The Vending Machine

This story is a work of fiction.  It is a gay bondage fantasy, no part of which is based on real life.   Any resemblance therefore to anyone living or dead is purely accidental.  This story depicts male on male sexual practices, if you are offended by this then stop reading now.

All characters depicted in this story are willing participants in all the scenes they appear in.  No one was coerced or paid to appear in this story.

The practices and themes depicted in this story, in no way reflect the author’s beliefs or sexual practices.  If you chose to act out scenes from this story, please do it responsibly.  Always practice safe sex; you owe it not only to yourself but to your sexual partners.  If you think you have injured yourself or think you have contracted a sexual disease, or have any other health concerns.  Please consult with a health professional.

Don’t contact the author with commercial requests or advertising, I can find enough of that on the internet to fill my every want, need, and or desire.  Do contact me if you want to talk about the story, ask questions, send messages, or give feedback.  Feel free to make suggestions but I do not guarantee that any of them will be used, particularly if they require any of the characters to act outside of parameters of the story or their bio.

If you do not like this story, then go and read someone else’s.

Thanks.

Still in lockdown, what is a boy to do but turn his fantasy to flight and see what happens.  This particular story is formed in part from my particular fetish, although my fetish doesn’t go to the degree that I have in the story.  I hope you like it and it helps to while away the hours.

Tristan had seen the vending machines around the City.  I mean, who hadn’t they stood out like sore thumbs.  The vending machines sold used underwear, more specifically used male underwear catering to the Gay and fetish community.  Tristan and his mates, like all kids, knew all about the vending machines, mainly as they were located near the underground station entrances.  All the kids knew that the company bought used underwear, and apparently paid quite a lot for the used underwear, of course, they all said, piously that they’d never sell their used underwear.  But obviously, there were a lot of guys out there prepared to sell their used underwear.  Tristan can remember hearing some of the opposition to having the vending machines, people, particularly religious groups, were saying that they were encouraging prostitution.  But, the company that’s behind the vending machines, actually said that the opposite was true, this way anyone can buy a pair of used underwear and fulfil their sexual fantasies, and desires, without hurting anyone.

This way, they don’t have to go out and mug someone to fulfil their fantasies, besides in Japan they have been selling girls used underwear through vending machines for years.  So, this isn’t a new thing.  And so, the debate raged, until the powers that be decided that the vending machines were, in fact, fulfilling a need, and hopefully would cut down on rapes and assaults in the wider community.

So, the vending machines were here to stay seemingly, but the company had to contend with a lot of vandalism, so now the vending machines are housed in cages.  The only way you could get close enough to the vending machines, now, was to swipe your credit card through a slot on the gate.  As soon as the gate was released, the cage was lit up, and video cameras recorded you entering the cage and everything you did while you were in the cage, right up until you left.  If you caused any damage, the cost of the repairs would be taken from your credit card and your details handed to the Police for prosecution.

Eventually, all the hoopla died down, and the vending machines were allowed to stay.  Like all kids, Tristan and his mates joked about selling their underwear, but seemingly that was as far as it went.  But, when he happened to pass one of the vending machines, he noticed that they were always full so there must be a lot of guys out there prepared to sell their used undies.  Tristan wasn’t quite sure what made him do it, but he’d been thinking about the vending machines, well more specifically their contents, and he took a photo of the QR code, on the side of the machine, and looked at the information it provided.  It gave him contact details of Agency that ran the vending machines.  While Tristan continually told himself that he wasn’t going to do it, he was just thinking about it, or so he thought.  That is until he found himself entering one of the old buildings in Flinders Lane.  He walked up the rickety stairs until he found the office on the third floor he was looking for.  Tristan stood there uncertain for a long time before he scraped up enough courage to reach out and ring the buzzer beside the door.

The buzzer beside my office door went.  I turned to the screen and check who is in the hall outside my office, but all I can see is a young guy standing in front of the door dancing nervously from foot to foot while he waits to be let in.  I pushed the button on the intercom and asked him why he was here, and he said that he was here to sell his jocks.  I push the door release button under the lip of my desk and let him in.  He hesitantly pushes the door open, but then almost jumps into my office, I guess he’s decided that he doesn’t want anyone to see him entering my office.  It’s Ok; I’m used to it.  In my line of work, my customers don’t want to get caught purchasing my product, and my ‘stable’ of guys don’t want anyone to see them entering my office.  I chuckle to myself as I stand up and walk around my desk and sit against the lip of my desk on the other side, facing my visitor.

