The Hardy Boys and the Case of the Fitting Room Fiasco

fThe Hardy Boys and the Case of the Fitting Room Fiasco

by stimle@yahoo.com

Things go awry when Frank and Joe Hardy, along with their father, visit their local tailor for a fitting.

This is a work of fan fiction. The Hardy boys and their friends were created by Franklin W. Dixon and no copyright infringement is intended.

If you like these kinds of stories, please show your appreciation by making a donation to the Nifty Archive. Go to http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html

The story is told in alternating points of view from chapter to chapter.

Chapter 1 – Frank

8:30 a.m.

"I can't believe you waited this long to get fitted for a tux, Joe," I said to my younger brother while we ate breakfast Sunday morning. "The formal is Friday. Good luck finding anything this late."

"We can't all be anal-retentive nerds like you, bro," Joe quipped, shooting me a sideways look.

"Joe," Dad warned, arching a brow but not looking up from the morning paper.

Joe shrugged, grinning as he ignored Dad. "What's the big deal anyway?"

"The big deal, Romeo," I continued, brushing off my brother's annoying but good-natured jibe, "is you don't want to look like some kind of schlub in a tuxedo that doesn't fit you right."

"Frank's right, Joe," Aunt Trudy chimed in as she topped off Dad's coffee and then her own. "A nice fitting tuxedo makes quite an impression on the ladies. Just ask your Father."

"What does it matter what I wear?" he said as he forked in a mouthful of pancakes, syrup dripping down his chin. "I'm already a chick magnet."

"Oh goodness," Dad said with a start, the newspaper pages rustling.

"What is it, Fenton?"

"The formal is Friday night you say?"

"Yes, the same night as the Bayport Chamber of Commerce ball. Don't tell me you forgot?"

"Not about the ball – about my tuxedo. I forgot to take it to the tailor."

"Oh, Fenton."

"Way to go, Dad!" Joe cheered sarcastically, pumping his fist, syrup still smeared across his chin.

Dad narrowed his eyes at Joe. "Well, in my defense, your Mother usually keeps track of these things, but she's been gone this past week visiting Grandma and Grandpa and I completely forgot."

"I'm pretty sure the tux shop at the mall is going to be packed," I pointed out.

"Oh, I've got my own tailor," Dad said as he glanced at his watch. "Let me see, I have that business lunch with Mr. Del Vecchio after church, and the restaurant's not too far from The Stitchery Tailor Shop. I'll call the owners. Peter and Javier are friends of mine and I'm sure they can fit us in, Joe." He looked up at me. "You say you've already been fitted, Frank?"

"No, I'm not wearing a tuxedo," I said. "I'm saving my money for that new drone I showed you so I'm just going to wear the suit you and Mom bought me last year."

"Nonsense," Dad said, setting the newspaper down. "This is a big night for all us Hardy Boys. Tuxes and fittings on me."

"Really, Dad? Thanks!" Joe smiled at me and we fist-bumped. I finally gave into the compulsion and wiped his chin with my napkin.

"Thanks, bro," he said as he shoveled in another forkful of pancakes.

I followed Dad to his office and watched from the doorway while he made the call. Dad's an inch taller than my 6'1, and while he's got dark brown hair like me, his eyes are blue like Joe's. He's in great shape, too, for a guy his age (I can never remember if he's 42 or 43), and we work out together most mornings in our basement gym. With his square jaw and chiseled good looks, along with the outfit he was wearing – a black button-down paired with tailored grey slacks – Dad could pass for a GQ model. All the girls Joe and I know have a crush on him. It's kind of creepy to hear your Dad called a `hottie.'

Dad hung up the phone. He smiled and flashed a thumbs up as we walked toward me and ruffled my hair. I knew he'd come through. He always did. Dad was like that.

"Peter says he can squeeze us in at 1:30," he said as we walked back into the kitchen where Joe was cramming two slices of bacon into his mouth. "I'll meet you boys there after lunch, okay?"

"Yup," Joe said, talking with his mouth full. "Frank and I are meeting Biff and Tony at the Chomp & Chew and then we'll see you there."

"Fenton, my car's still in the shop," Aunt Trudy said with a slight frown. "I was hoping to use yours to run some errands this afternoon. Would it be okay if I drop you at your lunch and you ride home with the boys?"

"Sure, I'll take a ride share from the restaurant to the tailor. Frank, would you mind taking my tuxedo with you when you go?"

"You bet, Dad!"

Chapter 2 – Joe

1:25 p.m.

"I have to admit, I'm pretty excited about the formal," I said as Frank parked in the lot next to The Stitchery Tailor Shop. "Even if we don't have dates."

"This must be uncharted territory for you," Frank joked as I retrieved Dad's tux from the back seat. "Joe Hardy, Bayport's Most Eligible Amateur Teen Detective: dateless."

"I know, right? You'd think with those pictures of me in my underwear plastered all over Snapchat and Instagram, girls would be breaking down the front door!"

"Oh brother," Frank groaned. "Are you for real?"

"Hey, I look good in those pictures!" I laughed. And really, what else could I do? A few weeks ago, Frank and I went to a party where, to make a long story short, Mikey Griffin and his goon friends got us drunk, stripped us to our underwear, and pretty much thoroughly humiliated us. A bunch of pictures of me and Frank in nothing but our white briefs are still making the rounds on Instagram, Snapchat, and TikTok, and while it was super embarrassing at first – neither of us wanted to go to school for almost a week – it's mostly died down now. I've even been getting anonymous notes in my locker; seems a lot of chicks dig the way my butt looks in my briefs (hey, how was I supposed to know they're mostly from dudes?). Frank's received some too – okay, yeah, he's got an okay butt (nowhere near as good as mine) – but he thinks they're creepy. Of course, Frank's a nerd. I just think he's jealous because I've gotten way more notes than he has.

A bell chimed when we entered the tailor's shop and an older gentleman looked up from the front desk. "Can I help you?"

"I'm Frank Hardy," Frank said, stepping forward and extending his hand. "This is my brother Joe. We're--"

"You're Fenton's sons!" the man exclaimed, clasping his hands. "I'm Javier. Welcome. Your father called this morning. Please come this way."

We all shook hands and I held out the garment bag holding Dad's suit. "Oh, this is my Dad's tux. Er, tuxedo. He's supposed to be meeting us here, but he must be running late."

"Not to worry," Javier said as he took the garment bag and hung it on a hook behind the desk. "Your father's fitting room is all ready for him." He then led us to an alcove that was separated from the rest of the show room by a large floor-to-ceiling curtain. He drew the curtain back a few feet and ushered us behind it.

There was a table and two chairs along with a sofa and a rack of suits and tuxedos. A young man a few years older than us was sitting in one of the chairs and stood when we came in. He was an inch or so shorter than me, slim-framed, and had brown hair and dark eyes. He was pretty handsome.

"This is Rafael – Rafa – my sister's grandson," Javier said as he made introductions. "He and his friend Juan Carlos are visiting and are apprenticing with Peter and me. Rafa will measure you and I will supervise."

"Before we begin, have either of you ever been fitted for formal wear before?" Rafa asked. His accent was super cool.

"Not really," Frank said. "We've had pants hemmed but that's about it."

"Our mom and Aunt Trudy do the alterations," I added.

"I believe you will find this a bit different," Rafa informed us as he picked up a measuring tape from the table. "Much more involved."

It was warm today and I was dressed casually: basketball shorts, sneakers, and an oversized Bayport High Football tee. Frank, of course, was still wearing the slacks and shirt he'd worn to church. Like I said – nerd.

