Fitting In 3

Fitting In

by Rajah Dodger (c) 2017

This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Non-Commercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License (by-nc-sa). In jurisdictions where the Creative Commons license is not recognized, United States copyright and Berne Convention provisions apply; all rights reserved to Rajah Dodger except that electronic not-for-profit reproduction rights are explicitly granted with the stipulation that this authorship and permission note must remain attached.

The good news about the takeover was Jeff's elevation to vice-president of the western branch. The bad news, in his opinion, was having to give up casual clothes in favor of the monkey suits favored by the Europeans. At least they were covering the expense of his new wardrobe at the clothier they favored. "Clothes Make the Man," said the sign over the customer counter, and Jeff had a good laugh at that.

"The fitter will see you now, Mister Harrison." Jeff put down the magazine and followed the menswear assistant into the back of the tailoring area. The impatient young man waiting there was blandly sleek in the manner of magazine covers. He gave Jeff the shortest of looks and fluttered his fingers dismissively. "I am Emile. I will measure and prepare you for your proper clothing. Now remove those."

Jeff looked around, confused. "I thought you took measurements over the pants."

The fitter looked pointedly at Jeff's khaki slacks. "Perhaps at J.C. Penney -- here you are being measured for real clothing." The put-down was delivered with a scathing tone, as if such material might contaminate the high-end suits on the nearby racks just by its proximity. Jeff unbuckled his belt and slid his slacks down to his ankles.

"Dress left or dress right?" The question left Jeff completely baffled. The younger man circled around him like a lion sniffing its prey. "Oh, never mind -- you wear briefs. You'll have to change that for the formal dress pants, of course. Now get it all off and stand on the platform." Jeff flushed, but sat down to take off his shoes and trousers, then wriggled out of his briefs as well. He stepped onto the raised platform with his face flushed and his cock dangling, reflected in merciless detail in all three mirrors.

Emile came up and started taking measurements, pressing the tip of the yellow tape down the outsides and up the insides of Jeff's legs. Jeff couldn't help twitching as his cock bounced, but the other man ignored it as he went about his job. Emile ran his fingers up and down, pressing into Jeff's leg and thigh muscles, as if Jeff were a mannequin being checked for quality before shipment. He looped the tape around each thigh and pulled tight, then pressed the tape in a line from the base of Jeff's neck down to the clenching crease of his ass.

Jeff closed his eyes and focused on steady breathing. It helped distract him somewhat from the way he was being handled.

Soon, if not soon enough, the measurements were completed and Emile told Jeff to get dressed.

"You need boxers, not those -- things. Americans know nothing about proper dressing. Your suits will be ready in three weeks." Emile's eyes crawled over Jeff, visibly assessing him. "Set aside two hours to try everything on so that I can make any final adjustments. And by all means, try not to gorge yourself at meals between now and then!"

Jeff's face was scarlet as he got into his regular clothes. His exit from the clothing store was somewhat faster than his schedule required.

The stressful fitting faded quickly from Jeff's mind, as did the criticisms and instructions of the fitter. His new position held plenty to keep him busy, between reviewing the division's various branch operations and trying to identify someone to replace him as a branch manager.

Moreover, there was a mandatory dinner and conference for vice-presidents in six weeks, and Jeff had received a very thick packet of material on organization history, goals, culture and protocols - all of which he would need to master before the conference. Jeff had only met three of the Europeans, but they all had that general attitude of superiority to anyone from the States. He knew that he'd have to be at the top of his game when face to face with them, or this promotion could easily dissolve from under his feet.

Between the press of normal daily business and his studies at night, Jeff's social life and personal time vanished. On his managerial trips to personally review the branches now under his supervision, he chafed at the time required for the traditional dinner and drinks with the branch managers, as it left him with that much less time to prepare for the critical overseas trip.

Jeff had quite forgotten about his new wardrobe by the time the email arrived reminding him to make his final clothing appointment. He checked the calendar in some confusion - it had been four and a half weeks since his fitting! The conference was practically upon him, and there were still two briefing documents he hadn't even opened. He rechecked his reservations on the Air Canada flight to Frankfurt, then called the clothier's office.

