ZACH'S POV:
The week leading up to the Himb & Co. flagship store opening has been a blur of legal paperwork and contract reviews.
I've been sitting in my corner office going through employment agreements, lease documents, liability waivers, and vendor contracts. Zayn wanted everything perfect for the launch—a men's clothing store styled like the old Hollister stores from the 2000s, but with a modern twist. The target demographic is "hot jocks and surfer bros," and the aesthetic is unapologetically homoerotic.
The business model is genius, really. Himb & Co. sells overpriced basics—tank tops, board shorts, joggers, hoodies—all branded with the company's logo of a flexing surfer silhouette. But the real draw is the shopping experience itself.
Zayn personally oversaw the hiring process, selecting hot himbos to work as sales associates. The deal he offered them was simple: work at the store, provide exceptional customer service, and if they perform well, they'll get the chance to join HMB Services full time.
I've been so busy with other legal matters that I haven't actually seen who Zayn hired. I've just been signing off on their employment contracts, reviewing their background checks and making sure everything is compliant.
Opening day is this Saturday at the city's nicest mall—a massive upscale shopping center in the heart of downtown.
And I'm going.
Not just as Zayn's lawyer, but as a customer. I want to see what he's built.
Saturday morning, I drive to the mall and park in the underground garage. It's 10:15 AM, and the store opened at ten. I'm wearing dark jeans, a fitted white t-shirt, and a leather jacket—casual but put-together.
As I ride the escalator up to the main level, I can already hear the music.
Lo-fi beats with a deep bass line, the kind of chill electronic music that makes you want to nod your head and zone out. It's coming from somewhere on the second floor.
I follow the sound, weaving through clusters of shoppers, and that's when I see them.
Three shirtless guys standing near the entrance to Himb & Co., handing out glossy flyers to passersby.
Holy fuck.
They're all wearing matching gray sweatpants with "Himb & Co." printed down the left leg in white block letters. The sweatpants hang low on their hips, showing off deep V-lines and the waistbands of their underwear. Their bodies are incredible—tanned, toned, smooth. One is a blond surfer type with a megawatt smile and defined abs. Another is a Latino guy with dark eyes and thick arms. The third is a redhead with freckles across his shoulders and a chest that looks like it was carved from marble.
They're all grinning like puppies, enthusiastically thrusting flyers at anyone who walks by.
"Hey bro, check out the new store!" the blond one says to a middle-aged woman, who blushes and takes a flyer.
"Grand opening deals today only!" the Latino guy calls out, flexing his bicep as he hands a flyer to a teenage girl. She giggles and whispers to her friend.
I walk past them, and the redhead catches my eye.
"Yo, dude!" he says, jogging over with a huge smile. "You gotta check out Himb & Co.! We've got the sickest clothes, and the vibe inside is, like, totally chill."
He's so earnest, so enthusiastic. His pecs bounce slightly as he jogs, and I can see his nipples are small and pink against his pale, freckled skin.
"Thanks," I say, taking the flyer. It's a high-quality glossy card with a photo of a shirtless jock in board shorts standing on a beach, the Himb & Co. logo overlaid in white text.
"No problem, bro!" the redhead says, flashing another smile before jogging back to his spot.
I shake my head, grinning, and walk toward the store entrance.
The moment I step inside Himb & Co., I'm hit with a wave of sensory overload.
The lighting is dim—much darker than the bright mall corridor outside. Spotlights illuminate racks of clothing, casting dramatic shadows across the space. The lo-fi beats are louder in here, the bass vibrating through the floor.
And the walls.
Oh, the walls.
They're covered in huge black-and-white portraits of jock himbos in various states of undress. One shows a guy in nothing but low-slung jeans, his hands behind his head, his abs and chest on full display. Another shows two shirtless guys laughing together on a beach, their arms around each other's shoulders. A third shows a guy pulling off a tank top, his face obscured but his body absolutely perfect.
The images are slightly homoerotic—not overtly sexual, but definitely designed to appeal to a certain aesthetic.
The store itself is laid out in sections. To my left is a wall of tank tops in every color—white, black, gray, navy, red. To my right is a display of board shorts and swim trunks. Straight ahead is a section of hoodies and joggers, all branded with the Himb & Co. logo.
And scattered throughout the store are more shirtless employees.
I count at least five of them, all wearing the same low-slung sweatpants, all impossibly attractive. They're folding clothes, restocking shelves, chatting with customers. One of them is helping a guy try on a hoodie, standing close and adjusting the fit with his hands on the guy's shoulders.
It's a himbo paradise.
I'm walking toward the hoodie section, just taking it all in, when I feel a tap on my shoulder.
