Fenton didn’t budge. His mouth hung gaping like a stunned fish.
“W…wha?” Was the best he could manage. That fucking piece of shit. Fenton’s thoughts blurred. Was this all a power trip? Why was he hammering this in. Fenton already felt like nothing for coming back to this job. How could he get any lower?
“You know what I said.”
“I…”
“You don’t have a job until you sign the papers. You don’t sign the papers until you are over here, beside my desk, on hands and knees like the little animal you are.”
Fenton squeaked. It was not dignified. He could not believe what he was hearing. He was agog. The teen could not form a cohesive sentence. He sputtered and stuttered.
“I … you …” He slouched. “You … you can’t treat people like this! I’m leaving. I’ll find another job.”
Exham didn’t look up from the paperwork he was sorting through (a habit that was really grating on Fenton’s already split nerves). “No you won’t. You’re going to stay right here.
"I know you, Fenton Brenton. I know your family’s situation. I know why you came back. I also know that you’re the one I want for this job.
"I’m paying you excessively for your self-respect, your dignity, and your consent. You won’t get a better offer for any of those. You’re untalented, unskilled, and unremarkable. You need this job.
"Now remove your shoes, get down on your hands and knees, and crawl over here, boy.”
It is something I’d like to see. But as always with my art, no promises. :p My muses and moods are annoyingly fickle. I am willing to take suggestions for what ‘furniture fenton’ is.
Mister Exham’s office did not appear any different than it did during Fenton’s last visit.
The youth closed the great wooden doors of the office behind himself, trying not to make a sound. The room was empty save for a semi circle of chairs in front of a large, dark wood desk. Nobody sat behind it.
At the back was a large paneled window with long dark drapes framing it on either side. The view outside the glass was two stories above busy Brooks Avenue.
The walls were lined with the kind of abstract painting that was usually associated with corporate offices. Inoffensive shapes and colors mounted on thick white card and framed very mutely.
Fenton peered quizzically at one, scrunching his nose so his glasses pressed back against his face. When he suddenly became aware of someone behind himself, Fenton’s scream left him blushing and feeling stupid.
Mister Exham stood in the corner of the room, regarding him with a raised eyebrow.
“Fenton.” He nodded. “I’m not surprised you came back.”
Fenton cast his eyes down and tried to think of a response. There wasn’t any that was meaningful so he went with the obligatory. “Its a good fit for me and I’m eager work.”
The long pause that followed made Fenton instantly self conscious again. Had he said something wrong?
“You came crawling back, didn’t you. You had no other option.”
Fenton’s ears burned red and he fidgeted with his hands, glancing up slightly at the man, uncertain of what he expected in response. The asshole was rubbing this in his face.
“I’m … grateful for the work and ready to get started.”
“Then crawl over here and sign the job offer.” Exham motioned to his desk and briskly walked over to it.
It only took a single step before Fenton stopped in his tracks. Exham, without looking up from his desk, wagged a finger and pointed at the ground. “I did say crawl.”
Be it known: I got a cintiq 13HD. I absolutely hate it XD
I’m so used to drawing abstractly from a tablet to a monitor that this is completely alien to me.
The smirk on the secretary’s face was impossible to miss. Fenton knew she knew and she knew Fenton knew she knew. The job. What Mister Exham had asked. That Fenton Brenton came crawling back for this horrible job because he had no other options.
It was the next day. Fenton had made a brisk commute across the city, not wanting to be late on his first day but very much not wanting to be there at all.
“Welcome back.” The woman behind the front desk said curtly, smiling with only her lips so her mouth curled in the corners. While she was no more than in her mid twenties, her glasses had the horned rims that spoke of the 50s. “Go on back. Mister Exham is waiting. I expect we’ll be seeing a lot of you.”
Where Fenton had hoped to see a little pity or at least obliviousness, he instead found further humiliation. If the secretary knew, then who in the office didn’t know?
Already shaking prior to arriving, Fenton found his palms sweaty and his arms quivering. He had to bite down hard on his lower lip to keep his teeth from rattling.
He could only nod to the young woman before pushing open the door into the back offices.
Looking at picking up either a http://www.wacom.com/us/en/creative/cintiq-13-hd or a http://www.yiynova.com/en/proddetails.php?proid=20&clsid=1?%3E as a tablet replacement. Anyone have experience with either?
I’m glad to hear it.
The next chapter should finally get things going in the direction most folk expect from porn. This kind of turned into a novel rather than a kinky story.
My drawing tablet died. It had a good run.
The line was dead but Fenton still held the phone to head. Finally he caught his breath and swallowed loudly as though doing so could push all of these emotions flailing about down and away.
