#officetf

[cyoc49]

HIMBO Magazine: Talent Scouting

HIMBO Magazine: The Gay Man’s Guide to Modern Fashion & Lifestyle™

Despite the exaggerated name, HIMBO has provided joy, hope, and wisdom to countless gay men across the United States. It’s finger remained on the pulse of the latest queer trends, making it a must-have for the social homosexual. For many up-and-coming gay men, a job at HIMBO would be a dream come true. Unfortunately, job openings at HIMBO are few and extremely selective. For the lucky few that do get them, though, it often ends up being an offer too good to refuse.

Christian Le Maître, HIMBO’s CEO and Editor-in-Chief, is a large part of why that is. As a policy, he selects, contacts, and interviews all potential employees himself, to ensure that only the best men would join his team... and of course, to make sure only the best would service him. “Mr. M”, as the office called him, was a very fair and generous employer: he offers fantastic salaries and benefits. One of the most important benefits, however, was a secret one: a total rewrite to ensure you’ll be the perfect fit for HIMBO’s elite. You might become a little devoted to your boss, but with Mr. M that was not a bad thing at all.

Currently, Christian is in the market for a new Personal Assistant. A few of his boys would soon be promoted to the house-husbands of Manhattan’s elite. Before he let them go, he needed to bring in someone new to fill their role. And also, if he was being honest, he was ready to spice up his selection of boys a bit.

After weeks of studying the area surrounding the office, Christian had found the perfect candidate: A slacker barista at a local café. Absolutely gorgeous, but content to smoke all day and let life pass him by slowly. It’s such a waste, Christian thought to himself, that body could be put to such better use. If there was anyone to fix that, it was Christian Le Maître.

As for how he would get this young man to join his ranks, that would be a bit more tricky. Usually he would get the fresh meat to come into his office, where they would be fully subject to his... influence. But this man would not accept a job if it came running towards him, so he would need to use a different approach. An email, imbued with special properties that would slowly but persistently bring him around to Mr. M’s way of thinking.

Christian began to type up the email. In his special way, Christian already knew the boy’s email address, as well as a whole host of other information about him. As he composed the invitation to HIMBO, Christian let his persuasion flow into the words...

Mark Matthews had two items on his to-do list for the day. After clocking out of his (four hour) shift at the Pink Elephant Café, he had done #1, and as he headed towards the riverside with a joint in his pocket, he was getting ready to complete #2. Mark had never understood the pressure to aim high: if we’re all just evolved monkeys, why not stick to the natural urge to have a good time? He had always done the bare minimum to get by, relying on his natural charm and good looks to do the rest. Though his friend group had never stayed consistent, and he had never been in a relationship with a woman that lasted longer than a weekend, Mark felt that he was at just the right place in his life.

On his way to the beach, his phone vibrated. He could tell from sound it was the email jingle (aka the “ignore” jingle), but as the phone vibrated in his pocket, it sent an unexpected wave of pleasure through his thigh. Mark gasped as the euphoria shot through his system, but quickly pulled himself together before anyone on the street noticed. He then immediately pulled his phone out of his pocket, filled with the sudden desire to see what had caused the feeling.

FROM: [email protected]

SUBJECT: Congratulations

A dull life is a life wasted

And that’s no fun at all.

Respect yourself and those above you

That’s how you’ll stand tall.

When you learn professionalism

And learn to know your place

You’ll suit up like the big boys do

And that’s when HIMBO awaits.

- Christian Le Maître HIMBO Offices, 1544 ________ Street

...What the fuck? This was understandably Mark’s first reaction. This went beyond regular spam, it was just weird. Wasn’t HIMBO that gay guy magazine, why were the emailing him? And why did it rhyme? Do gay people really like poetry that much? Whatever it was, Mark quickly deleted it and went on his way to the shore.

But even as he walked, the words in the email were starting to scratch at the back of his head. A dull life is a life wasted. Was that about him? It couldn’t be... was he wasting his life? He had never thought so before, but he suddenly found that question eating away at him. He had his routine down pretty well, but could he do better? Did he respect himself? 

