Date: Thu, 28 Aug 2003 13:11:42 -0700
From: Northern Light <northernlight1@hotmail.com>
Subject: Putty In His Hands, Ch. 2

Putty In His Hands, Ch. 2
By Northern Light
northernlight1@hotmail.com

(Any and all comments gratefully received and replied to.)

If I hadn't been able to hide my arousal from John's mischievously wandering
hand, there was little chance I could disguise it from his eyes as I began
to roll onto my back.

I hadn't expected to feel his palm beneath me as I lay on my stomach on his
massage table, nor do I suspect he had expected to find me in my engorged
condition.

"You seem to have put me in a rather compromising position," I said, now
flat on my back. It felt as though every drop of blood in my body was
coursing to my groin, swelling me harder and fuller than I could ever
remember being.

"Is that so? Well, is there anything I could do to give you a little
relief?" John asked, grinning at me.

"Seems to me that you're the therapist," I said. "And it seems to me that
you look pretty uncomfortable yourself."

John had swollen his overmatched athletic support so completely that I
thought it was going to come apart at the seams. He looked down and nodded
in agreement.

"Yeah, I think I'd like it a lot better to be out of this."

"Please," I said, my eyes glued on him.

By now the straining was so pronounced that I could see his generous balls
at the side of the pouch, which was pushed forward to its very limits. This
did little to cure my arousal, and everything to increase my heart rate. And
as he began to shift the jockstrap into position to remove it, his fat cock
practically exploded from it, lurching out the side, bouncing heavily into
view.

I had assumed, looking at John in the gym, that he was nicely endowed. But
this... My jaw dropped open as I absorbed what was before me.

"I'm the customer," I said to him when I found my voice. "And isn't the
customer always right?"

"That's what they say," John said, stepping out of his support.

"Well, here's what this customer has in mind: I'd like a nice, slick handjob
from you... while you stand here and jerk off for me."

John's left hand already was on his shaft, which was greasy with massage
oil, its veins rising off its length. He had peeled his foreskin back
slowly, exposing the meaty pink head, and his balls, full and loose and
smooth, slapped the heel of his hand as he began to stroke. He was an
outrageously arousing sight.

I lay back and sighed, his right hand now wrapping itself around me. The
assault on nearly every sense was indescribable -- feeling John working me
up and down, cupping my balls, a finger dipping dangerously low between my
legs, as I watched his cock slide noisily through his fist. It was a
fantastic sound, that of the slurping oil and his shortening breath, the
smell of sex hanging heavily in the studio.

There was no question in my mind that this wasn't John's first such
experience. He was too natural, too bloody good at it. I wondered how many
clients he had pleasured like this, and was ecstatic that I was on the list,
no matter how long it was. His hands were in perfect synchronization, and he
was bringing the two of us nearer and nearer to mind-blowing orgasms.

"Tell me when," he groaned at me. "I want to come with you."

"Just keep going. Just like that... just like that. I'm going to come all
over us."

That idea seemed to John right between the eyes. I looked up to him to see
his eyes blinking shut, his head tilting back. Clearly he was less in
control of his lust than he wanted to be, and from deep in his throat I
heard a roar taking shape. I recognized this warning sign, one that was
familiar to me, too.

In two or three strokes, I was there, and my head slumped to the table-pad
as I nearly blacked out.

The first spurt was modest, oozing over John's hand more than shooting from
my cock. But then I felt the creamy heat splash onto my belly with the
second and third shots. It felt strangely like I was raining down onto my
chest, too, but when I opened my eyes I saw something better: John was
coming now, and he was coming plentifully -- beautiful white ropes arcing
out of his purplish head, falling into the hair on my chest, on my nipples,
shoulder, nearly hitting my jaw.

Both of us were fighting for whatever oxygen was left in the studio, and as
John came down from his orbit, his hands found me again, this time slowly
massaging into me what we had emptied onto my skin.

I was spent, physically and emotionally, and squeezed John's hand as he
stroked my chest.

"Dave... rest," he said to me. "I'll draw a bath upstairs. My tub's big
enough for two."

He leaned down to me and dragged his tongue slowly and lazily around my
nipple, then planted a gentle kiss on the head of my softening cock. I
shivered at the touch of his lips on my skin.

"You're welcome to spend the night, if you'd like. I can fix some dinner.
Only healthy stuff."

I nodded. I wanted to get to know my new therapist better, every inch of his
gorgeous body.

"I don't kick in bed, John," I said weakly. "And besides, aren't we supposed
to review tonight's workout?"

John smiled. "Which one?"