Asterius is sat in the chair across from you. A cropped toga wrapped around his shoulders and chest, the sunlight streaming through the window reflects from it giving him a godly, if not almost blistering, aura. He’s wearing heavy brown boots with yellow soles, matching the yellow sash around his shoulder holding his top together. He’s wearing tight blue jeans, the largest size he could find, and they still threatened to explode if he bent over too quickly. Even sat there you could see the stitching around his thighs screaming in agony, stretched thin, and the crotch angrily choke-holding his package. Actually, the more you look, the more you notice his package fighting back. Throbbing gently.
You drag your eyes from the display and catch him staring into you. His deep chocolate swirls reading your very being. His breath is slightly fast, and he won’t look away. He stands slightly, reaching into his pocket, the calves of his jeans almost audibly cry out and his cock very clearly begins growing to the right side with the ounce of freedom it has for a second. He sits down, phone in hand, wincing slightly and tries to very discreetly pull at his waistband to readjust. Neither being discreet nor adjusting himself works, as the moment the fabric pulls against his crotch he lets go suddenly, a loud huff bellowing from his nostrils. He gestures gently with his phone to you, flicking his ears to get your attention. You pull out yours and open your chat.