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Ivan ran to greet me with a handshake and slap on the back.
“Well if it isn’t Varden Gallagher! Good to see you, my man. You’ve been well, I trust?” He was short and stocky, with an exotic-sounding Eastern European name. I had no idea where he was from; he’d always avoided answering the question.
“Hey Ivan. Great to see you, too.” I scanned the shop for something that might work for a new trousers or a sports jacket. Across the room, Ivan’s assistant, a big-titted blonde who loved to suck cock in the privacy of the dressing room, waved.
“Hello, Mr. Gallagher,” Olga cooed from across the room. “I saw your name on the schedule for this morning.”
Indeed.
Sounded like she might be game for a little fun…especially if Ivan ran out for a smoke like he frequently did.
He brought over a couple bolts of fabric.
“These cottons, my friend, are the finest I’ve seen in my long career. I recommend for you half a dozen new shirts made from it. I can get them to you in two week’s time.”
I fingered the fabrics. It was nice, but felt like every other shirt hanging in my closet.
Oh, what the hell.
“Six new shirts would be great. I trust you to take good care of me.”
Ivan clapped his hands. “I love working with you, Varden. You are a man of distinction. Good taste and classy. I wish every client was like you.” He turned to Olga. “Olga, my dear, please take Mr. Gallagher into the dressing room for a new set of measurements. We want to make sure our records are up-to-date.”
Well. I was going to get my early morning blowie, after all. Six shirts and a cocksucker. What more could a guy want?
“Varden, my friend, please excuse me. I need to step out to address a very disgusting habit. Olga will take good care of you, just as she always does.” He reached for a handshake. “Thank you, my friend. I’ll have the shirts delivered to your office.” And with that, he grabbed his smokes and split.
Olga was on me before Ivan was even down the stairs, carrying a notebook as if she were really going to re-take the measurements they’d had on file for me for years.
She led me to the dressing room I’d been in a dozen times before, with mirrors on three sides and a block in the middle to stand on for hemming pants. It came in handy for other things, too. She pointed and I knew to step onto it.
Without a word, she was before me. She was short, and with me on the block, she was directly in front of my crotch.
“C’mon, baby,” she said in her scratchy, smoker’s voice.
I unbuckled my trousers and let them fall to the floor.
She pushed my shirt tails aside and lowered my boxers. My hard-on nearly slapped her face, and she drew back, chuckling with her throaty laugh. She took my dick, her fingers barely able to encircle it, and licked the precum from the tip.
“Tastes so good,” she murmured.
“Yeah?” I glanced back at the dressing room door. “Is the door locked Olga?”
But she couldn’t answer. Her mouth had devoured me so deeply my cock banged the back of her throat.
She released me for a moment, gasping for air. “Mr. Gallagher, I love sucking your cock.”
Well then. To hell with the door.
She got back to work with her customary enthusiasm. I grew closer to exploding and my balls pulled in tight.
I rocked my hips into her face, watching in the room’s floor to ceiling mirrors. I also glanced at my watch. I had a meeting at nine a.m. sharp.
To hurry things along, I grabbled her by the hair and started fucking her face. She finally gagged, her eyes watering thick rivers of black mascara down her face. Her right hand furiously pumped her pussy, and it looked like she might come before me.
She pistoned my cock at breakneck speed.
And kept g
