Suggestion box

by BRK

Ray’s job is to go through the suggestion box at his landmark menswear store. What he’s not expecting is that one of the cards has a suggestion for him.

Added May 2020 8,554 views 4.4 stars (14 votes) 2,663 words

This story was commissioned via Patreon Vignette Party.

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As the most junior of the managers at W. W. Houghton & Sons Quality Menswear, Ray had the weekly chore of disgorging the suggestion box located near haberdashery on the main floor and evaluating its contents. His seniors avoided this task, and Ray could understand why: the notes scrawled on the preprinted baby-blue cards using the stubby pencils provided above the box tended to be inane complaints about imagined shortcomings in existing lines (just last week one writer had railed about the itchy wool content of a suit Ray knew to be 100% linen) or impossible demands (keep the hippies and reds out of the store or J. Edgar Hoover would be called!), and that was ignoring the occasional glob of chewing gum or other messy detritus left by prankster kids and sociopathic adults. Ray, however, was anxious to make a good impression on his boss and uncle, J. K. Houghton Jr., the current head of the Houghton family, who lived in the penthouse above the two main sales and additional management floors of the landmark business, and who had high hopes for Ray after his graduation at the top of his class from an Ivy League business school; so he diligently logged the vox populi from the box every Friday after closing from his little office at the dark end of the managers’ corridor, using his rich imagination to wryly envisage the customers’ mood and mien as he did so.

One evening, as he spilled the cards out of the heavy wooden box onto his desk, he immediately noticed one that wasn’t like the others. Instead of the standard blue it was a warm reddish-orange (the color of tomato bisque, Ray thought) and oblong rather than square. Ray set the box upright to one side, closing the lid, and withdrew the odd card from the pile. All at once as he picked it up he felt a strange thrill run up his arm and into his innards, like a physical omen. He took in the bold, block hand-lettering with a frown. There were three short lines, almost as if it were a haiku or a tercet, above a small drawing.

YOUR PRICK IS LARGE, the first line said.

Ray almost dropped the card, shocked, but a strange shiver ran through him as he looked again and saw that the last word had changed: the carefully lettered word LARGE had become LARGER.

Ray blinked. He had never seen another man’s prick, but he could not believe that either the descriptive or the comparative could reasonably be applied to his modest handful. As if paged over the store speakers the organ in question perked up, aware and alert, and seemed to shift in his drawers as if it were unaccountably considering swelling with heat despite the lack of provocation. Ray tried to ignore it and continued reading.

YOUR LIBIDO IS HIGH was the second line.

Ray’s pulse quickened. The very idea of his sexuality being broached within the staid, century-old confines of Houghton’s Menswear electrified him with fear—but a strangely delicious fear. Once again, the last word shifted as he stared, shifting from HIGH to HIGHER. Ray felt his cheeks warm. He was no sex fiend, far from it. Any of his more confident colleagues, who constantly bragged about licentious exploits with wives and mistresses, might be more aptly so described than him. He thought of Chase, the golden-haired lead accessories man, whose pleasingly athletic form—Ray had seen him once in tennis whites at his uncle’s summer party in the Hamptons, exerting himself on the court—surely brought him endless female encounters. Ray swerved his mental attention away from that stored image of Chase’s Apollonian physique, though he was too late to stop his prick sneaking further down his pants leg, already halfway rigid.

He gripped the card tighter between his finger and thumb as he read the third line.


Ray blinked that the dark lettering, confused. His gaze dropped to the illustration below the text. It was a simple but evocative line drawing of two mischievous, penetrating eyes under dark, sleek eyebrows that wafted slightly up at the ends, like the tufts of an owl. A moment of confusion came over him as he slipped the card slowly back through the slot in the suggestion box lid, and when his mind cleared he was gaping dumbly at the sprawling, uniform pile of blue suggestion cards, wondering why he was flushed with desire and stiff as a rock in his herringbone suit.

