In the Hands of the Lord

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Even though I am a little long in the tooth, my cock is in good shape. Not ten inches long, but it still fires like a NASA missile, with a few rare exceptions as when a missile explodes off target or veers off into outer space and is never seen again. No missile is perfect.

Often, I feel a certain long and low pulsation back behind my sizable balls that most men would describe as “being horny.” This occurs usually twice a week, maybe three days after I’ve spent a rollicking afternoon fucking and I am ready to go again. On these occasions, work permitting, if I have no intimate liaison planned, I head over to one of several massage parlors where the girls finish you off with an energetic hand job while you are sucking on their tit and caressing their ass or even better, fucking them.

In the flat lands of Los Angeles, tucked between the rolling hills of Hollywood, there is a mixed area of old one story commercial buildings and wood framed stucco two story multi’s surrounding a newly installed marijuana dispensary, assorted small businesses, a hairdresser and a massage parlor. In the early morning a vibrant immigrant population walks quickly through these streets on their way to work. In the late afternoon they emerge from the shadows to shop in the different East Asian stores seeded haphazardly along the street, as if thrown down from the sky.

Having found myself in this shady neighborhood with only two hours to spare, with that tingling feeling back behind my balls, and stiffness in my left calf, (what was that about). I decided to venture into a massage parlor that looked somewhat disreputable; honestly, I was hoping it was. Once before I had stopped but was unable to find a parking space in their crowded mini mall; I gave up and abandoned the pursuit. On this early morning, bleak and overcast, the lot was mostly empty. I easily found a parking place, carefully locked the car and walked to the massage parlor door, which was locked. It was only 10 o’clock and many shops were still closed. I knocked a while and sensing some movement within, I waited. Eventually a young man came to the door and blurted out, “You want massage?”


“We have no girl. Just man.”

He seemed to be encouraging me to move on so he might get back to what ever he was doing in the back of the shop. I had only once been massaged by a man, it was disappointingly non-sexual; but this young man looked sexy, perhaps gay and had his ears pierced. I took a chance that he might manipulate me in the way I needed.

“Fine,” I followed him inside to a small back room with a large flat bed. He handed me a raggedy towel and disappeared. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I looked about and was surprised at the fantasy environment with paintings and a large wire sculpture, a sort of veil, hanging from the small narrow ceiling. It was strange, artistic, quite interesting; I wondered, “Who was the creator?”

I disrobed and lay nude on the hard bench, not bothering to cover myself with the towel. Finally, after a long while, the young man entered. He took off his saffron robe. Underneath he was wearing gold colored very tight shorts. He was bare-chested and his hairless chest was covered with several tattoos, a Buddha and assorted Asian symbols. His arms and chest were tight, well defined, and very muscular. Not puffed like a weight lifter but naturally powerful, a body sculpted with compact muscles and chiseled veins running down his arms and legs. He was almost my height, tall for an Asian; his flesh was pierced above his belly button with some sort of golden amulet and his ears were pierced with round studs, and around his neck was a polished sea bean that shone like a third eye.

He began by washing me with a warm washcloth, my feet in particular, and then up to my thighs. When he started to massage my legs, I turned over and lay face down. I looked back and asked his name.

“My name Lord.”

” Lord?”

” You know, Thai thing to name baby for ancient Lord.”

He had a heavy accent but his voice was high pitched like a songbird, beautiful to listen to.

“Well, I guess I’ve put myself in the hands of the Lord.”

He smiled, but I wasn’t quite sure he had understood the pun.

Of course, as you find in every massage parlor, music was playing. But this was not the sing-song Chinese or Asian mood music that one commonly hears, instead, it was a melodic modern Thai pop music with a DJ breaking in every now and then and what sounded like telephone messages from fans. These were obviously popular songs and he began to sing along with them as he rubbed my legs, Lord’s voice was very clear and beautiful, like one would imagine an angel singing celestial music.

“You sing very well.”

“I sing in bars in Thailand when I young.”

And so he began to massage away the pain in my leg. His touch was very powerful, so much so that I asked him to be more gentle.

” I try,” he said, “gentle not easy.”

