I am the sort of chap who always likes to be formally suited, booted and bowler hatted in a three-piece suit, collar and tie, complete with gloves and umbrella. However, I have always had a strong secret desire to have my comfortably constrictive civilised attire slowly, but surely, worn to destruction, becoming gradually more and more dirty, sweaty, muddy, oily, stained, soaked, ripped, worn and torn, through mud, sweat, oil & toil.

So one morning, while seeking employment in a sub-tropical region of the world for what I thought was just another office job interview at a local clay quarry, while of course being properly suited, booted and bowler hatted in my best three-piece, winter weight, maroon satin lined, charcoal grey chalk-stripe wool suit, with single breasted three buttoned ventless jacket, single breasted six buttoned lapelled waistcoat, and trousers with turnups, along with a double cuffed collarless cotton shirt, with gold barrel chain cufflinks, stiff wing detachable collar, and a silk striped silver and black tie, complete with a matching silk handkerchief, gold pocket watch and chain, a gold plated tie slide, and a quality pair of antique gold rimmed glasses, imagine my surprise when I found out that the job actually involved working IN a clay quarry, not at one!

After ensuring that a photo of my immaculately clothed gentlemanly self had been taken against the backdrop of the quarry "for his records", this was then succinctly explained to me in no uncertain terms when the well dressed, yet muscular quarry owner, in a rather oddly snug fitting dirty and well-worn three-piece morning suit and silk topper, while taking me on a tour of the premises in his horse and buggy, without any warning whatsoever, pushed me out into the mud as we were passing one of the clay pits! Even as I was searching for my umbrella, which had landed somewhere in the mud, he promptly handed me a spade and told me to get digging!

So, resigned to working in the mud whilst wearing my Sunday best, later in the day I'm hard at work, my stiff wing collar having already busted away from its broken collar stud with the effort involved, despite my silk striped tie still being knotted and firmly in place, dredging an oily, muddy canal winding its way through the quarry. However, as everyone else around me had happened to have recently undergone the same interview process, while similarly as well dressed as myself in regular three-piece suits and morning clothes, frock coats with top hats, and even the occasional military dress uniform, I quickly became accustomed, even comfortable with, working in such conditions while formally attired, without needing to fear embarrassment regarding being otherwise somewhat overdressed for such work.

As the first week of work progressed, and my well tailored suit continued to get repeatedly soaked with thick creamy mud, grimy motor oil and hot bodily sweat, it starts to shrink, the heavy woollen cloth of my jacket, waistcoat and trousers tightening around my body, the buttons and seams of my smart formal attire straining more and more against my growing work hardened sweaty muscles. My gentleman's fine kid leather gloves, along with my once highly polished formal calf leather lace-up toe cap Balmorals, had also become heavily worn, scuffed, and sodden with mud and oil.

By this point though, I was taking great pleasure in the ongoing ruination of my finely tailored wardrobe and the growing primal animalistic need to burst out of the increasingly restrictive confines of my now filthy civilised attire! Yet, still keen to maintain my sartorial code, not one jot of clothing was undone or removed throughout my hot and sweaty labours.

Room and board were provided, where we were generously watered and fed on a diet that encouraged our muscles to grow and work hard, with individual room keys given to us which led to mud stained, but otherwise well-maintained rooms. Minimal washing, shaving, and basic sanitation facilities were also provided, just enough to wash our faces, clean our teeth, trim our hair and nails, as well as maintaining our facial hair as required, but otherwise without any regard given for cleaning and maintaining our clothes. It was also the custom to sleep fully clothed as it's actually a requirement of the job to always be ready to jump into the nearest mud pit and start digging at a moment's notice!

Oddly, there were also several photos of other workers taken from various places around the quarry on the walls, starting with slimly built and pristine gentlemen in their finest formal attire, progressing all the way through to hulking muscular tramps, with their expensive clothes in various states of increasingly filthy, muddy and shredded decay throughout. There were also various pictures of slim, nubile wives and maids interspersed throughout, having thrown off their outer garments to writhe in the muddy clay whilst either pleasuring their still fully clothed men, or themselves alone if unmarried. Within those images, I saw myself, both as I once was and what I was steadily becoming, which filled my imagination with the most stimulating of thoughts, particularly during the nights.

Over the following weeks, as I carried on wearing and abusing the formerly pristine wardrobe with more heavy engineering based work and toil in the deeply muddy clay pits of the quarry, my formal attire, as well made as it was, finally couldn't take any more as my growing powerful muscles grew beyond the capacity of my increasingly filthy formal cocoon to contain them, as decay and rot started to set in.

