What better way of banishing the Monday morning blues than waking up in the bed of a handsome man who's just returned from the bathroom smelling of toothpaste and cologne and who is now slipping into a bespoke cashmere suit, fresh from the garment house A Suit That Fits? You watch as the trousers fit snuggly around his legs, close around the contours of his arse, then you reach over and put an arm around his neck, straightening the cashmere collar around his nape. All you want to do is pull him down on top of you but the clock is ticking, it's already 8.00 and you haven't even showered yet, have you?
Now it's too late. There's just no resisting. His suited embrace has begun to overwhelm you. As he presses himself against you, a single thought drifts through your mind: if only those suits were a little less enticing, if only your man was less irrestible in them, perhaps you'd make it into work on time... The morning passes in a blaze of desire. You stumble into the office at just gone 10, and when your colleagues ask you why you look so bedraggled you tell them: "It's A Suit That Fits."
Now it's too late. There's just no resisting. His suited embrace has begun to overwhelm you. As he presses himself against you, a single thought drifts through your mind: if only those suits were a little less enticing, if only your man was less irrestible in them, perhaps you'd make it into work on time... The morning passes in a blaze of desire. You stumble into the office at just gone 10, and when your colleagues ask you why you look so bedraggled you tell them: "It's A Suit That Fits."
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