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Sounds perfect Wahhhh, I don’t wanna

A Desk Job - Chapter 4, Part 1

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.

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A Desk Job - Chapter 3, Part 5

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.

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A Desk Job - Chapter 3, Part 4

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.”

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A Desk Job - Chapter 3, Part 3

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.

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A Desk Job - Chapter 3, Part 2

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.

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A Desk Job - Chapter 3, Part 1

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.

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A Desk Job - Chapter 2, Part 5

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…

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A Desk Job - Chapter 2, Part 4

Fenton was gobsmacked.

People found this erotic? It was strange and almost comical. Fenton was unable to laugh. The closeness of the previous day’s interview and the awkwardness that followed were still to fresh in his mind.

All the same, Fenton’s erection had not faded, much to his shame. The youth tried to tease himself off to the images he viewed. Pictures of people as human sushi trays, videos of strange rubber suits that immobilized the body. But he couldn’t overcome the rush of embarrassment.

This was not happening, he thought as he gazed down his abdomen at the twitching member between his legs. 

The youth closed his laptop and flopped into bed, exhausted from a strange day. Things could only get better tomorrow, he thought.

***

No alarm clock the next morning. There hadn’t been a need for alarms since the last day of high school in the spring. Consequently, Fenton always overslept, often in a puddle of drool, wrapped around a pillow.

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A Desk Job - Chapter 2, Part 3

Some hours later Fenton found himself face down on his keyboard, startled awake by the error beeping noise that comes from pressing too many keys on a computer for too long. His face was imprinted with the keboard’s pattern and his back was sore from the awkward posture. Apparently he’d never gotten around to cleaning up his cum from getting off earlier, and his thighs and tummy were caked in dried seed.

Gross, he thought to himself and picked at it absently.

The video had been a smaller twink getting hammered into a bed by a larger and much more fit man. The boy whimpered and squealed and pawed at the bedding and the man’s chest. Fenton wasn’t really sure how much had been acting and how much was the fact that the boy really was getting fucked out of his little brain.

All the while Fenton slowly stroked himself under the desk. Lately the youth had taken to humping his chair as well, the pressure of the seat against him as served to arouse him more. By the end Fenton always ended up feeling like a whore or a perv. ‘Look at how little it took to get him panting like a slut.’

As the video reached its climax, the boy wailing and biting down on a mouthful of bedding while the bigger man pumped in and out of him like a fleshlight, Fenton sucked in a long draw of breath. His own climaxes always left him with a sheen of sweat, quick panting breaths, and his limbs all aquiver.

Fenton whimpered a deep, needy moan before relieving himself. All the stress of the day before seem to liquefy as he got off. It was an intensely good feeling and Fenton slumped back in his chair, his arms limp by his sides as his cock slowly went soft once more.

But that had been hours ago. Startled awake as he was, it took a moment for Fenton to register the hardon twitching between his legs once more. The libido of a teenager, he thought. I’m lucky I don’t get friction burns.

His text bar blinked for a moment onscreen while he pondered what to get off to. But then curiosity and drowsiness overrode his better judgement and Fenton typed the words “human furniture” into the search box.

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The New Tenant

The penthouse windows peered out over the smog of the city. It sat nestled above the clouds like Olympus, distant and detached from the filth and squalor of the streets below. Even if the yellow-orange miasma had not blotted out the blighted metropolis blow, the suite sat so high above it all that it was only visible as little spots of twinkling light in the shadow of the great towers.

Keif’s chin rested on his sharp knees, thighs pressed against his chest as he leaned against the reflective glass of the apartment’s great windows, his breath against the surface fogging over the cityscape beneath him. It was quite a view and the youth felt a twinge of vertigo. His skin prickled as he felt the rush of air from the suite’s vents, the air purifiers filling the room with the sweet scent of perfume and incense.

The flat was exquisitely furnished with antique furniture made of real wood. It felt so strange and foreign beneath Keif’s fingers. Something about knowing it was not synthetic altered the boy’s perception of it, made him feel a strange awe to sit upon something so foreign.

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