The heavily worn cloth started to shred, the satin lining began to tear, the seams started to burst, the buttons started to pop off, the dirt saturated shirt tore apart, the merino wool socks and long underwear started to disintegrate, the back of the jacket and waistcoat across my broadening back, along with my sleeves and trouser legs over thickening biceps and thighs, ripped wide open, the worn out boots and gloves bursting at the seams and beginning to fall apart, the fine kid leather blowing out into shreds around my fingertips, the blackened shirt collar and cuffs of my jacket, shirt and trousers becoming more and more frayed, the elbows and knees of my suit, shirt and underwear wearing through completely, becoming ragged holes and so on.

Slowly, but oh so very surely, the outfit as a whole kept right on disintegrating over several more weeks, until little remained of my once civilised formal wardrobe but dirty, grimy, oily, sweat stained, filthy shredded rags, with the rest of my well developed work hardened sweaty muscles having grown to burst, rip and tear right out of them!

However, even at this stage, every piece of my now utterly destroyed formal attire and accessories was still kept in place, which were only just managing to hang on to my now hulking physique by mere threads in many places, including the dirty remains of my severely damaged bowler hat and ragged suit, shirt, collar and tie, my double grip sock suspenders still clinging on to what little was left of my socks, even whilst straining against my muscular calves, my feet and hands having all but exploded out of the worn out leather of my Balmorals and the remnants of my gentleman's gloves, my button on braces vainly holding on to the filthy shreds of what was left of my trousers and long johns, having been reduced to mere loin cloths that barely covered my extremities. Indeed, I looked to the entire world like a once well dressed gentleman who had transformed into a huge, muscle-bound, primitive, savage tramp, just like the ones in the photographs on my walls!

It was after my formal attire had disintegrated to such an extent, on the last day of the working week on a particular Friday, the quarry owner took me aside. After ensuring that another picture of my now powerfully built and considerably filthy and dishevelled appearance was taken, again "for his records," he then surprised me again by ensuring that I was equipped with a brand new custom made formal wardrobe, made to my exact measurements and specifications, complete with all accessories, and virtually identical, while also being deliberately tailored to be rather snug fitting against my now hugely muscular frame, to that which had disintegrated over the previous months.

As it turned out, it was actually the custom for quarry workers to start again with a fresh new outfit every other month or so as required, as an additional reward for all the hard work they put in, due to the quarry owner's preference that all workers be formally dressed at all times, in all conditions. He especially liked the gradual process of taking pristinely attired gentlemen and transforming them into hugely muscular beasts of burden, bursting out of the increasingly dirty, filthy, sweaty, worn and torn remains of their thoroughly destroyed expensive finery. Indeed, at times, as duties permitted, the quarry owner even liked to lead by example!

So, after yet another long, hard working day, having finally received delivery of my entire custom made replacement tailored wardrobe back in my quarters, I then found myself gleefully ripping off the filthy, ragged remnants of my former formal attire in my eagerness to enjoy the pleasurable sensations of being freshly suited, booted, and bowler hatted in collar and tie once more.

Thus, along with my fellow workers, we were all fully dressed for the early evening meal, our fresh new formal appearances, whether in three-piece suits, morning suits, frock coats, dress uniforms, tuxedos, or even top hat and tails, delighting both each other and the quarry owner in particular at the head of the tables. He then immediately arranged to have taken on the spot yet another photo of us all in our new expensive wardrobes, once more "for his records." Only this time he had a definite gleam in his eye seeing our savage selves lurking just underneath, looking as if we were all already anxious to burst free of it all, with our powerfully built sweaty muscles effortlessly straining every square inch of our fine fabrics throughout.

So, after a particularly expansive meal, I finally found myself back in my apartment, looking upon for what I knew was the last time (for the next month or so at least) at the seemingly clean and pristine condition of my newly restored gentlemanly appearance in the mirror. Strongly stimulated by the thoughts derived from knowing full well what was about to happen to it all over again, whilst also being filled with anticipation of what was to come, I then deliberately proceeded to stress test the limits of the tightly constrictive confines of the many luxurious layers of costly new materials, by working up a sweat with the enforced evening exercises that all the quarry workers had to undertake to stay in shape.

As I repeatedly flexed and stretched my dirty, sweaty, rock hard muscles against it all, marring the expensive fabrics in the process with my bodily grime and ripe musk, it didn't take long for the buttons, cloth and seams of my tight fitting formal attire to finally start giving way to the power of my heaving mass. It began with the breaking of my front collar stud against my thick, muscular neck, my stiff wing collar springing free from the confines of my silk striped necktie. Then, with each satisfyingly loud RIP that subsequently occurred as my swollen mud streaked muscles began to explosively burst right out of my fine clothes, I was driven even further into a frenzy of activity! The irresistible force of bodily destruction that was unleashed against my defenceless formal wardrobe continued unabated for around an hour or more, until at last, breathing heavily with my energies spent, the once elegantly dressed gentleman in the mirror was transformed into the hulking muscle beast I was now, in the sweat soaked shreds of my newly acquired formal attire.

So, it's needless to say that this time round I didn't need to be pushed into the mud again when it was time to get back to work!