by SheerQueer
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Brad was excited and nervous over the prospects of this evening. It was the annual Architectural Awards Banquet, and he was up for "Most Promising Young Architect". He'd worked hard, and the recognition would mean more prestigious projectsand more money! This had been a hellish day in the office, and he was running late. He needed time to get cleaned up, and figure out how his new "monkey suit" went together. He had never had the occasion to wear formal attire, so all of the paraphernalia that accompanied the tuxedo was foreign to him.
Two weeks ago, he panicked when he heard the ceremony was "Black Tie". So he had rushed into Nordstrom's, and asked one of the effete salesmen to help him pick the right outfit. The salesman took note of (and pleasure in) Brad's handsome features and nice physique. "Armani should do quite well on you", lusted the salesman. When Brad suggested that his black oxfords would look fine with the new Tux, the salesman almost fainted. "Oh no, sir! Only black formal slip-ons are appropriate! And they should be worn with fine black sheer hosiery." Brad thought those were sissy things to wear. But, he recalled his favorite movie stars like Cooper, Gable, and Astaire from the 30's and 40's. They always wore Tuxedos, and those types of shoes and socks, so maybe it would be cool. He reluctantly agreed, and the salesman enthusiastically chose a beautiful pair of black patent slip-ons, along with a pair of very expensive black silk/nylon OTC's.
Two weeks, and too much money laterBrad stood in his briefs and T-shirt, gazing at his purchase spread before him on his bed. He navigated through the shirt studs, cuff links, and bow tie. He saved his socks and shoes for last. As he sat to pull on the OTC's, he marveled at how smooth and silky they were. They perfectly fit the form of his size 11 feet. They were totally sheer, except for the toes and heels. His feet literally glided into his shoes. "Wow", he thought, as he flexed his arches inside the shoes. "No wonder Clark, Cary and Fred liked these!" "They feel kinda sexy!" He put on his jacket, proudly checked himself in the mirror, and ran out the door.
The Banquet was a stuffy affair, with forgettable food, and even more forgettable conversation. The highlight was when he heard the presenter call his name as "The Most Promising Young Architect"! He was stunningly attractive, as he accepted his award, and made the obligatory Thank yous. Afterward, he schmoozed with the Senior Architects, and soaked up the praise. He was one of the lasts to leave. Because he arrived late, he had to park several blocks away. He didn't mind walking, especially since the slick, stylized Lucite column, which had his name engraved on a gold plate at the bottom, was accompanying him. He strolled happily, with one hand in his pants pocket, the other one swinging the Award, and a slight bounce to his step. He reached the street on which his car was parked. It was one of those dimly lit industrial areas, with train tracks that disappeared into old buildings, and deserted looking truck docks. It had been full earlier, but his was one of only two cars left by this time. When he reached his car, he set the slightly heavy award on the front hood, to fish his keys from his pocket. From the shadowed doorway behind him, he heard a raspy voice say, "Hey bud" Understandably startled, he spun around. A hunched, non-threatening figure stepped out of the shadows, with his hand extended. "can you spare a dollar?" Relieved and feeling benevolent in light of his good fortune, he pulled out his wallet, flipped through several larger bills, and handed the vagrant a dollar. He stuffed the wallet back in his rear pocket, and turned to resume unlocking his car door. He reached over to the hood for his award, but it wasn't there. Just as he straightened up to look around, the Lucite column glanced a swift blow across the back of his head. The impact thrust Brad against his car. Severely dazed, and in blinding pain, he groaned and reached for his head. Before he could, he was roughly grabbed under his armpits, and dragged back into the dark doorway. Stunned, there was nothing he could do to defend himself. His assailant let him drop to the ground. Instinctively, Brad tried to raise himself up to escape, but the vagrant straddled him, and caught him squarely across his prominent chin with his fist. Brad's head snapped to the side, and he fell back, motionless. The vagrant pawed over his catch like an animal, rummaging through every pocket, pausing briefly to cop a squeeze of the unconscious man's cock and balls through his trouser pockets. He rolled Brad's limp body over partially, to retrieve the wallet of cash. He let Brad flop back over, face up. A trickle of blood ran down his handsome, sleeping face. His beautiful Armani Tuxedo was disheveled. The vagrant, who was wearing tread-bare sneakers, eyed the shiny black shoes that graced Brad's feet. He knelt down, and slipped them off. He kicked off his own raggedy sneaks, and tried on the luxurious leather. They fit pretty well. He was contemplating adding a slightly used Armani Tux to his wardrobe, when he heard footsteps. He didn't waste any time leaving the scene, and leaving Brad, lying knocked out and shoeless.