"Your shirt is too big to get an accurate measurement," Rafa said to me as he fumbled with the measuring tape. "Please, can you lift it up?"

I lifted my shirt as instructed. I hadn't tied the drawstring on my shorts, and my wallet, keys, and smartphone weighed down the pockets so much that the shorts sagged, showing the waistband and almost six inches of my white briefs. A couple of times I tucked my shirt under my chin to reach down and pull my shorts up, but every time I did, Rafa sighed heavily.

"This shirt," he gestured with his hands, clearly exasperated, "is too large. Please take it off."

"Here?" I noticed the curtain was open a few feet.

"Yes," he said. "Please. It will help get a more – how you say – true measurement."

"Okay." I stripped the t-shirt off and tossed it onto the rack of tuxedos. I caught my reflection in one of the mirrors and started to flex and pose.

"Look, bro," I said as I made my pecs bounce. "I can make `em both dance now. Pretty cool, huh?"

"Oh yeah," Frank said drolly. "Let me call `America's Got Talent.' Oh shucks, I must've left my phone in the car."

I sputtered a laugh. "Jerk!"

Rafa continued to take measurements, calling them out to Javier who wrote everything down in a small notebook. When he measured my chest, the tape chafed my nipples and they hardened into tiny points like pencil erasers. As he adjusted the tape, it rubbed back and forth across my nipples and I felt that now familiar tingling sensation in my balls and realized I was getting hard. Oh no, not again! Ever since that frat party Frank and I got suckered into going to by Officer Kincaid, I swear I get an erection anytime anybody touches me! I've also had a few more nocturnal emissions, but when I mentioned it to Dad, he said that was normal for a guy my age. Then he laughed and said he and Mom should buy stock in Clorox. When I said I didn't know what that meant, he laughed again and told me to ask Frank. But when I did, Frank didn't know either.

I tried to shift subtly to shield the evidence from Rafa, but my shorts sagged even more until the only thing holding them up was the very obvious boner tenting out my briefs.

I reached down to tie the drawstring but Rafa batted my hands away, mumbling something in Spanish about how I was squirming around too much. I tried again, and this time instead of knocking my hands away, he yanked my shorts all the way down to my ankles.

"Why the heck did you do that?" I yelped as I watched my shorts pool around my ankles, leaving me completely exposed in my bulging tight white briefs. Frank snickered and I glared at him.

"Por qué no?" Rafa said throwing his hands up. "Tengo que medir tu cintura y tu entrepierna, y solo iban a interponerse en el camino."

"What did he say?"

"I'm not sure," Frank said. "I've taken three years of Spanish but he's way talking too fast. Something about--"

"A lot of good you are, bro!" Okay, in my brother's defense, I've had two years of Spanish and I'm only barely able to read the take-out menu at Taco Kart. But still, academics are supposed to be Frank's strength.

Javier looked up from his notepad and frowned. "He said, `Why not? I have to measure your waist and your inseam, and they were only going to get in the way.' And I'm afraid I have to agree with him. This has taken far too long already."

I bent down to pull up my shorts, but Javier put his hand on my arm. "Just leave them," he instructed.

"But I'm in just my underwear!" I protested. "Everybody's gonna see!"

"Nonsense," Javier said. "The sooner you stop fidgeting and fussing around, the sooner we'll finish."

"But--"

"That's what you get for always clowning around," Frank said in that annoying `Bobby-Brady-She-Always-Says-Don't-Play-Ball-In-The-House' voice he uses whenever he's feeling superior. I wanted to wipe the smirk right off his face.

Rafa looked at his watch and then at Frank. "We are running behind schedule now. You," -he gestured to Frank- "Quítate la ropa. ¡Tira!"

"What?" Frank asked, looking alarmed. "You-you want me to what?!"

"Quítate la ropa," he repeated, looking irritated. "Take your clothes off! Strip!"

"Undress?" Frank exclaimed, his voice shooting up an octave. "But--"

"But what, bro?" I sniped. "You didn't have a problem a second ago when I got pantsed."

"Shut up, Joe."

"The two of you, quit stalling," Javier snapped as he stepped in front of Frank and grabbed his belt.

Before Frank could react, Javier had his pants unbuttoned and unzipped and was pulling them down to his ankles. Frank yelped loudly but his protests fell on deaf ears. While Javier untied Frank's shoes and slipped them off, Rafa reached around and unbuttoned Frank's shirt. Javier helped Frank step out of his slacks while Rafa removed his shirt and then pulled his t-shirt up over his head.

In less than a minute both of us Hardy Boys were standing side by side on a foot-high platform wearing nothing but our tight white briefs and socks.

Chapter 3 – Dad

1:29 p.m.

"I really shouldn't, Vincent," I protested, smiling as the young, and far too attentive waiter, placed a third Gin Martini in front of me.

"Nonsense, my boy. I insist!" Vincent Del Vecchio said with a dismissive wave of his hand. My mind raced as I surreptitiously glanced at my watch. It was almost 1:30 and I knew the boys would already be at the tailor shop. I also knew Peter and Javier liked to close early on Sundays. I didn't want to appear rude, especially since Vincent had just hired me to do some work for his companies, so maybe if I downed this last drink in one swallow and quickly made my excuses--

"To a prosperous and profitable working relationship," Vincent said, lifting his glass.

I touched my glass to his and – steeling myself – gulped down the entire martini. I felt my face twist up and my eyes go wide. I'm not much of a drinker, and when I do, my tastes run along the lines of wine or a nice imported beer.

"Fenton!" Vincent laughed out loud at the look on my face.

"I'm sorry," I blurted out as I got to my feet, placing my left hand on the table to steady myself, "but I need to go. I'm supposed to meet my sons at the tailor in a few minutes. They have a formal this coming Friday and it's their first fitting. I also have my own tuxedo I need altered."

"Oh, you should have said something sooner," Vincent said, getting to his feet. "My apologies! Go, go!"

I extended my hand to shake and he took it in both of his and leaned in close. "Mi scusi," he said, "but your fly is unzipped."

I looked down and sure enough, my zipper was gaping wide open, exposing my white briefs. I groaned and felt my cheeks redden.

Just then the handsome waiter reappeared. As he cleared our table, he watched with amused eyes, plump lower lip caught between his teeth, as I hastily zipped my pants. I blushed even deeper and was surprised when I felt my dick suddenly swell in my briefs. What the devil?

"Thank you," I said to Vincent. I struggled to regain my composure even as I felt the waiter's eyes boring into me. "Thank you for lunch and thank you again for this incredible opportunity. I'll call you this week."

I walked hastily to the front of the restaurant and once outside pulled my phone from my pocket. Tipsy from the cocktails, my fingers fumbled on the screen, and I was on my third attempt to order a ride share when the phone was snatched from my hand. I looked up to see the waiter from the restaurant.

"You look like you could use some help," he said in his Spanish accent, his dark brown eyes not quite mocking me but definitely having some fun.

"I-I have an a-appointment and I'm running late," I stammered.

"Oh, I am on my way to my next job or I would offer to take you," he said. There was a flirtatious note in his voice that both flattered and unsettled me. "But let me help you with your ride. What is the address?"

I didn't know the shop's address but I knew a close cross street and told him. "Oh, that is not too far from where I am going," he said. "Are you sure you would not like a" -he looked me up and down- "ride?"

Now, I've been hit on by men before, but never so brazenly. I blushed, suddenly aware of my dick pressing uncomfortably against my zipper. What was up with that?! "No, no, I'm fine," I insisted.

"Very well," he said, handing my phone back to me as it chimed. "Your driver will be here in four minutes."

