#suittf

[hypnosisuit]

This image is just dying for a story to be made about it. He looks sort of robotic and mindless. Almost like a stepford man.

Basic idea but I'd imagine something like a suit store, or a company or organisation, possibly with the government's involvement, are creating these mind control collars to tame men and make everyone conform.

They take men and brainwash them with these collars/other means. After a while, people begin calling it "the collaring" and groups of unruly and rebellious guys have gone into hiding to not get caught. Also comes with learning the correct mindset to have, to be polite and obedient, and live a wholesome and traditional conformist life, as well as proper grooming and haircuts as well.

[cyoc49]

Auto Pilot

James was 18 and already shaping up to be a disappointment in life. After spending four years of high school slacking off, doing drugs, and not caring about anything, he now found himself a freshman in college with little prospect of where to go. He was attending the local community college - he hadn’t even wanted to do that, but his parents threatened to kick him out and cut off funding if he didn’t do some higher education. Now he found himself wandering aimlessly around campus. He had no idea what his major would be, no plans of any kind, really. He wanted to stay as distant from this college experience as possible.

To be honest, James did sometimes think about his lack of aim in life. The truth was he truly did fear committing to anything in life, for the risk of making the wrong choice, and so invented a “don’t care” persona to cope with his lack of place in the world.

James arrived at his dorm, and made his way upstairs to his room. He shared it with some guy, Clide. They didn’t talk much. As he got to the door of his room, he noticed a package sitting in front of the door. He picked it up and inspected it. Relatively small, lightweight, addressed to him. Odd. Usually this type of thing would be sent to the mail room. As James entered his room, he put the package down on his desk. Clide wasn’t there, he was probably at class.

“Might as well check this thing out,” James said to himself as he opened the box. Inside was a big red button reading AUTO PILOT.

Whatever he had been expecting, it certainly wasn’t that. It was one of those comically oversized buttons like you saw in movies. He had never seen one this big in person. And what did “Auto Pilot” mean?

Looking back into the box, James found a small booklet labeled “User’s Manual”. He picked it up and read the contents:

“INCREDIBLE AUTO PILOT BUTTON

Life can be exhausting. School, jobs, bills, food, house troubles, and countless other decisions have to be made and executed every day. At the end of the day, is all the grind really worth it? Wouldn’t you rather take the easy route? The better route?

The Auto Pilot button is simple. Press it, and your life will be set to “auto pilot”. We’ve spent decades studying the behavior patterns of successful people, and have created a formula by which we have the correct response to every obstacle and issue you will ever face in your life. Job troubles? You’ll always be a hard worker who knows how to get what he wants. Social issues? You’ll have the right line for every occasion. You’ll be more outgoing, more ambitious, and best of all: you don’t have to do any of it. When you’re on auto pilot. You can sit back and watch as your body makes all the right decisions for you. One press is all that’s needed.

Enjoy your life on auto pilot!”

James checked the back to see if there was anything else. He didn’t know what to think. He almost wanted to laugh. It had to be a joke, but the tone of the pamphlet was so certain that it could also be the delusions of some eccentric billionaire. Ah well, at least he finally had something to go on his barren desk. He slid the auto pilot button to the back corner of his desk, then paused. He pressed down on the button, just to see what those big red buttons really feel like.

Unfortunately for James, one press is all that’s needed.

*click*

As the button clicked down, James’ body slumped.

His eyes went dead.

And then he suddenly smiled.

And he kept smiling.

James was 22 and life was looking pretty great. After pressing that button his freshman year, James completely turned his life around, as if overnight. He suddenly started paying attention in all his classes. He began going to the gym, and joined an intramural soccer team. By the end of his freshman year, James had gained 25 lbs of muscle, going from a boney 150 to a beefy 175. He also ended his year, with a 4.0 GPA, and used it to apply to the local state school. It just offered him more opportunities than community college, and had better networking circles. James got in handily, and that fall found himself moving across state to university.

