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?"