You’d been expecting a quiet Saturday. But your boss, an elite CEO, just promoted you—that means first-class flights and hand-fitted suits. He slips you an address and tells you to say his name. So you do, and the tailor—a young (oddly handsome) man with disheveled hair and a somehow flawless three piece suit, who had previously been hunched over a sewing machine, immediately shoots up to fit you. He makes you undress, pushes you in front of a mirror, and falls to his knees— you can’t help but blush as he drags his measuring tape up the inside of your leg. His fingers whispered against your inner thigh and your crotch, his warm breath fanning the small of your back.

“Forgive me,” he said sincerely, but also in a sharp tone, “but all clients are instructed to strip to their undergarments for a skin to skin measurement. It’s vital in ensuring a tailored fit.”