd run into my fuckbuddy neighbor - recently fucked fuckbuddy neighbor, as in that morning! - with my rest-of-the-day trick as we went inside. As soon as we were inside, though, the venue became obviously irrelevant, as when the door closed, Greg turned and pressed himself against me, backing me up against the door, his lips over mine, his arms around me.
I couldn't really recall ever kissing anyone in my apartment. And that didn't stop me from holding him tight - just as tight as he was holding me - and kissing him back even more insistently than his initially demanding but gentle kiss had become. When he finally pulled his lips back and kissed the stubble on my chin, he softly, in that deep voice that reverberated in my nuts and my again-throbbing cock, "Now you're really back with me, marine."
His eyes were both joyous and smoldering with want, his smile appreciative and anticipatory. "Yeah," I sighed, resigned and enthused. "I am, certainly."
I moved in that time, but I throttled the kiss back from demand to lingering enjoyment, and we both went with it for what seemed like a long time, surely a very, very long time to a marine like me, kissing a man I wanted and was enjoying more than I knew how to enjoy him. Our hard bodies were together from lips to ankles, our bare chests hot and starting to heave, our hard cocks ground into each other, not grinding, just ground and planted against each other. I let my hands roam the muscles of his smooth, warm back and down to his waist, but curbed my desire to take his lusciously fuckable marble-globed butt in my hands and start us down that path.
When we parted that time, he took a step back, appraising look passing over me, a glint when he looked at my hardon prominently tenting my board shorts, but returning to rest with an appreciative smile at my face. "I read a lot, and I read a short story collection on the plane on the way out here by a writer who wrote a great novel a few years ago, maybe as long as ten but I read the paperback, The Shipping News." I waited. I wasn't much of a reader of fiction, so I had never heard of The Shipping News, though I now know it won a Pulitzer Prize. Maybe someday I'd know who Pulitzer was, though I think I remember my mom buying some dress she'd designed, and I'm still confused about that as far as how that relates to literature. "It was these separate stories, all completely different, except that they were all set in cowboy-ish settings in Wyoming, all very hard-scrabble short plots. The last one was about two up to that point straight cowboys who fall in love, like sexy, raunchy, wild-buttfucking love. It was rough . . . and HOT . . . and it didn't end well." He paused there, his face having lost the smile and appraising approval he'd shone before, now thoughtful, a bit sad. "The one character wants, tries, NEEDS to not love the other, but he can't help himself. The other can't deal with the other cowboy's conflict and reticence, and, as I said, it didn't end well."
My chest was tight again, having caught at the point where he said they'd fallen in love, clenching when he went on. I wanted to do or say something to break the seriousness of the mood . . . or just to run . . . but I was rooted in place, mute.
"Hey, good thing we're not cowboys, right?" Greg threw out, lightly back-handing my abs, forcing my body to react physically, though my brain was still held in my chest's clench. I forced a laugh, just because I knew I needed to. Then he turned and looked around and turned back to me. "Your place is nice, by the way. Bet it beats a barracks all to hell."
Still trying to unseize, I managed to say, "And it has the advantage of being far more private, which is a very good thing for a marine officer . . . and for closeted cowboys." I was proud to parry with that last part, even adding a real-sounding chuckle as I struggled to get my grip back as opposed to the grip having me.
Greg's look suddenly went very intensely sexual, a leer full of both desire and admiration. "You know one of the many things that's just so fucking HOT about you, Bill?" I waited, knowing he'd tell me. "When you tense up, your body goes as taut and HARD as your cock when you're fucking me. Every incredibly defined muscle in your body just goes . . . BAM! Like HARD. And goddamn that Tyrannosaurus Rex cock of yours is like an iron construction beam!" His eyes were smoldering, having trailed to my softening cock, still prominently visible in my board shorts.
I was instantly impelled to jump him and fuck his brains out - again - right there in my apartment. But somehow another part of my brain - an unwelcome but useful one - intruded and reminded me that it would be better to grab some clothes and get the fuck out before I had my fuckbud neighbor knocking on the door . . . and another threeway . . . with Greg and Tom . . .
"Hey that time I like the look on your face when you went away there!" Greg beamed. And I had to laugh at him, and gave him a shake of my head.
I passed him and heading to my bedroom, heading to the closet to grab a duffel and then stuff some clothes in and get the hell out of there. "Are you a shrink or something? You do way too much analysis."
Greg was behind me. "No, I'm just a man who's really into this complicated marine . . . who's been REALLY INto me . . . a few times now!"
I turned around and rolled my eyes at him as I passed with some slacks and a shirt and went to my dresser. But I liked it. I didn't rebel against my inner fist pump when he said he was into me. "And after dinner, I expect to be INto you again . . . and again . . . " I told him, waggling my eyebrows.
Greg's look told me all on that count - eyes hooded, rolled back momentarily when I'd said it, needy, wanting, wanton . . . sexy as all fucking hell.
We drove back the long way, down around Kahala, enjoying the now full darkness and lights along the shore. And Greg had taken my hand when we got on the road again, which I enjoyed more than I deserved. We talked about dinner restaurants, our plan being to go back to his sumptuous hotel suite, reveling in the six-man shower in the master bath to clean up, then go to dinner.
In the shower, of course, one thing led to another, and it wasn't long before, with lathery soap as lube, I was pounding Greg's sore, swollen cunt again, hard and fast, him bent over and hanging onto the safety bar on the wall. His fuckhole was every bit as tight as the first time I shoved my fat horsecock through his clenched cuntring that morning, and the sensations had both me and him howling like wolves.