His mother looked at him expectantly, obviously pleased with his performance. There was something sickly sadistic in that. If she had any idea what she had just forced him into would she still be smiling? Was a job still more important?
“I’m very proud of you, ” she said. “Its not easy to swallow your pride like that.”
Fenton could only stare down at his shoes. Mister Exham’s word echoed in his mind throughout the evening, filling him with dread and self-consciousness.
Random students poking their head in my office, asking for help. What is this world coming to.
I’ve been having such a nice, quiet summer.
Why was Mister Exham answering the company phone? How had he known it was Fenton? What the hell?!
Fenton could only gulp and mouth for air. He was petrified by that voice, the memory of what had occurred the day before, and what he was supposed to be saying.
Mom did not seem at all sympathetic and gave him that look that said ‘speak now or reap the consequences.’
“Um… uh. Mister … uh … Mister Exham…” He mumbled, secretly hoping the man would catch on to his disinterest and let him off the hook. Fenton felt like a tiny puppy, whimpering at its new owner.
But there was no response on the other end of the line. No pity response. Fenton could just imagine the man’s smirk, enjoying making the teen wallow and beg for this job that he didn’t want.
“About … uh. About the job? I was calling to see … if …”
Still no response. Fenton’s face was burning with embarrassment and frustration. He squeezed his free hand into a fist and forced himself to speak, no longer willing to give Exham the pleasure of hearing him squirm.
“Mister Exham. I was calling to accept the job you offered me yesterday.” The words came as a torrent with no pause or inflection. But he felt physically relieved at getting it out there. Mom seemed to lighten up as well.
“I knew you would. Come by the office tomorrow. We’ll discuss the particulars. Have you sign the paperwork. Get you started.”
Fingers sweaty and jittering, Fenton dialed in the number for Appearances by X. He could already feel the color in his face rising as his mother loomed over him.
All he could think was panic and fear. This wasn’t fair. If she knew what he was doing, what that weirdo wanted to do! But she was right, they needed the money. Maybe he could keep looking for work elsewhere. Land a job somewhere else in a few days.
This desperate thought gave him a little hope. But the youth still struggled to find his voice when the line was answered by a deep, familiar voice.
“Fenton? I’d hoped you’d call.” Mister Exham’s voice said lewdly, full of suggestion.
Feeling entitled?
I have been debuting new art. And I will continue to do so as I feel like it.
I’ve also had numerous requests that I post my old art work here.
The owner of the coffee shop eventually surface and shooed the boys out in the earlier afternoon. Fenton made his excuses and departed for home.
Mom was waiting for him when he arrived and the expression on her face said it all. She was not pleased. "You said they were looking for a girl.“
Fenton tried to play it off casually. "Who was?”
“You know damn well. The interview yesterday.”
“They were!”
“Then why did I just get off the phone with a very nice man from Appearances by X. He said he was very disappointed that you turned down his job offer. That kind of money is nothing to snub, Fenton!”
The youth could old gape wide mouthed. He called home? He spoke to Fenton’s mother? What the hell was going on? This was insane. Should he tell her what was really going on? The real reason he’d turned down the job?
“The job …” Fenton started, trying to phrase it with the least amount of blushing possible. “Was not going to be a good fit for me.”
“You can’t be picky at this point, Fenton. You need a job! We need a job! Mister Exham explained that there must have been some kind of misunderstanding but his offer was still open.”
“I’ll find something else, Mom…”
“Another job that pays eighty-thousand dollars? With your experience? That’s more than your father was making!”
Fenton stared at his shoes, his shoulders rounding with frustration and defeat. He knew where this was going. The youth gritted his teeth and waited for it.
“I want you to call him back right now. Accept the job.” She held out her hand and the phone in it. The look in her eyes said there was not going to be any discussion on the matter.
Fenton had to fight to hold back tears. Not fair.
Fenton spent the day much like every other day that he didn’t have a job interview: in the coffee shop. He didn’t drink coffee, because he couldn’t afford to. But this is where his friends gathered.
They weren’t old enough for bars (which they couldn’t afford to visit anyway) and the penalties for street loitering were even more expensive. All of them were out of work.
Fenton secretly pictured them as the ABC Club in Les Miserable. Gathering together to talk about political woes, the imbalance of money in society, or social rights campaigns.
Reality was not as glamorous.
Conner and Kagan were sharing a lone cup of coffee. Kasib stared out the narrow glass windows at a police car slowly patrolling up the road.
“Michelle Garret or Britney Sylvester.” Connor asked, while he waited on Kagan.
