A Half-Ounce of Gold - 2. Part Two: The Middle

Load One:

As I led him to the magical-looking bed, I grew stern. "You can 'puck' me raw, but you must do as I say – get me ready. Lick me, finger me, lube me with your spit. Understand?"

I could perceive a twin realization in his prick growing to attention and the crack of his mischievous lips.

I pushed him down on the white sheet; I undid his towel, and climbed on top. I pinned his upper arms above his head with my knees and lowered the tip of my cock to his snarling lips. He pretended not to want to part them for it, so I bent down and forced his mouth open with my tongue. All tension left his restrained arms, and again a low rumbling groan left his throat. I straightened up and freed his limbs. He grabbed my cock near the base and guided it to his kiss: first the hood, which grew flush at the touch of his lips, then his tongue came out and rimed the opening, forcing a pearl of precum onto his tongue, then he sucked it. The shaft slid halfway down his throat – I could feel the narrowing where his gag reflex lived – but he only held my eyes and sank it deeper.

His mouth was cool and slippery, and I thrilled secretly knowing what excellent lube his spittle would make.

I reached behind me and stroked his seven-and-a-half inches. Who could tell this cock had cum with violent force less than an hour ago – cum in my front entry – and now it seemed to strain like a wolf to get through my back door. I pulled my dick from his novice, but hot, attempts to suck it. I stiffened my spine, moved up a little and told him, "Use that tongue on my ass."

And before I knew what hit me, his hands gripped both butt cheeks and spread my sphincter to his full onslaught. His tongue rode the outside surface with soothing licks – one following another – until I relaxed and the rosebud blossomed in slow-motion opening to his loving. I was unprepared for this kid to know what he was doing down there, so I nearly swooned as he went about it with poise and fairly deadly skill. Man, if he was going to fuck me, this is what I needed, for now my wrists were sweating, and that tingling sensation meant I was excited to the max.

I took his right hand off my ass. I lifted it, and my head bend over to meet it halfway. I conjured up that thick kind of spit from deep within my mouth – the best kind for lovemaking – and then holding it forward on my tongue put his first two fingers in my mouth. He pulled them out again with a creamy wad, and as I guided his digits to my dark side, I told him, "Use that. Gently push it in."

Again my breath was nearly taken away. His index finger balled the spit wad collected from the other fingertip, and spread it in exacting precision on, and only a half-inch around, my love hole. Then his fuck-finger went into me. Calm, assured, unflinching, with just the right force, he finger-fucked me, and I sighed: "Damn kid, take it easy." But, he didn’t listen. With his other hand he collected his own spittle and soon two callused fingers were in me, only now they were lubing me up and down, going high up to where the muscles relaxed inside, and depositing Salleh's load of expectoration for later use. He pooled it there for his cockhead to dip into, as needed.

He pushed me down on the bed, on my back; instantly my feet were in the air. He elevated my ass to his face by punching down on the back of my knees and I bobbed up to his tongue like the float of a fishing lure. Now he really went to work. As I began to pant and jack myself, he stuck his tongue in over and over again. His idea of a break was letting me fall back down to the bed to be assaulted by his waiting fingers. First one, then two, then three, while spit and more spit was left inside of me.

"You ready?" he asked, knowing I was begging for it.

"Do it."

He scooted close to me, his rock-hard thighs hitting my butt. He spit one big wad on his cock and rubbed it only on the tip. Again the back of my knees were pressed towards the sheet, and I felt his head knock at my door. Suddenly his eyes were on mine. He pushed, waited; I relented, he pushed some more; he blinked, wordlessly asking if I could take him, and I grabbed the back of his thighs to drive his cock into me.

He sank to the balls and let out that same impassioned cry from the beach. As he withdrew halfway, I forced him to stretch out so he could kiss me when he came back down, and he did, grunting straight into my mouth. Now he fucked me over and over: always the same stroke, halfway out, then deep down to the balls, until he could dive no deeper into me. I felt the regular slapping of his nuts against my backside and pictured them churning heavily, making more and more of that sweet smelling cum to fill me with.

I spit into my own palm and jacked to the rhythm of this teenager's pounding. I could tell his young stamina couldn’t hold, so I brought myself to the threshold of orgasm and waited until it looked like he was getting close. Suddenly he stopped fucking. He looked at me with pleading intensity. "I never came – you let me cum in you…."

