leading into the mechanic shop’s small lobby. He flipped the latch shut on the door and flipped the little plastic sign that read “open” over to “closed”. Roger felt the lump in his throat double in size as he watched the man turn toward the window and spin shut the wand that controlled the shuttering motion of the window blinds. The late day sunlight slanted to a dimming ambient glow as it was occluded from the tiny lobby.

Dale then turned his back to the door to face Roger once more, that same leering expression still painting his face. Roger was now teeming with anxiety, but also trembling with anticipation.

Dale slowly unbuttoned his dark blue, grease-stained work shirt, slowly unfastening each button with thick, stubby, calloused fingertips. Roger’s heart began to race as Dale’s robust barrel of a chest was slowly revealed from his coveralls. The button line descended to just below Dale’s navel, and once he unclasped the last fastener, he shrugged the sleeves of the garment off his shoulders and let it descend to the tiled floor of the lobby.

Dale was a tremendous man, bulging and rippling with years of natural muscle. Roger felt a bead of sweat trickle down from his forehead as he tried to gulp down the ever-increasing lump in his throat. “I feel like I swallowed a softball,” Roger stammered, tears welling in his eyes.

“Oh, you’re about to swallow something a great deal bigger than that,” Dale informed him as he slipped his thumbs under his baby blue boxer shorts and jerked them to his knees.

Roger nearly doubled over at the sight of it – a mule-cock the likes of which he’d never believed possible. The lump of cinnamon brown flesh swinging between Dale’s legs looked more like a rolled up edition of the Sunday paper than it did a man’s cock. “Jesus Christ!” Roger exclaimed.

“Actually, I prefer to call him ‘lil Hitler’,” Dale informed.

“L… lil Hitler?” Roger questioned.

“Yeah. Because he’s such a ruthless dictator.”

Roger nearly lost his balance and was forced to place his hand behind him on the counter to keep from tumbling over backwards. He couldn’t explain it, but for some reason his own little prick was hardening inside his khakis. And within him he felt a sensation, similar to hunger pains, that registered only as an overwhelming desire to taste cock. He watched with marked anticipation as Dale lurched toward him, stroking his massive piece of lumber to arousal with the aggressive motions of a fastly jerking grimy mitt.

Roger involuntarily collapsed to his knees on the floor of the lobby in front of the little reception counter. Dale sidled up and presented his footlong tree-limb to Roger’s thin, pale face. Instinctively, the young data entry clerk put his lips to the tip of Dale’s piece. The man’s enormous organ smelled of castor oil and diesel fuel. The musky aroma intoxicated the young clerk. He was now crazed with cock-lust.

Roger opened his lips and took the tip of Dale’s gigantic mushroom cap into his mouth. It tasted raw and sweaty. He suckled tenderly at the piss slit, gulping back the streaming precum oozing from this colossal shaft. The flavor furthered Roger’s intoxication of the moment.

Soon enough, he was devouring Dale’s member like a sow at feeding time, hauling in more than half of the tremendous phallus. Dale was grunting and huffing as the clerk’s virgin mouth