He continued, working his way slowly from my legs to Gaziantep Anal Escort my shoulders. He was in no hurry. His touch was powerful, at times almost too powerful; I did not complain. It was obvious this was no standard massage, it was far too thorough. As he knelt over me, massaging my hips and kneading my butt, to my surprise, as is the usual case when the girls massage me, my penis became erect, though he never touched my penis, as the massage girls always do.

When he finished my hips, he shifted to my shoulders. He stood at the head of the table massaging me. I felt something gently grazing my head as he leaned forward. I glanced up, and saw that he had an enormous erection that was rubbing up against me. Without hesitation, I never hesitate with the Chinese massage girls, touching them so they would know I wanted them to touch me, I reached up and stroked his erection over his tight shorts, much as I would caress the females of his trade. His penis was very large!

Sensing no resistance, I worked my hand up under his shorts and grasped him. He said nothing so I unbuttoned the shorts and they fell to the floor. Raising my head I could see his crimson cock, it was magnificent. Moments later, before even thinking about what I was doing, his cock was in my mouth. As I sucked him, his pleasure was obvious; he cradled my head and pushed forward to fill my mouth completely, impinging beyond into the deepness of my throat. I continued for the longest time. When I tired he moved to the side of the table and placed his cock between my legs playing at entering. Not being prepared for this I let him play but did not further his entrance. After this impromptu intimacy, we ended the session in mutual embrace. He looked at me, “I like you.”

“I like you too. In fact I think I am falling in love with you,” I responded.

“If you think you love me I ask two things of you; never lie to me and never let anyone else do these things to you.”

“Yes, I promise, I will never lie to you and my ass belongs only to you, to no one else, I promise.”

To make sure he understood I cradled my cock and balls in my left hand and said, “this is for the girls,” and with my right hand I covered my ass, saying, “this is for you, only for you.”

“What do I owe you for massage?”

” It is now two hours”—

I thought, “my Lord how rapidly the time had passed”—I paid him more then double what he asked, I kissed him on the lips and said,

“Only you, I promise and I will never lie to you, and I will always be good to you.”

“Never tell anyone,” he asked.

“Of course, we are good friends”

“No.” he responded firmly, “friends do not do these things, we cannot be friends.”

“Then we are lovers.” He nodded but I was not sure he understood.

I kissed him again on the lips and we began to move towards the front door.

He smiled, he laughed, I kissed him again, he giggled, “no no, they see us on security camera.”

Before leaving, I scrutinized him, as he stood there; relaxed, happy, and warm; he was perhaps the most beautiful man I had ever seen. Yes, I had obviously fallen in love, in less than two hours.

I told him on that first day that I was married but that it was a sexless union. I told him that I loved my wife but we no longer had marital relations. I’m sure he would have preferred if I were single and gay but I would not lie to him. I told him emphatically that I was not gay; that what we did was new to me.

In those first weeks of mutual confidence he said,

“I have taken care of my wife, my children, my family in Thailand; I wish someone would take care of me.” I did nothing to lead him to believe that I might be the one and he never brought up the subject again, though I imagined such an arrangement with him as my caretaker.

Although I always left small token amounts, as if to pay for the massage, which I handed to him in front of his employee, thanking him for the good massage (this became a joke between us), I never volunteered other support. The one time he asked me for money, was to take his youngest daughter to Disneyland, I refused. Afterwards I apologized saying I should have, but he responded, “that ok, no problem” and we continued just as lovingly as before.

I also told him in the first days that I had a girlfriend and that I liked fucking her.

“A girl friend? Why?”

“Do you think you are the only one who likes to fuck? You told me not to lie to you.”

He looked sad, but it was now no secret and I had no need to mention it again.

As I dressed we talked a while, about his life, his divorce from his wife, his children and his refusal to have sex with his clients. I found this hard to believe,

“Never?” I asked.

He made a little grin,

“No, not with clients.” He heavily accented the “no”.

“I no want problem with police.” Evidently the local vice squad had tried to shake him down and he had refused to pay them. They swore they would close him down. His once busy shop was now a shadow of its former self, he was near the point of closure. Girls giving hand jobs to men is how these shops prosper; no sex, no clients, no money. Although he had told the girls not to have sex with clients, he admitted, who knows what they do when the door is closed?