“Um…, he begins nervously, “ah, I was, um, wondering, if um, you were the, um guy…” he stammered as he rubbed the back of his neck as he stares at his shuffling feet.  “Um, that, um, runs the vending machines, um…” he continues as he finally looks up.  His eyes alight on and dart from my face in milliseconds and then pans around the office and alight on the vending machine in the corner.  “Oh…” he says when he sees the vending machine and walks over to it and checks it out.  Suddenly obviously feeling a bit more comfortable now he calls over his shoulder, “so you’re the guy who operates these machines,” he says as he studies the machine.

“Yes,” I reply, “I’m the guy who runs the machines.  What can I do for you?”

“I found your ad,” he replies, still engrossed with the vending machine, “so it’s true?  You buy guys dirty underwear and then sell them through these machines.”

“Obviously,” I replied, but he cuts me off.

“So, what’s the deal?” he asks.

“Well, if you read the ad, I thought it was pretty self-explanatory,” I say with a bit of a sigh, but I begin the spiel, “I buy guys used underwear and sell them to other guys through my vending machines.  But,” I continued, “there are specific criterion, my customers do have high expectations of my ‘product’, and I work very hard at keeping the quality of my ‘merchandise’ extremely high.”

“So, how does this work…” he cuts me off.

“I was getting there,” I reply, “so, for example, a guy like you comes to my office, if he is a returning employee, then he knows the drill.  He informs me what he has done while wearing his underwear, has he just come from the gym, has been wearing his underwear all day, or for a couple of days straight.  Has he collected a few drops of piss in them, has he kept them free of piss?  Has he cum recently and caught a few drops of cum in his underwear, pre-cum?  Does he have skid marks on his underwear?  Those sorts of thing.  He then strips in front of me down to his underwear.  I take a couple of pictures.  He removes his underwear, and I check them for what the guy says his underwear contains.  If he’s right, and I can verify it, then his underwear goes into a resealable container.  I pay him.  He gets dressed and leaves.

Then I assign the guy’s used underwear to one of my vending machines.  And that’s what happens,” I finish looking the guy up and down, “so, what can I do for you?”

“Um, well,” he begins, again almost being overcome by nerves, “um, I think I wanted to know if you wanted to buy my jocks,” he finished as he went bright red.

I smiled to myself, “Ok,” I began as I looked him over once again, “how old are you?”

“Um, I turned sixteen today,” he replied.

“Have you got any proof?” I asked, “I’m not going to get arrested for corrupting a minor.”

“Oh, no,” he said as he dropped his backpack and began fishing around in it, “I brought my birth certificate with me.”  He continued as he fished around in his backpack, “I also have some photo id, as I saw that you require that as well,” he finished up as he found his birth certificate, then with his photo id, he held them out to me.

I remained leaning against my desk and held my hand out, “Oh, right,” he said as he walked over and gave me the documentation.

I took the paperwork and walked back around my desk and sat down as I indicated the chair for him.  He sat on the chair and waited.  I checked the documents and held his photo id up and checked the picture.  “Well, that all looks in order,” I said as I laid the documents on the desktop, “so tell me why do you want to sell your jocks?  And why do you think I’m going to want to buy them?”

“Um, well, ahh, I, um, have seen your vending machines around and I always wondered why someone’d want to sell their jocks.  And, um, I guess, I, um, have always wondered who’d want to buy them.  I mean their pretty pricey, so I sat and watched on of your machines for a while until I saw a couple of people buying your, um, ‘products’, and thought it’d be an easy way to make money.  So, um, today, as I turned sixteen, I, um, thought I’d, um, try and sell my jocks.”

“Ok, and how do you feel about posing for the photo?” I asked.

“Oh, so it is the guys’ whose underwear it is in the photos?” he asked, surprised.

“Of course, it is!  How else are my customers supposed to know whose undies they have?”

“Oh, I hadn’t thought about that,” he said seemingly a little crestfallen.

“Have you looked at the photos of the guys?”

“um, no, I, ahh, haven’t really looked at the photos…”

“Well,” I replied, cutting him off,” why don’t you go over and have a look?”