…What was he thinking? Of course he did. Some junk email was not going to ruin his day.

Mark finally sat down at his favorite bench and lit up. As he watched people go by on the street, he found himself looking at the hot women less than usual. Instead, it was the businessmen that caught his eye today. The big boys, as the e-mail had weirdly called them. For the first time, he found himself wondering how it felt to be them. As they went to and from their offices. They were doing things with their lives. Professional. Could that be him some day?

Mark rode out the rest of his high and eventually made his way home, but even as he unwound in the evening, he still pondered the possibility of living the corporate life. Finding his place in the hierarchy of corporate America. The thought had once disgusted him, but now he didn’t know how he felt. And that scared him.

The Next Day...

Mark had an 11:45 alarm set for his 12 PM shift at the Pink Elephant. It had been a long time since he had clocked in at the actual start of his shift. How he remained employed was anyones guess.

Today however, Mark found himself up and ready at 10 AM. It had been a long time since he had been up this early, but some force inside him felt the urgent need to go to work. I mean, if he was on time for work, then he certainly wasn’t a waste. Mark walked over to his dresser. He was preparing to get out something casual, a band shirt and ripped jeans like usual. But as he looked at his options he felt another stirring. You’ll suit up like the big boys do. Mark didn’t own anything close to a suit, but he had a few bits and pieces for formal occasions. If he really wanted to stick it to upper management and show he wasn’t some dull slacker, he could blow them away with a keen outfit selection. Something that said “success”, like the men in suits he had seen the other day. He fished around until he found some of the few “nice” pieces of clothes he owned: a cardigan, some tan chinos, and leather shoes. Paired with a (clean) t-shirt, Mark thought it gave him a look that said business without being too serious.

Mark walked into the bathroom and finished up by styling his hair. After he was done, he looked at himself in the mirror.

... Not too bad! Definitely way dressier than he would ever normally go, but enough to surprise his managers. With an hour to spare, Mark left his apartment and showed up to work at 11:30, half an hour before the start of his shift.

Inside, his coworker Audrey and his manager Todd were already there.

“Do my eyes deceive me? Is Mark… early for once?” Todd sarcastically asked.

“And what are you wearing? Where’s the Tommy Bahama shit?”

Mark got ready to snap back at them, but something held him back. Instead, he just politely responded “Felt like getting a head start on today”, slipped an apron over his head, and went to his station.

Audrey and Todd glanced at each other, both sketched out at Mark’s sudden change of attitude. But when you make minimum wage at a café, there’s only so much you’re willing to care about, so they dropped the issue fairly quickly. At least he wasn’t dragging his ass for once.

On the contrary, Mark was having what was possibly the most productive work day of his life. Gone was his normal slow pace and unapproachable attitude. Mark was serving every customer in expert time, and doing it with a friendly smile. There was a rush of energy inside him, a desire to show that he could do his job well if he felt like it. It seemed like the outfit switch up was giving him a new perspective for the day.

Mark took customers orders, restocked the food shelves, organized the store room, and much much more. He did it all in rotation. He lost track of time as he let his work absorb him.

It wasn’t until he was in the midst of mopping the floor that he thought to check the time. The nearest clock said 6:30. He usually clocked out at 4.

“Oh god! I’ve been here two hours over time?!” Mark exclaimed with disbelief.

Todd snorted from behind the counter. “I mean, I wasn’t gonna stop you from cleaning the bathrooms. And you did some good work. I’m liking this new Mark.”

“A guy changes his pants and suddenly he’s a different person. You’re lucky I lost track of time.” Mark took off his apron and prepared to throw it at Todd for that last remark, but hung it on a hook instead. As he headed towards the shops exit, Mark shouted over his shoulder “I better get extra pay for this.”

He couldn’t believe he had lost track of time for that long. And he wasn’t even doing anything fun, he was just cleaning up the store. That was the worst part of it: how earnestly he had given help to the job that didn’t give a shit about him. What had come over him? Is this what those businessmen are like? … Is that what he could be like?