That's when I entered the story. You see, I attended the Awards Banquet, too. I arrived late, so I parked somewhat farther down that same street. I had left the affair early, and gone to a bar across the street from the Convention Center to have drinks with some colleagues. I had worked very hard over the past year, and had hoped to be named the "Most Promising Young Architect". However, I was upstaged by a smug, no-talent ass-kisser named Brad Stephens. Why is it that those "pretty boy" types seem to get it all? Their looks and personalities overshadow we "worker bees". Anyway, my friends from the office and I couldn't stomach Brad's speech, and his smile was blinding us. So, we retreated to friendlier territory, drank Martinis, and dished.
I was walking down that dimly lit street to my car, when just ahead of me, I thought I spotted a pair of black feet sticking out of one of the doorways. As I moved closer, I could tell that the feet were clad in black sheers. I could see the cuff of what looked like Tuxedo trousers, but the other trouser leg was pushed up, revealing the sock covered calf. I thought, "How many Martinis DID I have?" Then I began to thank the Sock Fetish Fairy for smiling down on me! I quickly regained my senses, and realized that the guy was in trouble, and may be hurt. I ran to the dooway, but I couldn't make out who it was. The guy had been beaten, and was out cold. I checked for a pulse, then I lit a match for light. In the fire's flicker, I saw that it was my ass-kissing nemesis, Brad Stephens! What the hell happened to him? Boy, someone must have REALLY resented him for winning that award! Then I saw his empty wallet beside him, and deduced that he had been mugged. My heart was racing! I was scared, but my affinity for knocked out and helpless men exhilarated me. Here was the guy that I most wantedand hated. I had fantasized countless times about capturing him, rendering him unconscious, and sexually humiliating him. He hardly ever even spoke to me, and now, he's lying here like sleeping beauty on a deserted street. I looked him over. He was sort of "spread eagle"; head rolled over to the side, toes pointing up and slightly out. His feet looked so hot in those sheer socks. I had noticed that he was wearing them, earlier in the evening. I watched him as he danced. His pants legs would ride up slightly, showing off those socks. And when he sat, he'd cross his legs, and let his shoe dangle off his heel, a little. God, what a tease, but he was totally unaware of it.
I needed to see if medical attention was necessary. The back of his head was bleeding, but there wasn't a huge wound. There was some blood from where he had apparently been punched out. Otherwise, it didn't look serious. What should I do? Call the police? Take him to the hospital? I couldn't just leave him there for the vultures to pick over(when I could have much more fun, doing it myself. Really! What would the point of this story be?)
I thought about grabbing his ankles, and dragging him to my car, but I didn't want to do more damage to the Armani. I summoned the memories of those dreadful days I spent in High School R.O.T.C., and our emergency evacuation training. We learned the correct execution of the "Fireman's Carry". Who knew that I'd have the opportunity years later, to use that knowledge in the aid of a "fallen colleague"? I pulled Brad's 165-pound frame up to standing position, facing me. I held his right arm at the wrist, bent down and planted my right shoulder in his pelvis. He easily flopped over my back. I straightened up, raising Brad's limp body draped over my shoulder and around my neck. Ah, Sgt. Hollister would be proud! I looked around to see if the coast was clear, then hauled my dangling bundle of man down to my car. After I stuffed him in the backseat, I ran back up to the scene of the crime to retrieve his wallet, and the coveted trophy/weapon.
As I carried Brad into my house, I had no idea what I was going to do with him. If he came to in my house, he'd surely accuse me of assaulting him. I laid him down gently on the sofa. I needed to think. I decided to listen to my messages. There were several from friends, wishing me luck at the Awards ceremony. Ha! Prince Charming over on the sofa took care of that! Then, I heard Robbie, my buddy from work. I'd just seen him at the banquet, and we drank together afterward. Why was he calling? "Hey, you won't believe what I just found out about good ol' Brad!" he quizzed in a scandalous tone. "Seems buddy boy 'knelt' to new lows for that award. I heard a couple of drunken execs talking in the parking garage. They joked about how a good blowjob was worth their vote; and that the winner had proven to be especially 'promising'! I guess Brad is more talented than we thought! The cheating bastard! I'll talk to you tomorrow. Bye."
I was furious! "You Son of a Bitch!" I yelled at tuxedoed asshole, sprawled on my sofa. "You got what you deserved, tonightor at least, you WILL get it!" Any compassion I may have had for Brad's plight went up in a blaze of anger. I stormed out of the room, to get a beer. While I was in the kitchen, I heard movement in the living room. When I got back, Brad was sitting up, still very dazed. He was facing away from the kitchen door, so he couldn't see me, luckily. I'm not so sure he could see clearly, anyway. My first inclination was to hit over the head with my beer bottle. But I didn't want to add to the concussion that he probably already had. I may have been angry, but I have limits. I needed to put him back out somehow, though. I moved behind him, quietly. My heart was pumping wildly. Swiftly, I wrapped my arm around his neck, and put him in a sleeper hold. He tried to struggle, but he was disoriented. He tensed up, and made choking sounds. Then he sighed, and I felt his body relax. Success! I release him, and his head flopped back and rolled to the side. Wow! That was easier than I thought! Now, what?
