How Can I Help, Sir?

The Oxford Street sports shop was less a shop than a warehouse with music: sportswear stacked to the ceiling and logos everywhere. The music was unrecognisable to my middle-aged ears and grated even more when the store’s PA system was used to announce what sales were on. One big advantage was that there were lots of young men in leisure wear.

I headed to the trainer section and found a wall full of small shelves displaying single, expensive trainers and cheaper ones stacked high in boxes. One hot assistant was busying himself with a pile of clothes and trying to ignore some kids who were treating the place like an amusement arcade. I also headed away from them and started looking at the boxes.

I was not really in the mood for shopping, so I was grateful when a security guard appeared and the noisy kids disappeared. The assistant thanked the guard and then started to tidy up the area they had been in. I heard the guard call the assistant Mark.

I kept searching through the boxes, but I couldn’t find anything I liked. I stroked my beard and glanced up to catch Mark looking at me. He immediately looked away. Unbidden, a fantasy started forming in my head, but I knew it would never happen. That sort of thing only happened in porn.

I headed over to a different stack of boxes, where I hoped for a better view of Mark. I even got out my phone for a sly photo, but he had vanished. I looked around and he was nowhere in sight. I scowled at my lack of luck and went to pick up the closest box in my size.

Next thing, I was jumping as the shop assistant materialised next to me.

“How can I help, Sir?”

The lad’s black hair was styled just enough to look effortless. His grin had that unmistakable cheeky confidence of someone who knew how to charm a customer without trying too hard. His silver stud earrings caught the light every time he turned his head. His stubble was barely noticeable, but just enough to signal the message that he was older than he looked.

“I’m just looking to replace my gym trainers.”

We both looked down at my white Reebok Workout Plus. They looked even more worn out surrounded by all these new trainers.

“They do look a little old. Don’t you have someone to clean them for you?”

“No, I live alone,” I said, before feeling strange at revealing so much to a stranger.

“I’m sure you could get someone to help you out, Sir. Take a seat.”

The use of Sir took me by surprise. Surely this lad was just being polite, but I was surprised by the hands-on service. Usually the staff grunted at me and took twenty minutes to find the other shoe of the pair they kept hidden in the back somewhere.

I followed him and sat on a chair he had shifted to a quiet corner of the busy London store.

“You just been to the gym?”

“No, just going. The one off Great Marlborough Street.”

“Oh, yeah. I know where you mean, Sir.”

Being called Sir by this hot little twink was enough to make my cock stir, but then he knelt down before me and reached for my worn-out trainers. He lifted my foot to rest on his leg and started to unlace it.

“Don’t worry,” he sensed my surprise. “I’m used to men’s feet, Sir.”

“Er, sorry if they smell. I’m wearing my gym stuff. I just noticed the sole was coming away.”

“No need to apologise, Sir,” he said, pausing as someone walked by. “I’m happy to help you.”

As my foot was pulled out, I felt his other hand grip my white socks. His firm hand wrapped around my foot and I felt his fingers exploring. It felt like there was more going on than a shoe fitting, but I couldn’t believe this lad was into feet. And even if he was, would he really be doing it at work?

My questions were answered as he slowly raised the removed Reebok and pushed his face into it. The one eye visible around the sneaker stared up at me as he inhaled deeply.

“It smells great, Sir.”

I glanced around, but no one was watching. I adjusted my hardening cock. The lad smiled as he watched me.

“I’m used to being around men’s feet, Sir. It’s my place in life.”

As he removed the trainer from his face, I slapped him hard.

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For a second, Mark’s grin vanished. Then his eyes dropped, and the smile returned - smaller this time, almost grateful.

“Boi,” I said quietly, “you ask permission before you sniff my property.”

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” he said, a glowing red mark burning on his cheek. “I can’t help myself when I see a real man.”

“You need a firm hand, son. You can’t be going around like this.”

“I know I do, Daddy,” he lowered his head and looked up at me.

I moved my socked foot to his groin. Immediately, I felt his hardness. He groaned as I pushed my foot down.

“May I, Sir?”

I nodded, and he undid the lace on my other Reebok and then gently pulled it off.

“May I smell it, Sir?”

“Yes, boi.”

He greedily sucked in as much air as he could from my battered old trainer. As he did, I pushed hard on his groin. His eyes shone as he looked at me. The smell of my feet seemed to send him somewhere else entirely. He glanced around in the hope someone would see his humiliation. He probably knew where all the CCTV cameras were positioned.

“You like working here, boi?”

“Yes, Sir. I love it. We aren’t really supposed to help people with shoe fittings, but when I see a man like you, I make a beeline.”

He placed the Reebok trainers next to the chair and, with a quick rub of my socks, stood up.

“Size 11? I have some Nikes I’d like to see you in.”

“Yes, how did you know?”

“It’s a talent I have.”

I watched the lad’s arse as he walked away. His cheeks looked firm in the tight sportswear the store picked for its uniform. When he returned, he was carrying a pair of white Nikes. He immediately dropped to his knees in front of me and picked up my feet so they rested in his lap. Once the first trainer was opened up, he slipped my foot into it and then did the other one. He kept licking and sniffing his fingers after he touched my socks.

“These seem a good fit, Sir,” he pushed down on the toes as he spoke. “Have a walk around.”

The lad didn’t move as I stood, so my groin ended up right in his face, which I was certain was his hope. Intensely, he stared as I tried the trainers. They had a good bounce to them and made me realise just how worn out my old trainers were.

Er, Sir, we have a special discount if you leave your old trainers with us.”

I looked at him and could easily read his face.

“You mean your staff discount, and then you get to keep those?”

“Yes, Sir. That’s exactly what I mean. Will you be leaving in these, or should I box them up?”

“I’ll take these, boi.”

He removed his card terminal from the holster and scanned the QR code. After a few taps, he held the device up and I paid with my phone.

“I can email your receipt if you want.”

“Sure, it’s sir@MasterLondon.blog.”

“Master London sounds like an interesting blog, Sir. I’ll add it to my favourites.”

“I’m sure you would enjoy it, son.”

He handed me a plain card with nothing but a phone number on it.

“Here’s my number, in case there are any problems and you need me to make a house visit.”

He stood with my Reeboks held tight to his chest.

“Is there anything else I can help you with, Sir?”

“I think you’ve done everything you can here, son. I’m sure you’ll be visiting me very soon.”

“I hope so, Sir.” He smiled. “My shift finishes at 8pm.”

Not linked to the story, but a horny internet image of changing room trainer worship.