"Thank you," I called after him as he walked down the sidewalk and turned the first corner.

While I waited for my driver, I reached down to double-check that my fly was still closed. Now I remember why I never wore these pants: the zipper has a tendency to slide open, and on more than one occasion I've found myself in an embarrassing situation like just now. Maybe I'd have Peter or Javier take a look at them after my fitting.

That made me think of all the times Joe has told me and Frank that our fly was unzipped, usually at the most awkward times. It never seems to get old for him either. Probably because poor Frank and I fall for it every time!

By the time my ride share arrived, my head was really spinning. Ten minutes later I was at the tailor. I'd texted the boys on the drive over but they didn't respond so I assumed they were already being fitted.

I stepped out of the car and tripped over the curb, nearly face-planting onto the crowded sidewalk. That three-martini lunch was proving to be a huge mistake!

Head reeling, I brushed myself off, closed the car door, and staggered to the front of the stop. I don't think I've been this tipsy since the last time I had dinner with my old partner in New York.

"Is that Fenton Hardy?" I heard a voice gasp. "Drunk on a Sunday?"

"Shameful!"

"First the boys – did you see Frank and Joe the other night? – and now Fenton? Poor Laura."

I ignored the comments and stepped into the shop. I gave my name at the host station and as I waited for Peter or Javier to come take me back, I looked across the room to a curtained-off area where two young men were being measured wearing nothing but their underwear. I realized it was Frank and Joe and chuckled because something similar happened to me once, a long time ago.

I was a rookie detective in New York City when my new partner, Sam McDermott, took me to his long-time tailor to get fitted for new suits. It was a family-run business and Sam knew them all quite well. Back then I was fairly naive and not as wise in the ways of the world as I am today, so when the tailor – Mr. Rossi – told me to undress down to my underwear, I thought nothing of it. After all, it was a men's clothing chop and I was having my new suits custom-altered and fitted.

As I stood there in the middle of the tailor shop in just my tight white briefs with old Mr. Rossi and his son Luca taking meticulous measurements, my Dad strolled in. Now, I had no idea Sam invited him and was embarrassed because not only had Dad not seen me in my underwear since the last time he'd given me a spanking (my senior year of high school), but my Johnson' tends to get, uh, scared stiff' in these kinds of situations. So, you can imagine the major wood I was sporting right out in the open, pushing up and to the left in my briefs. But nobody seemed to notice, or if they did, they were nice enough not to say anything.

"Congratulations, Fenton!" Dad said, putting his arm around me. "You'll make a fine addition to the NYPD. I'm very proud of you, son."

Sam stood on my other side and put an arm around me as well. "Luca," he said, his hand resting on my butt, "how about a glass of that twenty-year old Macallan I know your father keeps in back?"

My dad, a deacon in our church and a teetotaler, tried to beg off, as did I, but the others insisted so we all had a finger of the single-malt whisky.

Dad and Sam talked while Mr. Rossi and Luca resumed my fitting. Although Dad was forty and Sam was only a few years older than me, the two hit it off. Not twenty minutes later, one of Sam's detective friends entered the shop and a few minutes later Luca broke out the bottle of Macallan for another round of toasts.

And on it went all afternoon: more visitors, more congratulations, more Macallan. I confess I don't remember much after the fourth visitor, and somewhere along the way Sam apparently convinced Dad to get fitted for a new suit because the next thing I remember, Dad was standing next to me – stripped down to his tight white briefs – the both of us being poked, prodded, and measured.

By the end of the fitting (which lasted nearly two hours!) both Dad and I were drunk as skunks. I have no idea how they even finished measuring us! The last thing I remember was Dad and me, in just our underwear, down on all fours in the shop bathroom, `praying to the porcelain god.'

Sam somehow managed to get us dressed and drove us back to Dad's house. Mom tsk-tsked while I threw up again and then watched, hand over her mouth, giggling, as Sam stripped Dad down and put him to bed.

Instead of going back to my place, though, Sam insisted on taking me to dinner and then out on the town. Although I protested, Sam, as I was to learn over the course of our partnership, won out. The evening passed in a blur and I remember only bits and pieces of drinking and dancing and yet more drinking, before Sam finally took me back to his tiny bachelor apartment to sleep it off. I only vaguely recall him helping me undress before bundling me into his double-bed and crawling in beside me. I was out cold before my head even hit the pillow. Little did I know at the time, until I got married, I'd be spending quite a few drunken nights in that bed.

Dad met Sam and me for breakfast the next morning, and while Dad and I nursed twin hangovers behind dark sunglasses, Sam confessed that he'd planned the stunt at the tailor shop as a harmless `initiation' into detective-hood. I couldn't complain because my suits fit me perfectly, and Dad – who had no memory of the afternoon after his third drink and has never been drunk since – was pleasantly surprised when his new suit arrived a couple of weeks later.

I continued to go back to Rossi's for all my tailoring. When I left the police force and moved to Bayport to open my private detective practice, I found Javier and Peter's shop and have been coming here ever since. These days my fittings take place in a private back room because Javier and Peter are very thorough, even going so far as documenting the fittings with photographs and video `for quality assurance.' I wouldn't trust my tailoring needs to anybody else and I'm going to make sure they groom Frank and Joe the same way they've groomed me over the years.

Frank's yelp of "Hey, you left the curtain open!" yanked me back to the present and I looked up just as an exasperated looking Javier drew a large blue curtain across the area where the boys were being measured.

I thought about walking over to say hello when a familiar Latin-accented voice spoke. "Excuse me, señor. You are Mr. Hardy?"

I turned back to the host station to see-- the waiter from the restaurant!

"Yes, I'm Fenton Hardy," I said, surprised. "Hello again! I'm sorry I'm so late."

"You are quite late, yes, señor," the young man said, casting a glance up at the clock on the wall and then back at me. There was something disapproving in his deep brown gaze and I immediately felt chastised. He was not at all the flirtatious young man from fifteen minutes ago. Now he was all business with an edge. "I am Juan Carlos. Please, come with me so we can begin your fitting."

Chapter 4 – Frank

1:45 p.m.

What the heck? I can't believe Javier and Rafa just undressed me – no, stripped me is more like it! – and pulled Joe's shorts down like that in the middle of the shop! This was crazy! A fitting isn't supposed to work like this, is it? But if Dad comes here all the time it must be okay, right? Maybe we just need to let Javier and Rafa get on with it. Like Javier said, the sooner we stop fidgeting and fussing around, the sooner we'll be finished.

This was super confusing and embarrassing because anybody can just walk behind the curtain and see us standing in our underwear. It reminded me of that night at Mikey Griffin's house when Officer Kincaid made me and Joe go outside and, oh shoot – now I was aroused!

Rafa hustled me and Joe onto a platform and was pulling out his measuring tape when I looked up and saw Dad walk into the shop. He was walking funny, shuffling like he--

"Nice boner, bro!" Joe laughed as he elbowed me.

"Shut up," I grumbled. "It does that sometimes."

I glanced up again and saw that Dad was looking at us. That's when I also realized that the curtain separating the fitting area from the main showroom was open! "Hey, you left the curtain open!" I shouted to Javier and Rafa as I leapt off the riser and hid behind a clothing rack.

"Oh, for goodness sake," Javier groused as he got up to pull the curtain closed, "it's only underwear."

"Good one, Einstein," Joe grumbled. Several heads had turned our way and people had begun to gawk and titter. "Way to call attention to us."

"Hey, you might not care if all of Bayport sees you parading around in your underwear, but I do," I whispered.