Girls. Not just girls, actresses. Unreachable, shallow, and unimportant.
Fenton tried to hide his disinterest by looking ‘intently’ at the squad car.
Silence.
“Where were you yesterday, Fen? Figured you got nicked or something by the cops.”
“You know me. I’m always out there trying to stick it to the Man.”
It wasn’t uncommon for someone to suddenly disappear. 'Civil disobedience’ had a very loose interpretation these days. With so many out of work and tempers running hot, keeping the herd thinned seemed to be the priority of those in power.
“It don’t take much!” Kagan offered. “That nice guy next door to us got nabbed the other day. Lost his job. He’s standing in the street outside the building and just loses it. Yelling and shaking his fist. Didn’t come home that night.”
Silence again. There was no one else in the shop but them. The barista was leaning against the back wall, eyes glazed as she twitched through the video feed on her eye piece.
When the empty air got to be too much, Fenton pipped up. “I had a job interview.”
The guys all perked up at this. “Sweet! Something good? You’ve got the brains for it.”
“For a librarian.”
“Dude, fuck off.”
Fenton paused again and wished he hadn’t mentioned it. There was no graceful answer.
Of course, Mom wasn’t going to let him off the hook that easily. Fenton wasn’t sure why he’d imagined she would today - that had not been the case in the months before. 'Helicopter parents’ didn’t begin to describe the adult supervision he was constantly under.
Somehow that surreal interview was his excuse. Didn’t that give him at least a day’s respite? Granted, Mom didn’t know about that. Nor would she! Good god - if she had any idea what happened the previous day there would be lawsuits and then everyone would get to hear the story of how Fenton interviewed to be the office whore.
He wiped the drool from his face and set his glasses back on his face. They immediately lilted to one side. He’d needed new ones for a long time. But Dad had also been out of work for a long time. His own job hunting was not going any better.
The youth’s eyes rested on his laptop - the screen startled to life by his mucking about in the bed. One of the strange image he’d perused the night before remained on the monitor: a boy bound with his knees to his chest, a bouquet of lilies protruding from his butt.
Fenton blushed, squirmed and huffed before he finally shut the laptop and fell awkwardly out of bed, a pile of blankets, clothes and other loose objects marring his way.
It already felt like today was going to be a bad day…
Seeing if there would be much interest in this. I’m kind of indifferent right now, but I do feel like writing something.
Thanks! I think it stems from being an accessories junkie :p I like details and I like to make a face distinct. There are too many artists out there who seem to draw the same face over and over.
Granted, I do tend to draw the same kind of boy over and over… OH WELL. :p
Its on here still. http://misterchristianx.tumblr.com/post/37079431083/walking-through-the-door-drew-many-club-goers
I have been playing Shadowrun Returns (which is a very good game). I do love cyberpunk stuff. In the game there is the implication that through using addictive computer chips, people open themselves up to being hacked and reprogrammed. Transformed into killers or whores. Don’t ask why this is hot to me. :p
That was followed by a ‘discussion’ with Weeg regarding sexbots. In my mind I envisioned the implausibility of it and instead corporations cheat and put human brains inside robot bodies to cut out the limitations of AI.
Just the things I ponder on at work.
Seeing a lot “this image has been deleted for violating community guidlines” popping up in my feeds. :I
Are you sure you’re even messaging the right person? I haven’t the faintest idea what you are talking about…
slave000535806 replied to your photoset: He had a name once. Maybe. He probably had…
I wonder what is in the box marked 24601. Perhaps 24600’s identical twin brother kept in eternal chastity. Must look lost, identically, but for diametrically oposite reasons.
Some guy named Valjean. I dunno. ;)
Somehow I ended up on the mailing list for a pet supplies store. This stuff shouldn’t be half as erotic as it is…
Looking through my personal porn collection. 75% of it is climax control of one degree or another: Japanese johnny vans, femdom cbt, and slow teasing handjobs.
Why is this stuff so impossibly hard for me to draw? I obviously enjoy it :p
I … don’t have a response for that.
Why would I want to ever concede that kind of implication or comparison? It might be slightly kinky, but the intention of that phrasing is to demean lgbt peoples. Which I am not really in favor of.
I’ve tried numerous times. There is something in my art style that just does not make body hair look right.
I’ve pestered and picked Hobbitdragon’s brain (who does awesome body hair in his illustration) with no real progress.
That’s not to say I won’t stop trying, I just have not gotten it right yet.
Defense of Marriage Act has been declared unconstitutional. Marriage is defenseless!
Not quite.
Put a pup’s training is never ‘completed’.