Sex stories

In a previous story, I explained how a sex shop manager turned me into a gay slut.
This is the continuation… or rather, the start of a new life.

In just two visits to his store, he had already made me swallow his cum, stretched out my hole, and passed me to three other guys.

After the second visit, just before closing, he told me to go back upstairs and put my clothes on. He said he’d call me.
Then, on my way out, he asked me to follow him into the backroom — a sort of makeshift kitchen behind the shop.

Without saying much, he poured me a of soda.

— “You’re doing pretty damn well for a first-timer. But I think you’re made for more than that.”

He handed me a second . Then, with a serious tone, he looked me dead in the eye and said:

— Within ten minutes of your first visit, I knew. Just the type of videos you picked told me: you were made for cock. To serve it. Crave it. And I’m gonna give you a choice. One offer. You’ve got until Friday noon to think about it.

Friday at 2:30 PM, you have three options:

1. Don’t show up. And never set foot in here again.
2. Show up, say “no,” and act like any random client.
3. Show up wearing a tracksuit — jacket, pants, sneakers — but completely naked underneath.

If it’s option three, you say nothing. Not a word. Walk straight to the back. Strip naked. Immediately.

He paused.

— No turning back. No discussion. Think about it. And get out.

⸻

Friday morning, I was pacing in front of the sex shop by 11 a.m.
Still had no clue what I’d choose.

I had on jeans, a sweater, and a jacket… but I’d packed my tracksuit — just in case.

At 2:15 p.m., I downed a third soda at the bar nearby. Then I hit the bathroom, pulled on the tracksuit.
No underwear. Just fabric and bare skin.

One last soda. My hands were shaking.
Then I walked.

Didn’t even look at the boss. Didn’t need to.

I headed straight to the backroom. No hesitation. No words.
And stripped.

Naked.

Behind me, I heard his voice.

— You’re gonna be a damn good bitch.