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The following week Ray was strangely conscious of the weight and size of his prick, almost as though he hadn’t been carrying around its eight-inch-soft heft down the left leg of his trousers since puberty. He thought about it a lot more than he should, to be honest; he’d been sure he’d outgrow the mental intrusion of his heavy, irrepressible cock once he left his teens, but if anything his capacity for lust had deepened. Just the ballast of it was immensely gratifying, and the way it brushed against the fabric of his boxers gave him a constant low-grade enjoyment wherever he went. If he weren’t such an upright go-getter of a young scion, he thought with an inner smirk, he might find ways to let his friend out to play somehow, even here in the hallowed, cathedral-ceilinged precincts of old Houghton Menswear.

Such forbidden impulses were in the forefront of his mind as he crossed the sales floor to retrieve the suggestion box, his regular Friday night duty being now upon him, and when he passed Chase closing up the accessories counter he shot him a salacious smile without quite meaning to. Chase looked at him in surprise and then, to Ray’s surprise, he colored slightly, his eyes dropping down Ray’s slim, fit body to his crotch, seemingly as involuntarily as Ray’s own lusty grin. Then he looked up through his lashes, biting his lower lip winsomely, his bright blue eyes full of naughty plans.

Ray was taken aback at first. He had this effect on men, he knew—it had something to do with his impressive equipment. But he wouldn’t have expected so full and blatant a reaction from the golden, hirsute he-man who led the store in sales percentage from raw charisma alone. Ray kept walking but slowed and, to his own amazement, tossed Chase a cheeky wink as he passed. By the time he returned the other way toting the box, Chase was gone and the counter closed. Too bad.

Ray shook his head. Was he really contemplating a dalliance with a man—and one of his uncle’s employees, at that? And yet his prick was already thickening just from him contemplating the idea of… what? Of spending time alone, inches apart, with a man like Chase. He couldn’t quite picture what would happen were such a scenario to actually befall him, not knowing exactly what it was men did together, but he wanted to find out—and his swelling cock was as intensely interested in the schemes Ray had glimpsed in those saucy blue eyes as he was. Suddenly Ray was glad he was carrying a big wooden box in front of him.

At his desk upstairs he set down the box, then, feeling a little warm, pulled off his suit jacket before unlocking the box and dumping its contents on his blotter. On top of the pile, as if crowning all the other missives, fell a card of the wrong color and size. Ray picked it up and read it, a crevice between his brows.

A moment later he was staring with unfocused eyes at the heap of suggestion cards, unaccountably aroused and as hard as iron in his trousers. Unconsciously loosening his tie he started to sit down, but the pull on his massive cock made him pause and look down. His forearm-sized aberration of a cock was making a long tent down the left leg of his charcoal suit pants. A spot would be forming any minute. His heart was thumping like a legionary tattoo, calling him to arms. He was hot all over. Nothing would happen until he he relieved his problem, as he knew from bitter and frequent experience. He shook his head at his obstreperous, life-hijacking member and offered it a wry smile. “If I go to the bathroom and take care of you, again, will you let me finish my work for the night?” he asked it.

His giant member throbbed eagerly in answer, pitching the thick wool fabric forward with a little kick. Ray sighed with philosophical acceptance of his phallic lot in life and, for the second time that day, departed his tiny office for the employee men’s room down the hall.

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Ray locked the door to his office, then, walking stiffly back to his desk, hurriedly loosened his trousers and let them drop, the belt hitting the carpeted floor with a thud as the pants pooled around his ankles. Carefully he undid the wide brown elastic bandage that bound his straining cock to his left leg. As soon as the wrappings were free his arm-thick appendage stiffened to full hardness, snapping upwards so rapidly that the head hit him in the face like a punch. Ray laughed and dropped into his chair, staring at the already red and leaking head of his uncut cock with fond exasperation. “What do you want to do, give me a black eye?” he asked it. What he really wanted to know was how many times today he was going to need to satisfy his unslakable lust-monster. He was used to unloading his heavy balls four or five times a day at work and a few more at home, but this would make six today and he was barely taking the edge off.

Ray licked his lips, heart beating loud and merry in his chest as he looked past his towering tool at the paperwork on his desk. Having an uncontrollable cock and a soaring libido still beat cross-checking inventory. He leaned forward and had just wrapped his mouth around the head, sending a shudder of bliss through his overheated body, when there was a sudden knock at the door.