I turn around.
And my breath catches.
Standing in front of me is one of the most beautiful eighteen-year-old guys I've ever seen.
He's shorter than me—maybe five-foot-eight—with a lean, toned body that's more swimmer than bodybuilder. His pecs are perky and smooth, his abs are defined, and his waist is narrow. His skin is perfectly tanned, like he spends every day at the beach.
His hair is wavy and blond, falling just above his eyebrows in that effortlessly messy surfer-boy style. His eyes are bright blue, framed by long lashes, and his lips are full and plump, curved into a sweet, slightly dopey smile.
He's wearing nothing but a pair of tight red shorts that hug his hips and ass like a second skin. The fabric is so tight I can see the outline of everything—his thighs, his bulge, and most notably, his bubble butt. The two perfect globes strain against the red fabric, round and high and absolutely obscene.
Hanging from his neck is a lanyard with a name tag that dangles between his smooth pecs. The tag reads: JETT – Sales Associate.
"Hey!" Jett says, his voice bright and enthusiastic. "I'm Jett! Can I help you find anything today?"
He's so earnest, so puppylike. His smile is wide and genuine, and his eyes are sparkling with excitement.
"Uh," I say, momentarily thrown off by how hot he is. "Yeah, I'm just... looking around."
"Awesome!" Jett says, bouncing slightly on his toes. His pecs jiggle with the movement, and I have to force myself to look at his face. "This is, like, my favorite job ever. Everyone here is so nice, and the clothes are super cool. Plus, I get to meet tons of cool people like you!"
He's so dumb. So sweet. So completely oblivious to how sexy he is.
"You like working here?" I ask, trying to keep my voice casual.
"Oh my god, yes," Jett says, his eyes lighting up even more. "I'm, like, a surfer boy, you know? So this whole vibe is perfect for me. And Mr. Zayn—he's the owner—he's super cool. He said if I do a good job here, I might get to join HMB Services full time, which would be, like, the best thing ever."
He says it with such genuine excitement, like joining HMB Services is his life's dream.
"That's great," I say, smiling. "So you're new to this?"
"Yeah, I just started, like, a week ago," Jett says. "But I've been training really hard. Mr. Zayn taught us all these techniques for helping customers have the best shopping experience. We're supposed to be, like, super hands-on and helpful."
The way he says "hands-on" makes my cock twitch.
"Well," I say, "I could use some help picking out a few things."
Jett's face lights up like I just made his day.
"Yes! Totally! Come with me!"
He grabs my hand—his palm is warm and soft—and leads me toward the back of the store, past racks of clothing and more giant portraits of shirtless jocks.
We stop in front of a row of fitting rooms, each one separated by a heavy black curtain.
"Okay, so, like, you can try stuff on in here," Jett says, pulling back one of the curtains to reveal a small, dimly lit space. "And I'll help you with whatever you need!"
I step inside, and Jett follows, pulling the curtain closed behind us.
The fitting room is bigger than I expected—maybe six feet by six feet—with a full-length mirror on one wall and a cushioned bench along the other. But what catches my attention is the screen mounted on the wall next to the mirror.
It's playing a video.
A high-production, softcore porn ad for Himb & Co.
The video shows a shirtless jock himbo in a beach setting, slowly pulling off his tank top and tossing it aside. The camera lingers on his abs, his chest, his arms. Then it cuts to another guy, this one in board shorts, running his hands through his hair and grinning at the camera. Then another guy, this one pulling down his joggers to reveal tight boxer briefs that hug his bulge.
It's not explicit, but it's definitely homoerotic. The kind of thing that would make you hard if you watched it long enough.
The lo-fi beats from the store are muffled in here, replaced by the soft, sensual music from the video.
I'm staring at the screen when I feel Jett step closer behind me.
"So, like, what do you want to try on?" Jett asks, his voice soft and sweet.
I turn to face him, and he's standing so close I can feel the heat radiating off his body.
"I don't know," I say. "Maybe a hoodie? Some joggers?"
"Totally!" Jett says. "But, like, we should probably get you out of these clothes first so you can try stuff on properly."
Before I can respond, his hands are on the hem of my t-shirt.
"Here, let me help," Jett says, his fingers brushing against my abs as he lifts the fabric.
I raise my arms, and he pulls my shirt off over my head, tossing it onto the bench.
His eyes widen as he takes in my bare chest.
"Whoa," Jett says, his voice filled with genuine admiration. "You're, like, super ripped."
His hands come up to my chest, his palms pressing against my pecs. He squeezes gently, testing the firmness, and then his fingers trail down to my abs.