The kid got up out of his seat and went over and looked at the pictures on the packaging, “Oh!” was all he said as he came back and sat down.

“So,” I began as I fished a contract out of my drawer, “this is the standard contract, it basically says that neither I nor anyone else, forced you to do this and that you are under no obligation to continue to supply me with dirty underwear.  But once this is signed you give up all ownership of your undies, and they become my property to do with as I wish, be that I keep them, sell them, or burn them, it’s entirely up to me.”  I slid the contract across the top of the desk, in front of the kid and put a pen down on top.

The kid licked his lips as he picked up the pen and signed and dated the contract.

I picked up the contract, and after I notarised it, I gave him back his copy.  “Ok, boy,” I said as I bent down and picked up my camera, and stood up and walked around the desk, “strip down to your jocks and go and stand with your back to that wall over there.”

The kid started to look around, “what the hell are you looking for?” I asked him incredulously.

“Um, is there a change room, or something?” he asked as he swivelled his head around, casting his gaze around the room, almost like a trapped animal.

“What the fuck…” I began, then taking another look at the kid, I took a steadying breath, “no, there isn’t a change room or any other area for you to change in.  We’re both males.  What?  Do you think I’m going to rape you or something?”

“Um, well…” he began as he started to go beet red.

I laughed at him, “No!  I’m not going to rape you.  Now, if you still want to sell your jocks.  Strip down to your jocks and stand against the wall so I can take your picture.”

Somewhat reluctantly, he stood up and slowly began to strip, looking all the world like a man who is going to the electric chair or something.  Anyway, he eventually strips down to his jocks, but as soon as he stood up from taking his pants off, his hands fly in front of his crotch instantly.

“For fuck sake,” I stated, “you’re the one who came to me, not me to you, remember?”  He looks at me and nods, “right so take your hands away from your groin and go and stand against the wall, or we can rip the contract up right now, and you can get the fuck out of here and stop wasting my time.”

He seemed to make a decision as his hands fell away from his groin, and he stood up and walked over to the wall that I had indicated earlier.  When his hands fell away from his groin, I could see his cock straining against the fabric of his jocks, with a definite wet patch.  As he walked past me, I got to see him side on and his nuts looked pretty hefty as well, and finally, I got to see his somewhat flat arse as he walked over and stood in front of the wall.  I took a couple of shots, and then told him to drop his jocks, “What,” he almost baulked on me.  “Your jocks,” I said, “take them off.”  As he continued to look at me, a bit nonplussed, “you did come here to sell me your jocks, didn’t you?”

“Oh, um, yes…” he began.

“Look, the process is quite simple.  You decide to sell me your underwear.  You come in here and strip down to your underwear, and I take a photo.  You remove your underwear, and I check what you’ve left in them.  I then put them into an airtight container.  I give you the money.  You get dressed and leave.  Have you got any questions about any of that?”

“um, no…” he began.  “Good,” I cut him off, “then strip and give me your jocks.”

With that he peeled his jocks off and handed them to me, “finally now go and sit back down,” and he somewhat sheepishly walked past me, naked, and went and sat gingerly on the edge of his chair.

“Finally,” I breathed as I went and sat down in my chair, “so, what have you done in your jocks,” I asked as I held them to my nose, I pulled them open and smelled the crotch, “Mm,” I moaned appreciatively as I inhaled his musky scent, “so, let's see,” I said as I closed my eyes and ran his jocks under my nose.  “Nice strong musky smell, so you’ve had these on all day, have you?” I asked without opening my eyes, and before he could answer, I moved his jocks around under my nose.  “Hmm, is that a faint odour of shit?” I asked him again without opening my eyes or waiting for an answer.  I moved his jocks under my nose and got a whiff of piss as well as a pleasant wet smell of pre-cum, and I was right, the kid had leaked quite a lot.  In fact, he’s probably still leaking pre-cum now while he’s sitting naked on the chair in front of me.

