My Bronze God

I went to my knees, opened his pants, pulled down the zipper then pulled his pants and underwear down. His erection sprang into view. He was the same size as me—fairly small, five inches long and maybe an inch around. I proceeded to give him the best blow-job he'd ever had—maybe the only blow-job he'd ever had. When he came in my mouth he shouted and squirmed and squealed his pleasure. His cum tasted like curry chicken.

I began to work more hours at the diner. Mister J actually slipped me money from time-to-time. He didn't come to work until eleven so I could sleep in, or watch tv, or read a book and shower by the time he arrived. The other employees thought nothing about me staying there. Everyone in that neighborhood had enough problems of their own to worry about.

I still cleaned at night, and during the dinner rush I bused tables, and took money at the register. Every day at three when Mister J was there, I'd go into his office while he was behind his desk; lock the door; and strip naked for him.

I taught him how to be a 'top'. I would either kneel between his legs while he sat at his desk, or coax him to strip naked and fuck me. He loved to stroke my cock when he fucked me.

I began to feel an emotional attachment to him. He treated everyone with respect, and he was generous to a fault. And once I got to know him I discovered he had a helluva sense of humor, too. Plus, I loved that little brown cock of his.

All my old neighbors from the motel were regulars at the diner. They kept me up-to-date on the gossip and sordid activities of their lives. We joked and laughed and generally had a good time. They were all happy for me in my new surroundings.

When you are as far down as we all were, you are happy for even the smallest improvements in your friend's lives. Something good happening to someone was reason to celebrate.

One day a friend of Mister J's came into the diner and they sat together in the far booth. He was from Pakistan too, and they were excitedly speaking their native tongue. I refilled their coffee, the man looked me up and down, and when I went away I looked back and could tell he was talking about me to Mister J. The dinner rush hit and we got busy and I lost track of them.

The next day at three, I knelt between Mister J's legs under his big desk. I teased and tantalized his cock with my mouth and hands. He squirmed in his chair; I heard small noises escape his lips. Someone opened the office door and walked up to Mister J's desk—I had forgotten to lock the door. I heard the cook, Arnie, ask a question. I decided to have a little fun and I gently nipped Mister J's cockhead with my teeth--he yelped and Arnie asked him what was wrong. Mister J said, "Nothing—nothing..."

When Arnie left I stroked and sucked Mister J to orgasm—he screamed and pumped a huge load of cum in my mouth.

I was about to leave his office when he called to me, "Pretty-one...I want to discuss something with you."

I sat on the chair in front of his desk.

"Now please don't be offended...I don't want to hurt you in any way...have you ever been a model?" he asked.

Why would I be offended by that, I wondered. I shook my head and said, "No."

"Well...my friend who was here yesterday is also my business associate...he likes you—he thinks you would be a popular model...and it would give you an opportunity to earn some really good money."

I knew where this was going. I had a feeling I wouldn't be modeling clothes.

"Mister J, don't be shy with me, you can tell me what this is about."

He blushed then cleared his throat. "Well, my pretty-one, there are many men in my part of the world who pay money to see pictures and films of someone as pretty as you—without your clothes..."

"Because I'm white?" I interrupted him.

He smiled, and seemed to relax. "Precisely...anyway, what sells best is when you are photographed with darker skinned boys...doing things with those boys...submitting to those boys..."

I understood. He wanted me to suck and fuck brown-skinned boys on camera—be a total 'bottom' to these boys. The idea intrigued me; I felt my penis twitch in my pants.

"My only concern, " I told him, "...is my friends and family seeing these pictures, I don't think I—"

He cut me off. "No-no-no...these pictures would be for sale only in Asia, Africa and the Middle East—no one in the western world would ever see them!...we would pay you three thousand dollars for about a week's worth of work—and—you would share in whatever profits we make!"

This sounded too good to be true. I was sure I'd get the three thousand, but I couldn't believe they'd give me any more than that.

He stared hard at me, and said, "You have my word on this!"

I thought about it. Even with just three thousand I could do some good. And, the work would be fun....

A week later Mister J's friend picked me up at the diner.

"Good morning," he said, as I climbed into the front seat of his car,"...my name is Mr. Punjabi."

That startled me, but I shook his hand.

"You own the motel down the street?" I asked.