I nodded, and now a devilish grin flashed while his fucking resumed, but with double the pace. Soon he tensed, and I knew I was about to blow his mind – because as he slowed to let himself climax, I came and the tightening and loosening impulses around his cock in me nearly killed him with pleasure. He moaned and shot into me like he hadn’t cum in a month. Later, as he slowly withdrew, my ass wasn't sore, but it tingled and glowed and smelled alive with this stud's seawater spunk.

He collapsed by my side.

Load Two:

We lay a moment, panting, looking for something to wipe our cocks and hands with, but instead we kissed, and didn’t stop.

His tongue, now tasting of my backside, explored every inch of my mouth, lips and my eagerly-returning tongue. My hand went to the side of his face; his hand slipped down the back of my left calf and brought the top of my thigh to my chest. His finger slipped into me again and lovingly explored my fundament just as his tongue was doing above, in my mouth. I groaned, but freed myself, a little. I slid down and turned around. I lay my head on his upper leg and took his half erect dick in my mouth. He reciprocated, and soon we made a happy sixty-niner couple. I was a bit surprised at how quickly his prick stiffened again, and soon tasted precum on my palate.

He must have been excited, for my leg was again moved out of the way and his tongue was spooning my back passage. I was more than ready to take him, his cum replacing the introductory lubricate of spit with a far smoother material.

I lay facedown, and he climbed on top of me. Getting fucked on the tummy is a different experience. The position naturally closes off the opening and makes for a tighter experience.

He again put a wad of spit on the tip of his dick and guided it in.

I felt his whole weight on the end of his cock, and it pressing into me with slip-sliding abandon. He fucked me far deeper that the first time, and each thrust fucked the back of my prostate like it was the goal, and not my ass, which was merely in the way.

He lowered his face to the back of my head. I reached up behind me and kissed him like I meant it, for at that moment in time nobody had ever loved me the way he had.

He grabbed my shoulders, forcing me to corkscrew: my legs and ass still facedown, but my head and shoulders facing up to him. Again that manic rhythm appeared letting me know he was close, and as he came, he collapsed with forced and labored screeches in my ear – his gold got sandwiched between us. Meanwhile, down below, my prostate got the creaming of its young life.

Load Three:

Now I needed a break. That gently tweaked and glowing asshole from the first pair of drubbings was complaining a bit. Within me, one in my tummy from the beach, and two in my gut from this hotel room, three loads from this young man gurgled.

I sat on the edge of the bed wondering where my shorts could have gotten. Some dark memory, like from a hundred years ago, said they were in the bathroom.

I got up and went there. I slipped my drawers on.

When I came back, Salleh was stretched out on the bed. The glimpse I had of him was framed by the loosely draped mosquito netting, but his well-tanned body lay in the center, one foot casually tucked under the fold of the other knee. I climbed onboard, gently, eying the edge of his long-forgotten bath towel used to now drape partially over his crotch; the rest of him was left free to my view. I thought for a second he had drifted off, but he opened his eyes and lifted his arms to me. I cuddled next to him.

"You tired some?" he asked.

"No, I'm not." And I wasn't either. After sex is the time I most feel alive, especially after great, connected sex like this.

"Where you come from? I mean, Hollywood?"

I chuckled. "I suppose you are close. I'm from L.A."

"I knew it." There was no gloat in his voice. His finger lightly brushed hair out of my eyes.

"You knew it?"

"Yes."

"How…?"

"A person like you – you know – some kind of magic person, just showing up at sunset, on the beach. It must be like in the movies."

Internally, I questioned how many films he had spent his entertainment money on. He seemed to like romantic comedies; of that much I was sure. "You know, my coworker took me to see a movie in Jakarta. I like the theaters in your country. They are very spacious, nice reclining seats and high up so you never have a blocked screen."

He was silent.

I glanced over at him once his finger stopped caressing me. His eyes were open but looking far away. "Salleh, are you okay. You want to sleep?"

"Me? No. I no want to sleep now."

I repositioned my cheek to be on his chest and just let us relax.

"Are you from Jakarta?"

"No, from Medan."

"On Sumatra?"

"Yes. How you know?"

"I've been there. Our firm did a design for the University of Indonesia in Banda-Ache."

He chuckled, and his chest bounded. "Ohhh."

"Medan is famous for oranges."

"Oh, yes. See? You know well about my place."

"So why are you in Kuta, on Bali?"

"My best friend, Lipo, lives here. He lets me come when I have university breaks, like now for winter."

"Oh, I see."