Almost as soon as he landed on campus, James continued his life climbing. He declared majors in international business and finance, knowing the money opportunities that lay there. The course load was nothing for James, as he always worked on homework at maximum efficiency. In fact, he had time left over to join a club lacrosse team.

Through his finance classes and lacrosse practices, James came to realize the social circle he needed to join if he wanted to get ahead: The rich preps. They were the ones who exuded the aura of success he wanted to project, and the ones with the connections to jobs after college. He modeled himself after them. He began to dress like them, in khakis and pastels, and leather loafers. Vineyard Vines, Ralph Lauren, and Brooks Brothers invaded his closet. He began to manage his hair, combing it into a neat side part every morning with pomade. He researched golf news, followed stock market trends, so he would have topics to talk about with these preps.

Slowly, by bringing up the points he now new about with classmates, and by projecting the image of a successful young preppy professional, James came to be accepted as one of their own. One of the boys. His ultimate dream. From that point it was easy: James was Mr All American, effortlessly witty and charming. By the time he was a senior, James was on fire. He had served as captain of his lacrosse team for the past 2 years, was top of his business classes. He had met several of his new friend’s fathers (all of them CEOs), and in most cases the fathers ended up liking James more than their own children. James was a professional in all aspects, and he did it all with a bright, mindless smile.

The one thing James hadn’t accomplished in college was finding a girlfriend. Of course he’d had several offers, but he never took a woman to call his own. Every once in a while he found himself staring at the guys on the lacrosse team while they changed, but these were only fleeting feelings. Certainly not the most efficient way to live his life.

But this didn’t matter to James. In just a few months he would be graduating top of his business program, and thanks to the father of a friend he had a job lined up at Plexicorp, one of the biggest marketing chains in the nation. James was only 22 and he was a consummate professional. Is this what a perfect life looks like?

James was 30 and on top of the world. After graduation he went right into work at Plexicorp, and immediately assumed the stereotype of a “young urban professional”. His work ethic was tireless, and through a mixture of countless golf matches and the perfect water cooler humor, James quickly became the most popular guy in his office, and the model employee. He rose in the ranks quickly, and was now a regional manager with a six figure salary at only 30.

With extra cash to spare, James had gone to work giving his life an upgrade. He bought clothes from extremely expensive brands, though sticking to his preppy classics. He got salon quality pomade for the classic styling of his hair (which had only gotten lighter over the years), and routinely had dermatology and dental work done to keep his face looking as fresh as possible. He bought a serene little cookie cutter McMansion out in the suburbs. Even with all this going on, he perfectly worked time into his schedule for gym and nutrition, keeping his body in peak shape even as he got older. At age 30, James was quickly approaching a DILF.

With the perfect job, the perfect clothes, and the perfect body, you’d think James would have quickly found a suitable wife, or at least someone looking for a QoL upgrade. But even over the years, James still never found himself fully committed to women, even though he knew starting a family young would be most productive in the long term. In a particular night of conflicting emotions, James made his way to a leather bar on the outskirts of town, where a nice 50 year old man with a beard and a harness taught James what he had always known. He was gay. And he loved it.

There must have been a hole in the Auto Pilot system. Certainly heterosexuality would be most efficient for a successful life, but somehow James’ base feelings came through. Of course he had no way of knowing what was going on in his body. All he knew was what was most efficient, and what felt best were in opposition to each other right now.

Eventually, with a smile, the straight James won out. After his encounter with the leather clad friend, he quickly found himself not thinking about sex at all. A life of chastity was certainly good enough for him. Letting sex be for pleasure hardly worked out, as we see. Sex should be for utility. Creating the family. And to get a family, he needed a wife.

The following weekend James took a trip to his local country club, and after a bit of scouting, chatting, and brown-nosing, James was introduced to Amber, an interior decorator. She wasn’t the most brilliant with a conversation, but she was single and looking to marry and that was enough for James. They went on several incredibly vanilla movie and dinner dates, where hand holding was the most action either of them got. After 8 months, they married and moved in together.

