He’s done as I’d asked, and his suit jacket is now hanging neatly on the back of the chair he previously occupied. But instead of rolling up his sleeve, he’s taken off his shirt completely and is now standing in the middle of the shop with his back turned to me in only his thin, white undershirt. It’s stretched across his wide shoulders, painted on his back, following every hill and valley of his muscles, the tapering lines of his waist, forming an arrow pointing to his ass. His high, round ass, tightly hugged by his fancy suit pants.
He looks over his shoulder, as though he sensed my presence, and turns to face me. Tufts of red fur peek over the neckline of his shirt, and are visible through the thin fabric, teasing me with the knowledge of a chest and belly covered in hair, of a broad t
