My Bronze God

We greeted each other and our conversation just took off from there. He was fascinated with America and asked questions I tried to answer. I asked about Pakistan, but he didn't seem interested in talking about his country.

When he dropped me at the door of the warehouse, he smiled and said, "I hope you have a wonderful day! I'll see you tonight."

My heart was fluttering as I climbed out of the car.

I had five 'co-stars' on the second day. They were all brown and fit, but I would only fuck one of them. The director improvised by posing us in positions that we appeared to be fucking, but their cocks were really just sliding between my thighs. By the end of the day, I could smell their semen on my face, even though WG had washed my face after every load of cum.

We finished earlier than the day before and I didn't see Rahim yet. I began a conversation with WG and asked her about Rahim.

"What ah...what is his story?" I asked her.

"Meaning, what?" she asked me right back.

"What is his job? Is he married?" I inquired.

She laughed, "No-no...he 'works' for Mr. Punjabi..."

"I know-I know, but is he married or seeing someone?"

She looked at me like I was stupid, "I said—he 'works' for Mr. Punjabi!"

I understood her meaning this time. She must have seen the disappointment wash over my face because she added, "He is an 'indentured servant'...Mr. Punjabi paid his family money to bring him to America...when he pays his debt he will be a free man...," she smiled then added, "...and no—he is not married...and whatever he does for Mr. Punjabi is purely part of his job."

I thanked her. I knew she told me the last part because she sensed my feelings for him.

On the ride home I screwed-up my courage and inched over on the seat until I was sitting right next to him. He looked surprised and confused, but he smiled. When we arrived at the diner, we looked into each others' eyes—I leaned over and kissed him softly on the lips; he kissed me back. We held each other and kissed again.

"I...ah...when this is over—I'd still like to see you...is that possible?" I asked quietly.

I think I embarrassed him. His eyes looked away and he had trouble clearing his throat.

"I work for Mr. Punjabi..." he said, his voice trailing off.

"I know—I know, but it won't be forever—can't we continue seeing each other?" I asked.

Sadness swept over his face; he looked away from me again and said, "It would not be a good idea."

I climbed out of the car heartbroken.

Rahim did not drive the next two mornings, it was Mr. Punjabi. He seemed tense and somewhat irritable. He said, "Good morning" both days, but that was all.

Mid-way through the last day my spirits soared when I saw Rahim standing with the crew. He watched me suck-and-fuck two guys—I didn't know what he thought of while I did it, but I hoped he understood that, much like him, I was only doing my job.

WG and I were in the dressing room when SG came in and announced, "There is a change in the script."

When she told us what it was WG winced, and I said I wouldn't do it.

She looked at me and said, "This is Mr. Punjabi's idea—he wants a grand finale--he's insisting you do it—if you refuse he will not pay you!"

I was naked under the robe when we walked to the stage. I quickly glanced at the crew and saw Rahim standing among them. Mr. Punjabi was next to him.

Another 'set' had been hastily constructed. It faintly resembled a very low-sided bathtub. WG took my robe and I was made to lie down on the cold, rubber surface. There were restraints for my arms and legs. Once I was securely fastened, the director yelled "ACTION" and eight men appeared on the set. They were naked, each man had a boy caressing and stroking his erect cock. Two men stood on one side of the tub; two men stood on the other side; and two men stood at each end. I stared at the eight hard cocks surrounding me.

The boys took their places behind the men. Each boy performed the same actions: they reached under their man and massaged his balls while they reached around their waists and stroked their cocks. The 'circle jerk' took about ten minutes. At that time the men grunted and groaned and shot their cum onto my body and face. Eight men covered me from head-to-toe with semen.

It wasn't over with yet. The boys continued holding their man's cock, and after a short while, the men began spraying me with their urine. The men must have been saving up for this moment because they pissed-and-pissed what seemed to be unending streams of urine. By the time they finished, my whole body, face and hair was soaked in piss. My head rolled from side-to-side to fight keeping the piss out of my eyes.

When it was over, I thought they left me fastened to the tub and wallowing in piss longer than they needed. Tears welled in my eyes.

I was naked as WG rushed me to the shower in the dressing room. She stripped naked and climbed in the tub with me. She helped me clean the semen and urine off my entire body. She used a scented-soap and lathered me from head-to-toe. The kindness of her actions brought tears back to my eyes.