Now standing here at 30, James looked in the mirror. He felt his decently-sized chest push against the cotton undershirt and mint green button up sitting on top. His rotund and muscular ass was perfectly wrapped by his khakis. He looked down at the counter of his bathroom. Marble. With plenty of space. Even with his tricky sex situation, James had to admit he had a great body and a great life. He had made (almost) all the right decisions, and was reaping plenty of the rewards. As far as living life, this was a pretty good way to do it.

James was 40, and life was perfect. The shareholders of Plexicorp were so impressed by his keen business instincts and impressive management, and at only 32 offered to make him the youngest shareholder in the history of the company. From there he went from “pretty well off” to “disgustingly wealthy”. James knew how to invest his money well, and from the moment of that promotion never worried about money again. He moved into a mansion in the nice part of town and upgraded his wardrobe to suits, suits, and more suits. Now that he was one of the elites, he had to project as such. He kept his appearance as clean and refined as possible at all times. He loved to flash off in a khaki suit (a nod to his preppy roots), and with his now perfectly-blonde hair, he was the absolute image of refinement. He had certainly aged like fine wine, and there was no doubt about it: James was a DILF.

The only sore spot in his life has been Amber. After years of trying and failing to conceive due to lack of excitement, Amber eventually asked to file for divorce. James knew he had to grant her this, and handled the proceedings quietly (and generously) to let go of her gently. At 35, James was finally meeting a dead end that his Auto Pilot skills were unable to find a solution to.

Until he had an investment meeting with a local stock analyst named Robert

Robert was an image of success, beauty, and sharpness that James had seen in only one other man: himself. It was almost unnatural how beautiful and crisp Robert was. His perfectly parted hair. His well-fit gray suit and polished dress shoes. As James eyed this man up and down, it dawned on him. Robert must have made every decision perfectly in life to look like an image of success in his his 30s, because he did. Robert had help from Auto Pilot too. And judging by the lack of a ring on his finger, and the way he was eyeing James in the exact same way James was eyeing him, James had a suspicion that Robert had the same problem he had.

Robert was someone whose every value, choice, and lifestyle matched up with James’.

James knew exactly the right decision to make.

The two flashed each other perfect smiles and firm handshakes, and although the topic of their first meeting stayed on stocks, it was clear there was a mutual spark between the two. They quickly decided that weekly investment meetings would be best, which turned into lunch meetings twice per week, which turned into dinner, which turned into something much more. The two took it slow, to be safe, but it was clear they were disgustingly perfect for each other. On Tuesdays and Thursdays they met up at the gym at 6AM to exercise together. They had quickly learned they wore the same suit size, and exchanged looks on several occasions. Robert taught James just how he achieved his razor sharp part, and James taught Robert how to match pocket squares to outfits. After a few years of dating they married in a picturesque countryside summer wedding, and both knew this one would last.

Now standing here at 40, James could genuinely say life was perfect. He had gone from an aimless place in his life to the top of the world, and although it had been a bumpy road, he was now with the perfect partner living a life of gentility. Checking his suited image in the mirror one last time, James left the bathroom and walked to the front door where Robert was waiting. The two had plans to attend an orchestra show and get dinner at the nicest restaurant in town.

James flashed Robert the perfect smile, and Robert returned the favor.

“Ready to go, darling?” James asked the man of his dreams.

“Of course, love.” Robert replied in a smooth tenor. The two briefly joined to kiss, before heading outside where the driver was waiting to take them into the city for another wonderful night.

[cyoc49]

HIMBO Magazine: The New Hire

23 year-old Barry Allen looked across the street at the office building of HIMBO, a lifestyle & fashion magazine targeted at gay men, and the site of his job interview. After graduating last May, Barry has tried for months to find a communications job with no luck, until he saw HIMBO’s advertisement for an entry-level social media position. The pay was unbelievably good, and they reached out to him about applying which made the whole situation seem very promising. He was a little uncomfortable about the idea of working at a gay magazine. I don’t have any issue with gay people, Barry thought, I just don’t understand a lot of the culture and I’m not really trying to. Still, the job was too good to pass up without at least interviewing.