The phone call was not pleasant. The scheduler insisted there were no appointments left during the week, and refused to arrange anything on the weekend. Jeff's attempts to pay for the inconvenience were rudely and abruptly dismissed. The best the scheduler would offer Jeff was a five o'clock time on Monday, the same week that Jeff would be leaving.

After a marathon study session over the weekend, and a rushed morning of nailing down branch issues, Jeff rushed through traffic to get the new suits taken care of. Much to his dismay, once he arrived there was still paperwork to be completed and it was almost five-thirty before the counterman escorted him back into the fitting area.

Emile dismissed the man and reminded him to lock up, then pulled a rolling rack of clothes out. "Clothes off," he snapped, and Jeff hurried to get undressed, stripping down to his briefs. Emile gave him a peculiar look, but just handed Jeff the first suit.

The fit was snug. Jeff had been careful about his meals, and even squeezed in a few sessions a week at the gym. Even so, the fit was - tight.

Emile clucked his tongue. "Look here!" He dragged Jeff to a podium with three mirrors positioned, and showed Jeff the visible lines his briefs made through the fabric. "I told you those briefs were -" and he let out a snarl that Jeff couldn't make out. "Get them off, you'll have to do without."

"You mean go commando? But the fabric..." Jeff's face turned scarlet, but it had no effect on the European.

"Whatever word you want, deal with it. You Americans are barbarians, really. And as to the fabric, well if you wash yourself properly then you won't have to worry about staining it, will you?"

Awkwardly, Jeff slid the suit pants down then stripped his briefs off, starting to pull the pants up. He was again interrupted when Emile grabbed his cock and palmed it down into the left pant leg. "You'll be dress left. Somehow that doesn't surprise me." Jeff felt the hot flush in his face spread through his entire body while Emile drew the pants up and fastened them. "Now look at yourself!"

Jeff caught his breath, and looked into the mirror. To his surprise, there wasn't any particular bulge or evidence that his cock was pulsing down inside his thigh. Emile picked up his measuring tape again, and soon was pressing thumbs into the backs of Jeff's legs and ass, muttering all the while. "Almost right. Just two more things to check."

The pants were pulled down briskly, fabric rubbing over the head of Jeff's cock. While he caught his breath, Emile laced the measuring tape around his balls, between his thighs, around his cock, taking Jeff from merely turgid to fully erect in moments.

The Frenchman was smiling. That expression, on his face, made Jeff's guts twist. "Your bosses, they are - how do you put it - top dogs. And you are on the bottom. You know what bottom means, yes?"

With that he wrapped his mouth around Jeff's cock. Jeff had no say in the matter, nor as his balls were expertly massaged could he prevent the sudden pulse and clench of his muscles, spurting over and over as Emile swallowed.

"Now," Emile said after licking his lips, "we give you a real fitting." He half-dragged, half-pulled Jeff over to lie atop a cutting table, then rubbed something slick between his cheeks. It tingled, but Jeff didn't have time to appreciate that before Emile was inside him. His ass clamped in shock, then he started to moan and buck as the special lube made his ass prickle with intense heat, eased only when Emile pushed and pulled, in and out, rubbing the affected areas. Jeff was reduced to grunting incoherently as he hunched back and threw his legs open wider.

Jeff's cock pulsed and dribbled as the other man's cock filled and emptied him. His face was cheek-down on the table, and the nearby mirror showed a distorted reflection of their bodies bouncing against each other. Jeff wondered if this meant he was gay now, and then Emile grunted and the first thick blast drove all remaining thought out of Jeff's mind.

The next thing Jeff was aware of was sitting in his car, his new suits in a travel suitcase in the back seat, and a cream envelope on the dashboard. He opened the envelope, and found a formal invitation to a pre-conference meeting. At the bottom of the invitation, in elegant script, was the notation "Dress Left."

/ END /