On the ride back to the diner, Mr. Punjabi broke the silence by saying, "You brought that on yourself, you know..."

I couldn't believe my ears. "How did I do that?" I asked him.

"Rahim is 'my boy'," he said softly, "...you don't understand our culture...no matter the circumstances, nobody comes between a man and his boy...at home, men have been killed for it...consider yourself lucky!"

How could I respond to that? I didn't....

"Anyway," he continued, "...I told Rahim it was your idea—that you loved to get pissed-on and abused...that you are a true degenerate--you should have seen the look on his face—he was appalled!"

My heart ached that Rahim actually believed that of me. I didn't know how to reach him; I had no idea where Mr. Punjabi lived—I would never see Rahim again and it hurt that his last memory of me was of eight men jerking off and pissing on me.

When we arrived at the diner, Mr. Punjabi handed me an envelope.

"Here is three thousand dollars—when the profits start coming in—and they will—you were very good—you will receive more money...as long as you don't try to contact Rahim...."

I took the envelope; didn't say 'thank you', and left his car.

It took a few days to get back into my routine. I was sluggish, depressed and thought about Rahim constantly. I was devastated that I'd never see my bronze God again. I slowly came around, though; I even pleasured Mister J more than once a day. I still loved his little brown cock.

Two weeks had gone by and life was as normal again as it ever was going to be in that neighborhood.

One night Marleen and Andrea came in for dinner. When they saw me they shrieked and hollered and gave me big hugs."C'mon," I said, "...open up—let me see them!"

They smiled wider than I'd ever seen them—their teeth were perfect. "Cutie-pie," Marleen gushed, "...you're something else—as soon as you get a little cash in your pocket you go and blow it all on our teeth—if you ever get tired of boys, you come and see me and Andrea!" We all laughed.

I still brought Harry his lunch at the drugstore, and after reading magazines, I still crossed the street to see the good ladies at The Salvation Army.

Another week passed and Mister J called me into his office. He had a grin on his face from ear-to-ear. He handed me a check. It was my first 'royalty check' from my 'modeling job'. I looked at the amount and Mister J laughed at the expression on my face. The check was for $22,850.75. I opened a bank account, and moved back to the motel—as a paying guest, this time. Lonnie wanted to resume our 'relationship' and I said "No way in Hell!"

Every two weeks for two months Mister J gave me checks that were equal to, or greater than the first one. I was flabbergasted. He said not to count too much on future checks, we'd probably drained as much porn money as we were going to get.

I continued with my daily routine. I had no idea what I wanted to do with the money. I didn't know what I wanted to be when I grew up.

One night after cleaning the diner, I was walking home to the motel; I noticed a car slow down behind me then suddenly speed up and pass me. I didn't recognize the car. The car must have turned down a side street and double-backed because it happened again: it would slow down behind me then speed up and go by me.

My nerves were on edge when it reappeared behind me for a third time. Quite a few undesirables in that neighborhood knew I had come into some money, and my friends had warned me to be careful. I walked faster and was almost at the motel when it stopped beside me and a female voice called out to me.

I stopped in my tracks. I recognized the voice: it was WG, my Wardrobe Girl. I went to the open car window and she said, "Get in—HURRY!"

She drove for a mile or so then stopped in the parking lot of a grocery store and shut off the engine.

She turned and faced me; she looked older and more tired than the last time I saw her. She looked worried.

"You scared the hell out of me," I said through a relieved smile.

"I know—I know—I'm sorry...I didn't know if anyone else was watching you—I have to be careful...I would be in major trouble if certain people knew I was talking with you," she was serious; she was scared.

"Who?" I demanded to know, "...who would you be in trouble with?"

She sighed, "Never mind...what's important is you're here..."

She stared ahead, a sad glaze covering her eyes. "How do you feel about Rahim?"

I was hoping she was here because of him. "I have very strong feelings for him...I hardly know him but I think I'm in love with him," I confessed to her.

"Yes," she said, her voice sounding distant, "...I too, am in love with him...I have loved him a long, long time..."

"Why are you here?" I wanted to shake her out of her reverie and make her talk.

"Rahim is very, very unhappy...he's talking crazy...he says he's going to run away from Mr. Punjabi to try and find you...I can't let him do that...he could get hurt...or worse..."