“Had you had sex like this before with men, I asked. “Oh yes, long time ago, when I was young with boys in Thailand.”

“Did they penetrate you,” I put my hand on my ass to explain.

“Oh no, never.”

On that first day, we also exchanged cell phone numbers. He asked my name but responded, “Oh Honey, I have hard to say that.”

“Then just call me “Honey.” And that was my name from then on.

He had admitted to being thirty-five the first day I met him, but later said he was older. When he asked how old I was, I said, “100.”

“No, you maybe 50?”

“No, Honey very old, 100 years.” He laughed.

In the following days I wrote to him several texts, even a love poem. “Ha Ha.” he wrote back, “I no understand.” I later struggled to computer translate it into Thai, an interesting experiment. But for the most part we communicated in English, in very brief short sentences. That seemed to work.

I began to visit him in his off hours so we could have sex with privacy, when I didn’t have to be quiet so the other female masseuse would not know we were having sex. Then I could moan, groan and squeal as he plunged his flesh inside me. I could talk to him and say the most intimate things with no fear of being heard.

It was then that I broke. I told him I was his and he could do as he wanted; he could cum inside me when ever. He began to penetrate me without a condom. I knew it was crazy, foolish, but I trusted him with my life; I felt safe with him. When we began our intimate relationship, he said it took him two hours to cum, “don’t cum inside me,” I insisted. He never did in those first days, although he showered me with sperm on more then one occasion, wiping me off with a damp washcloth. Early on, I was able to make him cum quickly by vibrating my legs when he was on top of me, a trick an escort had taught me. He pulled out and grabbed himself, as he came to avoid leaving his semen on the table.

His sexual preference was to lift my legs over his shoulders, or around his head, pulling me to him with savage strength piercing me so deeply that it was as if we were one; then, he would wrap one leg over mine to achieve maximum penetration. He would continue fucking me for the longest time, sometimes slowly, sometimes hard making a smacking sound as his abdomen hit my ass and balls, which caused the cum to leak out of me in long threads. I could deny him nothing.

I did tell him, “if you are having sex with any others, that is ok, I understand, but then we should use condoms.” He reacted strongly. “Do you want me to be with other?”

“No, but if…”

“I no need others, one is enough, one is good, more than one is no good.” I didn’t argue.

Other times when he made love to me he would spiral inside me. Sometimes he would move from a low to a high position, stretching my anus upward giving me the most wonderful sensation, then he would press deep, hard into me as an embrace. He once went to a sex shop and bought a device that fit over his penis, it was a soft plastic with long brush like strips growing out of it. He fucked me one entire afternoon like that. It made his penis slightly larger and felt strange as he penetrated me and it was fun. I was flattered he had bought it to use on me, but he never used it again. His girth and length were certainly more than adequate.

Lord could hold his erection for a very long time, since his love making went on for as long as two hours, there were moments when he would soften and gently slip out like a baby fish dropped into a plastic bag. In those moments, as brief as they were, his erection would subside and he would drum his cock on my buttocks and balls until it came alive again and he skewered me anew. Although I had experienced anal sex years ago with an aggressive transsexual, it was nothing like this. This was truly pleasureful, though sometimes my hips were sore from the force of his thrusts, sometimes my balls ached, I learned to pull my balls up away from his thrusting, but as sore as I was, I still longed for more.

So there I was, a confirmed heterosexual fucker, with untold female conquests notched in my belt, unending affairs that I even continued when Lord was not inside me or I was away. Lord was turning me into a little girl and I was enjoying every minute of it. I realized that being the object of his unrelenting affection, I could relax on the table and let him pound me. He never sucked my dick, occasionally my nipples, and only late in a one session did he hold his penis and mine in his hands as he jerked us off together. I was his food and he consumed me, taking the greatest pleasure fucking me over and over, he was not there to do otherwise and I was more than willing to take my pleasure as he took his. There was no quid pro quo – I was there to give him pleasure, if I found pleasure in his fucking me, this was my reward and I was rewarded, but no other variant was offered. But I never offered my ass to another man; it was Lord’s, only Lord’s, no one but Lord. I even swore to him that if he left me I would never let another ever penetrate me again as long as I lived—and I meant it!