Barry walked into the lobby of the building and was directed on how to reach the HIMBO’s offices. Stepping into the elevator, Barry thought about how sharply dressed everyone in the building was. It made him feel a little unprofessional, in his blazer, checkered shirt, and jeans. But the email had told him to dress “Appropriately for his position,” so he dressed the way he knew modern social media teams did.

As the elevator opened, Barry was greeted by the bright offices of HIMBO. The personnel working there (all male, he noticed) were dressed in a mixture of ridiculously eccentric business wear, speedos and harnesses, club outfits, other other bizarre fashions. “I’m guessing those are models?” Barry wondered, before walking over to a desk attended by a swishy receptionist.

The twinkish secretary looked up at Barry, and his eyes widened in excitement. “You must be the new applicant!” He exclaimed, jumping up out of his seat. “Oh, you’re perfect! He always knows the right people to pick. Well knock on wood, but I’m excited to work with you!” Then in a swift motion, the man darted around the desk and grabbed Barry by the hand. “Here, I can take you to him! He’s been waiting for you. I’m James, by the way! I work the desk!” And with that, Barry found himself being dragged along through the HIMBO offices.

“Uh, I have a question. Who is ‘he’?” Barry called along as he tried to keep pace with the fast-paced James.

“Christian Le Maître, the Editor in Chief! He’s brilliant. He does all the interviews and hiring himself. He’s the one who reached out to you.”

Wow, he picked me out himself, Barry thought, I must really be promising.

Barry spoke up “That’s pretty cool, to have a boss that cares that much.”

James nodded enthusiastically “Oh yes, he cares for us all so much! We’re all his boys here.”

Looking past the odd use of “boys”, Barry continued “I’m, uh, applying for a social media position.”

“Oh okay, interesting,” James said with less enthusiasm than usual, “He’ll sometimes try to figure out a different position for you during the interview. Just go along with what he says. I promise he has your best interests at heart.”

Before Barry could ask what that meant, James came to a sudden stop in front of a large heavy door. He knocked on it several times, before a deep muffled voice called out “Send him in” from behind the door.

James turned around, grinning ear to ear “Okay, best of luck! Remember: you’re gonna fit in here.” With that, he pranced back down the hallway, leaving Barry alone in front of the door.

He took a deep breath. “Well, here goes nothing,” he thought, and opened the door.

Walking into the office, Barry looked behind the desk and saw one of the most beautiful men he had ever seen.

His face was rugged and handsome, with insatiably curious eyes, perfect white teeth, and a beard that was just the right amount of stubble. His hair was parted with gel into a professional, clean, and gorgeous haircut. His toned muscles perfectly filled out his expensive looking business clothes: a light blue silk dress shirt, grey pinstripe pants, suspenders hung over his shoulders and pressed out by his chest, gorgeous-smelling black leather dress shoes, and a sterling silver watch. He was an absolute alpha male, so perfectly handsome and successful that Barry couldn’t help but feel awe, jealousy, and a hint of... lust?

The man looked at Barry and smiled a perfect smile. “Barry, is it? I’m Christian La Maître, but everyone around here just calls me Mr. M.” The man stood up, revealing his daunting 6’4 frame, and extended a muscular hand to Barry

Jesus, his voice is intoxicating, Barry swooned. It was so smoothly deep and inviting. With just the few words Barry already felt like he could listen to the man for hours. He reached out and took hold of Mr. M’s hand for an extremely firm handshake. As their hand touched, Barry felt a jolt, and found himself unable to take his eyes off the powerful man before him. And more importantly, he had no desire to move his eyes away.

Mr. M sat back down again. “So Barry, tell me about yourself. College graduate?”

“Uh, yes. Digital Communications maj-“

“Have you ever read HIMBO before?” Mr. M cut Barry off.

“No, sir” Barry said, neither objecting to being interrupted, nor noticing the “sir” he just said.

“Are you gay?” Mr. M examined Barry’s body up and down, never making eye contact.

“No, sir. I’m straight.” He paused “Is that okay?”

