Continued from Part 1
The day after the happy ending massage Lila and I exchanged text messages, her asking me what I was doing and me responding that the original early morning trip to watch sunrise on the volcano had fallen through, that I would have to go the next morning, which meant I unfortunately couldn’t meet that night either.
The next day, after waking up at 1:00, driving to Mt. Batur, hiking up the volcano, watching the sunrise, and hiking back down – plus a slew of other activities – I received another text message from Lila telling me that it was her day off and asking if she could see me. Tonight was the night, even though I was incredibly exhausted. My prick was in charge, and tiredness was banished to the furthest reaches of my mind, beyond the thoughts of sweating bodies, moist pussy and glistening lips pressed against mine. The mere thought of it gave me a hard on, and I tried to rest as much as possible on the ride back to our villa.
The only uncertainty was whether or not I would have to pay for our encounter. I headed to the ATM and pulled out the equivalent of 100€, deciding that would be my limit if I had to pay.
That evening, Max arranged to meet with a girl that he had met out on the waves a few days before, and I made plans to go out to eat with Lila. Max jumped on his moped and took off while I swung in the hammock, distracting myself with “100 años de soledad” until I felt the gentle vibration of my phone in my pocket: Lila had arrived.
I opened the gate to the villa and stepped out into the night, Lila perched atop her moped in a red top with spaghetti straps, tight dark blue jeans, and black stilettos.
“Let’s walk to the restaurant, it’s only a five-minute walk from here. Reluctant – like most Indonesians I had met – to forsake her moped even for the brief walk around the corner, Lila yielded and the two of us headed for the restaurant. As we walked, she slipped her hand into mine, which caused an involuntary shudder—I have never been a fan of holding hands.
Still, like many a man who wants to feel his spelunker rappel into the dank cavity between a woman’s legs, I threw my own preferences out the window and walked hand-in-hand down the street with Lila.
The walk made her uncomfortable. She wasn’t unaccustomed to feeling mopeds rush past as a pedestrian because she always jetted around on hers, so every time a car or moped whizzed by she would squeeze my hand. As we walked down the alleyway that led to the beach, her nervousness turned into fear: the crazy moped drivers were speeding down the alleyway in both directions, and we constantly had to navigate between them. Each time a moped went by she would cling to me and I would circle my arm around her so that I walked behind her, her body arched into mine in a standing spooning position.
We arrived at the restaurant and placed our orders: grilled mahi mahi for me, and the traditional Mi Goreng for her. The conversation over dinner was enjoyable but difficult with the language barrier, as her command of English did not allow her the linguistic flexibility she had in her native tongue, and my knowledge of Indonesian was limited to ‘thank you’, ‘please’, ‘you’re welcome’, ‘beautiful’ and, of course, ‘fuck’, apparently the only Indonesian verb I needed.
She showed me pictures of her daughter, who lived with her grandmother on Java. She told me about her husband – who had died and who I apparently resembled – and her subsequent need to make money after his death in one of the few ways permitted her. I told her about my work, about learning how to surf, about everything I liked about her country and culture. I sipped away at my beer, and she seductively sucked her cocktail through her straw, pausing now and then to take a drag from her clove cigarettes.
The waitress brought the bill and I paid, standing up to help Lila out of her chair and hoping that was all the money I had to spend that evening. I anticipated her next move and took her hand in mine, leading her out of the restaurant. Together we walked leisurely through an opulent hotel on the beach, a less stressful albeit less direct way to get her back to my place.
The moment we stepped into the villa, she pulled out her mobile phone and started playing music. “Waka waka eh eh,” sang Shakira, before the voice became a man’s and the language Indonesian, a slow love song about some guy’s longing. The mix of music played throughout the evening, alternating between love struck Indonesian men and women wailing about the woes of their star-crossed lovers and poppy beats that made you want to hit the dance floor.
After making drinks we sat at the table listening to her music and talking. Eventually the conversation turned to the villa and I offered to give her a tour. The tour ended in my room, and she smiled provocatively as I closed the door behind us. Lifting the mosquito net, I guided her onto my bed, letting the net fall behind us, separating us from the rest of the world.
We laid side by side, our hands exploring each other’s clothed bodies. I pressed my lips against hers, my left hand making its way from the small of her back up her shirt, pulling her closer to me, our bodies beginning their horizontal shimmy. Her tongue met mine, my right hand caught in a tangle of her long, black hair as I kissed her deeply.
Our breathing grew heavier with each kiss; I swung around into a sitting position, her legs wrapped around my waist and mind stretched out behind her. I continued to taste the sweet of her mouth as I first removed her shirt to reveal her bra-clad breasts and then mine, my heart racing in my bare chest, and then her bra, freeing those soft jugs adorned with dark brown nipples that begged to be suckled.
