I checked myself in a sales floor mirror; I had just gotten the black pin-stripe Ungaro suit back from the tailors yesterday & couldn't help but be happy with the results. The little old ladies that worked at the Castro Street alterations shop knew their clientele: picky, exacting queens for the most part that wanted every garment to either hide a flaw or accentuate an asset. In my case, I always had them take in the seat & legs as I spend way too much time in the gym doing squats to cover up the results in an ill-fitting outfit. Same with my crisp pale blue shirt--I got it at Pink where I had it altered to fit the chest & make my arms look great. Matching black Gucci shoes & belt, stainless steel Concord watch, a gunmetal Hermes tie & matching silk pocket square from Liberty completed the outfit. With my black hair slicked down with Oribe pomade & carefully groomed goatee, I look every inch the manager of men's couture for an exclusive department store. Seeing that we sell $500 shirts & suits that can cost ten grand, I make it a point to always be dressed as sharp as a razor.
Of course, none of my employees or customers know that under the expensive exterior I usually wear a ratty jock strap that was given to me as a souvenir by one of the dock workers that load & unload our precious inventory (his way of saying thanks after I rimmed him out then swallowed his jizz). Or that I always have a leather cockring--usually still damp with lube or spit from a morning fuck--wrapped tightly around the base of my fat cock & shaved balls. Or that my arms from the shoulders to the elbows are covered in crude & obscene tattoos (my left bicep sports two leathermen fucking, the right a chain-link armband & a huge drawing of a cum-shooting dick). Or that when I get back from my lunch hour my asshole is usually throbbing & filled with the sperm of the burly Hispanic security guard Carlos who fucks me every Tuesday & Thursday.
I know that most of my customers would faint if they knew that two days ago while verifying inventory with Chuck the stockman, I stripped that husky grey-haired daddy naked while I stayed completely dressed in my navy blue Alexander McQueen three-piece suit. It's become a game with us: after a long deep wet kiss, I'll eat out Chuck's pits, tongue his tits, & wash his body with my mouth. It takes a lot of self control to raise those massive fuzzy legs & spread his meaty buns for a long tongue fucking without wrinkling the suit or shirt...it 's also a challenge to keep my mouth wide open & tongue fully extended as he jerks off his fat veiny prick because I have to catch every last drop of bull cream that comes flying out of that cock--I wouldn't dare ruin my favorite black-label Versace tie by having it splattered with that creamy beige jizz load &
who in their right mind would let such a tasty treat go to waste anyway?
I say most customers because I do have my private clientele. Like the bank vice-president Mr. Anderson, a hulking 49-year old Swede with greying blonde hair & moustache that loves to go down on me in the dressing room while I undo his Brooks Brothers shirt to pull at his fur-covered eraser sized nipples. He loves to have me feed him as much precum drool as I can before I unload my wad into that hot sucking mouth. We always end up in a long lip-lock as we swap my cum load back & forth between our lips & tongues.
And the butch, bald, goateed lawyer Mr. Kline who just last week had me take my Thierry Mugler slacks off so that I could bend over (again in the dressing room) while he slowly & painfully skewered me with his nine-inch meatstick. Again, it's a challenge to stay quiet in that room while what feels like a slick baseball bat is repeatedly shoved into my tight fuckhole. The fucking got to me & I sprayed my cum all over the dressing room mirror--it was fun to look at myself lick my jizz off the mirror while Mr. Kline continued to pound my asshole. Of course afterwards Mr. Kline was very attentive in diving down & sucking out the sperm he just screwed into my butt & tonguing my chute until the spasms stopped so that we could both go back to work.
And every Wednesday, there's the stocky 30-something FedEx deliveryman with the crew cut & stach, whose name I never did get, who loves to fuck my face while I play with his hairy belly & ass. Being that he's absolutely positively on a tight schedule, I now know that I just have to worm a couple of spit-soaked fingers into his chunky butt to make him blast his jism down my gullet.
I love my job & I do it well.