I let my fingertips explore, eventually brushing away the point of his towel. "I see you have a beautiful body."

"Thank you. My uncle does plants…. What you call it? For people's houses?"

"Landscaping."

"Yes! I do landscaping to help pay for school. I like to be out in the fresh air, that's why I no like Jakarta."

I knew what he meant. "Yeah, the air is bad there. Too many car fumes."

He kissed my forehead; I looked up to see his smile. He didn't have to explain. He was happy we understood one another. "But you asked me, so I can do the same – you don’t have a girlfriend?"

His Adam's apple bobbed as he closed his mouth and swallowed. "Not…no, not a girlfriend. I don’t know her, I never kissed her, or sexed with her, so how can call her girlfriend…?"

I raised myself up on one elbow. "I didn't mean to upset—"

"I don’t want to marry the one my parents picked for me – no female I want to marry – so I dream of running away, like Lipo did."

"Is Lipo Gay?"

"No. He likes girls. He just left Medan and came to Bali to be peaceful. To do what he likes with his life. I dream of that. To find a place, to go there, running away, to build life with a man I love and who I know loves me too."

I made him hold my gaze, for suddenly his eyes had become restless. Once he focused on me, I lifted his hand and told him sincerely, "If that's what you want, you will achieve your goal, and someday you'll make a guy a very fine husband. I know it."

This seemed to sadden him a moment, but he pulled me into a two-handed embrace, driving my flank partially on top of him, my leg crossing his.

I chuckled for a second, but then heard a buzzing sound by my ear. I swiped instinctually, smushing half of a blood-filled mosquito between my fingers.

Salleh sprung into action. Firmly, but with tenderness, he gripped my upper arms and deposited me on my back next to him. As I wondered a moment what was happening, he leapt from the bed like a track star, his perfect muscles gracing my view.

Without a word, he slowly, deliberately – knowing I had put hands behind my head to enjoy the show – went to the post by my head and untied the netting. The fabric rustled to the floor like a slow motion cascade. He pulled it along the rod and straightened it out. His smile landed on mine as he moved to the post by my feet. This time, two showers of gauzy material fell, which he carefully over lapped so there we no openings. His graceful form moved behind the last lowering netting to become an intriguingly hidden figure. Then, one corner lifted, and my Bali lover, like a grinning archangel of the old-time bible passage – a man of mystery – slowly crawled back into bed with me. I extended my arm and he nestled down with a hand on my chest.

"I'm glad you didn't move," he said.

"Me too."

"You sure you no need a sleep?" he whispered in my ear, that deep guttural reverb again licking my fundament.

"No. Why?"

"I like you," he said. "Do you like my love?"

My dick grew hard against the flank of his abdomen. "You're hot," I told him, and with his spunk still lubing half of my insides, it was true. It was to the point where just a whiff of his jizz – in or out of me, on my own breath as I slightly belched up some of his swirling seed from my stomach – turned me on. And though my love-pucker was getting tender from all his attention, it still ached for more. More of him in me – it's the scent that did it.

He pulled me to my feet. He pushed me over to the bedpost, and had me put my hands on it. He kicked my ankles apart and drew my waist towards the center of the bed. Bent like this, he saw no need for any more formality, and his cock fucked me to the balls.

I nearly shouted, but before I could he had withdrawn quickly and pummeled me again, straight up to his nut sack, which slapped mercilessly against my ass. My shout turned into a breathy exhale, and now he slowed his pace and stayed in me, fucking like he was deeply in love with me, his cheek falling against my shoulder blade and his hand reaching around to hold my dick. His touch was loose, just a ring for my tip and shaft to slide through while he pummeled me from behind. Yes, he fucked my ass; I fucked his grip. It took him awhile to cum now, finally his youth seemed at a loss for his desire, but meanwhile, I came on his fingers which paused, and brought my love-juice up my mouth to clean it off.

My tongue exploring the webby base of his digits must have done it for him, for his respiration accelerated; he gripped me hard at the waist, and grunted another load into me. I reached back and stroked the side of his head as he tried to catch his breath. He responded by straightening me up, turning me, and kissing every inch of my face with his out-of-control breaths, and lips, and tongue.

Load Four:

An hour passed. We were back in the tub. I reclined, sitting between his legs, my back on his chest. Again we talked of the future. He asked why I didn't have a boyfriend. "Haven't met the right person," I told him. I couldn't see his face, but it must have moved him, for he embraced my chest tightly.