“Very, nice kid,” I said as I sealed his jocks in a container, “now, statistics,”  I asked and recorded his height and weight, and shoe size, once again he blushed beet red when I asked him for his dick size, and he somewhat embarrassedly told me that he didn’t know.  I threw a measuring tape at him and told him to measure it.  He fumbled with his cock for a bit and kept getting redder, after about five minutes, I asked him if he wanted a hand, and somewhat gratefully he said he did.  So, I got up and walked around the desk and told him to stand up, while I knelt in front of him, and as he was well and truly aroused, I measured his erect cock.  And it was impressive erect it was nine and a half inches and three and a half inches in diameter.  The problem now was to measure it flaccid, and without telling him what I was going to do, I grabbed the head of his cock and squeezed it until his cock deflated.  Then I measured it, and his cock was still an impressive five inches, then having completed the task at hand, I went back to my chair and wrote the stats down.

“So, how long have you been wearing this pair of jocks for?”

“Um, just today,” he replied, “um, is that Ok?” he asked.

“Sure kid, I don’t care what you do in your jocks, or for how long.  It’s just for my customers, some of them like to know these sorts of things.  So, how long have you worn this particular pair of jocks for, since you put them on clean?”

“Oh, um, just today….”

“Ok, so what, six, seven, eight hours?”

“Oh, um, about eight and a half hours.”

“Ok, and what, have you been to school?  Did you run anywhere; did you masturbate today while wearing them?  Um, did you do P.E., come on, kid, you’re killing me here…”

I saw understanding dawning on his face, and he ran off all the things he’d done today up to right now.  He gave me his banking details, and I paid him for his jocks, and we talked for a bit while he got dressed.  “Oh, um,” he began as he did up his pants, “what happens if I want to sell another pair?”

“Well, now you’re an ‘employee’ you won’t need to bring all your id again.” and saying that I gave him his ‘employee number’.  “Now, if your jocks sell you will get a notification on your phone via a text message.  You can then decide if you want to sell another pair or not, at the same time, you can decide if you want to set up a profile or not.  That’s entirely up to you, as to how much of yourself you want to share or not.  Ok, any questions?”

“Um, no, I don’t think so.”

“Ok then, here are the login details, for the website, if you sell your jocks, and a list of the general questions the guys ask,” I said as I handed him a sheet of paper.  He stuffed it in his backpack and left.

I pulled the sealed container opened again and pulled out his used jocks.  I pulled the file of the secret recording I’d made of the kid’s ‘interview’ we’d just had.  While I watched the kid strip, I inhaled deeply his musky scent.  I couldn’t help myself, and I pulled my cock out of the confines of my pants and slowly began stroking it.  When I finally encountered the rather large wet patch of pre-cum, I shot a load of hot cum all over the top of my desk.  I put the used jocks back into their sealed container and started to clean my desk, but I was so fuckin’ horny after watching him strip, I decided to lick my desk clean, but it wasn’t for the first time.  Nor, did I think it’d be the last time, I can assure you.

When everything was all clean again, I set to printing out and attaching the kids’ photo and put it in the box ready for delivery to one of the vending machines I had around the City.

**********

Tristan pushed through the old wooden door of the building as he stepped out onto Flinders Lane, and he turned left and headed towards the Degraves St entrance to Flinders St station.  He kept looking back over his shoulder, expecting what, someone to lay a hand on his shoulder and drag him off to who knows where, but he made it to the station unmolested.  So, he was feeling better about the whole deal as he boarded his train, and it wasn’t until he sat in his seat did, he allow himself to finally admit that he’d just sold a pair of his used jocks.  As the train pulled out of the station, Tristan tried to very surreptitiously pull his phone out of his pocket and look at the receipt for his jocks.  He sat there and looked at the amount of money he’d got paid and couldn’t believe it.  Then he wondered if anyone’d buy his used jocks, mind you he didn’t know why anyone’d want to buy them, nor what they’d use them for.  He just hoped that it wasn’t a wasted trip.  He looked at some of his other text messages, he answered a few, sent a few new texts to people he knew, and basically whiled away the time while he waited for his stop.

It wasn’t until about a week later that Tristan received a notification on his phone from a number he didn’t know, so on a whim, he opened it.  Only to discover that it was a notification that someone had indeed bought his pair of dirty jocks, and Tristan almost dropped his phone in shock.  There was a link to a website, which Tristan clicked, and after he’d entered his number that I had given him when he’d sold his pair of dirty jocks, he discovered that he’d been left a message.  In fact, there were a couple of messages waiting for him; one was to notify him that his jocks had been sold.  The other one was from the buyer telling him that he’d just opened the pack with Tristan’s dirty jocks in it.