Ray froze and pulled slowly off his face-high boner. “Yeah?” he called out cautiously. His mind ran rapidly through possible ways of concealing his current predicament. His suit jacket was slung on the chair back behing him, just in case; but a suit jacket draped over his personal Washington Monument really wouldn’t hide much.

“Mr. Houghton?” came the voice from the other side of the door. “It’s Warren, from accounting? I, uh, brought up the suggestion box like you asked.”

Ray smiled. He hadn’t realized it was late enough for the box. Before Ray started the person who handled the suggestions went down to retrieve it; but Ray’s prodigious endowment, which was often half-hard by this point in the day if not impossibly rigid like now, might be a distraction on the sales floor, so he’d arranged for one of the clerks to fetch it for him. He was glad it was Warren. He was a good-looking, broad-shouldered lad from Wisconsin who’d noticed Ray’s problem a few Fridays ago and had offered his assistance. Ray had let him. He had a really sweet mouth.

Ray got up and unlocked the door, then went back and sat on the front edge of his desk, his wide and mighty erection pulsing straight up in front of him like it was chivalrously protecting his emerald-green tie from frontal assault. Its head hovered near Ray’s chin, and the smell of it very nearly drove Ray mad.

“Come in,” he said quietly.

Warren entered the office, the heavy wooden box hefted in front of him. When he saw the way Ray was poised and waiting for him, he smiled wide. Only after he had set down the box and locked the office door again did he ask, “Can I help you with that, Mr. Houghton?”

Ray smiled wickedly at the beaming clerk. “Absolutely,” he said, adding, “it’s shaping up to be a two-man job.”

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The penthouse elevator dinged, and Ray set aside the wide-form inventory sheets and his product line improvement notes on the leather couch next to him in relief. About time, he thought. His head was starting to swim with all-consuming desire—it had been nearly two and a half hours since he’d blown his load.

He loosened his tie and pulled it off, then started unbuttoning his shirt. He was, of course, pantsless, as there were no business suits with trousers capable of containing the leg-sized near-constant erection that jutted straight out in front of him with a slight upward curve. But he did bow to convention to the extent of a white dress shirt and tie while he was working, even if his condition meant his uncle had given his brainy business prodigy of a nephew the penthouse above the store rather than an office in it. It was a good way compartmentalize—the shirt and tie kept him focused longer on work while his cravings slowly climbed over the course of an hour or two, until finally his slipping focus gave him license to attend to his giant prick until it exploded all over the custom-built, tiled and drained semi-circle that occupied the space directly in front of his comfy work couch. It was like half a swimming pool in his living room—only it wasn’t water it got filled up with.

The narrow elevator dinged again and the doors opened. A nicely muscled, smirking golden boy piled out of it, followed by two other men with similarly brawny physiques, one with dark curly hair and the other a Nordic platinum blond. All of them were in casual, beat up clothes, like they had come help a friend paint his apartment. The two strangers stopped as soon as they exited the elevator and stood rooted to the floor, gaping.

“Hey, R. J., you ready for your mid-morning break?” Chase said. Dropping the gym bag he had with him he trotted over to Ray, patting the weeping, four-foot-long, thigh-thick boner affectionately before stooping to give Ray a quick kiss. He jerked a thumb behind him to his dumbfounded companions. “I brought a couple buddies from my rugby team.”

“Am I ready?” Ray repeated, pretending to be annoyed. He freed himself the rest of the way from his shirt and tossed it cavalierly aside. “I was so gone I was about to start without you, which, seeing as I can’t reach…”

“Yeah, you let us take us take care of that,” Chase said happily. He waved over his friends, who knelt down on either side of the long, protruding shaft and began worshiping it with their hands in wonder. Chase settled in at the end, licking his lips.

Ray sank bonelessly into the couch as waves of euphoria washed over him. Before his reason fled, though, a strange thought occurred to him. “Hey, Chase, who’s doing the suggestion box these days?” he asked.

Chase’s bronze eyebrows lifted. “Uh, one of the junior managers,” he said, surprised by the question. “Warren Lutz.” His naughty smile returned as he added, “You know, from what I can tell, if you weren’t up here he’d easily be the most hung guy in the company.”

Ray smiled, then gasped as Chase began licking methodically around the taut edge of his foreskin. “Bring him next time,” he said huskily, before giving himself utterly to pleasure.

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