Mr. M let out a hearty laugh, and Barry found himself laughing along with the man too. It just felt right. This brilliant, perfect businessman that Barry was lucky enough to be in the presence of, anything he did had to be right.

“Ahhh, Barry. You’re a fun kid. Now unfortunately, that social media position was filled earlier this morning by another applicant. But I would be a fool not to bring you into the HIMBO team, Barry!” This filled Barry with joy. The approval of Mr. M felt so good.

“Now if I think about it...” Mr. M paused for a few moments, giving Barry another thorough looking over, “I think we have an opening in the accounting department.”

“Yes! I accept!” Barry shouted out. He didn’t even care that it was a totally different position than he had come here for, nor did he care that he had zero accounting experience. If Mr. M said he would be a good accountant, then Barry had to be the best accountant for his boss.

The man chuckled again. “There’s just a little on boarding we’d have to do to get you ready for the position. Beginning with dress code, for starters.”

“What’s wrong with my clothes, sir?” Barry asked eagerly. He would do anything for this man, who was offering him a coveted job at HIMBO magazine. Barry would change anything about himself.

“Well, you just dress so... cool. I mean look at that outfit! You are a hip young man who is ready for a good night out. And I love that for you, but I think a good accountant would dress a bit... sharper.”

The “sharper” bounced around in Barry’s head. Visions of men in suits and ties flooded his mind. He began to feel attracted to the idea of being a finely dressed man. In fact, he couldn’t imagine ever dressing down, not even in his free time. As Barry listened to Mr. M’s words, his plaid shirt rippled into a crisp white dress shirt. It tucked itself into his jeans.

“A good smart accountant would look his best at all times.”

Barry’s jeans turned into tight fitting grey dress pants, and a brown leather belt cinched itself firmly around his waist. His casual wool blazer morphed into a clean grey suit jacket matching his pants. Underneath, a gray sweater materialized and hugged itself to Barry’s slimming build.

“A good, clean-cut accountant.”

Barry felt his feet shift as his shoes changed into well-polished brown leather dress shoes, with wing tips. His socked changed to clean white socks, and inside his pants he felt briefs take form around his shrinking manhood.

“A good, nerdy accountant.”

A red bow tie wrapped itself around Barry’s neck and tied itself into a perfect knot. Large round glasses popped up on Barry’s face, which he knew he needed to wear every day. Barry’s hair ruffled as if wind was blowing through it, before settling in a clean side part, well-combed and maintained.

Barry stood before the incredibly powerful man before him looking totally different. Just 10 minutes ago Barry had dressed like any college graduate, but now looked as if he wore a suit every day of the week. But as for Barry himself, he had never felt better. As his clothes changed, Barry’s thoughts realized how right this felt. Barry now perfectly remembered his 2 hour morning dress routine. He knew exactly how much pomade to use to achieve the perfect side part, he remembered tying bow ties for six years now. His home wardrobe, all of it, had been replaced with suits, sweaters, shirts, dress shoes, and bow ties of every material, pattern, and color imagineable. This was the way he had dressed ever since he got to college and felt he could express himself truly. The truth was Barry loved the feel of a suit. The cleanness and dignity were an intoxicating feeling, and he couldn’t imagine himself in anything else.

Mr. M smiled a big smile. “There we go, an absolute perfect fit for our accountant opening. Welcome to the HIMBO team, Barry. Or should I say Bartholomew.”

That was right. Bartholomew Pippin, and he couldn’t be happier. He was a timid, nerdy kind of guy, sure, but he felt on top of the world. Bartholomew was an avid HIMBO reader for its good guides on men’s formalwear (and also so he could jerk off to the photos of shirtless guys), so to work at the magazine he loved, doing the job he loved (accounting) was a dream come true.

Mr. M stood up and walked over to Bartholomew, getting extremely close to him. “There’s just one last step in the hiring process...”

Barty shook a bit as he looked up at the domineering man before him. Mr. M was a tall man to begin with, but at his new height Bartholomew was 5’9, and the taller man encompassed him.

“I seal all my contracts... with a kiss.”