I did cum while he pounded me, but not as a result of anal, penetration- that was beyond my ability; although my cock would drip like a leaky faucet all during our sessions, sometimes a few jerks was all it took, and he would smile as I came, pleased for my release.

My Lordly sessions were not about me cuming, I’m sure he assumed his fucking was giving me pleasure, even though I sometimes wanted to cried from his exuberance. Our meetings were all about him fucking me. That I got orgasmic satisfaction was not his goal. His goal quite simply was to fuck me for two hours and then cum inside me. When we first started, on one occasion, he apologized for not lasting his usual two hours, fearing he had denied me the pleasure of his fuck. As if fifteen minutes would not have been more than enough. Sometimes when he concluded, I was so excited that I would jerk off against him in the shower, so desperate was I for relief and closure. It was embarrassing but I could not help myself—and he would laugh. All was well.

For weeks after our first meeting, I continued to find excuses to arrive in his neighborhood. He never failed me. Moments after I entered, after I would use the bathroom to check myself, (I always tried to prepared myself before arriving.) He would walk me to the little room, come inside, lock the door, and take off his shirt and shorts. I would touch his back, his shoulder, his head, kissing him all over his body and then he would move my head down, easing his large cock, still a bit soft, into my mouth and immediately as I sucked him, he would erect. He would use me orally, pressing deep into the furthest reaches of my throat, sometimes for a very long time, until at a certain moment, perhaps after ten long hard minutes, he would gently pull out, re-position me on the table, lifting my legs over his neck and unfailingly start fucking me unchecked for two hours. If I said I could only stay for an hour he would stop and tell me to go so as not to have a problem, even though he was hardly finished using me.

When his massage girl was there he would still fuck me, cautioning me with his finger over his lip not to make noises of pleasure as the female masseuse would overhear. Of course, I agreed, but I assumed it was no secret what we were doing. Perhaps I was wrong, it was obviously no secret to me!

When I would leave, he would hold me tightly in his powerful grasp, his arms and legs enveloping me like a wrestler and he would laugh and say,

“No you can’t go Honey, I want to fuck you some more.”

Then he would laugh. Laughter was so much a part of our relationship, a sign of our mutual pleasure, a form of communication beyond words.

Almost twenty years earlier I had a lengthy affair with a transsexual who following my insistence towards the end of the affair, penetrated me, for what I thought was a return of affection. It turned out to be the seed that led to the end of the affair. She was not interested in playing the male and it made me look less straight than I had appealingly appeared.

In the case of Lord, being straight was uncalled for, and my ass was obviously his cunt, he owned my ass like no one ever owned me. When we didn’t use enough lube I was sore for several days, the pounding he gave my throat left me sore as well. Sometimes when he had not cum inside my ass, he would finish deep in my throat, so deep the cum would disappear down my throat and I could hardly even taste it.

Only once did he say, “I hope I not hurt you?” And I answered, “it does not matter, I want you to be happy and to cum, that is all that matters to me. Even if you hurt me I would say nothing. I only want you to be happy, that is my pleasure.”

I must admit, as the weeks turned to months and our trysts were at the least twice a week, his penetration inside my body became addictive and I needed it, it became my drug.

The more time we spent together the more aware I became of who Lord was. He was the most gentle of human beings, except when he was pounding his cock into my ass. He was a vegetarian, a Buddhist, who in previous years would only eat fish a few times a year and nothing else of the animal world. Now that he was raising large yellow koi in a garden behind his shop, fish was off his plate. He was the most graceful of persons, he walked not stiff legged but with the grace of an acrobat. His body was a mass of tight muscles. His muscles were the result of hours of massaging his clients after a lifetime of hard physical work in restaurants, construction work in Thailand and accentuated by his thinness. His ass was as perfectly curved as a peach. I often would squeeze his buttocks as he fucked me; yes, they were as hard as steel, they were perfect.

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