"Mr. Zayn taught us to be really hands-on helpful," Jett says, his voice still sweet and innocent. "Like, we're supposed to make sure customers feel totally comfortable and appreciated."
His hands slide down to the waistband of my jeans, and he starts unbuttoning them.
"Is this okay?" Jett asks, looking up at me with those big blue puppy-dog eyes.
"Yeah," I say, my voice rough. "It's okay."
He grins and pulls my jeans down, along with my boxer briefs, in one smooth motion.
My cock springs free, already half-hard, and smacks against my abs with a wet sound.
Jett gasps, his eyes going wide.
"Oh my god," he says, staring at my cock. "You're, like, huge."
I'm about eight and a half inches, thick and veiny, and already leaking precum.
Jett looks up at me, his plump lips curved into the sweetest, most innocent smile.
"I've been trained to help customers have the best shopping experience," he says. "And part of that is making sure you're totally relaxed and happy."
He drops to his knees in front of me, his hands resting on my thighs.
He looks up at me with those big blue eyes, his lips parted slightly, and I nearly lose it right there.
"Can I?" Jett asks, his voice soft and eager.
"Fuck yes," I breathe.
Jett wraps one hand around the base of my cock, his fingers barely able to close around the girth. His other hand cups my balls, gently massaging them.
He leans in and licks the tip, his tongue swirling around the head and lapping up the bead of precum that's gathered there.
"Mmm," Jett hums, his eyes fluttering closed. "You taste good."
He opens his mouth wider and takes the head of my cock inside, his lips stretching around the thickness. His tongue presses against the underside, and he starts bobbing his head slowly, taking more of me with each movement.
The sight is incredible. Jett on his knees, his blond hair falling into his eyes, his plump lips wrapped around my cock. His name tag dangles between his smooth pecs, swaying with each bob of his head.
"Fuck," I groan, my hand coming up to rest on the back of his head.
Jett pulls off with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting his lips to my cock.
"Here, sit down," he says, his voice still sweet and puppylike. "It'll be easier."
I sit on the cushioned bench, spreading my legs, and Jett kneels between them.
He grips my cock with both hands now, stroking slowly as he leans in and takes me back into his mouth.
This time, he goes deeper.
He relaxes his throat and pushes down, taking more and more of my length until I feel the head of my cock hit the back of his throat. He gags slightly, his eyes watering, but he doesn't pull off. Instead, he pushes down even further, swallowing around me.
"Holy fuck," I gasp, my hips jerking involuntarily.
Jett pulls back, gasping for air, saliva dripping from his chin. He's smiling, though—that same sweet, dopey smile.
"I love doing this for customers," he says, stroking my spit-slick cock. "Especially ones who are as cool and ripped as you."
He goes back down, and this time he's sloppy.
He's drooling all over my cock, letting saliva pool in his mouth and drip down the shaft. He's making wet, obscene sounds—slurping and gagging and moaning. His head bobs faster, his lips sliding up and down my length, and I can feel the vibrations of his moans against my cock.
The music from the store is loud enough to drown out most of the noise, but I can hear something else.
A deep, guttural moan coming from the fitting room next door.
Someone else is getting the same treatment.
The thought makes my cock throb, and Jett moans around me, feeling it.
He pulls off again, gasping, his face flushed and his lips swollen.
"You're so big," Jett says, stroking me with both hands. "Like, I can barely fit you in my mouth."
He leans down and starts licking my balls, his tongue swirling around them, his hands still stroking my cock. He takes one ball into his mouth, sucking gently, and I groan.
"Fuck, Jett," I breathe.
He releases my ball with a wet pop and grins up at me.
"You like that?" he asks, his voice sweet and innocent.
"Yes," I say. "Don't stop."
He goes back to my cock, taking me deep again, and this time I can't hold back.
I grip his hair, holding his head in place, and start thrusting up into his mouth. Jett gags and chokes, tears streaming down his face, but he doesn't pull away. He just looks up at me with those big blue eyes, his hands coming up to squeeze my pecs.
"Fuck, I'm gonna cum," I warn him.
Jett moans around my cock, and that's all it takes.
I thrust deep one last time and explode, my cock pulsing as I shoot thick ropes of cum down his throat. Jett swallows eagerly, his throat working around me, his eyes locked on mine.
I keep cumming, wave after wave, and Jett takes it all.
Finally, I'm spent, and Jett pulls off slowly, licking his lips.
"Mmm," he hums, smiling. "That was fun."
He's still kneeling between my legs, and I'm still hard—my cock standing straight up, slick with his saliva and my cum.
Jett leans forward and drools more saliva onto my cock, mixing it with the cum that's still dripping from the tip. He uses his hand to spread it around, coating my entire length.