Barry’s knees quivered. He had realized he was gay at a young age, but aside from a few “almosts” in college, he had never gone farther than holding hands. Bartholomew had always reasoned that he would meet the right one eventually... and looking up at this man, Barty knew he had found it. Mr. M was all Barty would ever need. This man would control his work life and his sex life, dictating when Barty could pleasure himself, when he could come, and when he got the ultimate privilege of spending the night with Mr. M.

Bartholomew wrinkled his note and nodded eagerly “Of course, sir. I would be honored to kiss you.

As Barty stood on his tip toes to kiss his new boss - god, his lips were smooth and perfect - Barty felt all his changes lock into place. This is who he was. Bartholomew Pippin, mild-mannered accountant of HIMBO magazine, and one of Christian La Maître’s very good boys.

The two parted, and Mr. M gave Bartholomew another killer smile. “Bartholomew, I can already tell you’re gonna fit in here perfectly. And as a signing bonus, how about you stop by my place tonight. 7 PM sharp.”

“Oh thank you so much, Mr. M! I’ll be there at 6:45, I promise.”

“That’s a good boy, Barty. Now get settled in, your desk is at the end of the hall.” He gave Barty a spank on his bubble butt, and sent him on his way, to his new job and new life.

[cyoc49]

Shopping For A Few New Wide Receivers

Hello followers! Hope you’re all doing well. I’m writing to you today because I’ve run into a most troublesome predicament: I’m all out of boys.

Yes, I know it’s shameful of me to run out of good suited boys to serve on me and keep me company, but I was careless. I’m not perfect, my apologies. I lent some of my boys out to my elite friends, and now they’re off in Manhattan with no sign of coming back. The others, well let’s just say I accidentally left my poppers out the other day. My boys got their hands on them, and by the time I found them, they were so hopped up on nitrite that they wanted to do nothing but… okay that part was actually quite fun. Unfortunately those chemicals ruined their already limited brain power, and I had to send them off to boarding school to be “re-trained”. So here I am with no good boys by my side.

So I’ve decided: Why not go shopping! And if I’m going to get new boys, I might as well get them from one of the best sources:

The NFL!

Come on, those men all hopped up on adrenaline. Their bodies massive temples dedicated to physical perfection. Imagine what they could do for me!

So I’ve been scoping out a few of the finest quarterbacks the league has to offer. I sent them invitations to my manor that they found unable to resist, and they arrived earlier today. I already offered them drinks to dull their senses and put them in a state of euphoric bliss, now all that’s left to do is for me to give them a look and personality improvement, and then I’ll have some brilliant new boy toys!

Let’s look at who we have

Brady Quinn

Oh my, look at that hair! Brady looks like he could be the stand in jock in an early 2000s teen rom com. Only this story is going to end a bit differently for him.

Now face and body wise, I don’t have to do anything. That chiseled jaw, those massive arms? Perfect. That hair is definitely going to have to go, though. Let’s cut it down quite a bit, put in some gel and comb it into a perfect part… let’s do a little more gel… there we go! A gorgeous business cut.

And to go with the business cut, why not a suit! I’ll start simple with a white dress shirt- my, look at how it hugs his chest and arms. I’ll give him a smart grey suit in plaid, and a red tie with a similar fun pattern. I think he’s going to be in patterns from now on. It’s a little striking, but also bold, and that’s what I want from him. I’m taking his confidence, his strong personality, and turning it into a flirtatious cockiness. He is going to be “The Cassanova”, a boy who’s goal is to surprise you with dates and gifts all the time. He buys you suits and watches because he wants you to look as good as he does, and is always trying to whisk you away to dinner… when he’s not running your errands, of course.

Oh yes, this is perfect for Braden. That smirk combines with the mindless gaze, you can tell he’s thinking with his second head. As he should be!

Kirk Cousins

Now Kirk here has quite the scruff going on! Living up to his Viking name. Thankfully, I like my men rugged. But what I like even more is watching rugged men go clean.