He smiled, "Yes-yes-that's right—do you stay there?"

"Well...I used to...," I smiled weakly. I was wary of him; he was a fat man with a dangerous face and I hoped I wouldn't have to 'audition' for him, if you know what I mean.

It was a thirty minute ride, and he made small talk and I relaxed. He was much nicer than he looked.

Now I guess I had a preconceived notion of what was about to take place. I figured he'd take me to some trashy motel and it would be me, a photographer and whoever I was going to 'diddle' in a small room with a big bed. It turned out to be very different.

He pulled the car into a lot in a pretty good part of town and parked near a door of a large warehouse-type building. When we went inside I was stunned: they must be renting almost half of the building, and after walking down a long hallway, we came out in the warehouse part of the building.

I stood still and allowed my eyes to absorb what I was seeing: there were 10-12 people standing around, waiting for me, I guess; someone had constructed three movie 'sets'; one resembled a living room with a couch and two chairs; there was a kitchen with a table and it even had a stove and refrigerator; and, finally a bedroom, with a king-size bed; I was nervous for the first time.

I saw three large movie cameras--this was a much bigger 'production' than I had anticipated.

All the people there looked like Mister J and Mr. Punjabi, so I assumed they were all Pakistani. Two young women approached me, one of them said, "Come this way," and I followed them to a 'dressing room'. One of them began undressing me, and I would have died of embarrassment but her attitude was so casual and indifferent, I figured she'd done this before and couldn't care less when I was naked. She helped me into a silk robe and I sat next to the other girl on the couch.

She had a 'script' in her hand. She explained to me I needed to learn some lines and she would teach me. She taught me phrases in Urdu, Pakistan's most prevalent language. We were there an hour before she was satisfied I could say them properly. I had no idea what she was teaching me, and she smiled and said it wasn't important that I knew what I was saying.

When we were about to go to the 'movie set', the other girl came to me and offered me a pill.

"What is it?" I asked.

"It will make you feel good," she smiled. I refused. Then she offered me a blue pill and simply said, "Viagra."

I blushed and declined, telling her I had no problem in that area. She shrugged her shoulders and I followed them to the set.

I was introduced to 'The Director'; a tall man who spoke broken English. He explained what he wanted in the first 'scene'.

"In this scene—actually, every scene we shoot this week has the same theme: the man you are with is dominant and you are submissive. You will meekly obey every command given you...your motivation is the same for every scene—your love of brown cocks. Brown cocks drives you mad with desire. Any questions?"

I shook my head—little did he know that I really did love brown cocks. There wouldn't be much 'acting' on my part.

The 'wardrobe girl' led me to the couch, and handed me two items of clothing: a white tee shirt that only came down to my belly-button, and a pair of white cotton, string bikini briefs. I could have worn my own underwear for the scene. I nervously shed the robe and put the clothes on; I noticed that no one was watching me—there was no need to feel embarrassed.

I sat on the couch. Soon my 'co-star' appeared; he was probably my age, three inches taller and a little heavier than me. He wore a black tee shirt and blue jeans. He sat beside me on the couch. He smiled at me and I smiled back; he wasn't too ugly.

When the director yelled "ACTION"—he put his arm around me and I placed my hand on his thigh. We kissed, and I stroked his thigh. He grabbed my hand and pushed it against the bulge in his jeans. I caressed his cock through the jeans. My fingers traced the outline of his cock. He said something to me and the director yelled, "CUT". The director scolded him and pointed to the boom microphone above our heads. We started over.

This time when he said his line to me it was more forceful and louder. I kneeled between his legs and opened his pants. His erection sprang free; I grasped it with my hand and sucked it into my mouth. He stood up with his cock still in my mouth; I pulled down his jeans; he wasn't wearing underwear; he pulled his tee shirt over his head and flung it towards a chair. I had an erection of my own; there was something so sexy about these brown, Pakistani cocks.

He towered over me and gave me a command: I stripped off the tee shirt and briefs. My five inch erection waved in the air. I let my instincts take over: I held his balls in one hand while I stroked his cock with the other. My lips and tongue danced over his cock-flesh. Suddenly he pulled his cock out of my mouth and pushed me to the floor; he reached down and took hold of my hair; he dragged me across the carpeting by my hair until we were before a large wall mirror. Being pulled by my hair hurt, but I found it incredibly erotic.

