When I entered The Order I thought I knew everything there was to know about, well, everything. I was confident to the point of cockiness. I knew what I wanted in life and I knew how to get it. Frankly, I thought The Order was lucky to have someone like me…
Things began to change from the moment I arrived. Within the ranks of these masculine, mystical men, I felt almost permanently off my game. They made me question everything I’d ever assumed. Every time I started to think I had a handle on something, they pulled the rug out from under my feet. The old me would have left within days, but something kept me there. Perhaps it was the desire to see who I might become if I stuck with the program. Perhaps it was the way that my body tingled uncontrollably after it had been used by one of the Masters. Whatever the reason, I felt myself increasingly, and almost obsessively, wanting to please.
I didn’t know what to expect from my anointing. I was informed that the ritual would be overseen by Master St. Michael, whom I’d only seen occasionally around the complex. There was something about him which I found utterly compelling. He had this aura of confidence and sophistication which made it impossible to look at anyone else when he was around.
I nervously entered a bright white room and found him sitting, statuesque, on a chair, in a beautifully-fitted white suit, shirt and tie. The room smelt pure, rich in a sanitization that was not chemical. Though Master St. Michael wore an expensive cologne, there were other more subtle aromas in the air, which made me wonder whether the rug and the billowing drapes had been infused with something… else. I couldn’t place what.
I was handed a robe to wear made from some kind of light muslin or cheesecloth. It was almost see-through and it did nothing whatsoever to disguise the hard-on which formed the moment I laid eyes on Master St. Michael. Through The Order, I had learned not to be ashamed of such things. The Masters are happy for us to gain as much from pleasuring them as they gain from being pleasured.
He asked if I was ready. I nodded. I had no clue what to expect, but I have learned not to ask questions. He covered his hand in warm oil before gently running his thumb across my forehead, then over my eyes, my lips and then other parts of my body. The smear of oil on my lips made me want to kiss. The soft touch of his fingers caressing different parts of body made my loins ache, my own maleness stiffen and bounce. I started to shiver in anticipation, wondering which part of me he’d touch next. My back, my nipples, my stomach… My whole body was springing into life.
Then he ran his oily thumb up and down the shaft of my penis and I experienced a rush of pleasure the likes of which I’ve never known.
He removed his jacket. I marveled at the way his tailored cotton shirt clung to his fully-developed well-formed body. My overwhelming desire was to touch him, to kiss him, to accept him… but I knew my place. He sat me on the chair and started to push his fingers into my hole before wrapping his soft, warm lips around my dick.
He pulled away from the blowjob and purposefully removed his belt and his gold watch, simultaneously shooting me a look which seemed to say, “we’re not nearly done yet…” At that moment, he pulled me into him and we started to kiss. His kiss was so deep and passionate, it filled me in ways I barely understood. I’ve never been kissed like that before. His slippery tongue ventured into my mouth and I sucked it in further. I was desperate for him to want me as much as I wanted him. I spread my legs wide—inviting him in.
He pulled away and removed his tie, slowly unbuttoning his shirt to uncover a garment which clung to his pecs like a second layer of skin. Then he unzipped his pants, revealing a pair of almost see-through trunks. The outline of his hard dick inside the light fabric was profound. From the moment I saw it, I knew I needed to have it enter me. My mind and my body both knew this—my hole instantly began to twitch.