did you miss me?
A Room of One’s Own (part one)
Marcel stepped off stage, riding high on the thrill of his first ever modelling job on the Fashion Week runway. Even more amazing is that it was for a brand he loved, specialising in luxury menswear inspired by fetish and kink. He had felt like a king strutting in front of nodding fashionistas and flashing cameras wearing an immaculate white shirt with a vest made of dark gunmetal grey rubber that carved low under his pecs and was open at the back cinched by a series of buckles. Well fitted black slacks with a mesh panel that travelled from the waistband to the cuffs made it look like he was walking commando. Black shoes polished to a shine and black leather gloves completed the smouldering look. Marcel made sure everyone in that audience got the right angle. He felt the thrill of being the object of everyone’s fantasies as he turned and strolled with an effortless simmer, his broad chest pressing the fabric tight across his body, tufts of thick fragrant chest hair parading over the top button of his shirt, thick thighs stretching the mesh, telling the story of what treasure was just out of sight.
As he made his way backstage, show runner Bianca was waiting for him. “Good” she said abruptly, but Marcel swelled with pride - anything sounding even remotely like praise from this industry legend was rare indeed. She pointed behind her to a curtained-off room set against the far wall. “Step in there to change out. Put all the garments in the tray, push it closed and one of the team will push it back with your clothes inside. Go.”
“Yes, Miss” Marcel said back, quivering at how the response made him feel more like a boy and not the full-grown well-fed successful man the audience he felt he was, certainly the way the audience dreamed him to be. It was mandated that everyone referred to Bianca as ‘Miss’ but it still threw Marcel a little off-kilter, suddenly thinking about their last interaction when she hadn’t been satisfied with how the look fit him; she had gripped the vest to cinch tighter around his waist, yanked each of the buckles up a notch, handling his body roughly to make sure he was packed in skin-tight, hiking up the slacks to feature bulges in both front and back, and tearing the silk tie off his neck to show that tease of his chest. “Better” she had remarked sternly as she stalked off to terrorise another model’s dresser.
As he tottered off to the change room, so lost in thought that he didn’t notice the features of the room as he walked inside and closed the door behind him. No sooner had he walked through than Bianca, who had been watching him enter, reached for a remote tucked into her bra and pressed a button. Unbeknownst to Marcel, the room had just been odorised with a mix of ginger, vanilla and vinegar along with other things to achieve the desired effect from the men she directed into that particular cubicle.
The fragrance caught Marcel instantly, the mix of heat and sweat and sweetness in it coaxing him out of his daydream to look at the room he was in. It was fitted entirely with mirrors, slightly wider than his broad armspan and the ceiling slightly above his 6’1 height. Hundreds of Marcels stared surprised back at him in his ensemble. This is so much more fancy than the tiny curtained cubicles I’m used to, he thought to himself, smiling to himself about how far he’d come as he unbuttoned the shirt down to where the vest hugged his abdomen.
He spotted a mirrored drawer slightly ajar to his left, and as he reached behind him to undo the buckles he saw the door sat entirely flush against the wall with no handle. He might’ve thought this odd were he not distracted trying to twist himself to get the vest off. Once he had tossed it in the drawer and the shirt shortly after it, he snuck a peek of himself in the mirrors. He flexed slightly for his own pleasure as he unzipped his trousers and stepped out his shoes at the same time. The mirrored floor was cold under his bare feet, sending a shiver that ruffled every hair on his legs as he slid the trousers down to his ankles and withdrew his feet. As he bent to do this the mirror behind him got an obscene view of his most intimate place.
But the mirror wasn’t the only one.
Bianca smirked to herself at the rumble of pleasured voices of over fifty fashion and finance elite behind her watching the stud undress through the two-way glass, walking over and dumping the rest of his outfit in the drawer.
Marcel wore only the c-string underwear now. As he took his time looking over each inch of his nearly bare body, the perfume in the air started to take full effect: his cock filled out rapidly, pushing the elasticated pouch away from his stomach which in turn pulled the strap against his tight hole - the only hairless part of his body. Surprised by how aroused he’d become so swiftly, he tugged the underwear off, freeing his cock allowing it to grow to full strength, his balls dropping freely. He frisbeed the sweaty underwear into the drawer and gave his dick a casual but firm stroke. He lifted his leg out to push the drawer closed with his foot, hearing it click as it blended into the wall.
The excitement of the day, the relaxing quiet privacy, the erotic scent of the room, and the unexpected visual of being surrounded by himself buck naked took over. He knew he only had a moment before the drawer got pushed back and the scandalous thrill of self-pleasuring would be over. He only intended to edge a little but the seconds seemed to drag out, and the longer he waited for the drawer to come back the more he realised how hot it was to be in a room with literally no covering whatsoever, and at the seconds turned into minutes, he was losing control. With every pull on his hog he went farther from the voice in his head telling him he couldn’t cum in here with nothing to cum into or clean up with. His strokes got faster, more deliberate, his eyes darted around to every wanking replica breathing heavily, legs trembling, cock bouncing in his fist. The point of no return was long gone. He felt burning heat rushing up his shaft.
Bianca pressed the remote again.
Marcel was staring intently at the head of his rigid cock beginning to release its first rope of cum in the mirror opposite him when suddenly his image disappeared with a snap, and a room full of people were before him. Marcel’s eyes widened as the mirrors around him all switched to windows.
“Fuck!” he shouted, his body completely overtaken by his orgasm while his mind screamed at his sudden exposure. Imperious men and women on couches all looked upon him greedily as his jizz rained on his abs, thighs and feet.
“I’m naked!” his mind cried out with his moans, repeating itself “I’m naked! I’m naked!!” With each gasp more of the salty, heady fragrance rushed into his nose and boggled his brain. With every roll of that phrase his balls seemed to expand, opening him wider for his prostate to shoot more cum out of him onto the floor. He felt like he’d never stop. He felt like days had passed of him ecstatically ejaculating in full view of editors, designers, influencers, financiers and magnates.
As he finally began to come down, the reality of the situation rocked his senses. He stood frozen, dripping dick still in his grip, for another long second before dashing to the drawer for something to cover up with. The perverts in the observation room grinned viciously as his fingers fruitlessly scrambled over the wall trying to prise the locked drawer open. Giving up he darted to the door but was again met with only smooth glass that would not obey his hands. He screamed in frustration, spinning to face his captors, a lingering drizzle of semen flying out from his cock still flushed bright red as he flung himself around.
And then with another snap, the walls filled with his bare-assed self again, hyperventilating and humiliated, leaking and erect. A sliding sound announced the drawer opening, full now with his own clothes.
Catching his breath, Marcel almost felt more exposed now, knowing he was being watched but not being able to see who watched him scurry naked over to his belongings and start to redress, grimacing as his trunks pressed against the wetness and sensitivity of what it covered.
No sooner had he clipped on his watch than the door to the room opened to reveal a familiar silhouette standing just out of sight. “Step out” her stern voice echoed, the smell of cum and perspiration wafting out of the filthy room. Marcel didn’t know what fate awaited him, all he knew was that had been the most earth-shaking nut of his life. He crossed the room, stepping on his own seed as he replied,
“Yes, Miss”.
it’s good to be back. part two coming soon.