These thoughts weighed on Mark’s mind for the remainder of his walk home. When he got back to his house, he threw the cardigan and chinos on his bed, leaving him in a t shirt and boxers. Mark walked to the mirror and took a long look at himself. This was who he really was, right? A casual guy who didn’t care about his appearance or making people happy. That dress-up good worker stuff was a nice change of pace for a day, but that’s all it was.

Mark chuckled. Yeah, that was right. He didn’t need this people pleasing businessman bullshit. Honestly, he might skip work tomorrow and get high in the park. Keep Todd from getting too attached to this new hard worker Mark. And besides, he had basically done two days worth of work today, why not take a day off-

Hiss phone buzzed with the same orgasmic tone as yesterday. Even from across the room he felt his legs quiver as his whole body was flooded with pleasure. It had to be the same people as yesterday. He went over and picked up his phone. Maybe this email would help him figure out what had happened. You know, so he would know what to ignore going forward.

FROM: [email protected] SUBJECT: Imagine working at HIMBO - Christian Le Maître HIMBO Offices, 1544 ________ Street

ATTACHMENT: The HIMBO Professional.pdf

Against his better judgement, Mark opened the PDF. As soon as he did, his phone must have glitched and set itself to max brightness, because the whole screen flashed with bright white light that was painful to look at. Mark recoiled as his eyes were assaulted by the bright phone and dropped it in the process. He rubbed his eyes and blinked several times as his vision readjusted, but even after a few minutes had passed things still looked blurry.

Something inside Mark told him how to solve this problem. Instinctively, he reached over to his bedside table and put on his glasses. He blinked a few more times, and could see perfectly again.

For a brief moment he felt confused, like he shouldn’t be wearing glasses. But this feeling quickly passed and was replaced with another feeling - no, an understanding - that this was definitely right. He needed his glasses to see, always had. He glanced over to see his reflection in the mirror. Honestly, how could those jerks at work ever say he didn’t take his job seriously. With these horn-rimmed bad boys on, honestly he could be wearing nothing else and still look like a professional.

A professional?

Why the fuck am I so concerned about being a “professional”?

Being professional disgusted him.  And yet, even as he tried to vehemently disagree with the word, it stuck to his brain like glue. Like “PROFESSIONAL” was seared across his forehead in big letters. He went from disgust to fear at his seeming inability to focus on anything other than this one single word. How could he get this to go awa-

The PDF!

That was it! The PDF was titled “The HIMBO Professional”. He was probably just trying to remember what he had been doing before he dropped his phone. Shaking his head, Mark returned to the document.

“A HIMBO Professional is a hard worker

A HIMBO Professional is a good boy

A HIMBO Professional obeys the boss

A HIMBO Professional dresses his body well

A HIMBO Professional feeds his body

A HIMBO Professional is a good boy

A HIMBO Professional is you”

Interspersed throughout these sentences were photos of immaculately suited businessmen, slicked beacons of proper masculinity. Without realizing what was happening, Mark was entranced by the document and stared at the images and words for hours on end. They permeated his mind, absorbed him. The glory of being a HIMBO Professional. The joy of being a good boy. It flooded him. He couldn’t pay attention to anything else but the words.

The hours passed late into the night, and Mark kept thinking about what he read. Putting his phone down, trying to go to bed, and picking it back up to read all over again. His mind could not think about anything else. And as he finally hazily passed into sleep, the thoughts followed him into his dreams, as he pictured himself being serviced by businessmen. They dressed him up in their suits and forced him to strip it all off as they stood over him. He bent down on all fours, as felt pure ecstasy as the men filled him with loads of obedience, punctuality, submission, diligence, ravenous desire, over and over, and over, ravishing his subconscious.

Respect yourself and those above you

Learn to know your place

You’ll suit up like the big boys do

And that’s when HIMBO awaits

The contents of the email hazily echoed through his mind as this scene played out, only stopped by the ring of Mark’s alarm at 8AM, as he realized it was

The Next Day...

But even as Mark got up and prepared for the day, he still felt the PDF and his dream occupying his mind. He kept thinking about that true calling. He couldn’t stop comparing his own life to those of the businessmen he saw, and the concerning thing was he didn’t know who he felt sorry for any more. Mark absentmindedly got ready as these questions continued to clash in his head. When he had his work clothes on he turned around to check his hair.