"OK, stud," I chuckled. "Now my love portal is really sore. How many times a night do men in your culture fuck?"

"Four or five; six. Isn't that normal?"

"Hot, man. That's fuckin hot, but no, it's not normal where I'm from. One slam, a thank you, a call for a cab, and that's considered romantic."

"Romantic…" he muttered, as if acknowledging something deeply internal. His guttural tone waded into my neck to make the hairs there stand on end – it was like a sonar exploration of me; what signal it returned to him, I cannot know.

"You don’t mind cum in the water?" I looked down, a soapy-looking ring was edging our skin; it had seeped from my ass, mixed with the warm bath and scented the whole room with apple freshness. "It is yours after all."

"You are sore?" he asked as if first realizing what I had said earlier.

"Yes tiger, you've love-punched me good."

He stood, got out of the tub and began to look around the room. He picked up a small bottle before grinning at me.

"Hand cream. I will help you feel better."

He lifted me out of the tub and had me kneel at the toilet, which he proceeded to bend me over.

He spread a big dab of cream on his two large fingers and smoothed it around my hole. I must have stiffened and moaned slightly, because his free hand, with open palm, laid itself on top of the dip of my lower back. He said, "There, peels better already." And it did, but exciting too. I stuck my ass up a little, and he got it, for soon those same two fingers gently spread the hand cream inside the loose ring of muscle that he had used so well.

He paused. I heard the bottle click open again, then felt a dribble run down my butt crack to his digits half in, half out of me. He worked this new addition and now I definitely moaned, and shoved my backside closer to his firm ministrations.

He withdrew and surprised me. Now I felt empty without his warm and rough fingers digging into me. But that surprise turned into a shaking groan again as the hand cream bottle itself was pressed against my sphincter.

"Relax," he said, and I opened up. The bottle tip slipped in, then half the bottle itself, and it felt great. Smooth and cool, slippery and less thick than his cock, it reminded me of what lesser men than my teenage stud felt like in me.

"This will make you feel better," he said, and squeezed part of the contents as he slowly withdrew it. I felt the slick application, and it did feel better – no, it felt fucking great!

As soon at the bottle tip reemerged, his pair of fingers were there to replace it. Newly lubed, they slid in with no resistance, and I only knew their position because the remainder of that hand was slowly playing with the rest of my butt crack. He twisted, he rotated, he drove me wild with my own pants and forced my dick to grow hard against the cold porcelain of the throne I straddled.

I was in no position to protest his fingers pulling out, but the reason soon became clear. Now four fingers pressed against me. He paused; he slowly twisted them in. I shoved my ass as far back as it could go to take it all in, and I felt them sink to the knuckles, then to the ridge where fingers become hand and palm, and then further to the thickest part of his fist. He worked it in and out, my cock again and again hitting the toilet and threatening to cum. He withdrew back to his knuckles, and now I felt his thumb join the others and slide with assurance. He didn’t stop until I felt the relief of his wrist pass into my hole, and he for his efforts felt the pulsating there of muscles as I orgasmed all over the floor, hands-free – free of my hands that it. It was as if my dark stud had jacked me off from the inside.

He withdrew and kneeled up against me. His dick slid like an old companion into an armchair of mine, and fucked and fucked, causing me no pain, only a growing sense of heat as his cock head stayed lovingly within the confines of my toneless muscle straining to grip him.

He flipped me over, put my back on the toilet seat, and squatted down to fill my open ass with his dick again. Now I could see his gold pendant in the harsh light of the crapper. It flapped against his partially hairy chest as he withdrew out of me, and floated in the air above my face as he dove down again. It was sexy – as sexy as the young man who wore it, and rubbed his DNA off on it with continual use.

He kissed me, the weight of the pendant falling on my cheek and into my mouth as he grunted his love spasm one more time, and I greedily took both from him – his seed down below, his cumming breath deep within my lungs.

I began to think this kid was developing feelings for me.

Load Five:

We slept. He clung onto me, his hand pressing my waist against his soft cock and balls, my head riding his outstretched arm, his lips occasionally grazing the nape of my neck. In his sleep I heard him call my name, felt his dick stir to attention; even in his slumbers he was fucking me.

Towards daybreak I awoke to find him leaning on an elbow watching me sleep. "Good morning," he said.

"What time is it?"

He picked up his watch from the nightstand. "Half past four."

"Too early…" I stammered, turning over on my side.