"Like they haven't seen you already," Joe snarked. "Besides, it's not like you have anything to show."

"And you do?"

"Yeah," he said, puffing up his chest and swaggering about on the platform as he ran his hand over the curve of his butt. "When you've got all this going for you--"

He stopped when he saw the reflection of his boner tenting his underwear. He went as pale as his white briefs and his eyes practically popped out of his head as he scrambled off the platform to hide behind the clothing rack with me. "Close the curtain," he shouted. "Close the curtain!"

"Nice boner, bro," I mimicked. "I thought you didn't care if all of Bayport saw you in your underwear."

"Underwear is one thing. Tenting the tightys is another. I mean, look at this monster!"

"You didn't seem to care when it was me!"

"Look at you and then look at me, bro. This thing can poke an eye out. You--"

I cut him off with a sharp elbow to his gut and he doubled over.

"You're such a little bitch, Frank," he snapped as he shoved me, causing me to stumble out from behind the clothing rack. I pushed him back and soon we were tussling.

He caught me in a double leg takedown, but I was ready for the familiar maneuver. "Ooof!" I grunted, rolling as soon as we hit the ground.

"Ouch!" Joe cried out at the same time.

"Boys, boys!" I heard Javier shout.

Ignoring him, we grappled and scrabbled for position, rolling under the heavy blue curtain and out into the main showroom area. I completely forgot we were wearing nothing but our tight white briefs until Joe got me into a headlock and grabbed for the waistband of my underwear.

"No, Joe!" I screamed, bucking and arching my back as I felt my briefs begin to bunch into the crack of my butt. "Not a wedgie! AAAAHHH!"

I rolled onto my back and thrust my hips into the air. He lost his grip on the elastic and when I tried to pick my briefs from my butt crack, he flipped onto his back, pulling me onto him. I squirmed and bucked and suddenly found we were chest to chest and groin to groin, and although I'm taller by an inch, Joe's the more muscular of us and held me securely in place, my butt high in the hair, as he began spank me.

THWACK! SMACK! WHACK!

"J-j-joe--ohhh!! Oooo-uh-ow-stopit-uh-uh-staaaph!!" I cried out.

THWAHP!

"Ouch!!!"

"You like this, Frank?" he taunted as he smacked my butt again and thrust his hips upward, grinding into me. "Yeah, I can tell. I can feel you."

"Ungh! Stop!"

"You want me to stop, Frank?" he said as he continued to pummel by butt. "Say `uncle,' you little bitch!"

"Nnn-uh-ow-ow-ungh-ungh!!"

CRACK!

"Say `uncle'!"

"Stop, Joe!" I panted. "Stop or I'm gonna--"

"Hardy?!" a voice boomed, making me and Joe instantly freeze. Joe released me and I slid off him, hands flailing – one to cover my erection, the other to pick my wedge. I rolled onto my side and looked up to Mikey Griffin, Jeff Steffen, and Neanderthal – Neal – Bunyan smiling down at us.

"Hey look, it's the Hardy Boys, and they're still wearing their little tighty whities," Mikey snickered as he snapped my waistband and then swatted my butt with the back of his hand. "You know, if you're up for another spanking, Frank, you know where to find me."

Jeff eyed Joe's crotch and winked. "Looking good, Little Hardy," he said. "If you ever need a hand with that, give me a call."

They burst out laughing and as they walked toward the front door of the shop, garment bags in hand, Neal bent down.

He briefly met my eyes before looking down at the floor. "Um, sorry about that, guys," he said as he rested his hand on the small of my back and began rubbing small circles. "Mikey can be a real dick sometimes." Neal's fingers slipped beneath my waistband and dipped close to my crease, still making those small circles. "But seriously, if you wanna hang out Friday, before or after the formal, that'd be cool. Give me a call."

He met my eyes again and smiled shyly before he pulled his fingers free. Then he playfully snapped the elastic and gave my butt a quick pat. Before I could even react, he was out the door, catching up with Mikey and Jeff.

I crawled up onto my knees and sat back on my haunches, panting heavily, unaware of the huge erection I now had that was pushing against the soft white cotton of my briefs. I turned to my brother, still sprawled on his back, knees bent and spread wide, his erection obvious and almost obscene: "Did he seriously just ask us to hang out?" I asked.

Joe sat up on his elbows and adjusted himself. "Not us, bro. You."

"What? No--?"

"Whoa, dudes!" a familiar voice exclaimed. "What's going on?"

Joe and I looked up to see Chet Morton staring down at us.

Chapter 5 – Dad

1:46 p.m.

I sheepishly followed Juan Carlos to one of the private rooms in the back, doing my best to walk straight. He looked back at me a few times, his smile getting bigger each time. He was about 5'9 or 5'10 and looked to be a few years older than the boys. He had dark hair and dark brown eyes, and his olive complexion was nearly flawless.

"Fenton," Peter greeted me warmly when I entered the private fitting room.

"Hello Peter." <hiccup!>

"Are you all right, my boy?" Peter asked.

"Oh, excuse me. I apologize," I said, licking my suddenly dry lips as I held my hand out to shake. "I had a business lunch after church today and I fear I might've had a bit too much to drink." I turned to Juan Carlos. <hiccup!> "I don't drink much – a glass of wine on occasion – but today I was celebrating a new business deal and" <hiccup!> "I fear I may have" <hiccup!> "overdone it."

"Well then, that can be excused," Peter smiled. "And speaking of new business ventures, I'd like to introduce you to Juan Carlos. He is Javier's sister's grandson. He and his good friend Rafa are here from Barcelona apprenticing with us. Juan Carlos, this is Fenton Hardy. He's a very special customer."

"Hello again," Juan Carlos said to me. He turned to Peter and explained, "I was Sr. Hardy's waiter today at lunch. He is correct that he did have quite much to drink."

My face flushed red and I hiccupped again. <hiccup!> "Welcome, Juan Carlos," I said, extending my hand. "It's nice to see you again."

"Juan Carlos, would you get some water for Mr. Hardy please?" Peter said. "I believe we have some seltzer water in the fridge over there."

"Yes, of course." Juan Carlos opened a small refrigerator and handed me a can. I opened it and drank nearly half, not noticing it was an alcoholic spritzer and not the non-alcoholic seltzer water Peter mentioned.

Hiccups cured, I turned to Juan Carlos. "You're very fortunte to be apprenticing with Peter and Javier. They're amazing tailors."

"Gracias señor," Juan Carlos said, bowing his head while looking up at me through his thick black lashes. "Have you ever been to España?"

"Yes, a few times. I especially love Barcelona and Valencia."

"How are Laura and the boys?" Peter asked.

"Laura's been visiting her parents this past week and I've been lost without her, which is why the boys and I have thrown ourselves on your mercy. In fact, I saw Frank and Joe getting measured when I walked in."

"They are the two handsome young men with Javier and my Rafa?"

"Yes, that's them," Peter confirmed.

"Oh, yes. My Rafa will take especial good care of them."

"Fenton has been coming to Javier and me for several years," Peter said to Juan Carlos. "He's not only a good customer, he's also a good friend."

"I hope you'll take care of me as well as Rafa is taking care of my boys," I said.

"Oh, for sure. Count on it," Juan Carlos said and then turned to Peter. "Los pantalones del Sr. Hardy están sin cremallera," he said with a blush and a smile before turning back to me. I tried to remember my Spanish.

"I'm afraid I don't understand, Juan Carlos," Peter apologized with a guilty shrug as he looked from Juan Carlos to me and then back to the young apprentice. "Although I've worked with Javier for years, I must confess I've never picked up much Spanish. However, if you're referring to the fact that Mr. Hardy's fly is unzipped, well, you'd have to be blind to miss it."

