I climb off my motorcycle outside a large house and pick a parcel up out of the top-box. I carry it to the imposing front door. There is no bell, but the door is open a crack. I look inside and shout "A delivery for you, Sir."
A voice calls "I'm in the sitting room."
I follow the sound of the voice and enter a luxurious room with a rich deep carpet. You are sitting wearing only a jock strap. Supremely confident. Arms draped casually along the back of the couch. Your chest, arms, calves and neck inked with beautiful unique custom tattoos. My cock starts to harden at the sight.
You see me in my motorbike leathers and dusty boots and you shout "Get those boots off in the house."
I comply without a murmur of complaint, hopping about on one leg as I struggle to remove them with as much dignity as I can muster.
"Put the parcel on the table" you say and wave in the direction of an ornate table.
"Yes, Sir" I say and I take it there.
"Show me the boots" you order.
I bring them to you. My pants are noticeably bulging now.
"Nice boots" you say.
You smell them. You stand up and rub a boot against your crotch between your legs.
"Smooth leather."
You notice my huge bulge. You smile. It's playtime.
It's almost a whisper when you speak. "Get those leathers off, you faggot."
Jacket off.
Pants off.
I am here in a stranger's house in my shorts and t-shirt.
You walk slowly around me and inspect me like a new recruit in the army. A sharp haircut, my ginger hair shaved at the sides and short curls on top, green eyes, a clean-shaven jaw, good biceps, sculpted abs, their outlines visible beneath my tight white t-shirt. You can see I am a guy that most people would not mess with.
"Shirt off", you say, and it's off.
