1. Charcoal Pinstripes


    Date: 10/10/2017, Categories: Group Sex, Author: Metilda, Rating: 11, Source: LushStories

    dressed in matching dark blue, looked at me. It was then that I realized my voice did a strange, lustful shiver of sorts, with a hint of a moan. Those three words said a lot. I pretended nothing of the sort came from me and breezed on with my words—spewing some scientific jibber to explain how the dark of his hair and peach of his skin contrasted well with the darker streaks of suit gray. I don’t think it made sense, but Ru slipped the blue off his shoulders. The back of the store was decorated by cubbies with neatly stacked shirts and rows and rows of shoes. My, the shoes. Slicked leather spats and wingtips in rich, ruddish tones were displayed like holy relics on glass shelving. They glistened, even. I touched one fingertip to a shined toe, pretending to feel the material in a ‘is it plastic, is it leather’ sort of way. When I looked up, the fact that my one finger was being suggestive was quite clear in the set of Ruben’s eyes. Suggestive, me and my randy forefinger. I touched a finger to my bottom lip, as if the shoes needed deep thought and serious hours of tense contemplation. The salesman’s mouth jutted up with a sly smile. “Those?” I only nodded, careful not to say anything lest my voice betray me again. Off Ruben went to do things like be measured by the tailor and I sat on a plush leather bench. Regal with brass studs lining the edges, it belonged in the waiting room of a pretentious lawyer’s office on floor number thirteen in New York City, not in a suit shop in ...
    small town USA. The coolness of the leather made me realize how heated I was. Not only was my skin flushed and warm, but sweat began to run down my spine. Sweat and leather, it made me think of sex—on top of the sex I was already thinking of. Trailing one finger over and around the brass studs, I imagined a ménage happening right there. It would have been the perfect height, if the men were on their knees. Then Ruben returned. Though I couldn’t see him, I heard him behind me. The fabric of his pant legs gripped and slicked with that unmistakable sound of finely woven polyblend rubbing together. He sat behind me. Before I turned to face him, I let my thoughts free—if only for a laugh. “I wonder how many times the sales guy fucked some hot chick right here.” Smiling, I turned, and saw blue. Shit. Blue. A thick, heavy, textured blue. Not charcoal. No pinstripes. Quickly, I stood, and stepped away. Far away—to the middle of the store where the tie racks stood; far away from the salesman; far away from the leather bench with rows of studs. I occupied my eyes with vivid colors and power tie patterns, but my mind was full of panic and humiliation. I couldn’t believe I said that to the salesman. A moment later, he walked to me. “With the gray, a burnt yellow tie would look good, I think. Given his tastes.” He slipped one such tie from the rack. God bless him for maintaining decorum. My embarrassment edged off a little. We talked about colors and ties, and nothing else. I couldn’t bring ...
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