I was shooting the breeze with another sales associate on a typically slow Monday afternoon when a customer walked into the store. I gave him the once-over and could tell from his hound’s-tooth jacket, black turtleneck, gabardine slacks, and polished leather shoes that he obviously had good fashion sense, and wasn’t afraid to spend a large buck or two on clothing. So I whipped around a row of Hugo Boss suits, ahead of my colleague, and made first contact with the customer/commission.
“Looking for anything in particular?” I asked.
He regarded me with a pair of warm, brown eyes and smiled. “Yes. I need two or three new pairs of pants. Business-casual style pants.”
“I think I know just what you’re looking for,” I told him confidently, little realizing, at that time, the folly of my statement. “Right this way.”
He followed me to the back of the store where the business-casual clothing was located, then bumped into me when I stopped short at a rack of dress pants. I felt his strong hands grip my slim waist as he steadied himself. “Sorry,” he said unnecessarily.
I turned around and got a good look at him. He was about my height, six feet, with a lean, athletic build – broad in the shoulders, narrow at the waist. His hair was cut short and his facial features were fine, almost delicate. He appeared to be in his late twenties, maybe early thirties. “We have a wide selection of pants,” I said, as he began feeling material. “But, first of all, I should take your measurements – to make sure that you get a proper fit?”
He nodded his head. “Good idea. I have lost a bit of weight lately.”
“Really? You look good. I mean … you look good.” My face reddened as I stared into his deep, liquid eyes.
“Thanks,” he replied, smiling.
We moved over to the three-panel mirrors, where there was a bit more room, and I picked up a measuring tape and squatted down in front of him.
“Let me make it easier for you,” he said, and took off his jacket, slung it over his shoulder, and spread his legs.
At close range, I could smell the warm, inviting musk that he was wearing – an intoxicating scent that clouded my brain with lewd, languid thoughts. I placed the tape against the heel of his right shoe with my left hand, and then slowly moved it up his leg with my right hand. I heard the faintest of gasps when I pressed the tape against the inside of his crotch, but I wasn’t sure who it had come from – him or me. I felt a bulge when I rested my hand between his legs. I shot a quick glance at that rather large bulge and swallowed hard.
“Okay, all done,” I croaked, and rose up on shaky legs.
“Okay,” he replied softly. He looked at me with a knowing grin twisting the corners of his thick, sensuous lips. A pink tongue darted out and wetted those lips.
I felt my cock hardening in my pants, so I quickly shifted mental gears from thoughts of erotic fantasy to thoughts of business reality, to avoid a potentially sales-fatal tenting situation. I looped the measuring tape around his waist and tried hard not to think of his strong body so very close to mine, or his moist lips, or his hot breath on my ear. My hands were shaking. I glanced at the twitching measuring tape and read thirty-two inches.
“Thirty-two?” he asked, his voice vibrating through my body.
I took a step back. “Thirty-two,” I confirmed.
He laughed, then walked over to the pants rack and took some time carefully selecting four or five pairs. He had a good eye for clothing, but what I wanted to eye was his unclothing. “The change rooms are right over there,” I said, pointing to five closet-sized compartments along the back wall.
“Thanks,” he said, and opened the door to one and walked in.
“Let me know if you need any help,” I told him, as the door closed. I wiped a thin film of sweat off my forehead.
A few minutes later, I was idly rearranging some sports jackets that didn’t need rearranging when a soft, muffled voice called out to me from behind, “Could you come in here a moment?”
It was my man in the change room. “Sure,” I called back. “I’ll be right there.”
I walked over to the change cubicles, opened the door on an empty one, closed it, and then opened its neighbor and found my customer. He was standing on the narrow wooden bench against the wall. He was naked from the waist down, his huge, black cock pointing right at me!
“Hi,” he said casually. “I’m having trouble getting these pants on with this thing,” he stroked his monster erection and smiled, “like it is. Anything you can do to help?”
My knees went weak and blood drained out of my face and into my groin. I’d never seen a bigger, or blacker, cock in all my life – except in porno videos, of course. It must have been at least ten inches long – at least; and it was straight and true and as blue-black as a long, thick piece of candy store licorice. “Uh, sure,” I mumbled, my mouth drier than the Sahara Desert. I stumbled into the tiny change room and shut and latched the door before anyone else could grab an eyeful.
“I thought that you might be able to help me,” he said, stroking his incredible tool with slow, deft strokes.
I nodded dumbly, my body warm and thick, my cock hard and heavy. Saliva suddenly filled my mouth like a Pavlovian dog at first sight of a giant bone, and my throat muscles started to relax for action. My initial shock and nervousness were gone; I was ready for some real customer service. I had sucked on a lot of dicks in my day, but none this long, and none black. Still, I was more than up for the unexpected challenge.
I moved closer to him, and he released his cock from his hand into mine. His body spasmed and he groaned as I firmly gripped his long, hard pole. He groaned again and closed his eyes when I began jerking him off, pulling up and down on his awesome length. His cock was beautiful, felt beautiful, and, amazingly, it grew even longer and thicker as my practiced hand pumped it.
“Oh, yeah, that feels good,” he said, abandoning his massive cock to my worshipping hand.
“You ain’t felt nothin’ yet,” I told him, and bent down and teased the tip of his swollen manhood with my outstretched tongue.
His body jerked and slammed back against the wall.
“Easy, big guy,” I warned, vaguely recalling that there was a very public store behind the thin partition of the change room. We’d have to keep it quiet and clean. The sense of danger and urgency only hardened my cock still further.
“Suck my dick,” he whispered fiercely.
I grunted an affirmative, held his huge rod at its base, and proceeded to tongue-flog his cockhead – teasing the sensitive underside, slapping my tongue across his slit, licking him up and down in long, hard, wet strokes. He thrust his hips forward, begging me to get with some serious cocksucking, and I did. I took the enormous head of his cock into my mouth and sucked on it – popped it in and out until its rich, full blackness gleamed with saliva under the muted lights.
He ran his fingers through my short, blonde hair, urging me to suck deeper on his cock, spurring me on, pulling my head closer. The air grew thick with the smell of man inside the cramped cubicle. I opened my mouth wide and sucked up and down his shaft, taking more and more of his humungous cock into my mouth with each head-bob. Then I pulled his slickened cock out of my mouth and stoked it rapidly with my hand, and then pulled it up and pressed it against his body. I bent further down and licked at his balls.
“Yeah,” he breathed. “Lick my balls, baby.”
I lapped at his heavy pouch, painted it with my tongue, bounced his balls around on my tongue tip, and then swallowed his left ball in my mouth. His body spasmed. I stroked his cock and sucked his balls, swallowing them, tugging on them, rolling them around in my mouth. I licked underneath his balls, dug my tongue in between his legs. He spread himself wider and I drank in the essence of that gorgeous man. I crammed his whole pouch into my mouth and sucked on it, lightly nipped at it. He looked down at me and his face wore an expression of shocked ecstasy, his eyes filmed with lust.
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