‘I have just broken the seal on the package and am currently inhaling the aroma of your dirty jocks.  Your musky odour is quite heady, and is that a hint of piss I can smell, naughty boy, or did you set out to tease, hmm?  Oh, my is that a hint of, oh no, it’s more than a hint, isn’t it, you naughty boy, it would seem as though you have leaked quite a bit of pre-cum too.  Was it the thought of me opening, and devouring, your jocks that got you so excited, or was it something, or someone else that got you so excited?  And what’s that, oh dear, is there just a trace of faeces I can smell, oh no that will never do.  I think you should be punished for that, were you here, I’d give you six hard smacks with the wooden spoon.

Well, I can feel myself getting quite aroused by all the other odours you left for me, so I’m just going to have to do something about that.  I may wear your dirty jocks on my face so that they crotch is over my nose so that every time I inhale, I can smell the muskiness of you.  Au revoir.’

There was even a rating left.  But the thing that really blew Tristan’s’ mind was the fact that he had a request, and with that request was an offer of a lot of money.  Someone wanted a pair of his jocks soaked in six days of hard sweat, but there was to be absolutely no hint of piss or shit anywhere in his jocks.  But and the buyer was very specific about this one point, the jocks had to be almost dripping in sweat.  If Tristan could provide a pair of jocks meeting those conditions, then the buyer was prepared to pay $1600.00.

Tristan quickly looked up what his cut would be and discovered that if he could provide ‘designer underwear’ that met the Clients specific instructions, and the Client paid the specified amount.  Then Tristan would get 50% of the offered monies.  Tristan stopped reading at that point, and all he could think about was the $800.00 he stood to make.  Tristan decided that it was going to be worth the money to put in the effort, so after school and before he went to work, he went shopping and bought himself a new pack of jocks, but went a bit more upmarket to the jocks he normally bought.

Tristan always wanted to get fitter, not that he was fat, or unfit or anything, so donning a new pair of jocks he decided to start running, at first, he started to run around his local neighbourhood, and he was feeling really good.  So, when he hit the local park, he decided to do a few laps of the running track, and by the time he’d done a couple of laps he was really hot and sweaty, and decided that he’d done enough for one day.  Tristan headed home, he grabbed one of the big zip lock bags he’d bought, from his room, and a change of clothes and went and had a shower.  When he stripped, Tristan was very careful that his jocks didn’t touch the floor, he held them up to his nose and took an experimental sniff and almost gagged and dropped his jocks.  ‘For fuck sake,’ he thought, ‘how could anybody like the smell, let alone want to pay for it,’ he thought, ‘and the fucker wants the stench to be stronger.’  With a shake of his head, Tristan dropped his used jocks into the zip lock bag and thankfully sealed them up.  When Tristan finished his shower, he spirited his sealed jocks back to his room, he didn’t want anyone else to find them, and he certainly didn’t want his mum to wash them.

For the rest of the week, after Tristan got home from school, he stripped and pulled out the zip lock bag with his dirty jocks in them.  He was a bit concerned because of all the condensation that had built up in the bag by the third day and was a bit worried that his jocks might go mouldy.  When he broke the seal on the bag, the stench was so overpowering that he almost vomited on the spot, and the feel of dragging his wet jocks up his legs made his flesh crawl.  But still, he forced them up his legs, and not for the first time, and definitely not for the last time he wondered how anyone could like something like that, let alone want to pay to own them in this condition, Tristan couldn’t help the shudder that ran down his back.  He adjusted himself inside his wet jocks, very reluctantly, and pulling on the rest of his gear, he left the house and broke into a jog the minute he was down the front stairs.

By the time Saturday came along Tristan was an old hand at this, he’d worked out a route through his neighbourhood so that he ran almost all the way around each block between his house and the park.  Once at the park, he’d run three or four laps of the park, and then retrace his route through his neighbourhood and having a shower once he got home, sealing his very soggy jocks in the now sweat logged zip lock bag.  But today as he ran onto the running track, he ran into someone he knew from school, Newman but because Tristan was listening to music on his phone that he had strapped to his upper arm.  He didn’t see or hear, Newman until he almost ran right over the top of him.

“Hey, Tris, lookout,” Newman shouted at him, “you almost ran me over.”