Once in front of the mirror, he had me kneel again. He moved close to me, his balls hovering over my face, he gave me an order and my mouth opened wide as he lowered his scrotum into my mouth. I licked and sucked his balls; I made slurping noises loud enough for everyone to hear.

He yelled something and pulled his ball sac from my mouth. He turned around, spread his legs and pulled apart his bottom-cheeks. He yelled an order and I buried my face between his cheeks. I kissed and licked his anus, careful that the camera could get a clear shot. My tongue snaked out and pushed against his anus. I pushed my tongue into his asshole. I could feel the flesh inside his asshole on my tongue. I tongue-fucked his asshole.

He abruptly pulled away from me, turned around and faced me, and barked out another command. I held his balls in one hand and stroked his cock with the other. I took his cockhead into my mouth and sucked his cock.

This is when I began 'acting'. Usually I don't make many noises when I'm doing this for a guy, but now, with his hard cock in my mouth, I moaned incessantly and made whimpering and mewling sounds. I stroked his cock faster. My lips moved quickly over his hot flesh. My tongue reveled on his silken skin.

Suddenly, he pulled his cock out of my mouth, my hand was a blur, stroking his cock faster-and-faster. He pushed my hand away and stroked his own cock. He aimed his pulsating cockhead at my face; I opened my mouth. His cum hit me directly on my face. I tried to catch it in my mouth but he would have none of that. He emptied his balls on my face. My face was drenched with his cum. He grabbed my hair and forced me to look in the mirror: his sticky semen covered my cheeks and nose and chin. He rubbed his deflating cock on my face, smoothing his semen into my skin. He barked an order and my lips and tongue cleaned his cock.

The director yelled "CUT" and everyone applauded. I felt oddly proud and happy with myself.

The WG (Wardrobe Girl) covered me with a robe, and wiped the cum off my face. She said, "Follow me" and led me back to the dressing room. The director stopped us on the way and asked me, "Will you allow him to fuck you?" and I nodded my agreement, after all, he only had about a five-inch cock.

The SG (Script Girl) followed us to the dressing room. The WG took my robe and led me into the bathroom. The SG came with us. The WG picked up a device lying on the sink; I recognized it immediately and shuddered. It had already been prepared and she said, "Bend over and spread your cheeks!"

It felt strange enough to be naked before two women, but this really tested my resilience. I did as I was told and felt the tube penetrate my anus. She squeezed the liquid inside me and told me not to spill any of it. I stood there, fighting hard to keep the liquid from escaping. Finally, she told me to sit on the toilet and let go.

I should have felt humiliated as the water and my waste flowed into the bowl, and filled the air with a putrid smell, but the girls seemed oblivious to the situation. They had obviously done this before. As I sat there shitting my brains out, the SG ran lines with me for the next scene. Welcome to Hollywood, I thought.

When I was ready, I put on the robe and we walked back to the set. I saw a boy kneeling between the legs of my co-star; his mouth working feverishly on his cock. I knew what he was doing, I'd read about this before, it was an actual 'job' for a boy to keep the stars' cock erect, he was called a 'fluffer'.

The WG led me to the mirror and had me kneel down like before. She produced a squeeze bottle and covered my face with a sticky substance. I'm sure to the camera it looked like cum, but it was much thicker than semen, and would probably last a good while on my skin.

When the director shouted "ACTION", my co-star turned around and presented his anus to me again. I kissed it then buried my tongue inside him. I understood the intent of this: it was more realistic to have me lick his asshole and let the viewers believe I was giving him another erection so quickly.

After a few minutes he pushed me to floor again and grabbed my hair and pulled me across the carpeting to the 'kitchen set'. He roughly pulled me to my feet and made me bend over the kitchen table. I was saying things in his language, what I don't know, but I did as I was instructed and sounded like I was desperately crying out to him. I said the words perfectly, but I didn't know if I was begging him to fuck me, or pleading with him not to fuck me. I guess either way was pretty sexy.

He pinned my head and shoulders to the table top and barked an order at me. I spread my legs as far apart as they would go then reached back and pulled my ass-cheeks open for him. My anus was exposed for all to see.