I'd already worked out what Juan Carlos said, but if there was any doubt, a simple glance in the large wall mirror confirmed it: my zipper had slid down again and was gaping wide open! My face went crimson and my hiccups started again.

Juan Carlos smiled. "Yes, Peter, I forget you don't know Spanish so well. But as you say, you'd have to be blind to miss the fact that señor is exposing himself in such a – how you say – brazen manner. And, if the red blush in his cheeks is any indication, I believe Sr. Hardy understands Spanish just fine."

"Yes, yes!" <hiccup!> "Blast it!" I said nervously, speaking quickly as I took another gulp of the spritzer. "The darn zipper on these pants won't stay closed. I was hoping you might be able to fix it while I'm here."

Juan Carlos bent down to examine my zipper. He took the metal tab in one hand and started to work it up and down, grabbing the fabric around my crotch with the other and pulling it taut. As he did, his knuckles repeatedly brushed and pushed against my penis and I felt myself becoming aroused. I tensed and held my breath.

Peter didn't seem to notice as he observed, but the young Spaniard certainly did. "Yes," Juan Carlos said, looking me straight in the eyes as he continued to stroke my stiffening shaft with his thumb. "I believe it can be repaired. Peter, if you would like to take Sr. Hardy's trousers, I will attend to his other, um, needs." He winked at me and my eyes widened. I took another drink. What in the world? And in front of--

"Excellent idea," Peter said, interrupting my thoughts. "Fenton, strip out of your trousers and give them to me. I'll have them ready by the time Juan Carlos is done with him."

Strip out of my--

"Sí," Juan Carlos said lowly so that only I could hear him. "Cuando termine contigo." ["Yes. When I'm done with you."]

I froze. Did he just say what I think he did? I didn't understand why I was letting him talk to me and touch me this way, or why my body was reacting the way it was. My wife had been gone barely a week and here, after a few drinks and some flirting – with a man, no less... I couldn't have Peter, let alone Juan Carlos, seeing my unwanted erection. I rubbed my hand over my mouth and stammered, "O-oh, well, m-maybe I-I c-could come back a-another day? W-when I c-can leave my pants and p-pick them up l-later?"

Both Peter and Juan Carlos looked at me in consternation and Juan Carlos spoke. "Let me ask you, señor, when do you need this tuxedo?"

"Oh, Friday afternoon at the latest," I said, hoping they didn't detect the slight slur in my voice. "I have the Bayport Chamber of Commerce ball Friday night."

"¿Viernes?" Juan Carlos exclaimed. "¿En serio? ¡Necesitamos comenzar de inmediato!" ["Friday? Seriously? We must start immediately!"]

"B..b..but--"

"No buts, Sr. Hardy," Juan Carlos said as he reached for my belt. I stood frozen in place as he unbuckled it, winking up at me. Wide-eyed, I looked from Juan Carlos to Peter – who appeared oblivious – and back.

"¡Rápido, señor!" Juan Carlos urged although I thought I saw a playful smirk. He took the can from my hand and realizing it was nearly empty, held it to my lips and tilted it back, pouring the rest into my unresisting mouth. "If we do not start now you will have only this to wear for the ball." He grinned broadly, gesturing to where my briefs-covered erection jutted through my still open fly.

"Yes, I'm afraid Juan Carlos is right," Peter agreed with a slight laugh as he stood next to the younger man. "And while the Bayport Chamber of Commerce is a progressive organization, I'm afraid they'd frown on you if you showed up in shirttails and, um, your tighty whities. Now, let's get you measured right away so your tuxedo will be ready in time."

I nodded reluctantly, missing the look of mischief on Juan Carlos' handsome face. Peter instructed me to take my shoes off and as soon as I did, Juan Carlos took charge. He set the empty can down, tugged my black Hugo Boss dress shirt from my trim-cut trousers and quickly unbuttoned it. While Peter reached around from behind to slide the fitted garment down my broad shoulders, Juan Carlos pulled my t-shirt up and over my head, his thumbs running over my nipples. I shivered and tried to suppress a gasp.

When Peter turned his back to hang my shirt on a rack, Juan Carlos began to pinch and roll my nipples. My eyes went wide, my dick lurched in my briefs, and my mouth opened in wordless protest. His eyes twinkled and he winked as he continued to strip me.

I sputtered as he ruthlessly manhandled me, brusquely unbuttoning my grey houndstooth slacks and deftly whisking them down to my ankles.

As Peter helped me step out of my pants, I glanced into the mirror, shocked to see how quickly and efficiently I'd been stripped down to my white designer briefs and black over-the-calf dress socks.

Peter took my pants to a workstation in the corner. "I'll put in a new zipper for you while Juan Carlos finishes taking care of you," he called over his shoulder as he put on his spectacles.

As Peter went to work, Juan Carlos turned to me and flashed me a lecherous smile. "Cuando te vi en el restaurante pensé para mí mismo, qué hombre tan guapo. Me encantaría pasar unos minutos a solas con él," he said. I translated in my head: "When I saw you in the restaurant, I thought to myself, what a handsome man. I would love to spend a few minutes alone with him."

"Y luego entraste aquí medio borracho para verme después de todo," he continued, "y aquí estamos." [And then you came in here half-drunk to see me after all, and here we are.]

I opened my mouth to protest but he spun me around so quickly I lost my balance, pitching forward so I was bent over the coffee table, hands gripping either side, my firm, brief-clad ass high in the air.

"¡Dios mío! Podría rebotar una cuarta parte de estas nalgas," he muttered under his breath. [My God! I could bounce a quarter off this ass!]

What? Did he just say what I think he did? I looked over to where Peter was sitting, mortified that he might've heard, but he had put on headphones – opera, no doubt – and was busy ripping out the zipper of my pants.

Juan Carlos patted my ass. "Necesito comenzar sus mediciones, Sr. Hardy, y tan atractivo como lo encuentro inclinado así, debo pedirle que se ponga de pie." ["I need to start your measurements, Mr. Hardy, and as attractive as I find you bent over like this, I must ask you to stand up straight."]

I gulped and stood, aware of a tingling in my groin. Juan Carlos had taken me totally by surprise. I was drunk and embarrassed, and embarrassed that I was drunk. I was completely off my game. He put his hands on my shoulders, steadying me as he turned me until I was facing him. He measured my neck, keeping one finger beneath the tape, right on my pulse point. I could feel my rapidly stiffening dick throbbing in my tight white briefs, beating in time with the pulse in my neck; and although Juan Carlos never glanced down, from the way his smiling brown eyes mocked mine, I knew he knew I was erect.

Juan Carlos seemed to slip between professional and pervert at the drop of a hat, which was making my already spinning head spin that much faster. Maybe it was due to how much I'd had to drink or just his big personality, because despite being some four or so inches shorter than my 6'2 frame, it felt like Juan Carlos towered over me. I felt fully dominated – something I'd never experienced before in my life.

"I need to measure your chest," he said, suddenly all business again. "Put your arms out, please." I did as he said and as he wrapped the tape around my chest, I tensed and sucked in a breath.

"Párese en una postura relajada y respire, Sr. Hardy," he chided ["Stand in a relaxed posture and breath, Mr. Hardy"] and I suddenly felt like a child. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, willing my body to relax, and jumped almost a foot when I felt his thumbs flick over my nipples.