“Oh, um, sorry Newman, I guess I was too zoned-out to see you.  What’re you doing here?”

“Oh, I have footy training on Saturdays.  Fuck, mate, you stink.”

“Oh, um, sorry about that,” Tristan replied as he started to go red, “but, um, I’ve been running laps…”

“What, forever?” Newman replied.

No, dickhead!  I couldn’t be bothered getting clean clothes, so I’m running in my P.E. gear…”

“Fuck, it smells like it.”  At that moment a whistle was blown, and Newman said he had to go practice, so he jogged off towards the group of guys on the oval and Tristan continued running.  Tristan zoned out again, and he wasn’t brought back to reality until he became aware of someone pacing him.  He looked over and saw Newman was running beside him, “What are you doing here?” he asked, as he pulled the earbuds out of his ears.

Practice was finished, and I saw you were still running laps, so I thought I’d join you.  Are you trying out for the school team or something?”

“Na, I’m just decided to get a bit fitter…”

“Yeah, you could do with losing a bit of fat…”

“Fat!  I’m not fuckin’ fat.  If anyone’s fat, it’s you.  Na, I just want to get a bit fitter’s all.”

“Oh, ok.  Mind if I join you?’

“Not at all, mate.”

“Good, but fuck, don’t come any closer.  You must be able to swim in those clothes by now.”

‘That’s the plan,’ Tristan thought, as he told Newman to fuck off.

When they’d done a couple of laps together, the boys bid their farewells and separated and went their own way, Tristan went home to have a shower and to seal the jocks in their very moist zip lock bag.

When he’d worn the jocks for the requisite six days, Tristan took the jocks in their zip lock bag to school, planning to take them to the office and sell them after school.  After school found Tristan in the City, once again climbing the rickety stairs and ringing the bell by the office door.

After I checked the screens, I let Tristan in, and he came and sat opposite me at my desk after we’d said our hellos, and I asked him why he’d come to see me today.

“I think I’ve finally fulfilled an order,” Tristan said as he pulled the sealed zip lock bag containing his very wet pair of jocks.

“Fuck me,” was all I could say as I watched Tristan pull the zip lock bag out of his backpack with a pair of jocks inside that looked as though it was swimming in his sweat.  I reached out my hand for the bag, and Tristan handed it over.  When I broke the seal, fuck the heady aroma of his muskiness and sweat hit me in the face, and it felt as though it had as big a punch as if he’d hit me in the face with a sledgehammer.  I so wanted to pull his wet jocks out and rub them all over my face; I had to fight the urge to drink the pool of sweat that had pooled in the bottom of the bag.  I had to fight the urge to scoop some of the condensation of the kids’ sweat that was bubbling all down the sides of the bag and licked it off my fingers.

With a strength of will, I didn’t know I possessed, I handed the bag back to Tristan, and very throatily I told him to put them in, while I could feel my mouth salivating so much, I thought I was about to puke.

“What!  You want me to put them on?” he asked incredulously.

“Of course.  What do you think the photo’s for on the outside of the packaging?  It’s so that the buyer can see the seller wearing their underwear so that they can see just where the seller puts and arranges his cock and balls in them.  It also allows the buyer to know that the jocks they are buying are actually yours.  So, hurry up and get changed so I can take your photo.”

Somewhat reluctantly, Tristan stood up and began to strip, while I picked up my phone to take the photos.  When he’d stripped completely naked, Tristan pulled the jocks out of their ziplock bag and began to pull them on.  His jocks were wet enough that they caused a drag as he tried to pull them up his legs to his waiting groin.  Tristan arranged himself inside his wet jocks and went to stand against the wall again.  When I first saw him in his wet jocks, I could see that the material was slightly transparent, not enough to see his cock and balls completely, but enough to see a very good outline.  Fuck it; I think I can even see some of the veins of his cock as it’d begun to grow and swell inside the wet jocks he was wearing.  I stood there transfixed by the sight before he somewhat tersely reminded me that I was supposed to be taking his photo.