And was greeted in the mirror by a total stranger.

Mark’s usual surf-stoner wardrobe was gone entirely. He had on a button down office shirt with a bright plaid pattern, fully buttoned including the cuffs. It was tucked into a perfectly pressed pair of navy slacks, with a smooth leather belt holding everything together. Instead of sneakers on his feet he had... were those loafers?? And of course, his glasses perched on his face, along with his hair combed into a nice neat cut. He could even feel a slight touch of pomade running through it.

I look like a… corporate dork! This was the first thing that came to Mark’s mind as he viewed himself in the mirror. Where did he even get these clothes?? He didn’t own anything like this. Even worse was how his posture had subtly shifted to match the look: Mark stood straight as a board, with his chest pushed out, derrière turned up, and hands clasped behind his back to accentuate the best features of the office outfit.

He shook his head in horror, and yet at the same time, Mark had a feeling that this was very very right. Look at the way this shirt fit him. He looked professional, and it made him... handsome was the word that popped in his mind. Why did he feel this way? Why did he feel so good dressed like this?

He remembered the address at the bottom of the email. HIMBO offices. No matter what was happening to him, they were the common factor. Forget the café today, Mark needed to find out who had been sending him these emails, and get some closure to this whole ordeal.

Mark reached the office building reading “HIMBO”, and inside he was pointed to the appropriate floor by a helpful directory. As he got off the elevator he looked at the occupants of the office. All men, some of them in eccentric fashion and costumes, but a lot more in suits and ties. They were like the office workers he had seen on the streets, but more... refined. As if they had taken the traditional corporate uniform and perfected it to accentuate a clean, crisp man. Mark’s eyes lingered on several of these men as he approached the front desk, where he was greeted by a twinkish receptionist. He was also suited in a brown and pink number, with a touch more flamboyance than the others. He looked at Mark with familiarity, as if he already knew who Mark was.

“Welcome to HIMBO! How can I help you, dear?” The receptionist asked.

“I- uh, uh...” Mark found himself suddenly lost for words. The fact that he had not only seen all these perfectly suited men, but was lingering in their presence, overwhelmed him. Even in his dorky corporate best, compared to everyone else Mark felt underdressed and... inferior?

The secretary only laughed as Mark stuttered “At a loss for words, huh? I don’t blame you. All these studs walking around here leave me breathless half the time too. Luckily I have the best view in the office.” The secretary giggled and winked as he said this. “Now I think I know who you’re here to see. Mr. M told me he was expecting an out of office hire to show up soon.”

Mark stood with his mouth open in confusion. Was he talking about the guy who signed the emails?

Taking this as enough of a response, the receptionist stood up “Here, follow me. I know the guy that can help you out.” He walked around the desk, took the dazed Mark by the hand, and led him down the hallway.

Eventually they came to a large oak door. The receptionist knocked three times, and was greeted with a deep voice saying “Let him in”.

The receptionist turned to Mark and said, “He’s ready for you! I think he’ll have the answer to all your questions. Just head on in.”

The receptionist gave Mark an encouraging pat on the back. Mark opened the door and entered the room, unsure of what he even wanted to say any more. Seeing the office had completely thrown Mark off his game. He had been expecting a way out of this mess, but now he couldn’t tell if he wanted to leave or be pulled in the deep end.

When he entered the room, he found clarity in the form of a gorgeous suited man.

Everything Mark admired and envied about the businessmen he had been ogling the last few days was perfectly wrapped up in the man standing before him. He was tall, broad, handsome as all hell. He exuded power and charisma. And as he stared at Mark, Mark felt like a worm writhing in his superior presence.

“Mark, it’s lovely to finally meet you! I’m Christian Le Maître. I believe you’ve been getting my emails?” that gorgeous baritone rang out again.

“I uh, nice to meet you too…” Mark could not think of a proper response. The sight of this man was overwhelming him and making him reevaluate his life all at once. That was an effect that Mr. M had on people. From an outsider’s point of view, Mark was staring dumbfounded at the man before him, lost in a trance of his presence.

