Not a gun in sight as the lift doors opened on the floor below even though not a soul appeared as we moved along a corridor that could allow two Mack trucks to pass one another with ease. I was admitted to a lobby anti-room with a gold framed, ornate mirror and two hall chairs.
"Please wait here!" The man with the headdress went through to a further space, presumably the penthouse suite, from which I could hear a muffled conversation. Four or five minutes passed before he emerged, smiled slightly and said "Mr. Abdullah will escort you back to your room Mr. Beresford." Then with a furrowed brow, "I hope we have not alarmed you too much, our employers must be very careful regarding security." With that he handed my room key back to Mr.Abdullah who made a silent, broad gesture that I should follow him. He led me back to the lift and we descended to my lowly level. I had expected the return of my key and to be left to find my own door but no. The guard walked me right to my door, swiped the lock opened the door, gestured for me to enter and stepped in allowing the door to close behind him. A shiver ran up my back, imagining I was about to be the victim of a professional killing, bullet to the back of the skull. I turned to face this hulking, fearsome, silent man.
He reached up to his thick neck and unfastened a clip tie before unbuttoning his collar, turning his head from side to side in obvious relief. I was spellbound. He hung his jacket on the rail just inside the door and the almost impossible musculature of his torso became apparent underneath the formality of his white shirt. He shucked his holster with a nonchalance of a real pro and set to unbuttoning. He was stripping for me!
Under the white shirt he wore a fine silk undershirt which prevented the dense, black hair that covered his body 'spoiling' his official appearance. It swirled around his gargantuan pecs, delineating his magnificent, ripped abdominals and frothed over his shoulders to be cut precisely at the neck and impeccably shaved above. the contrast was startling.
Bending with surprising flexibility he untied his shoes, carefully setting them on the rack provided, unfastened his belt, as I continued to stare in amazement and unbuttoned his pants stepping out carefully, folding them formally and hanging them along with the jacket, next to my own suit. The loose fit of clothing he wore disguised the colossal power of the man. His enormously powerful legs as forested in dark hair as his torso, massive by any standard at the very least. I have a 48" chest and at 205lbs for a man of 5' 10', I carry a lot of muscle but Mr. Abdullah made two of me in almost every respect. I look skinny by comparison. The front of his shorts gave evidence that what was still concealed was in some way proportionate to the rest of this extraordinary superman.
He moved towards me, then paused with an anxious look. He gestured towards his body and put his head on one side as if asking for approval I smiled broadly and opened my arms as if in welcome and he swept forward to embrace me or to crush me. In return, I did my best to wrap my arms around his magnificent body. I tried to place my lips on his, he turned his face away and I landed a smacker on his bearded jaw. He was nervous.
I could feel the coarse hair rustling against my T and struggle free to lift my shirt off and make chest to chest contact more erotic. I rubbed back and forth which seemed to please him and his breathing became more excited. I shucked down my shorts and my 9x5 sprang up between us and brushed his swollen groin. He reached for it and encircled it enthusiastically with his huge fist, making it look like a little wiener. His hand was gentle and he gave a little groan of contentment, deep in his throat.