his voice, “Stay on your knees.”

George stood up, all six feet of his chiseled frame erect. Knowing full well what was about to happen, Scott just stared, mouth open, flabbergasted, as George proceeded to shed every last bit of clothing adorning his body. Scott and George were already off of work; their jackets were already hanging by the dimly lit entrance, neckties tucked into pockets. It was a Japanese apartment after all, so their shoes and socks were also tucked safely away in a show box by the door.

Nonetheless, Scott sat on his knees, hands at his thighs, as George released button after button on his dress shirt, revealing the thin layer of blonde-brown chest hair that covered a muscled chest with two large, and hard, red nipples. George pulled back his dress shirt, exposing his entire upper-body to Scott. George was a famous narcissist at the office; even at 35 years old, his stomach was rippled with muscled channels, a single thin line of hair leading downwards in the center.

The wrist buttons were tight around George’s wrists. He struggled to excise their tight grip from his wrists, but before he could struggle any more, Scott intervened and helped matters along. Scott, as if a baby smitten with candy, reached out with his left hand and caressed George’s crotch. Scott gasped; it was the first time he touched a man like this. Enamored with the warmth emanating from even the tight, concealed confines of George’s pants, and the meaty girth of George’s ample package, Scott lightly rubbed his hand up and down the entire length of George’s behemoth.

Scott wrapped both hands snuggly around George’s belt, and tugged the hook loose with two jerks. The long belt flopped down on both sides. Then Scott’s avaricious hands snaked over to the pants-button, released it, and the continued down to the zipper. The zipper made a minute cackle sound as Scott reeled it down; George’s pants fell around his ankles with aplomb, revealing the white briefs, already soaked in front with juicy pre-cum, that made an honest, but ultimately futile, effort to restrain the expanding titanic beneath. Scott’s hungry hands yanked at both sides of George’s underwear simultaneously, and George’s colossus flopped out, erect, proud, massive, moist, musky, pungent. It reigned over the kneeling Scott, bobbing slightly in cadence with George’s heartbeat.

“Wow,” Scott slipped, suddenly uncertain of what he wanted George to do to him with his 9-inches of fuck stick, which was thick, girthy, and snaked with veins. But Scott’s qualms quickly evaporated under the waves of lust emanating from inside him. He wrapped his right hand around George’s warm, might member, exalting its throbbing, pulsing existence, its musky man-scent.

George was still struggling to remove his dress shirt, which continued to stubbornly clasp his wrists. He suddenly commanded, “Stroke it Scott.”

Scott obeyed. Scott pulled on George’s goliath; the skin over George’s shaft receded, revealing George’s cockhead, which was hidden beneath his foreskin. Scott smiled, surprised at how loose the skin over George’s cock felt. Scott continued to knead George’s huge member back and forth. The pre-cum drenched Scott’s hands, which in turn lubricated the rest of George’s fuck stick. Musky, pungent aromas permeated the room.

“Ah…yeah. Good Scott. Play with it,” George interjected encouragement between moans. Scott tugged on George’s bone, oscillating up and down, now with both hands. Scott’s hands, lubed and dripping wet caressed George’s length.

Then, pants hanging at his ankles, dress shirt stubbornly clinching to his wrists, trapping his strong arms behind