Then he stands up, his hands going to the waistband of his tight red shorts.
"The most fun part," Jett says, his voice still sweet and innocent, "is helping customers have a really good shopping experience."
He pushes his shorts down, and his cock springs free.
It's about seven inches, hard and leaking, with a smooth pink head. But what really catches my attention is his ass.
His bubble butt is even more incredible without the shorts. Two perfect, smooth globes of muscle and padding, round and high and absolutely fuckable.
Jett steps forward and straddles my lap, his hands resting on my shoulders. He reaches down and grips my cock, positioning it at his entrance.
I can see his hole—smooth and pink, already slightly open, like he's been training for this.
"Is this okay?" Jett asks, looking down at me with those big blue eyes.
"Fuck yes," I say, gripping his waist.
Jett grins and starts lowering himself onto my cock.
The head pushes against his hole, and then it pops inside.
Jett gasps, his eyes fluttering closed, and he sinks down slowly, taking more and more of my length.
The sensation is incredible. He's so tight, so warm, so smooth. His hole grips my cock like a vice, and I can feel every inch as he lowers himself.
Finally, he's sitting fully in my lap, my cock buried completely inside him.
"Oh my god," Jett breathes, his head falling back. "You're so deep."
He starts moving, lifting himself up and dropping back down, and the sight in the mirror is mesmerizing.
I can see his bubble butt bouncing and jiggling with each movement, the muscles flexing and releasing. I can see my cock disappearing inside him, slick with saliva and cum.
Jett rides me slowly at first, his hands guiding mine over his body—his chest, his abs, his thighs.
"I had my first night with the HMB Services guys at their loft last week," Jett says, his voice breathy. "It was, like, the best night ever. They were all so nice and taught me so much. I really want to become like them."
He's so earnest, so sweet, even as he's riding my cock.
"You're doing great," I say, squeezing his waist.
Jett grins and starts moving faster, bouncing harder, and I watch in the mirror as his ass shakes and jiggles with each movement.
"Fuck," I groan. "Your ass is perfect."
"Thanks!" Jett says, still smiling. "I've been doing, like, tons of squats."
He leans down, his lips hovering just above mine.
"We're not supposed to kiss customers," Jett whispers, his breath hot against my mouth. "Because, like, they might think it's gay or something. But you seem really cool, and we both know it's just, like, deep buddy bonding, right?"
"Right," I say, my voice rough.
Jett grins and closes the distance, pressing his lips to mine.
The kiss is deep and messy, our tongues tangling together, and I start thrusting up into him harder.
Jett moans into my mouth, his hands gripping my shoulders, and I fuck him faster, deeper, rougher.
He's bouncing on my cock now, his ass slapping against my thighs, and the sound is obscene.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Jett gasps, breaking the kiss. "You're so deep. I can feel you in my stomach."
I grip his waist tighter and slam up into him, and Jett cries out, his head falling back.
Then he turns around, still impaled on my cock, and starts riding me reverse-cowgirl style.
The view is incredible.
His bubble butt is right in front of me, bouncing and shaking with each movement. I can see my cock sliding in and out of his smooth pink hole, slick and glistening.
Jett leans back, resting his head on my shoulder, his arms reaching back to run his fingers through my hair.
He's riding me like a stripper, his hips rolling and grinding, his ass bouncing up and down.
"Oh my god," Jett moans, his voice high and breathy. "This feels so good."
I can see his face in the mirror—his eyes are closed, his mouth is open, and his expression is pure bliss.
His cock is bouncing against his abs, hard and leaking, and I can tell he's close.
"I'm gonna cum," Jett gasps. "I'm gonna cum just from riding you."
"Do it," I growl, slamming up into him harder.
Jett cries out, his whole body tensing, and then his cock erupts.
Thick ropes of cum shoot out, coating his abs and chest, and he keeps riding me through it, his hole clenching rhythmically around my cock.
The sight and sensation push me over the edge.
I slam up into him one last time and explode, my cock pulsing as I fill him with cum.
Jett turns his head and kisses me deeply, our tongues tangling together as we both ride out our orgasms.
Finally, we're both spent, and Jett slowly lifts himself off my cock.
Cum drips out of his hole and onto my thighs, and he just laughs—that sweet, dopey laugh.
"That was awesome," Jett says, standing up and pulling his red shorts back on. The cum is still on his abs, but he doesn't seem to care. "I'll, like, ring up those purchases at the front whenever you're ready!"
He flashes me one more sweet, puppylike smile and bounces out of the fitting room, the curtain swishing closed behind him.
I sit there for a moment, catching my breath, my cock still half-hard and slick with cum.
Then I start laughing.