My eyes shot open to see him looking up at me with a wicked smile on his face. "Tiene los pezones muy turgentes, Sr. Hardy," he purred as he touched my left pec, dragging a slow circle around my quarter-sized areola with his fingernail, before giving the puffed bud a tweak. "Y la cantidad justa de vello en el pecho. Muy sexy." ["You have very perky nipples, Mr. Hardy. And just the right amount of hair on your chest. Very sexy."]

I groaned.

WHAT. THE. HECK?

"Oh, um..." I stammered, acutely aware that my dick was straining at my briefs. He traced more lazy circles around my nipples and I giggled. Giggled?! How drunk was I? And how oblivious was Peter? He still hadn't moved from his workstation where he was working on my pants.

Juan Carlos flashed another mega-watt smile. "Cosquillas también? Eso es algo que tendremos que explorar más en su próxima visita." ["Ticklish too? That's something we'll have to explore more on your next visit."] My next visit?! I felt his smile all the way down to my dick. Oh man, I was in trouble!

"Now your waist," he said, snapping me out of my daze. "For the jacket." He wrapped the tape around my torso just above my waist and I felt the fingers of his right hand playfully snapping the elastic waistband of my briefs while his left thumb swirled into my navel. I gulped. I don't know why I'd let this go on as long as I had, but now he was taking it too far. If I said something now, though, what would Peter think? It was bad enough that I'd arrived late and inebriated, but to have an erection as well? And with their apprentice? No, this was too embarrassing. I'd have to handle this on my own.

As thoughts of how best to extricate myself from my current predicament bounced around my gin-soaked brain, Juan Carlos got down on his knees in front of me, his face barely an inch from my crotch, and looked up at me. "To measure your, uh, seat," he said, his face a mask of angelic innocence, "I must wrap the tape around the, um – how you say – most prominent part of your buttocks."

My face blushed scarlet. Juan Carlos turned to look at Peter and, satisfied the older man was still engrossed in his task, reached around and grabbed my butt cheeks. "Tienes un culo magnífico, Sr. Hardy," he breathed. "Realmente espectacular." [You have a great ass, Mr. Hardy. Truly spectacular.]

I heard myself squeak and I shot a dollop of pre-cum into my briefs. Juan Carlos smiled and, eyes locked on mine, swiped the tip of his finger over the head of my penis, scooping up the pearl of pre-ejaculate and putting it on his tongue.

"Ungh," I moaned, nearly collapsing, placing both my hands on his broad, surprisingly strong, shoulders to steady myself.

"I need to measure your hips, Sr. Hardy," he said, still on his knees. He turned me around so my butt was just inches from his face, and as he spoke, I could feel his hot breath flutter up and down my crack. "Just hold still," he said as he reached the tape around me, caressing my thick erection where his two hands met. "This should take only a moment or two."

By this point I was nearly whimpering. I groaned as his wrist brushed back and forth over my fully erect dick as he fumbled to get an accurate measurement. My balls felt heavy and my briefs were beginning to feel especially tight.

"¡Tiene una protuberancia muy agradable, Sr. Hardy!" he whispered loudly. ["You have a very nice bulge, Mr. Hardy."]

"I'm sorry, what was that?" I asked.

"You know what I said," he chastised, giving my ass a playful pat. "Tell me, what did I say?"

I shook my head. I can't believe this was happening.

"Tell me," he insisted as he cupped my balls and gave them a gentle squeeze.

"Y-you said," -I couldn't believe I was doing this- "You s-said I-I have a v-very nice b-bulge."

"Si," he smiled. "y tu erección es enorme." ["Yes, and your boner is huge."] He bit his lip coyly when I blushed. Then he fumbled again with the measuring tape and as his wrist rubbed back and forth over the hard ridge in my underwear, I threw my head back and gasped.

"Is everything alright, Sr. Hardy?" he asked.

"Yes. Yes, I'm fine," I barely managed to choke out.

"Good, because I need to measure your wrist now." He held out his hand and I placed mine in it. He wrapped the tape around my wrist, looping twice, and pulled my hand forward, placing my palm over the bulge in his own pants. I felt his heat and hardness and I gasped.

"What's wrong?" he asked innocently. "You do not like?"

"No, it's..."

"It's what?" he asked, his eyes wide, as I thrust into his hand. And dang it if it didn't feel as good as I somehow knew it would.

"I-I'm thirsty," I rasped out.

"Excuse me, how rude of me," he said. Still cupping my crotch as I continued to whimper, he reached into a small refrigerator and pulled out two cans.

I gulped the first one down and was opening the second when I glanced at the label. "These are wine spritzers, not seltzer!"

"Oh, I am so sorry," he said, not even trying to suppress his grin.

"What're you do--" I stammered. "Are you trying to get me drunk?"

"Si," he replied, smiling at his eyes raked over my nearly naked body. "You are so uptight. I want you to relax. Well," -he stopped when his eyes came to rest on the plump erection straining my tight white briefs- "maybe not all of you."

I gasped and at that moment Peter stood up, causing us both to jump. "How is it coming, Juan Carlos?" he asked as he took off his headphones.

Juan Carlos spun me around and whipped the measuring tape back around my hips. My taut, brief-clad was level with his face and I knew he was smiling. "Just finishing up his hips, Peter. And then moving to his inseam."

"Good, good," Peter said, as he patted my butt. "I need something from the shop. Fenton, these pants will be good as new by the time Juan Carlos is finished with you."

Chapter 6 – Joe

2:05 p.m.

"Oh. Hey, Chet," Frank said.

"Um, what are you guys doing on the floor in your underwear?" he asked, trying to hold back a laugh. "And, um," he leaned down to whisper, "what's up with the boners?"

"The what--? Oh shit!" I exclaimed, covering my crotch.

"Language, Joe!"

"Shut up, needle dick!" I retorted as I looked for something to cover my bulging briefs. Frank, looking shocked, punched me in the arm but I'd had enough of him today. I put him in another headlock and reached for his waistband, shoving his head down into my groin as I did so.

"No, stop!" he cried out, as his face mashed against my crotch. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

"Boys, boys!" Javier exclaimed, bursting through the curtain and clapping his hands. "Do I need to get your father out here?"

"Oh, I don't think you want to do that right now, Javier," an older man said, giving me a curious look. I realized I still had Frank's face trapped in my lap and let him up.

Frank gasped as he pushed himself off me. He looked up at the man. "Hey, what're you doing with our Dad's pants?"

"Apparently your Father can't keep his pants zipped," the man said, flicking his eyes toward Javier who arched his eyebrow and smiled.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked.

"The zipper on his trousers was broken," the man – Peter – explained, holding the pants up. "I put a new one in for him."

"Oh good. Yeah, it's embarrassing walking around with your fly open. Just ask Frank."

Frank elbowed me and I shoved him. "Boys, please," Javier said, a note of warning in his voice.

"Do you know how much longer our Dad will be?" I asked.

"Oh, not much longer now," Peter said. "Juan Carlos is just finishing up with him now."

Javier clapped his hands again. "Come boys. Can we continue? Rafa is waiting."

We stood up and realized that in addition to the customers in the store staring at us, we had an audience of passersby outside, more than one of whom was holding up their smartphone and taking pictures. And we were still in nothing but our underwear!

We said goodbye to Chet and then scrambled back behind the curtain. Javier whipped it shut and whirled around to face us. "You two," he bit off, index finger pointed and cheeks flushed red as he glowered at us. "Peter and I are seeing you today as a favor to your father and this is how you repay our hospitality? Brawling like thugs? Embarrassing yourselves and us, not to mention your father, with your behavior. Now, please, either get up on the riser now so Rafa can finish measuring you or you can leave."