He kissed the top of my shoulder, and now I roused a little more. Down below I felt a little queasy; my insides sloshed and my butt hole told me it couldn't keep up with all this attention.

Salleh pulled the sheets back. He lifted my leg and bent his head down to my portal. He licked it gently as he had done when first about to fuck me, and I groaned in pleasure. He scooted and pinned the back of my knees to the sheets again, and went at it with great soothing and deep reverberating moans.

He had the hand cream again, and lubed both my hole and the tip of his cock with large amounts. As he fucked me, straight missionary style, the pendent striking my lips and cheek again, the pain became strong. He kept just the tip of his shaft within me, maybe thinking that was more comfortable, but it was not. His constant restraint, using only his thickest and most pulsating part of him, only drove me wild. I started to jack; he started to kiss, and now he drove his cock home, straight to the balls and nearly caused me to climb up his arms and shoulders.

"You ready?" he asked. Now he had learned the joys of two men cumming at the same time. I jacked, nodded, and almost as if at a signal, our eyes locked, and he came with force into me; I shot cum all over his pendant and delicately hairy chest.

Neither one of us bothered with a clean up, he just pulled me back into his embrace, and we were asleep in a matter of moments.

The Half Load:

We snoozed until about nine o'clock. We'd have to be out by eleven, so I tried to rouse Salleh.

I sat on the edge of the bed and again contemplated where the dickens my shorts could be. They were on the floor next to my feet; my dark and sensuous lover's briefs, right next to them. I picked up his. I brought the crotch part of it to my nose and inhaled. On it were apples and the sea – the smell of Salleh. I half wondered it he'd let me keep them, but then, the thought was clear, 'If I asked him, he'd probably do anything for me.'

If this kid was a hustler, he made no demands on me – no mention of needing cash, or of anything for that matter.

Salleh moved. I took his shorts and lightly rubbed his chest with them. "Morning, sleepy head."

"Morning." And he pulled me down into a long kiss.

My dick began to move and that twitter of nether region reminded me how my ass hurt from this man's love.

Salleh looked utterly sad. He sat up in bed, and was honest. "I don’t want to go."

My reply was to kiss him, to force his mouth open and take my tongue. He grew passionate and stroked my back and upper legs.

His hand moved towards my hole.

"No," I said, tugging on his fingers. "There are other ways to make love."

We continued to kiss, his dick grew hard, and I sucked it. It was familiar now, and I explored every vein ridge and fold and bump with my mouth and tongue and lips like an old friend; one who had given me the immeasurable pleasure of his company. He sucked me, and I grew rock-hard as he attempted to match my motions stroke for stroke. Again his hand explored; again it wandered south and lifted my thigh. He fingered me, and somehow the pain wasn't as bad as I anticipated.

He stopped and raised his head. He almost pleaded: "Let me puck with you, one more time…."

I considered the onslaught of his passion in slow review. Load after load, but when he fucked me on my tummy, then twisted my shoulders to face him – that was special.

"Corkscrew me, like last time."

He puzzled, but I simply lay on my stomach, and lifted my ass up for his use.

He positioned himself, spit a deep and glutinous wad of spit onto his dick and began to insert. The pain was great. He got in, pushed halfway down and I stopped him, made him stay there, but I needed to relax. In a moment I gave the thumbs up and he plunged in to his balls. I was in pain, but I forced myself to turn my upper part to him and he reached down and kissed me, his now cum-stained gold pedant pummeling me too as he thrust. I couldn't take it anymore. I pushed him off. "I'm sorry. It's too painful. Finish outside."

I didn’t mean to sound peeved, but pain is pain; there's nothing I could do about my tone of voice. What he did next though, that surprised me. Instead of doing as I said, finishing himself, he lay down on the bed and put his head between my legs. He took my cock in his mouth, and with long, slow and deliberate plunges made me to understand that I was to cum in his mouth. This thought alone got me going, and his tongue caressed the pee slit every time he re-dove on it down to my balls.

"Are you sure...?" I managed to get out.

"I want it," he said. And as he sucked me a few more stokes, I shot a load straight back to his tonsils, again and again. I pulsed in his mouth and again and again he moaned with deepening reverberence in his joy of getting what he wanted from me.

He seemed to swallow, but when he came up to kiss me, half my seed was on the edge of his tongue. He shoved it into me, and spooned it around the sides of my mouth. I kissed him back, and forced some it back to him, which he greedily swallowed.