I had lusted after Brad from our first meeting. The firm hired him just a year ago. He was a hot shot even then. We did all of the work, while he took all of the praise. The bosses were all mesmerized by his charm, but we knew the REAL story. He treated us like dopes, and threatened to report us if we snitched. He's not a nice person. But, you knowthere's something seductive about handsome bastards. You just want to "do" them, and make it hurt. Maybe this was sweet justice. He was at my mercy, and I decided to make the most of it.
In spite of everything, Brad still looked good in his tux. His black sheers were pulled up tight. I knelt to examine the smooth contours of his feet more closely. The white lettering on the bottoms of his soles tipped me off that his socks were new. I pressed my nose into his curved arch, and inhaled deeply. His foot sweat faintly tainted the smell of new leather and fabric. I pulled him by his ankles, onto the floor. His limp body slid off the sofa, as though he was spineless. I enjoyed manipulating him out of his formal attire. I took great care in unfastening his shirt studs and cufflinks. I loosened his belt, and unzipped his trousers. Then, I removed them by lifting his legs. Undressing an unconscious man (especially a straight man) wields such power. I ran to the bedroom, to get my camera. I needed to record this for posterityand for insurance (in case ol' Brad ever got out line again). When I returned, he was sitting up AGAIN! Shit! This time, I angrily straddled him, and pushed him back down. He looked up and tried to focus on me, just as my fist came down on his face. That was fun. I was getting used to it. I resumed my task of snapping pictures from various angles, and of him in diminishing states of dress.
Finally, he lay there totally naked and vulnerable. His adequately sized cock and balls were perched prominently and unprotected, in a bed of dark brown pubic hair. I tied his silky sheer socks over his eyes, as a sort of blindfold. By this time, I had worked myself up into a hormonal frenzy! Before I proceeded to my diabolical finale, I decided to relieve the pressure. I spread his legs and moved between them. I gently slid my palms under his fleshy asters, squeezing them and lifting his pelvis toward me as I veritably feasted on his cock and balls. That was only the appetizer, though. I rolled him over on his stomach for the main course. There was one of those stainless steel cylinder-type trashcans under my desk. I lifted Brad at the waist, and pushed the trashcan under his stomach. That raised his round buns high enough for me to have perfect rear access. I couldn't resist squeezing and slapping his butt, watching it turn redder with each swat. Brad didn't (couldn't) offer any resistance, as I finally thrust my stiff cock up his helpless ass. I pumped him for what seemed like hours, before pulling out. I flipped him over on his back, just in time to christen his chest with streams of cum. The sight of him lying there, unaware of what I had just done to him, was like a drug. I went back down to his bare feet, and hungrily licked his soles. I manually flexed his foot, while I bit the fleshy part just below his toes, and sucked his high arch. I had to jack off again, and came on his feet. My cum oozed between his toes, and slowly trickled toward his heel. I leaned back against the chair, and just gazed at my conquest. Brad began to show signs of life, again. "Hell, here we go again! I'm not ready for him to wake up, yet. I have one more task to accomplish." I decided to watch his awakening for a few minutes. I liked those groggy groans, and labored movements. However, I couldn't let him get too used to being awake. I sadistically knelt between his spread legs, and just as he tried raising his head, I punched him in the balls. He let out a choked yell. I didn't let him suffer for long. I crawled around behind him, and put him in another sleeper hold. His writhing body went limp once again. I knew that I couldn't keep torturing him, and it would be daylight soon.
After gathering up all of his stuff in a bag and tossing it in the car, I pulled Brad's naked body up, and flopped him over my shoulder. I stuffed him in the backseat, and ran back in to get something important that I had forgotten. Luckily, dawn hadn't yet broken, and there was almost no traffic. I turned down the darkened industrial street, where Brad's special evening had abruptly ended, and my adventure had begun. I found the spot, because a program from the ceremony was still lying where Brad dropped it when he was slugged. I dragged his naked body back to the scene of the crime. This time, though, I made sure he wouldn't be mistaken for the homeless. I turned him on his stomach, neatly folded the Armani and placed it under his head, slid his wallet into the jacket pocketand placed the coveted Lucite Column between his legs, gingerly resting in the cleavage of his rounded red ass. The engraved gold plate would herald his accomplishment to all passers-by:
BRAD STEPHENS - MOST PROMISING YOUNG ARCHITECT 2000
As I drove off, the city was beginning to come to life.
