Putty In His Hands, Ch. 3 By Northern Light northernlight1@hotmail.com
(Any and all comments gratefully received and replied to.)
I awoke near 4 a.m., feeling John spooned into my back. He had plenty of room to stretch out in his king-size bed, had he so wished, but instead he was snuggling. I imagined we felt like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, perfectly formed, pressed seamlessly together. His breathing was slow and steady, as was mine.
There was so much to consider now. Here I was, in the bed of the man I had hired to train me physically. I hadn't expected last night to yield to the passions it had, nor did I know just how limitless my inhibitions were to become.
I tried to lie statue-still, but even just a slight twitch of my workout-worn muscles caused John to stir. He groaned a little, and his arm dropped heavily over my hip.
I waited for him to speak, but he didn't. It occurred to me he was still asleep, and as he pulled himself closer, I felt a wonderful hardness behind me. Beneath the light cotton sheet I lifted my leg very slowly, giving him passage. John was in that abstract space between slumber and awareness, and his body was moving by instinct, following the instructions of his subconscious.
Surely our relationship was bound for more dramatic things, but I needed time to digest what had taken place a few hours earlier in his studio downstairs. That session still tumbled in my thoughts: John's strong hands kneading me in a useful then incredibly erotic way, my mind surrendering my body to him, to his mental and physical touch. And then, the fierce, blinding climax, responding completely to the master's touch, and his own creamy load coating my torso.
No matter that I wasn't yet prepared to feel him inside me, or to feel myself deep within him, I knew that John's gentle insistence at this moment was again leaving me like putty in his hands. At the angle he was moving, it became clear he wasn't going to take me, even if that's what his dream was telling him to do.
I welcomed this closeness, needed it, as I lowered my leg, sandwiching his hard cock between my thighs, squeezing him until I felt him throbbing. He pushed into me once, then twice, then a half-dozen times, a fucking motion that swept through me like an electric current. With each thrust, his hardness pushed over my balls and along the length of my cock, which had swollen to a ready fullness.
The heat in my body was soaring, and I was both terrified and thrilled by the prospect of spilling my seed in his bed as John did everything but fuck me ragged. But as I crept inexorably toward orgasm, he stopped thrusting, his body relaxing. Sleep had claimed him again, and he began to soften between my legs. I was left a sweating wreck ravenous for a relief that I wouldn't find just yet.
It was like this that I fell asleep again, John's hand on my hip, his cock between my legs.
The bedside clock read 7:15 when I stirred again, the aroma of coffee wafting into the bedroom. I was alone in the bed, sprawled out, and as I did a casual inventory, I was relieved not to be aching in every muscle. John's massage had achieved its goal; the next workout wouldn't be easy, but it wouldn't feel like I was on a torture rack, either.
I was lying back, my hands behind my head, the sheet pulled off, as I re-created the night before in the finest detail. I had enjoyed enormous pleasure at John's hands, but had not been in any condition to reciprocate. He climaxed, yes. I could still feel his fluid heat on my body. But I hadn't been sufficiently responsible for it.
Now he had appeared in the doorway, holding a tray: two large glasses of orange juice, two steaming mugs of coffee, fresh fruit, a couple of muffins. He was naked, and this much was clear to me: I needed to have his cock in my mouth, and the sooner the better.
"Good morning, Dave," he said brightly. "Sleep well?"
"Like a baby, John," I replied. "You know... I awoke crying every half hour."
He laughed at my lame joke.
"Well, I didn't hear you, or I would have gotten you a bottle."
"I can think of something other than a bottle I'd prefer to have had in my mouth."
He looked at me earnestly for a moment, then approached.
"You know, that could be arranged."
I pulled myself up higher and stretched. Nothing could compare with this, a feeling of naked, blissful relaxation. Nothing, perhaps, except seeing the firm, toned body of your personal trainer serving you a healthy breakfast in bed, his manhood hanging generously between his legs. I felt my arousal swelling as I looked at him.
"You sure know how to treat a client," I said.
"Only the right client," he replied, smiling as he set down the tray. "Are you as famished as I am?"
He slipped onto the bed beside me and we ate, voraciously. Within 10 minutes we had put our empty mugs and plates on the bedtables, the only food left being the bowl of fruit, cool on John's stomach. The scene had my head spinning. By now I suspected that he knew where my thoughts were, and if his were on the same track, we were destined for a head-on collision.
"John," I began, "I think you're trying to lead me astray here."
"Astray?"
"Yes," I said, my hand reaching past the berries, sliding down his stomach and weaving into the mat of pubic hair that was damp in the early morning's humid heat.
"How am I going to lose that weight if you're going to tempt me with breakfast sausage?"
I loved the look of him flaccid, and I wanted a close view before the situation changed. I crawled over him, inhaling his musky scent, and eased my hand beneath his big, loose balls. They were beautiful, though my focus on them faded as I opened my mouth and tongued a lazy circle around his cockhead.
If John realized that he had spilled the bowl of berries onto the sheets, he didn't seem to care.
Now he was putty in my hands, and even sated by breakfast, I was suddenly very, very hungry for the delicious meat I was drawing deep into my mouth. I heard him groan as he slumped back, his entire body softening except for the one glorious slab I was swallowing for all I was worth.
(to be continued)