Oh my God! My heart leapt with joy at the mention of my bronze God.

She continued, "Rahim is a special man—very intelligent—in Pakistan he was a neurosurgeon—an important doctor...over here he is a slave...until he can repay his families debt—he has no future."

She was talking 'around' the subject—it was driving me crazy. "What can I do? How can I see him?" I demanded to know.

She looked at me through misty eyes, and said, "You're a lucky man—I never knew for sure until recently that he likes men—not girls...and you're a lucky man because he loves you!"

He loves me? Oh my God—the exhilaration I felt!

She continued, "He was devastated when he saw you last—Punjabi convinced him you were a pervert...I had a long talk with him—I told him what really happened that day..."

I had a million thoughts running through my head and one of them was I wished to hell she would get to the point.

"All I want for him is to live a happy life," she went on, "...even if it's not with me...I think you two could be very happy together."

I wanted to scream—I wanted to tell her to get on with it—where the hell is he? How can I see him? What exactly do I have to do in order to be with him?

After much coaxing, she told me what needed to be done. I told her I could do what she asked. I told her I wanted to be with Rahim more than anything in the world. I assured her I would take good care of the man she loves.

The last thing she said before we parted was, "I will talk with Punjabi—I will tell him of your offer...but you don't understand our culture..."

The following morning I presented a check to Mister J. I explained what it was for. He said he would give it to Mr. Punjabi that afternoon.

He frowned, he said, "Punjabi won't like this, but he is a decent man—he will honor your request."

He looked at me and asked, "And you, my friend...you are doing this out of love? Why?"

"Because I finally found someone I love more than life itself," I said with a tear in my eye; then added, "...we don't choose who we fall in love with—it just happens—if you're lucky."

The next day I was a bundle of nerves as I waited in my room for Rahim to arrive.

The longer I waited the more doubts crept into my mind. You don't even know this man, I told myself. He's from the other side of the world—what could you two possibly have in common? He's a doctor, my God—what are you? A slut? A whore? You live like a lazy degenerate!

I was in full-blown panic mode when I heard a soft knocking on my door. My chest was pounding; a clammy layer of sweat covered my flesh.

Calm down, I told myself. Take this slow and easy—don't force anything.

When I opened the door and saw his face my heart melted. My old feelings for him returned stronger than ever. I wanted to throw my arms around him and hold him tight; hold him so he could never leave me again.

"Rahim," I beamed; I wanted to kiss him—smother him in kisses, but he seemed oddly distant, "...please, come inside."

Something wasn't right. Instead of being happy to see me, he was subdued with a forced smile on his face. He came inside and acted stiff; uncomfortable. I sat on the bed; he sat in the chair farthest from the bed.

He fidgeted; he was clearly uneasy. He wouldn't look me in the eyes. We were quiet for a long time.

"Is something wrong?" I asked, "...please talk to me...your silence is unbearable."

Finally he spoke; softly, his eyes averting mine, "Thank you for paying my families debt to Mr. Punjabi—it was a very kind act...you are a generous man...may I inquire of your intentions for me?"

My intentions for him? My jaw fell open. I was stunned. This should have been the happiest moment in both of our lives instead I felt like crying.

"Rahim, what are you talking about? You're a free man!...and my intentions are to get you in bed and give you the best time of your life," I said with a huge smile on my face.

I saw a flicker of hope in his eyes but it quickly faded. He was troubled—he wanted to say something, but couldn't--a sadness swept over his face and I felt my heart being torn to shreds.

"Please talk to me," I said, "...please tell me what's going on with you..."

After a long pause, he cleared his throat then said, "You paid my debt to Mr. Punjabi—therefore my debt is now to you...I will perform whatever work or duties you assign me."

"My God, Rahim—this is America—no one owns anyone else here—you are a free man to do whatever you want to do!"

Tears welled in his eyes, "Please—please do not dishonor me..."

I was stunned by his words. This had never occurred to me. I couldn't let my ignorance of his culture be a barrier between us. This was a matter of great importance to him. I had to be very careful with my words and deeds.

"Rahim—sit next to me, please," I asked. When he didn't move, I shouted, "SIT NEXT TO ME!"

