The tailor, the suit, and my stick that wouldn't fit in it.

Recently I needed a new suit for an important office event, because the previous one was already well worn. This is always a problem for me, because the ones I find ready in the stores always tighten or mark my cock too much, which, one can say, is much above the national average. That is why I always order from the same tailor, Seu Antunes, who already knows my size and always makes it with agility. However, on this occasion he was busy, he could not attend to me and recommended me another trusted professional. The tailor shop was near the office, so I went there early in the afternoon. The place seemed appropriate, with a certain elegance, and even without an appointment they said they would be able to attend to me. I had coffee, which the nice receptionist offered me and I was already beginning to think of bastards with that ass hidden under a red dress, when I was attended by the alphabet. He looked a little young to me, but the way he talked really convinced me that he understood the craft. He told me that he was the nephew of Seu Antunes and that he had also learned the techniques from the family. I asked if he could not take advantage of the molds of Seu Antunes, but he preferred to take the measurements himself, asking me to take off the suit. I took it off, left it on a hanger and I was only in white underwear. When I turned around, I saw the alpha male immediately startled, and when I followed his gaze I realized that it was fixed on my dick. I was used to being halfway with anything and that receptionist's ass had that effect on me, but from the boy's face, it looked like it was the first time I'd ever seen something that size. He goes on without commenting, barely able to concentrate, taking off his waist and thigh measurements two or three times, and bumping into my dick every time. "Did that work?" I ask as he kneels on the floor, with the strap stretched from my heel to my groin, practically pushing my bag up. - I understand, you can let go. As soon as he gets up, the receptionist comes in and grabs my underwear. She has plenty of time to check my clothes before she finally turns around and passes the message that the next scheduled customer has arrived. When she leaves, I have to adjust the stick, which had already swollen more, before putting on the clothes. I arrange with the tailor to come back at the end of the next week, already on the eve of the event. Since I am already a client of his uncle, he agrees to meet me on Saturday, even outside the schedule, to deliver on time. I leave there wanting to chat with the receptionist, but I can't find her, just staying in the memory of that situation. So the next Saturday, when I knock on the door of the tailor shop, it's all closed, nothing from the receptionist with the hot ass and the possibility of convincing a little girl, just on the day I was without underwear, only the tailor meets me and asks if the suit is ready, he confirms and takes me to his room to try it on. When I turn around, there's the scared face again, now seeing my finger whose exposed. "I said I needed a lot of space", I explain, laughing, trying to soften the discomfort of the scene. - Better put the jacket on first and then let's try on the pants - he advises, believing that my partner would reduce in the meantime. He puts on my jacket and I see that it's getting perfect, but the strategy of letting my dick relax doesn't work, because it's impossible to be relaxed with someone who doesn't take their eyes off their dick. And whoever's a man knows when that happens. The look that keeps you dry, the person's mouth drooling, the silly hand wanting to touch you all the time. My dick knows that too and it's getting hard in the meantime. - Let's see the pants now. I put it on and as I wait, I have a little difficulty adjusting my dick to one of the legs of my pants, the tailor, now much more confident, decides to help me by adjusting my shirt to the inside of my pants and tapping my dick hard, as if he wants to know how much more blood can still be pumped into that area, and I am static for a moment, trying not to sketch out any reaction of pleasure, but it is impossible not to notice my body moving and my breath getting more gassy. - It looks like it's getting bigger, doesn't it? - he says with his hands inside my pants, still pumping my dick. "It is", I answer dry, trying not to groan in his hands. It locks the zipper at waist height, but it's impossible to pull up the zipper of the bracelet. The legs of the pants are so tight that on one of them it would be possible to draw the contours of my penis, its wide head and veins, and on the other my balls and combs. There would be no conditions for me to arrive at a company party in those conditions. Take off your pants and you can sit in that chair, and I need you to keep your dick at full size so we can take your measurements. - I'm sorry, I did not understand. - You need to masturbate until you get close to mocking, then we'll take the measurements. He then takes the trousers and carries them to the sewing table, disassembling them. Meanwhile, I'm in the armchair, wearing only a social shirt and jacket, punching a handkerchief. He watches me from his desk, without any modesty or disguise, biting his mouth again and again. I can't deny that it's going to excite me, but it's still not enough to make me laugh. I'd give anything to see that hot little bundle right now. I don't, but I think I can help you, so close your eyes, keep visualizing her ass. I close my eyes and follow his directions without much effect, until I feel something rubbing on my dick. When I open my eyes, a white, smooth ass is in front of me, but it's not the receptionist's but the tailor's. It slides down my dick, up and down and rolls on my lap, playing with my balls. I'm afraid to touch, but he guides my hand to that hard surface, where I slide, reaching with my fingers to the entrance of his ass. - You're wondering if it fits? He takes a position on the tip of my dick and starts to sit down. In one thrust he covers the whole head and locks there. He already writhes in pain and I in hardness in that tight ass. Now I need him to go all the way, so I start to help, massaging that ass, penetrating slowly. He writhes, losing his breath, with each advance of the impalement, until he groans loudly, as if my dick is already coming out of his throat, rolling finally with pleasure with my whole member inside him. It's only then that I start the thrust, and I see him jump. Time of pain, time of pleasure, asking me to stop and then start again. I follow that ass, which by this time is already well laced. I'm about to make a joke, and for me it makes no difference whether it's the receptionist's ass or her boss's. That's when he asks me to stop and gets up slowly while I take a deep breath so as not to make fun of that movement. With his tape he again measures my hip and thigh, massaging my cock slowly so that it does not soften. He measures the diameter and length of the limb, letting out a victorious smile before departing again for the sewing table. I don't know how many hours I sit there waiting, playing alone with my dick, with no right to mock, until he finally returns with the finished piece and makes me dress. The service was practically complete, if not for the incomplete fuck. But he knows it, and he provokes me by stroking my dick over my pants. I grab that ass again and he guides me back to the chair, climbing on me, now from the front. I can see every reaction of his face as his ass dilates and my dick penetrates, until it reaches the bottom. He is the one who controls the ride and rolls on me, driving me crazy, until I finally get back on the reins. I accelerate and push deeper and deeper until I groan and mock, almost at the same time as he laughs at my shirt and tie. I leave with a borrowed shirt and fortunately without dirtying the suit.