My hands explored her naked upper body as I lowered my head, my tongue cascading down her neck to the nook between her neck and her shoulder, then farther down to her breasts before my lips found a nipple. Gently, I took one in my mouth, alternating between lightly nibbling and gingerly sucking on it, before my mouth migrated, eager to feel her body shiver and hear her gasp as I attentively made sure her other breast didn’t feel left out.
After I had had my fill of her boobs, my tongue continued its descent, playfully flicking along the rim of her jeans. She grabbed my head and pulled me up, forcing me to lay back. Like a tigress on the prowl she laid her body flat on top of mine, her tongue slowly making it down my chest to my navel. Her hands fumbled with my shorts as she licked her way down. Teasingly, she pulled off my shorts, tossed them – and my wallet – onto the floor and slid her hands back up my legs, this time removing my underwear to reveal my waiting cock.
I moaned and sank deeper into the mattress as I felt her warm breath and soft lips against the tip of my dick. I watched as half of my cock fluidly disappeared into her mouth. Up and down her head bobbed as my fingers ran through her hair. Her hand searched for something in her pocket before she too removed her jeans; my mouth watered as I laid eyes on the thin strip of pubic hair above the chalice, into which I wanted to stick my waiting wood.
Like a dolphin jumping out of the water she sprang up on top of me, quickly rolled a condom over my prick and slid it inside of her.
As she rode me, I tried to gyrate my pelvis in rhythm with her movements, but she wouldn’t let me.
“Lie still,” she breathed, and I complied, only allowing my hands to slide up her sides and grasp her breasts, which bounced in sync with her sinewy body.
“Don’t move,” she warned, as I once again let my urges take hold, forgetting her previous command.
Over and over this cycle repeated itself, her demanding that I lie still w
hile her pussy worked my cock up and down, left and right, my dick reaching ever deeper in her tight, moist vagina.
I couldn’t take it anymore. I lurched upward and rolled, my cock still inside her, and now one of her legs over my shoulder as I began to pump my cock in and out, my hips swiveling so I could find the places inside her my dick hadn’t yet stroked.
There we were, our bodies undulating, sweat forming on m
y brow and her moaning growing louder, my shaft rubbing against the inner walls of her box. Impassioned, I let my head drop and felt the warmth of her mouth once again pressed against my lips, our moans echoing in the space between our tonsils.
“I’m cumming,” she cried as her body quaked and my thrusts penetrated deeper. She tensed as she came and pulled me closer, my sweat dripping on her naked body.
But I wasn’t done yet.
I laid there with her in my arms, her head pressed against my chest, my dick still reveling in her warmth, unmoving. After a few minutes, my gears gently began to spin again, and the sound of her catching her breath quickly turned into the delicious sound of moaning in my ears.
Again we switched positions, this time her in front of me doggy style, my galleon sailing in and out of her bay, my hands fondling her upside-down mountains, my lips exploring the v
alley of her back.
And then, when our bodies glistened with sweat, both of us hissing with pleasure, she and I erupted and landed in a heap on the bed, panting. My body wiggled and my dick leaped inside of her as I succumbed to that post-jizz ticklishness. I pulled her close to me, feeling her back expand into my chest as she once again tried to catch her breath.
When she and I were no longer panting like dogs in heat, we made our way naked to the shower. The cold water felt amazing as I watched it roll down her brown skin, and I secretly wanted to burn the towel that hid her away from me as she walked back to my room for her clothes.
I laughed to myself as we sat at the table and I watched her put on her make up, realizing that money had never come up. As she powdered her cute little no
se, I heard the gate open and Mario’s voice calling. He came in and introduced himself, engaging in friendly conversation with Lila while I answered my phone. Max was on his way back; our timing had been impeccable.
After some time Lila rose and I escorted her to the gate, kissing her goodbye and watching the contours of her body until her moped turned the corner and she disappeared from view.
I sat down at the table with Mario and opened a beer, telling him the details of what had just happened. Max arrived with a beer in hand and sat down, catching the tail end of the story. Once I had finished, we all had a good-hearted laugh before Max segued to the next related topic.
“So, I heard about this bar in town where we could go tonight,” he said, casually tossing his empty beer bottle into the trash. “Maybe we can meet some hot girls.”
“Sounds great,” I said, pulling a shirt on. I was completely relaxed after my romp in the hay, but I always like hitting the dance floor: And who knew, I thought, maybe w
e would meet some interesting people there. Prepared for a night of dancing and possibly more, we jumped on the moped and rode to the club, ready to see just who populated the dance floor we were about to take by storm.