Startled, he stood and walked to me and sat on the bed. I put my arm around his broad shoulders. I caressed his back. I really didn't know what to do next. I just allowed my natural instincts to take over.

I turned his head so he faced me, and said, "Kiss me."

His lips were tentative at first; I held the kiss until I felt him respond. We kissed again and again. Each time I was more brazen; I pushed my tongue between his lips and he didn't back away. Our lips melded together. He was breathing harder. The passion we felt from our very first kiss many months ago returned.

I stroked and caressed his thighs. I brushed my hand against the front of his slacks and felt a huge erection. I slowly unbuttoned his shirt; I caressed his chest and kissed and licked his nipples to hardness. I pulled his shirt off and threw it in the corner of the room. He smiled—he finally smiled. The fire was back in his eyes.

I stood up and quickly removed my clothes. I stood naked before him and he sighed. He took hold of my hard cock and was about to go to his knees but I stopped him. Instead, I went to my knees. I unlaced his shoes and pulled them and his socks off. I held his foot and took each toe into my mouth and sucked on them.

I reached up and unbuckled his belt, opened his pants and he lifted his hips as I pulled his slacks and underwear down and off. I gasped when I saw his beautiful, bronze boner. Seven-inches long, two-inches thick—my cock throbbed at the sight of him. I had to kiss it; I had to have it in my mouth.

I gazed lovingly at his crotch. He had very little pubic hair; his scrotum was smooth; hairless. I licked his ball sac. His balls were large; I could only suck one at a time into my mouth. My tongue lathered his soft flesh. I alternated sucking his balls. I couldn't get enough—I loved having his balls in my mouth.

Reluctantly my mouth left his balls; my lips traveled to his beautiful, bronze cock. I gazed at it in awe. I pressed my lips and tongue against his tender flesh. His manly aroma filled my nostrils and I swooned in delight. My lips and tongue moved up and down his turgid pole. I had to have it in my mouth. I opened my lips wide and slid them over his cockhead. My tongue bathed his glans.

Suddenly, he stopped me—I glanced up at him with a questioning look in my eyes.

He breathed deeply and said, "My little pretty-one, please join me on the bed."

He made room for me as I lay down beside him. We embraced and kissed. Our hands caressed and fondled each others' cock and balls. He moved down the bed—we lay head-to-tail on our sides. I felt his lips and tongue on my cock—I moaned loudly and sucked his cock into my mouth.

We stroked and sucked each others' cock-flesh. Our throaty groans filled the air. I matched his tempo; his mouth moved faster on my cock so I slid my lips up-and-down his cock in time with him. He massaged my balls—I massaged his. We were both very near.

I rubbed his anus with a finger and his hips bucked wildly—his balls erupted and he filled my mouth with his cum. I greedily swallowed all that I could—his cum was delicious. Suddenly, my balls contracted and my cum shot out of my cock and into his mouth. I flailed about wildly in ecstasy as he drained my balls. We licked each other clean.

Afterwards, I lay with my head resting on his chest against his heart. His heart beat was music to my ears. I held his heavy balls in my small hand. I had never felt so happy in my life—I was a very lucky man.

Finally, he spoke softly and said, "My little pretty-one, we still have a problem..."

I placed a finger over his lips to stop him.

"Rahim," I said, my head still resting on his sculpted chest, "...you are a doctor--is that correct?"

"Yes," he answered, "...but I cannot practice in this country until I get accredited...and to get accredited I need two more years of school..."

"I will pay for your school," I told him.

He chuckled, "My little pretty-one, you don't seem to understand...that would only put me further into your debt!"

I moved up and lay my head on the pillow next to his. I smiled at him.

"Yes—you will be indebted to me," I said, "...but, you silly man, what you don't understand is how much money a neurosurgeon earns in this country...once you begin to get paid for your services—you will pay me back every dime that you owe me—that, my bronze God, is the 'American Way'...until then--I own your ass!"

His eyes opened wide. I could tell he was thinking hard over my words. A smile played across his lips.

"I see nothing wrong with that arrangement," he said.

We kissed and hugged and made plans for our future life together. We talked for two-hours non-stop. He opened up to me about his life in Pakistan—his family, his friends, his hopes and dreams. I asked him about Mr. Punjabi.

"He brought me to this country—what can I say? I am very grateful for that..."