“I’m sure you’ve been feeling strange these last few days, Mark. And I’m here to tell you that your worries will soon be over. I spotted you a few days ago and I immediately knew that you have a lot of great qualities. Handsome, charming, I bet any girl would kill to have you.”

Mark slowly nodded. Once upon a time this had been true, though he hadn’t thought much about women at all these last few days.

“But I could also tell you were missing something in life. Running around, doing drugs and slacking off. It breaks my heart to see it. Because all that great potential in you was going to waste. What you need is a strong male figure in your life.”

Mark’s nodding was slowly getting more intense. Upon hearing the words strong male figure he could feel himself getting excited. For some reason this was exactly what he wanted

All at once, Mark understood. There had always been an emptiness in his life. The only way for him to be happy was by making other people happy... The only way for him to be happy was by making Christian Le Maître happy.

The reason he felt inferior is because he was inferior. He was obsessed with the corporate men around him not because he wanted to be them, but because he realized he never could be them. They had a power and a confidence he could only dream of. Mark realized his place was one of subservience. Subservience to strong, suited men. Subservience to the men of HIMBO. Subservience to Mr. M.

“Lucky for you, I’m in need of a new personal assistant. Someone to wait on me hand and foot all day, do all my tasks. Keep me happy.”

Slowly the fog surrounding Mark’s mind cleared away, and with it went all of his old persona. What was left behind was a brand new Mark. A very different one, but one that felt like he was seeing things clearly for the first time ever.

“Oh yes sir! I’d love to join your team! You’re the only boss I could ever ask for!” Mark ran over and kneeled in front of Christian, begging with clasped hands before him. “It would be an honor to work at HIMBO.”

Christian chuckled, and Mark was filled with a feeling of euphoria knowing that he had made Christian Le Maître, the greatest man on earth, laugh like this. All he wanted to do was make Christian happy.

“Well I’m glad to hear that Mark! That’s the kind of enthusiasm I’m looking for at HIMBO. I can see you’ve already taken a lot of my emails’ suggestions to heart, but I can still think of a few more changes to make you the perfect PA. And I think it would be best…” Christian paused. He looked down at Mark, noticing his kneeled position, “… If you got a taste of what you’d be working with.”

Without a second thought, Mark opened his mouth and bared his tongue. He was ready to do anything for Christian, it was his one purpose in life.

The powerful man smiled and unzipped his pants. He pulled out his mighty member (My god! It was the biggest Mark had ever seen!) and Mark quickly went to work pleasuring him. Despite being straight until about 5 minutes ago, Mark did this masterfully, as if his mouth was perfectly suited for Mr. M’s python. As Mark worked, Christian filled him up with massive load after massive load, and with each one Mark changed more and more into the perfect assistant for Christian. His teeth became pristinely white and shiny, as if they were coated in Vaseline. His hair gelled up higher into a permanent quiffed side part. His posture became rigid and obedient at all times. A plaid bow tie slid around his neck into a perfectly done bow, his shirt lightened to a light blue plaid pattern (a voice in Mark’s brain told him that he always color coordinated his outfits, as Mr. M liked him when he looked put-together. Pastels were his favorite), and a cardigan slipped over the top of the ensemble. His already muscular body filled out more underneath the chaste getup, with his buttocks significantly expanding and pushing his slacks to their limit. Within them, the two pillows contained an insatiable hole, always quivering for one man’s cock. As for his own penis, Mark could feel it shrink down in stark contrast to the rest of his bulking body, until it was no more than a nub that would barely provide him pleasure. And as he felt the metal touch of a cage locking around what remained of his manhood, Mark new that pleasure would only come with the permission of his new boss.

As Mark finished satisfying his new boss and master, he stood up, completely changed mentally as well as physically. He retained his buff bimbo body, but it was completely trapped underneath the wardrobe and mind of a wimpy subservient bottom. He could barely get a sentence out without slipping “sir” somewhere in it.

He was no longer Mark Matthews, he was Marcus Meekerson, the devoted Personal Assistant of Christian Le Maître, always ready to assist him in whatever way he needed.

