Detachable Floor Model
Everyone in my friend group told me not to take a modeling job at DiMitto Industries, but I was running out of options. I moved halfway across the country to be with Hailey, only for her to dump me after three weeks of living together. The friends I'd made through Hailey's church kept telling me stuff like 'everything happens for a reason' or 'something good will happen soon' but empty platitudes can't pay rent. I couldn't afford to move home, and unless I found a steady income soon, I wouldn't be able to afford to buy food, either. If I couldn't find work as a nutritionist, this seemed like the next best option for my limited skillset.
Still, sitting there with my head detached from my body, it was hard not to have second thoughts. DiMitto was an industry leader in detachable limb technology, and their autopilot options were in high demand among people eager to be in two places at once. Having your head attend meetings or watch TV while your body exercised was the new standard of upper class living.
Or, in my case, having my body walk around the DiMitto sales floor to show off the autopilot technology while my head was kept on a table in the staff breakroom until it was time to clock out. Being a Sales Floor Model was one step away from being a Porn Star, but at least the implants were free. Well, the neck implant was free. They offered an employee discount for additional detachable limbs, but for that price I'd rather buy a car.
Once all of the onboarding paperwork was filed, one of the sales reps came by to escort my body out to the Sales Floor. For the next eight hours, it would wander around, flex its muscles, and demonstrate its ability to follow verbal commands. I was left behind on the desk until one of the accountants found me and moved me into the staff room with the other models.
"You must be the new guy," said the blonde head on the left. "I'm Kyle, and this is Dylan." I gave each of them a sharp nod in turn, once I realized I didn't have a hand to shake with anymore. Still, they were nice guys, and we had enough in common to pass the time with idle chatter. And there was a TV on in the background for whenever the conversation idled.
It was definitely an undignified job-- a janitor came by every hour with a vertical water bottle, keeping us hydrated as if we were hamsters. Apparently lunch would be a protein shake, and Dylan assured me it was going to be served the same way. Still, it was probably the easiest paycheck I had ever earned. Being paid to chat with coworkers all day? I could get used to this.
It was weird being nothing more than a detached head. Sure, I could still feel my body, but with the autopilot implant activated, I couldn't control it at all. It was actually easy to zone out and ignore those sensations entirely. My body was mostly just walking around and flexing. The sales floor was set up like a gym, but since the goal was to show off the autopilot technology I wasn't actually doing any workouts. My feet would probably be sore once I was reattached at the end of the day, but... the job was still far less physically demanding than any prior blue collar job I'd held. I couldn't figure out why so many of my church friends tried to warn me away from this job until it happened.
"Someone just grabbed my dick!" I yelled, gasping in shock. The customer had been rubbing their hand along my chest, but I hadn't expected their hand to wander below the belt. I glanced over to Kyle and Dylan for sympathy, but they were just smiling at me.
"If you want to keep this job, you'll get used to it," Kyle said, nodding sagely. "Most of the customers are well behaved, but they're allowed to stress test the merchandise."
"Just wait until they make you cum," Dylan added. "They'll never admit it, but I'm pretty sure some of the sales reps let the customers do that to seal the deal. Hand job, blow job, topping, bottoming... the sales floor gets up to some kinky shit when they're trying to close on a deal."
I kept looking back and forth between the two of them, waiting for them to burst into laughter, yell 'psyche!' or... something. They just kept talking like it was the most normal thing in the world. No wonder my straight-laced friends wanted me to stay away from this place! But honestly? I think I could get used to this.
