HIS69-522 Lickin’ Chicken
Lickin’ Chicken
HIS69
HIS69-522
Carl Enders
$3.95
Excerpt
The manager of store #269 pressed back, but felt that it was the duty of the VP of Planning to make the first move.
As they traced out plumbing and electrical lines, Regan traced patterns as sensual and arousing as the patterns of sunlight on the young man’s leg. The mesh design projecting on the grey trousers seem to swell and shrink Chris’s cock bulge. Larger and smaller, waving and tempting. Never to be ignored.
When the VP’s fingers finally arrived at the young manager’s meat, after many side trips and investigations, the dick was more than half-ready to go. Seemed to be one of those bottle types. A long necked cap with a slowly widening shaft.
Regan drummed on the rod, trying to do some kind of Indian fertility dance. He’d seen a lot of them in the Phoenix area… apparently he was successful.
The new man’s grey Italian silk pants showed signs of a cock-juice release just… there. He touched the spot with his thumb to emphasize a point on Chicago construction unions. The thumb came away sticky.
Without being too obvious, he put the fragrant thumb under his nose and rubbed it as if he were thinking. The sweet smell of youth. Not the corrupt mind of someone like himself, twenty-eight and jaded by his fast rise up the corporate ladder—even such a humane one as Lickin’ Chicken had fashioned.
Chris knew that a man like Marx never did things accidently. He had noticed the wet spot on his host’s pants. He’d also noticed the changing patterns of a pretty healthy erection in the Royal One’s crotch too.
Seemed to be a big monster, maybe even a match for his own. He allowed his hand to drop off the set of plans into his boss’s lap. Careful… not too hard, didn’t want to rattle the long ball-sac nesting under the guy’s big prick. He rubbed a thumb until it became wet and the action had turned the executive’s desert-sand colored trousers tan. The man’s odor was strong and masculine… Chris expected nothing less.
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