Mr. M chuckled again, and this time Marcus nearly came in his pants listening to the sound of his boss happy (though he knew he could not come without Mr. M’s permission).

“Marcus, I have to say I am beyond happy with your work. Now I know this is sudden, but I hope you don’t mind if I ask you to move into my residence full time. I would greatly appreciate having access to your services around the clock. I have the perfect quarters set up for you to live in.”

Marcus bounced on his toes at this offer, “Sir, this is the best news I could ever hope for! It would be an honor to live in your abode. How lucky am I to have the best boss ever!”

“I’m mighty pleased to hear that, Marcus”

“No problem, Mr. Le Maître! You know I’d do anything for you!” Marcus burst out in the brightest, most earnest smile he had ever made. No longer would he worry about having no direction in life, he had found somebody to take care of all those decisions for him. What he dressed, what he ate, everything about his life would be under Christian’s control now, a figurative lock and key. Not a single thought ran through Marcus’ head, and he liked it that way. Things were simpler now, they were better. Marcus had found his purpose.

He could finally say he was truly happy.

[cyoc49]

HIMBO Magazine: Changing Departments

*click! click! click! click!*

Derek listened to the camera flash as he sat on the side of the bed. He was currently doing a photo shoot for HIMBO magazine, a fashion and lifestyle magazine “for the modern gay male™”. Fake blood dripped against his chest - they were doing some Halloween type of shoot. But let’s be honest, the blood wasn’t the focus of the shot: it was his body. Derek had never been the best student - and his attitude certainly didn’t help - but if there was one thing he knew how to do, it was make his body look as sexy as humanly possible. Derek scoured nutrition blogs to make sure he stayed up to date on everything related to fitness, and the dedication showed itself in his beautiful, sculpted body. Sitting here with no shirt on and wearing a pair of lethally tight skinny jeans, he looked like every gay man’s wet dream. To put it simply, Derek was hot as hell; problem is, he knew he was hot at hell.

“Alright, that’s good. I think we have what we need, thank you Mr. Hale” the director said. Derek stood up and two twinkish looking assistants came over to remove the blood. Derek stood still and tried to ignore the two obviously gay men putting their hands all over his body. Derek was the kind of guy who thought all gay men were jumping at the bit for any man they can find. Doing a photo shoot for a gay magazine was certainly not his dream, but hey: a paycheck is a paycheck.

After he was cleaned off, Derek put on a t shirt and enjoyed the feeing of it stretched tight against his pecs. He slung a Louis Vuitton backpack over his shoulders. All he had to do was collect his check and he could be done with this homo magazine. Derek headed towards the doorway connecting the studio space to the rest of the offices. He turned the corner into the hallway, only to immediately crash into someone coming from the opposite direction. Papers went flying.

Derek hesitated, then reluctantly crouched down to help the man pick up his papers. As he did, the man spoke to him in a deep voice “You know, you should really watch where you’re going. People are busy around here.”

This was the remark that set Derek off. It was enough that he had done a photo shoot outside his comfort zone, and ran into someone while he was leaving, but now he was being sassed by some worker who couldn’t slow down enough to watch out for passers. Derek had had enough of this magazine. “You know,” he said, “I’m surprised. I thought you fags would be more excited to slam into other guys.”

Derek could sense the shift in mood immediately. All the workers around him who had been buzzing about immediately stopped and looked at th scene. The office had gone dead silent. As Derek looked around at all the men staring at them, the man he had bumped into finished collecting his papers and stood up, allowing Derek to finally look at him properly. Woah, this was a fine looking man. Strappingly tall and ruggedly handsome. He filled out his expensive-looking three-piece suit perfectly. His whole demeanor was one of absolute confidence. Finally, Derek realized what had happened. He hadn’t bumped into some random employee. He had knocked over and subsequently cussed out the boss of the whole place.

*Well*, Derek said to himself, *I fucked up bad this time*.