"OH FUCKING HELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL YEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! FFFFUUUUCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKK MMMMMEEEEEEEEEE, SSSTTUUUUUUDDDDDDD!" he was shouting.
"WORK my FUCKING cock, BITCH!" I growled. "MILK MY SEED OUT OF MY NUTS!" I snarled, slamming into him even harder, deeper, faster than before, NEEDING to blast my manwad DEEP inside his inferno-like fuckchute.
"Awwwwwwwwww Jeeeeeeessssuuuuussss FFFFFUUUUUCCCCKKKKKKKKK!" he half-moaned, half-screamed, and I felt his body tense around me, his fuckring clenching tight enough around my cock as to make me grunt to maintain my thrust-force and pace. And then he was cumming, shouting loud and long, his body in full motion, spasming and gyrating through his release. "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"
That's all it took to ignite my simmer-boiling nuts. This was a slow burn, so fucking hot inside me, radiating from my nuts through my cock and radiating out to every extremity. I swear I felt like my hair was electrified and my toes, likewise, as my body buzzed, my nuts now feeling like they were on fire. And then, the explosion overtook me like a nuclear blastwave, sending my hands flailing for a hold to maintain my footing, grabbing at Greg's shoulder with one hand as I spasmed over him forward and my other hand trying to use the marble shower wall for purchase. "HOLYFUCK!" I shouted as my back was almost thrown out by the first and then the second, even more intense, blasts. I felt every milliliter pass from my cumtanks through the many inches of my fuckrod and out through my pisshole.
I also felt - and heard - Greg react to my seed blasting into him. "Oh FUCK yes! FILL ME UP, STUD!"
We both took our time coming down from the intensity of our climaxes. For my part I had the hand that had held onto Greg's shoulder for dear life now planted on the middle of his back, my other hand on his hip, while Greg just slumped forward, his forehead on his hands, still holding the bar on the shower wall. The warm water cascaded over both of us.
"GOD you know how to fuck! It's like you fuck every thought, every care, everything out of my head and just make me . . . " he trailed off, and the sound of the water and my own heaving breaths all I heard again.
I pulled myself back and slowly out of him inch by inch. Greg moaned, maybe from post-fuck pain of my still-mostly-hard cock reaming its way out of him, maybe just for fun . . . maybe both. When my bulbous cockhead popped through his savaged ring, he both flinched and yelped. Then he stood up, stretched languidly and finished by pulling me to him and kissing me.
I wrapped my arms around him eagerly, still feeling connected as we'd been with my cock pile-driving his guts. The water ran around us, and we just couldn't get enough of each other's mouths and lips and tongues. I finally pulled away and warned, "We'd better finish this shower or we're going to shrivel."
To that Greg grinned and grabbed my still-hard cock with a decisive grip and gave it a yank. "Uh, don't think we have to worry about shriveling," he joked.
I playfully pushed him away, and he didn't let go of my cock. Looking down then back up at him again, I told him, "You know, you're going to have to let that go SOMEtime, right?"
Greg reached out and took my swinging nuts in his other hand, both grips tight and determined. As he got to his knees and moved his mouth toward my throbbing fuckrod, I heard him say, "But not yet," right before I felt him and heard him slurping.
It wasn't a blowjob, just an expression of appreciation. He slurped and licked all up and down my length and then licked and sucked my big, hairy balls and behind them, urging me to turn around so he could eat my shithole, too. That was where I slowed us to a stop as far as those activities, by not turning around and by pulling him up from his knees. "I can't help it," he told me, a sheepish grin on his face.
I looked at his handsome, grinning face, and I just wanted to pull him in and kiss him all over again. SHIT! I turned and grabbed the soap, so that Greg wouldn't notice my annoyance with myself . . . or my weakness for him, which was why I was annoyed . . . or both. To continue the obfuscation I whirled Greg around and pulled him back against my chest, my arms over his shoulder on one side and around and on his abs with my other arm, lathering him. He leaned back into me and moaned softly, letting his head loll back onto my shoulder.
We managed to get through the rest of the shower, me washing every inch of him and then pushing him out of the shower and quickly washing myself. Greg was waiting with one of the hotel's massive towels and dried me, throwing in some extra caresses and a kiss or three in various places. I enjoyed every one . . . more than I'd have imagined, more than I'd have been comfortable admitting.
Greg gave me a Bic razor because I hadn't brought one, just my toothbrush, and we brushed and shaved side-by-side at the dual sinks, naked, familiar . . . and likewise very intimate in ways I wasn't comfortable with but which the side of me that let it was eating up. As I came up from washing the shave cream off my face, I saw him gazing into the mirror at me. "What?"
He blinked, startled, and then he looked away. "Just going overboard a little," he said, busying himself arranging his toothbrush in a glass beside the sink. "Gimme yours," he said, reaching out for my toothbrush, which I'd laid on the counter by the sink.
I handed him the brush but didn't let go when he grabbed it, prompting him snap his head around to look directly at me, instead of in the mirror. "I'm glad I'm not the only one going a little outside my boundaries here," I told him earnestly. "Remember," I added, "We're not cowboys . . . we're just a couple of horny guys who, speaking for myself particularly, are now ravenous and, again speaking for myself particularly, I'm hoping we're headed out to find the biggest steak on the island."
Greg was grinning at me, and I was, too. He again reached for my cock, at that point just hanging heavily. "And speaking for myself," he told me, hefting my cock reverently, "I'm hoping for some beef for dessert."
I pitched the towel I'd been drying my face with at him, laughing. "C'mon, you horny bitch. Steak first."