As soon as the flash went on my phone, Tristan began to shimmy out of his wet jocks, and when his cock fell free from the confines it was pointing at a point on the floor, about a metre in front of him as it continued to get hard.  Tristan, meanwhile, had stuffed the wet jocks back into, and sealed them inside the zip lock bag, while I inhaled the heady scent of his muskiness as it mixed with his sweat in the air.  I couldn’t help myself as I felt my own cock stirring and growing in the confines of my pants.  It didn’t help me out at all that Tristan seemed to be a little bit reluctant to get dressed this time and was currently absentmindedly stroking his hardening cock.  To break the growing sexual tension in the room, I grabbed the zip lock bag from Tristan and put it away in my drawer.  Disappointedly it also seemed to remind Tristan that he was standing in the office completely naked stroking his growing hardening cock, and he seemingly reluctantly began to get dressed.

“So, how does this work,” Tristan began as he was getting dressed, and currently arranging his cock and balls in his jocks, “how do I know if the buyer likes ‘them’?’ he asked indicating the sealed jocks.

“Well,” I replied when I thought I had my voice under control enough not to give myself away. “I will notify the buyer that I have your jocks here in my office.  Then if he’s happy, he pays me the money, and your cut gets transferred into your bank account.  Depending on the buyer, it could be done today or in a couple of days. If the buyer isn’t happy with the product, then I’ll either advertise on the website or put it out on display in one of the vending machines.  But again, if any of that eventuates, you will be notified via the website.”

“Oh, ok,” Tristan replied as he pulled on his runners and tied them up, “so, I’ll just wait to hear from you?” he asked as he stood up.

“Yep,” I replied as he nodded at me as he went out the door.

As soon as the door closed behind Tristan, I desperately wanted to rip the sealed bag out of my desk and rip it open and bury my nose in the heady aroma of Tristan’s muskiness and sweat.  But, thankfully, I’m a businessman first, and I sat at the computer and sent an email to the prospective buyer, and informed them that I had the jocks he requested in my possession.  We organised a time and place to meet.  Then I did everything I could to put Tristan’s jocks out of my mind and got on with the other work I had to perform, but all I could smell was Tristan’s muskiness.  Fuck, it’s the part I love and hate, in equal measure, about my job, there have been a couple of guys, well ok, there has been a few guys, fuck it there’s been quite a lot of guys whose jocks and underpants I’ve wanted to keep for myself.  To have the chance to rub their scent all over my face whenever I’ve wanted too, to be able to work around the office with their jocks and undies on my face, so all I could breathe in is their manly scent.  Their muskiness, and have their pheromones drive me wild with desire, with passion, but then I’d just want to hunt them down and keep them locked in my office just so I could smell their muskiness whenever I wanted too.

**************

Tristan’s phone vibrated in his pocket, he pulled it surreptitiously from his pocket and looked at the message.  The message stated that the buyer had bought his jocks and that his share of the money had been deposited into his bank account, Tristan nearly fell off his chair when he realised that he was now eight hundred dollars richer.  During recess, he found a quiet corner in the school ground and pulled his laptop from his bag and checked his bank account.  Tristan almost shit himself when he realised that he’d actually been paid the full amount of $1600.00.  He quickly logged into the website and discovered that the Client was so happy with his jocks that he’d paid a bonus, and left a message.

‘Fuck, kid, when I saw the ‘package’ you delivered for me, I couldn’t help myself I popped wood instantly, and when I broke the seal on the bag.  Fuck, the musky, sweaty, scent of you assailed my nostrils, and I could feel my cock straining to break out of my jeans.  As soon as I got the bag home, I broke the seal again and put the tip of my finger in the little pool of sweat in the bottom of the bag and held it above my mouth until it dropped down onto my tongue.  I love the taste and the smell of you.  I ripped my clothes off and threw myself down on my bed and fisted my cock while I placed your wet jocks on my face so that all I could smell was you.  Your musk, your sweat, I licked the inside of your jocks where they cradled your balls and imagined your balls on my tongue.

But way too soon, I shot my first load, and it was so powerful an ejaculation that my cum hit nothing but the wall behind my bed.  It was the greatest orgasm of my life, but my cock wasn’t finished, it remained rock-hard, I actually ejaculated five times before my cock’d deflate.

I had to give a bonus; you fulfilled all of my expectations and then some!’

Tristan couldn’t believe it, the guy’d actually swallowed some of his old sweat, and Tristan couldn’t suppress the shudder that ran through his body just at the thought of it.  Tristan composed himself and logged out of the website and put his laptop away and waited for the next request.