The boss was surprisingly well-composed for someone who had just been called a slur, Derek thought. As if to prove this point, the boss suddenly started laughing. It was a good, deep laugh. And when he laughed, everyone else in the building laughed along with him. Derek stared at everyone in the office in confusion. Why did they find this so funny? Was it because he’s their boss? And they were all looking at the boss with such admiration. Derek just hoped this meant the issue would blow over and he could leave before embarrassing himself sooner.

But before he could step away, he was spoken to. “I used to get really angry when people said stuff like that to me,” the boss explained in a rich, inviting voice, “now it just makes me sad, because I see all the failed potential hiding behind that language.”

Derek took a little offense to that last statement, but he knew he was in no position to argue right now. It seemed like the laughter was the all-clear the rest of the office needed to know their boss was okay, because the normal hum of voices and keyboards had returned. Now it was just him and the extremely powerful man he had pissed off. Derek broke the silence. “Look, Mr...”

“Christian Le Maítre” the gorgeous boss informed him, “Editor in Chief of HIMBO magazine. But everyone around here just calls me Mr. M.”

“Right. Well, uh, Mr. M, I’m really sorry about-“

“No you’re not.” Christian cut him off without missing a beat. “I’ve seen so many models like you come and go through these halls. You think you’re hot shit, and take pity on all of my boys in this office who had to take desk jobs because their bodies weren’t nice enough to let them get by on looks alone. But you know, we’re hard workers here. And we’re a close knit family.”

Derek objected to being interrupted, but as Christian talked, he felt his defenses melt away with every word. Mr. M was right, Derek realized. I am a narcissistic asshole who holds myself above others. He had never felt like this before. But everything Mr. M said just seemed right. When this gorgeous, confident man spoke, Derek realized he was speaking the truth.

“What’s your name, son?” Mr. M asked him.

“D-Derek, sir. Derek Hale.” Derek was never one stutter, but how else could he feel right now?

“Well Derek, I’m sure our lame little office doesn’t fit your macho man swagger persona, but I think you’d find that working here is pretty great.”

Was that an offer? Derek didn’t know. He had completely forgotten the context of their conversation, and indeed his reason for being in this office in the first place was slowly becoming a distant memory. All Derek knew in this moment was that he HAD to work at HIMBO. In fact, he couldn’t imagine life without working here.

Derek tried to compose a response, but was increasingly timid in the presence of this incredible man. “Well, uh, Mr. M. Perhaps if you have any opening I might be able to, uh-”

Mr. M just laughed again, and this time Derek laughed right along with him.

“Well I’m shocked to hear you change your tune so quickly, but I can’t say I’m surprised. Working here is kind of a dream job, if I do say so myself. But there’s no need to submit your CV and go through the traditional channels. I am actually prepared to offer you a job on the spot.”

Derek felt his ears burning. How lucky was he! To be offered a job at the best company on earth. He would take it immediately!

“Mr. M, it would be an honor to work for you” Derek bowed his head as he said this. Respect was important, especially for the man who was giving him a job no questions asked.

“Glad to hear it, sport! Now full disclosure, it’s a clerking position. I know, not the most exciting stuff, but here at HIMBO we believe even the most mundane work can be made magical! Of course, you would have to change a few of your behaviors to *best* fit the position. Your ego, your hot-headedness. Do you think those are things good for a clerk to have?”

“No, sir” Derek said with convocation. “Anything you want me to change, I will change.”

Christian cracked a smile, as if Derek had said something unintentionally funny. “Well I admire your commitment. It’s just, clerks are so straight-laced and serious, and you are such a character, Derek. Mr. Macho Man with a great body. Actually, I do like this body.” Christian looked Derek up and down, “I think that can stay. But as for everything else, well, I can take care of that.”

Christian stopped talking and instead just looked at Derek. The hopeful employee stood there silently, unsure of what to do. Just then, he suddenly felt a draining feeling. It wasn’t his muscles or his IQ or any of that stuff that he felt fading away, it was more like he was losing... his personality? All the pride Derek felt over his hot body and great life was disappearing. All the anger he get towards people not like him, slipping away. But it wasn’t replaced by new emotions, it wasn’t replaced by anything. Derek stopped feeling strong feelings about much of anything. He liked his job, he followed the news, but he had never had any opinions of his own. Never tried to be individual or stand out. Derek was becoming like his new favorite flavor of ice cream: vanilla.

