@ManPrep presents: "What Are These Young Men Wearing?"

The preppy Ralph Lauren look has inspired many suit fetishists over the years. Many of us nursed our first fantasies by hoarding old menswear catalogues, lusting after these images of power and privilege.

@ManPrep introduces his story as follows:

I posted a few short stories on my tumblr (Manprep-blog.tumblr.com) a few years ago that describe my fantasy... being one of many boys at Daddy's manor whose only job is to dress up and please their Master. While he's away at work, the boys fool around with each other as well. They dress up in three different outfits each day: one preppier ensemble for the daytime, one suit or tuxedo for drinks and dinner when Father returns, and then formal loungewear for evening debauchery. There are a few rules: 1. Please Master; 2) Always remain dressed up (typically with some form of neckwear, and ideally complementing Daddy's attire); 3) Never fuck in the same suit twice. Luckily Father has near endless wealth, so the tailor stops by often.

I've always had a suit fetish but it initially manifested (and still does to a certain extent) in a preppy fetish... the boldness, confidence, and "fuck you" attitude of young men wearing ties for no apparent reason other than to look good and exude wealth—that did it for me! There was always a forbidden allure of the best-dressed douchebags of high school and college, who I frankly couldn't stand as individuals, but by God did they turn me on! I still get aroused simply by putting on a dress shirt and chinos or seeing a decently put-together man in the office.

I've pasted one of my most liked/reposted stories below (found online here) but feel free to peruse for more stimulation. I recall reading some of your stories a few years prior (especially love the professor/student ones) and thank you for inspiring these!

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What are those young men wearing?! T-shirts and shorts? At this harbor? They surely have the money to afford decent clothing if they're roaming around these docks.

Men like that infuriate me, going around diluting the elite and wealthy spaces in which I thrive. I wouldn't be caught dead without some form of neckwear, let alone bottoms that actually extend past my knees. I had expressed to Father before that we shouldn't go to public spaces like the harbor because of the blatant disrespect other men flaunt with their attire.

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I admit that it's sort of ironic. Prior to becoming one of Father's houseboys, I actually worked at this harbor, scrubbing the docks and assisting with events. I met Father when I was a server at a yacht party. I didn't know it at the time, but it was actually one of his yachts. He was hosting an event with a bunch of "coworkers" (who I would later learn were, in fact, his houseboys). I recall wearing a white button-down and black pants with no necktie or jacket; that was perhaps the last time I ever made that mistake.

Father was standing near the ship's bow, a wildly sexy man in a three piece suit surrounding by a handful of younger attractive men, all suited as well. We locked eyes and I instantly became both infatuated and embarrassed, realizing how underdressed I looked in the presence of this mighty god. Maintaining eye contact, he whispered something into the ear of one of the younger men, who briskly walked over to me.

"This way," the boy stated firmly, putting my hors d'oeuvres tray on a nearby table and grabbing me by the wrist. He led me over to the powerful man and the suited circle surrounding him. He was on the phone with someone but I couldn't make out the conversation. He smiled, hung up, and turned to me with a flash in his eye. The party chatter in the background subsided.

"It's a shame to see a boy so attractive having to work for his money," he announced, steadily looking me up and down. "Luckily you've just been fired."

"I'm sorry, what?" I retorted. Who was this man telling me I'm fired? How? Why?

"I just spoke to your boss on the phone and demanded he fire you. So, you're fired."

"I... I don't... Did I do something wrong?"

He began slowly circling me, sizing me up. "In your old job, not necessarily. But in your new job, yes. You're breaking the cardinal rule, in fact."

"I don't understand. What new job? What rule?"

The man snapped his fingers and I noticed one of the boys emerging from the cabin with a garment bag in hand. I turned and faced the suited boss again to see him grinning mischievously.

"You're mine now, boy."

He gradually approached me like a predator moving in on its prey. "You won't work another day in your life. You'll leave all of your belongings in whatever rundown apartment you're renting and move into my manor. Your new job is to dress up everyday to please Daddy. And Daddy has some rules you need to follow in this regard."

He reached out his hand and touched my neck, sending a shock through my body. His warmth, his roughness, his musk—all contained within his powerful three-piece suit—captivated me. He guided my hand to his crotch where I could feel a massive cock pulsing beneath his tailored trousers.

"The main rule, of course, is to please your Master." He then yanked my hand closer so I was clutching his erect shaft. "You like how that feels, boy? You like touching Daddy's cock beneath his bespoke suit?"

I nodded in a daze, drooling slightly from the corner of my lips.

"You'll learn the other rule right now. Strip," he demanded.

Without questioning his order or even thinking about it, I shed my shirt and pants. The boy with the garment bag quickly ushered me into its contents: a brown peak collar tuxedo, strangely with perfect measurements. The tux came with a formal white shirt, brown satin bow tie, formal cream lounge pants, pocket square, and brown dress slippers.

As I was donning my new attire, I noticed some of the other men rubbing their crotches and staring on in awe. I was the only one in a tuxedo, which felt odd, but I was quickly submitting to the erotic glory of wearing finely tailored attire.

"Excellent, boy. It's important you always grace my presence wearing a tie, bow tie, or ascot. I never want to see that collarbone of yours again boy, understand?"

"Yes," I stammered, still grappling with the rapid transformation in clothing, job, and future.

"Yes, what?" he growled, his smile quickly dropping into an aggressive grimace.

"Yes, Sir!" I corrected.

"Good boy. Theodore! William! Why don't you welcome the new boy into our ranks? I'd like to see how he fits in... or rather, how you all fit into him."

Two strapping young men approached me, one dropping to his knees in front of me and the other slipping directly behind me and grabbing my hips at the cummerbund.

"Um, sorry Sir, but what's happening?"

"Why, you're pleasing Daddy. Welcome to your new job."

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Ever since that night, I've been committed to button down shirts and ties throughout the day. Even when sucking off Daddy or getting pounded by one of the other houseboys, I stroke my necktie or finger my bowtie dimple. Being one of the preppier boys means I sometimes opt for a more casual button down, but never without a piece of neckwear to remind me whose boy I truly am.

Now sitting at the harbor wearing this outfit—something almost TOO casual for Father's standards—I relish the feeling of wealth and power I get as I compare myself to the plebeians scuttling by in their t-shirts and shorts. They'll never know how erotic it is to be fucked in this luxury attire, to feel your necktie bouncing with every thrust into your ass. I'm indebted to Daddy for demanding I leave my old life behind to submit to a world of sartorial, sexual ecstasy.