Last winter, I started a job as a parcel delivery driver with a well-known company. I'm a friendly bloke, pretty buff from gym, jogging & a bit o' swimming. The words 'silver fox' have been used to describe me a few times.

Fellow workers seemed pretty friendly & especially the ladies in the Sorting Room. It was mostly ladies from 20s through to early 60s, though a few older guys (50s & 60s) worked in Sorting. One of the guys was officially just post-retirement but liked the job so much that he stayed on to work there. Chatting with a couple of other blokes, with very broad smiles, the guys said it was 'The best job I've ever had by far' and that the ladies really 'took care of us blokes'. They told me, they'd practically begged to be transferred from general labouring into Sorting. Great, I thought, what a nice bunch o' people. I'd walked through Sorting and had a laugh when there was a wolf-whistle & one of the older ladies, early 60s & 5 foot nothing, buxom, Maggie and very saucy/minxy, pinched me bum & shouted, "Oh, very firm and fresh," followed by general laughter. It was good-natured banter & why shouldn't the ladies give the blokes a taste of their own medicine for a change as payback.

At the beginning of me second week, another lady in her 50s, Madge, petite with a nice firm pair showing a bit o' cleavage, approached me as I was walking through the sorting, and said, "Eh, lad, when's yer birthday?" The women called every bloke 'lad', regardless of age, which I thought was dead nice & kind of reassuring. Reminded me of growing up among small, tough-and-tender Northern women. So, I told her, as it happens, it was actually the following week, i.e., the Friday of the second week in December, just short of Xmas. She added, "I ask because we usually treat the guys to a cream-cake on their birthday." So, I said, "Oh thanks, luv, that's dead nice. I'll enjoy that." And she responded with great certainty, and to a few guffaws & stifled giggling: "I'm pretty sure you will, lad."

I was enjoying the job and, my birthday arrived. It was a pretty cold day and I forgotten about any cake. I thought it was really sound when, on that day, the gaffer said my last drop would be about 4.30pm (and not the usual 6pm) & asked me to be back at the depot as soon as poss after last drop. Arriving in the building at about 4.45, the gaffer, (who was with all the other drivers - male and female), and all smiling broadly, said: "Eh, mate, the lasses in Sorting 'ave got a cake fer yer and they'll be really disappointed if yer don't show yer appreciation ." "Ah, right, cheers, fella. That'd slipped me mind but am there already", I lamely quipped, to rather unexpected laugher.

When I got to Sorting, all I could see was the ladies smiling broadly and I couldn't see any sign of a birthday cake. Indeed, on the large dining table where the ladies lunched, there was only a single creamcake, which I thought had been abandoned.

It also seemed a bit fishy when I glanced round and saw that all the drivers had followed me. I glanced back to see that I was now surrounded by the ladies. Aye, aye, I thought, what's goin' on. I was just about to ask when Madge (pert, mid-50s) pushed me onto a back onto the dining table and the ladies descended on me in an instant. The guys/drivers moved closer for a better look at the action and there were shouts of 'Wahey', 'Go on girls' and 'You lucky lad.'

I went betroot when I realised what was goin' on and made a break but the drivers were laughing their (nylon) socks off. The Sorting lasses were determined to sort me. lnstinctively, I started to struggle, but, whooping with delight, they totally pinned me to the table, speadeagled (facing upwards), as small, expert hands, that had done this so many times, undid trouser buttons and my fly was quickly unzipped. Sitting on me chest, astradle and to cheers, Madge had a rummage inside me flies, gently squeezing me tackle, and shouted out to much mirth, "Eh, not bad, a growing lad." I caught a gimpse of her black tights and panties, which added to the growth.

To cheers from all, me shirt was off, boots went flying and with each arm and leg being held, two ladies were yanking at me kecks until they came off completely & were tossed aside. The laughter ramped up even more as the whole workplace saw me stripped to a pair of comical white longjohns and still wearing me Man Utd bobblehat - it was a cold day! - and the drivers started humming the Laurel & Hardy tune.

The laughter meant that the ladies eased off a bit and I broke free and made a bolt for the door, but, the drivers, laughing at the ladies chasing in me longjohns, pushed me back and I was grabbed and returned to the table. To whoops of delight, while Madge was straddling me, Chrissie & Glenys, sisters in their forties, each grabbed a leg and yanked off me longjohns to huge applause and threw them in the air and the whole depot was in fits of laughter as they came to rest lolling over a gantry. It'd take a ladder to retrieve them.

But, this wasn't the reveal that the spectators expected, and more laughter ensued when they all saw me being chased again but clad only in a black posing pouch, bobblehat & matching black socks. Chrissie was miffed and shouted, "You thieving git, you've nicked my husband's thong. I'm 'avin that back."

Trying to get away again, my fellow drivers blocked the way saying, "Yer can't go out dressed like that, pal" and pushed me back again. On the table once more, and to all the spectators humming the Stripper song (Wheels), the ladies whooped in delight as my member was testing the limits of said pouch and one of me goolies poked out, and some of the ladies, giggling, gave it a nice, wee tickle. Finally, and exacting her revenge, Chrissy ripped off me pouch, waving her trophy above her head in triumph to gales of laughter and cheers, as my member emerged at a 90 degree angle. Maggie handed Chrissy a tape measure and she took a firm grip of my shaft while she measured it and, "Not bad, 7" girls!" There were shrieks of delight, as the ladies took a dick pic and sent it to their mates for a giggle.

Next, Chrissie began to play with my bellend and tickled the snake's eye and shouted out. "Shall we get it to spit, ladies?" to general laughter. By now, the male drivers were not laughing as much but looking horned-up, wishing they were in my place. I was now a puddle, as Chrissie had me literally in the palm of her hand, controlling me wedding tackle & wishing I could rip her black lacy panties off and eat pussy.

Turning to her sister, she said, "Time for his birthday cake." And Glenys brought over the solitary creamcake. Chrissie shouted, "Well, his proud soldier needs a bit of a treat" as, the little minx, pushed the creamcake onto my bellend and began to rub it on my glans, slowly, sexily & savouring it. I was just paralyzed when, taking off the cake, and to laughter, she licked the cream lavishly off me helmet, her tongue probing it's one eye. Having given me a nice suck, she must've sensed that I was about to blow a heavy a load and reverted to manual and, to cheers and "Go on lad" from some of the ladies tickling my full balls, Chrissie wanked me into oblivion,as my spunk sprayed like an out-of-control garden hose.

While I was recovering, they sang 'Happy birthday' & "For he's a jolly good fellow" ending with 3 hip-hip hoorays. My initiation was complete. I just knew I'd be working here for my next birthday.

Finally, Chrissy said, "Well, that's yer birthday present, mate. You'll be getting summat extra from us fer yer Christmas present and possibly New Year, if yer a good lad."

That wasn't the end though. When I returned to work on Monday, having wanked myself all weekend over what had happened, I was directed into the restroom by Maggie who was smiling broadly. There I saw that someone had videod the whole debagging and de-spunking & it was playing on a loop. (What now did I have to lose?). Also, at lunchtime, there were sniggers and giggles, which I'd kind of expected, but was truly surprised to see many dick pics of me for all to see with me name and date of birth on, plastered all over the canteen noticeboard. Famous at last.