As Derek’s personality slowly morphed him into a contender for the World’s Most Dull Man, his wardrobe changed to follow suit. His designer t shirt loosened out a bit. The sleeves grew down his arms before spouting buttons and cuffs. Buttons also sprouted down the middle, and the shirt gained a collar, becoming a basic button-up shirt. A white plaid pattern spread across the shir. At the same time, Derek felt his skinny jeans go “pah” as all the tightness shrugged out of them, changing them into (gag) regular fit pants. They lightened to gray and changed material to thin cotton, becoming work slacks. His new plaid shirt automatically tucked itself into the pants, and a brown leather belt formed around his waist, with his expensive designer sneakers morphing into brown leather dress shoes to match. The LV backpack he wore fell as one of the straps broke off, before disappearing altogether. The remaining strap lengthened and slung itself over his shoulder, and the bag itself shifted into a basic messenger bag, holding plenty of important documents and paperwork.

For a brief moment, Derek felt confusion and fear. Why were these changes happening to him? Where did his nice stuff go, and what were these boring-ass clothes replacing them? These thoughts only lasted for half a second, before Derek realized how right this was. This was his style, or more accurately his *lack* of style. Derek had never cared about trends, or getting fancy new clothes. As long as they fit him well and looked professional enough for work, that was all that mattered in Derek’s eyes. A Ross Membership Card popped into his wallet to cement this change.

Derek felt something in his pocket, and pulled out a pair of black-rimmed glasses. These were the glasses he needed to see, of course. Derek opened them up and put them on. To follow suit, his hair parted itself to the side and became thick with gel holding his new professional haircut in place.

As promised, Christian had left Derek his body, but had taken basically everything else from him. Where there had once stood an arrogant, trendy mode, there was now a walking turtleneck. Normally in cases like this, Derek would sprout new memories of his new life. But no memories came, because Derek didn’t really *have* a life. He was now a total office drone. From 9-5 he worked faithfully for HIMBO, and after that he went home and solved jigsaw puzzles until it was time for bed... except on the nights where Mr. M invited Derek to his house. Derek truly wanted nothing more from life.

Christian smiled at the new corporate boy that stood before him. “Okay I think you’ve handled the onboarding process well, Dirk. Dirk, isn’t it?”

“Yes sir.” Dirk replied matter of factly. Dirk Kent. Filing clerk for HIMBO magazine.

“Great! But there’s actually one more thing I need from you. I’m still a little raw about that comment of yours earlier, and I would hate for it to taint our working relationship with each other, so allow me to bury this hatchet.”

Christian snapped his fingers, and Dirk felt his impressive manhood shrink, and shrink, and shrink, until he heard a “pop!” sound and knew that it was no more. Poor Dirk was smooth as could be in his private areas. But he didn’t mind: being unable to orgasm helped him focus on his work. And besides, if Mr. M needed help Dirk still had two perfectly serviceable holes on him.

Christian laughed again, eliciting another laugh from Dirk. “Dirk, pal, I don’t think I have ever been happier with one of my new hires. But you know, I do seal my deals with a kiss.”

“Why thank you sir!” Dirk replied with enthusiasm, as he allowed Christian to walk over, turn up his chin, and plant a kiss on his lips. And it was the greatest kiss Dirk had ever felt. Indeed, it was the only kiss he had ever felt, but as far as kisses go it was still pretty spectacular. As Dirk stood there with his lips pressed against those of his incredivle boss, he knew there was nothing more he would want from life.

As they parted, Derek looked hopefully up at his boss “Where should I start with my work, sir?” He lived to work.

Christian smiled again. “I’ll film you in on that in a minute, but let me take you to your desk. You’ll be down in the accounting department. In fact, I think you’ll be desk neighbors with our other new hire Bartholomew! You’ll love him. A total nerd but a sweet kid regardless.” Without warning, Christian turned and walked down the hall. He didn’t need to say anything. Dirk instinctively followed him, just as he instinctively obeyed every command Mr. M gave him. Life was easier that way.