A tube of lubricant appeared out of nowhere (the magic of movies, I thought). He oiled his middle finger and rubbed it around my anus. He applied more lube and slowly pushed his finger into my anus. His finger remained in my asshole as he applied even more lubricant. His finger pushed into me all the way to his knuckle. My cock was hard as a rock. I squirmed my backside against his finger. A moan escaped my lips--that wasn't in the script. He sawed his finger back-and-forth then abruptly pulled it out of me.

He shouted something and my hand reached back and found his erection. I gave it a couple strokes then placed the cockhead against my anus. He shouted another command and I pushed my hips backwards until his cock popped through my opening. I pressed my hands on the table top to give me balance and continued to push back at him.

Suddenly, he took hold of my hips and thrust his cock into me. I screamed out; my head rolling from side-to-side. I was completely impaled on his throbbing cock. He paused for a few seconds then began fucking in-and-out of my asshole. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a camera low to the floor; it must have been trained on my rigid cock. Another camera came in close and concentrated on his cock sliding into my ass. The third camera was focused on our faces. I ignored everything around me—he was giving me a great fuck and all I wanted to do was shoot my cum.

I babbled incoherently as his strong hands pulled me onto his cock. A smile of ecstasy spread across my face. I began pushing back at him—meeting his every thrust. Our timing was impeccable—his cock slid in-and-out of me with ease. When he began to fuck me faster, I frantically pushed back at him and my ass swallowed his entire cock. I felt the cum churning in my balls. I wouldn't last much longer.

He fucked me like a madman. Everyone could hear his balls slapping my flesh. We both moaned and groaned loudly. I wasn't acting now and I don't think he was either. We were both straining to cum. His strokes became shorter but faster. Suddenly his hips jerked and bucked and I felt his hot cum filling my asshole. He cried out then I cried out as the cum shot from my balls and sprayed all around us.

When he pulled away from me he barked an order and I reached behind me and opened my ass-cheeks so the camera could clearly see his cum oozing from my asshole. I remained posed like that for a full thirty-seconds. He yelled another command and I dropped to my knees and licked up my cum from the floor. Then I turned to his now-flaccid cock and licked him clean. The camera was only a couple feet from my face and it zoomed-in and captured the serenity and satisfaction of a guy who was well-fucked.

The director yelled "CUT" and the room burst into applause with some people shouting "BRAVO!!" I couldn't take any credit for my performance, though—that was all natural—I wasn't acting.

My legs felt like rubber as the WG wiped the cum off my anus and legs. She held my arm and led me to the dressing. The SG was close behind.

I was tired and felt like taking a nap but we had a schedule we had to abide by. I 'did' four more guys that first day. Three of them I agreed to fuck, the fourth guys' cock was so big it scared me, but I made sure when I sucked him they got their money's worth. He covered my face with the most cum I'd ever seen shoot out of a cock.

After twelve hours, I was ready to go home. I looked around for Mr. Punjabi but didn't see him. Someone tapped me on the shoulder and when I turned around—OH MY GOD—I was face-to-face with the most gorgeous man I'd ever seen.

He saw the stunned look on my face and apologized profusely.

"I'm so sorry—I didn't mean to startle you—Mr. Punjabli sent me to drive you home—my name is 'Rahim'," he explained. We shook hands. He had the deepest, bluest eyes....

As we drove to the diner I tried to make small talk just so I could look at him. He was a few inches taller than me and maybe thirty pounds heavier. He might have been a couple years older than me, but his face was so pure and angelic he looked much younger. He had broad shoulders and strong arms. He was slightly darker than the other Pakistani's but to me he looked like a bronze God. I was smitten with not only his looks, but his voice and demeanor, as well. He was very pleasant and easy to talk with. He smiled and laughed when I made little jokes. I wasn't sure, but he seemed to like me, too.

Mister J saw the condition I was in when I walked in the diner so he left me alone. I ate a huge dinner then did my cleaning. I had made arrangements with someone to take Harry his lunch for the week, and had told The Salvation Army gals I wouldn't be around for awhile. I fell asleep immediately on the soft, leather couch and woke to the alarm at 5:00a.m.

Rahim was waiting in the car when I came outside. Was it my imagination or did he comb his hair differently? I wondered. I could smell the faint aroma of after-shave, as well.