Thoroughly chastised and subdued, Frank and I did as Javier instructed, meekly obeying without hesitation as Rafa took measurements, not even questioning when Javier took photos of us in our briefs and then again while wearing tuxedos.

Finally, after nearly thirty minutes of being poked, prodded, photographed, and pinned, we were finished. We took the tuxedos off and hung them onto the rack which Rafa wheeled away through the curtain.

"Thank you, boys," Javier said, closing his notepad. "Your tuxedos will be ready on Thursday and you can come after school and pick them up. We will have you try them on one last time to make sure everything fits just right." With that, he slipped through the curtain and left.

Frank sat down on the riser. "Sorry, I lost it like that out there," he said, making peace first like he always did. Usually we're the best of friends but sometimes even best friends have their squabbles.

"Yeah, sorry I wedgied you. Did I rip your underwear?"

He craned his head as he felt his waistband. "Nope. All good. Sorry I tried to knee your nuts."

"Well, they're kind of hard to miss," I laughed, and he rolled his eyes.

"And?"

"And what? They ARE hard to miss. I've got a big package, bro."

"No, you big dork," he snorted as he gave me a playful nudge. "You're sorry for calling me needle dick and a little bitch."

"Oh no," I replied, glancing down at his crotch, "I've seen you in the shower. And newsflash: you ARE a little bitch sometimes."

"Hey!"

"Oh, come on. That was funny."

"Whatever," he said, looking around. "Um, where are our clothes?!"

Chapter 7 – Dad

2:07 p.m.

"We don't need to hide anymore," Juan Carlos said as he stroked the tip of my erect shaft through my tight white briefs while at the same time strumming his thumb back and forth over my hard nipple.

I don't know how long I stood there, allowing him to grope and manhandle me like that, my back pressed to the wall, my entire body quivering, wracked with pleasure.

"What are you doing?" I choked out when his hands slid down between my legs to stroke the spot between my balls and my ass.

"Nothing you don't want me to," he said playfully.

"I sh-should go."

"Nonsense," he said as he cupped my balls again, rolling them between his long, tactile fingers. "You have a – how you say – raging boner and no pants. I do not think you want your sons to see you like this."

I jerked my head no even as I rocked my crotch into his palm. I opened my mouth to speak but he put his finger to my lips. "Shh. No. Of course you don't. Please now, relax and let me finish measuring you."

I nodded and he spun me so I was facing the wall. He sank to his knees. "¡Dios mío! Eres un pedazo de culo caliente!" ["My God! You are one hot piece of ass!"] he said almost reverently, taking his time as he fondled my ass, squeezing my cheeks and running his index finger up and down the crease, lingering over my clenched anus. Then, with my briefs still in place, he parted my cheeks and rubbed slow, lazy circles around my hole until every nerve in my body was on fire.

"Solo me gustaría sostener estas nalgas firmes y redondas en mis manos y apretarlas firmement." ["I'd just like to hold these firm, round buttocks in my hands and squeeze them firmly."]

I moaned, leaning my cheek against the cool wall, and pushed my butt out. My cock was tenting the front of my briefs and poking against the wall as my heart raced.

"Oh yes," he continued, slipping a finger beneath the elastic leg band and running it dangerously close to my hole, "I would love to put you over my lap and paddle these firm round buttocks--"

I groaned and whimpered and pushed my butt out further.

"--before, hm – how you say – fucking the living daylights out of you."

"Oh fuck," I moaned, using a word we Hardys never use, and my dick nearly tore a hole through my briefs. "Juan Carlos!"

"But first," he said teasingly as he reached around to squeeze my throbbing shaft, "I must measure your inseam."

"Noooo," I whined. He swatted my butt and ran his hand down my furred, muscled leg and picked up the measuring tape. "I need you to spread your legs a little," he instructed. I did as he said. "No, wider. Wider!" He snapped my underwear elastic at the leg and I spread my legs in a wide, inverted `V.'

"Very good, Sr. Hardy," he said, patting my butt cheek. "Very good. But now I need to take a second measurement from the front."

I didn't want to turn around because he'd see the obscene bulge the ridge of my hard cock was making in my briefs as well as the spreading stain of pre-cum.

"Turn, Sr. Hardy," he coaxed, and when I didn't, he placed both hands on my hips and gently forced me. I squeezed my eyes shut. "Oh Dios mío!"

I looked down hesitantly. My dick was pushing out the front of my briefs so far there was a good inch and a half gap between my waist and the waistband and I could see my rock hard shaft through the knitted tangle of pubic hair. Juan Carlos bent to get his measurement and bumped my sack with his forehead.

"Excuse me," he said softly as he looked up at me, his nose, cheeks, and chin brushing my bulge. He smiled and reached back to squeeze my ass. "You must forgive my clumsiness." He muzzled my shaft, his fingers stroking the crack of my ass, pushing my briefs into the cleft of my cheeks to play with my hole.

"Stop," I moaned.

"My apologies," he said as he mouthed up the length of my shaft and his finger slipped once again beneath the elastic leg band of my briefs.

"I can't... I-I'm not-- I'm not a--"

"No?" he said, looking up at me as his finger neared its target. "You are sure, Sr. Hardy?"

I stared at him, mouth open. I wanted to protest, to tell him to stop. His finger stroked over my puckered hole and my dick popped over the top of my waistband. I gulped.

"Maybe that's true," he said with a shrug, but you certainly are, um – how you say – repressed as fuck."

With that, he pressed the blunt tip of his index finger to my hole and breached me. I began to ejaculate.

"I'm cumming! I'm cumming!" I roared loudly as my cock twitched and spurted uncontrollably. The elastic waistband of my briefs kept my dick pinned in place and the semen spewed up my abs and chest, spraying my load all over my chin and face.

Juan Carlos stepped back, once more all business. "All finished measuring," he said handing me an appointment card. "We will call you Tuesday for your first fitting and again Thursday afternoon." Then he gathered my clothes – shirt, t-shirt, and shoes – and handed the bundle to me.

"I-I can't go out there like this," I stammered as I wiped my sweat and cum-slicked chest and face with my t-shirt. "M-my pants!"

"Peter will bring your trousers," he said as he opened the door. "Please, go wait until Peter is finished."

"B-b-but—"

"Goodbye, Sr. Hardy," he said with a smirk. And with that, he hustled me unceremoniously out of the fitting room and closed the door.

"Dad?"

Chapter 8 – Frank

2:45 p.m.

Thankfully Joe and I were the last customers in the shop and nobody was around to witness us scampering about in our underwear trying to find our clothes.

Rafa was at the front host station watching us while he typed something on a laptop computer. "Excuse me," I asked, "do you know where our clothes are?" He glanced up and gave me an inquisitive look. "Our clothes," I asked again. "They're missing."

He looked at me like he didn't understand what I was saying. "Really?" I muttered under my breath to Joe. "Our clothes," I repeated more loudly. "Los vestidos?"

"Oh, your clothes," he said with a smirk. "Yes."

"Yes," Joe said testily. "Our clothes. Los vestidos. In case you haven't noticed, we're in just our underwear here."

"Oh, I notice," Rafa said, his eyes raking up and down our nearly naked bodies, lingering for a long moment on the bulge in Joe's tight white briefs. "For sure, I notice."

Joe blushed scarlet and awkwardly adjusted his erection as Rafa smiled and licked his lips. "They are right there," he said with a wave of his hand. "On that rack behind you. Your clothes."

I turned to where he pointed and sighed in relief. "Thank you," I said, and he nodded, his eyes focused on Joe's butt as my brother bent down to retrieve his shorts and shoes.

