When I had cleaned up and returned I found that CJ had wiped himself off with a washcloth that Binggum had conveniently previously located in a bowl on the coffee table and was stuffing and buttoning his sausage back into his red-silk pouch. Binggum was stretched out on the sofa, another wash cloth lying near him on the floor, probably used with a gentle touch by CJ in the most customer-friendly fashion, his tumescent cock nodding up and down on his belly, and a definite satisfied smile on his face.

CJ hadn’t yet seen me, and was addressing Binggum. “So, dinner anyone? Or do we have the fortitude to move right onto the signing and the main course? Or do we just skip the main course altogether because the appetizer was too much?”

Binggum lifted his head and replied, “Not on your life on skipping the main course, but dinner might be a good idea and I might have to pop a few pills to continue much beyond the signing. God, I wish you weren’t on the other coast, CJ—and manufactured everything my company needed.”

Then Binggum and CJ simultaneously caught sight of me, and Binggum’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. I had shed everything down to my toes but the black net pouch jock and had only put back on the slender black leather vest and the smooth-leather black chaps. I was posing in the same doorway CJ had posed in, nicely and fully tanned, my left forearm running up the side of the door frame and my hand flopped down on the top of my head, and the line from my beefcake chest tapering down to my washboard abs and slim waist curved to my jutting right hip. I had combed my curly chest and stomach hair to fine down that trailed down toward and into my groin, and the sock jock almost, but not quite, met up with the studded leather ring at the thick root of my cock. The black netting left nothing to the imagination.

“Oh . . . my . . . God,” CJ muttered.

All Binggum could add was a husky, “I don’t think I’ll be needing any pills after all,” and, to back that statement up, his cock was already jerking to attention.

The three of us moved into the dining room. Binggum motioned for me to sit beside him, but I took the seat across from him, and CJ took the seat on the end. There wasn’t much conversation as we were being served. Binggum couldn’t keep his eyes off me. Late in the meal, I found a bare foot on mine under the table, and I had little trouble deciding whose it was. He was tentatively sliding his toes up under the fringe of my chaps. Just to show Binggum how dexterous I was, I lifted one of my feet up to his crotch and got his cotton pants-encased dick between two toes. He gave me a sly look and pulled his pants down over his hips and started massaging my foot when I returned it to his dick. I moved the toes down the length of his dick and applied my big toe firmly on his piss slit, which made him lurch and cough at the table.

“Perhaps its time for us to sign those agreements,” CJ said sweetly, as Binggum scrunched down in his chair, coming very close to going under the table completely.

“Later, I think,” Binggum answered. “I