I was tying my shoes when I heard a muffled noise from somewhere down the hall. Turning, I saw the last door on the right open and a man come stumbling out. He was in just his socks and underwear and was holding a bundle of clothing.

"Dad?" Joe called out.

Dad turned at the sound of Joe's voice and started, clearly surprised to see us. "Joe? Frank?" He stumbled unsteadily toward us, hair disheveled, quickly shifting the bundle of clothes he was holding to cover what looked like an erection in his tight white briefs.

"What's going on boys?" he said. Judging from the way he was staggering toward us it was obvious he was intoxicated.

"Oh my gosh, he has a boner!" Joe whispered just as Dad reached us. His abs, chest, and chin looked shiny, like they were wet, and he reeked of pine needles and something else I couldn't quite place.

"What's that smell, Dad?" I asked.

"Huh? What smell?" he asked. I noticed his voice was slurred.

"You're drunk, Dad!" Joe exclaimed.

"It's not what it looks like, boys," Dad said, taking a step back.

"What else would it look like, Dad?" I demanded, stepping forward. "Drinking? Parading about half naked? What's going on?" I've never seen my dad have more than a drink of two on any occasion, so to see him drunk was a shock.

"Yeah," Joe chimed in. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Easy now, boys," Dad said, "it's not the same thing." We all knew he was referring to the night Joe and I got drunk at Mikey Griffin's house and Officer Kincaid had to drive us home. Dad spanked us on the front porch right in front of a yard full of our neighbors and other strangers. Joe and I still get looks and comments from people, although Joe somehow seems to take it all in stride.

"You're right," Joe agreed. "It's not the same thing. What happened to me and Frank wasn't our fault. You told us this morning that you were having lunch with Mr. Del Vecchio. Did you get drunk at lunch Dad?"

"Y-yes," he stammered. "B-b-but it wasn't my fault. Mr. Del Vecchio insisted. He--"

"You couldn't say `no'?" Joe interrupted.

"Well--"

"That's what you've always told us to say when somebody offers us a drink," I cut in, picking up Joe's line of questioning.

"Yeah, and you didn't have to drink so much that got drunk. I thought you frowned on people who did that."

"Hey now, boys," Dad said, a note of defensiveness creeping into his voice as he drew himself up to his 6'2 height. "I'm still your father. We'll talk about this at home." Considering he was wearing nothing but his socks and underwear, it looked ridiculous.

"What's going on here?" a booming voice behind us inquired. We all jumped and turned to see Bayport Chief of Police, Ezra Collig, standing with Javier.

"Hey Chief," I said. "What are you doing here?"

"Hi Frank," he greeted me, placing a hand on my shoulder. Chief Collig is a good friend of Dad's and a longtime family friend. "I was picking up my tuxedo for the Bayport Chamber of Commerce ball this Friday and I couldn't help but overhear. Care to tell me what's going on?"

"It's nothing, Ezra. Just a little misunderstanding," Dad insisted, waving him off even as the Chief looked him up and down, eyebrow raised.

"A little misunderstanding?" the Chief said, sounding amused.

"You know, Dad, you're not setting a very good example. You always tell me and Joe to practice what we preach."

"Well, be that as it may, I'm still your Father," he said, his shoulders back as he thrust out his chest. He looked from me to Joe and his eyes went wide. "What – you're not suggesting what I think you are, are you? You don't seriously think you're going to spank me, do you?"

"Why not?" Joe challenged, puffing out his chest and taking a step toward Dad. "Why shouldn't we spank you?"

"B-because I'm your father," Dad stammered, looking to Chief Collig.

"I don't know, Fenton," the Chief hedged. "Frank and Joe make a convincing argument. From what I understand, the night my officers brought the boys home in the condition you're in now, you were only too happy to make an example of them."

"In public," Joe groused.

"This is different, Ezra," Dad said, glaring at Joe.

"Yeah, different because you know better," Joe shot back.

At that moment Peter emerged from one of the closed rooms. "Ah, Fenton, there you are," he said as he hurried over. "I have your pants."

"Thank you," Dad said as he awkwardly stepped into his pants.

"You're welcome," Peter said. Dad put his hand on his shoulder to steady himself as tugged his pants up and Peter continued, "You know, dear boy, you've been a good customer for many years, but I must ask you to please refrain from drinking before coming again. Juan Carlos says you were disruptive during your fitting and that you got, um, excited."

"Dad!" Joe and I exclaimed at the same time.

"What? That's not... no."

Peter arched an eyebrow and glanced down to where Dad was trying to zip his pants up over the very prominent ridge in his tight white briefs.

Dad turned his glare on us again, but I could see his resolve was wavering. "Okay boys," he finally said with a frown, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

"It looks like a spanking is in order then," Chief Collig said, winking at me and Joe. "The station's just around the corner and there's a nice big holding cell that should--"

"I'm not going to the station," Dad said flatly.

"A spanking?" Peter said, glancing at Javier with a gleam in his eyes. "We can do it here. You're the last customers and everybody has left."

"Sounds good to me," I said.

"Me too," Joe agreed.

"Okay, okay," Dad grumbled. "Can we use one of the fitting rooms?"

"Oh, I don't think the fitting rooms are big enough," Javier said.

"No, no," Peter agreed. "We'll have to do it out here."

"Here?" Dad protested. "But it's out in the open. Anybody passing by outside can see!"

"How about the front porch at home?" Joe suggested. "Plenty of space there."

"Yeah, and lots of room for spectators," I added.

"Boys," Dad growled, as my brother and I fist-bumped.

"We will shut the blinds," Javier said.

"That settles it then," Ezra said. "Now, which of you boys gets the first crack?"

"Absolutely not," Dad said firmly. "I draw the line at being spanked by my own sons."

"You might want to reconsider, Fenton," Chief Collig said. "If it's not one of your boys, that leaves me, and I've got a pretty firm hand, just ask any of my boys."

"Alright," Dad relented.

"So, as I was saying," Chief Collig continued, looking to Joe and me, "which of you boys will it be?"

"I got this, bro," Joe said, patting my butt as we stepped forward at the same time. I opened my mouth to protest – I'm the older brother, after all – but Joe put his hand on my shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "You can get it the next time."

"The n-next time?" Dad sputtered indignantly.

"Yeah," Joe said sitting down and patting his lap, beckoning Dad with a cocky, confident smile. "Call it a Hardy Hunch, Dad, but I have a feeling this isn't the last time you're gonna be ass up on my lap."

"Language, Joe!" Dad and I said at the same time. Dad leveled a glare at Joe that normally would've sent him running, but Joe just calmly stared him down. Dad blinked in surprise, and as he bent over to lie across Joe's lap, I was surprised at how submissive he was being.

"Uh, aren't you forgetting something, Dad?" Joe said.

"What?"

"Drop your pants, Dad," I said.

"What? You're not serious."

"I think it's only fair, Fenton," Chief Collig said.

"Whose side are you on, Ezra?" Dad griped. The Chief just shrugged a shoulder and arched his brow.

Dad sighed heavily and undid his pants. At this close range, the ample bulge in his briefs was very evident and I found I couldn't look away from it.

"Nice boner, Dad!" Joe laughed.

Red-faced, Dad pushed his pants down to his knees, throwing Joe an exasperated, "I'll deal with you later look" as he crawled onto Joe's lap, reaching down to adjust himself.

As Joe triumphantly raised his hand to deliver the first blow to his upturned, brief-clad ass, Dad turned and looked up at us. "Not a word of this to your mother or Aunt Trudy."

"Scout's honor," Joe said as he flipped me his smartphone and I began to record.

The End