So let’s drop those clothes, let them disappear. Look at how hairy he is! But now we’re going to get rid of all that hair, let it pull back in, and the pores they came from seal off, making future hair growth impossible. We’ll give that big bushy beard have the same treatment and- wow! That square jaw and golden smile! A bit baby-faced, but it works. The only hair he can grow now is his eyebrows and hair. And both of those stay neatly maintained on their own now in a short, clean cut

The suit, I’m thinking light colors and neat patterns. Close checkers and stripes are his favorite thing now, in bright colors especially. His wardrobe shines as bright as his smile from now on. Kirk is becoming “The House Husband”, a sweet obedient boy who knows that you deserve to live in a tidy home. He ensures that every asset of the house is spotless, cleaning up in his frilly apron and yellow rubber gloves every day. He also makes sure you wake up to a freshly cooked breakfast and come home to a freshly cooked dinner every night. And he’s always ready for after bed cuddles and tea.

Sweet Kirkland, he dotes on me more than all of them. He’s a sweet soul now, always surprising me with fresh flowers and other sweet gestures.

Jimmy Garoppolo

What a smile! You don’t even need to see the 49ers jersey to feel that classic California cockiness dripping off of Jimmy. Unfortunately, we already have Braden to fill the role of hot shot, but I think I can channel Jimmy’s energy into somebody just as important.

Now I’d say lose the beard and body hair, but the truth is that disappeared as soon as I laid eyes on him, he just didn’t notice. And I’m going to break my “no changing bodies” rule just for now, to push him up to 6’5”. I’m allowed to be greedy, okay! And speaking of greedy, I can tell from the way he’s adjusting his pants that his equipment has scaled up to match.

We’ll comb his hair into a clean business part. And also keep his suit on the simple side. A clean navy suit with a white shirt. He sticks to solid suits in classic colors now, although he of course fills them out magnificently at his new height. And he also has no need for a tie. His focus is more on immediate needs, as “The Chauffeur”. He just loves to carry your bags now (don’t tell anyone, but I may have rewired him so that he’s sexually aroused by carrying bags), and he also drives you wherever you need to go. “Where to, sir?” He says with a pearly white smile.

Look at James now. He’s oh so helpful. And oh so horny as well, it seems. No worries, we can pull over and take care of that soon.

Cam Newton

Last, I have the man himself, Cam Newton. He’s so skilled they call him “Super Cam”. Whenever I think of the Patriots, I always think of the vast culture of New England, particularly the more upper-class aspects. “Cape Cod gentility” could look good on you, Cam…

Let’s clean up that hair, both facial and on your head. Clean shaven, so I can feel his smooth skin. The suit: I’m thinking bright, I’m thinking preppy. In fact, let’s give him a bow tie! We haven’t done that for anyone today. In fact, let’s make bow ties his daily choice of attire from now on. Along with the cleanest, finest looking preppy suits he can find. He’s going to be “the Gentleman”, a boy who introduces you to the finer aspects of life. Trips to the country club, exclusive yacht parties, first class flights to the Swiss Alps, this boy will do it all for you. He always smells like aged brandy and fine leather polish, and as you spend time with him, you can’t help but appreciate the expensiveness.

Here Cameron is now. God he looks so dashing. We’re actually off to a wine tasting now. James is pulling around with the car as we speak. And once again, my life is blessed by good, well-dressed, obedient boys! The way it should be.

Thank you so much for joining me today, followers! I hope you got some valuable insight on how to pick and change your boys to best suit you!

[cyoc49]

Golly, Archie!

[Based on an inbox request sent to me by @tfkinky ]

Hiram Lodge stood in front of the mirror and adjusted his tie. Today, as with every day, he looked his best and most professional. The crisp black dress shirt wrapped around his powerful chest, his strong arms were hugged by a deep blue suit coat, and a matching tie perfectly pulled the look together. His eyebrows were neatly shaped. His hair... not a strand out of place. He radiated power, and for a good reason: Hiram Lodge basically owned Riverdale.

He was close to literally owning Riverdale, but he had two items left on his to-do list: Archie Andrews and Jughead Jones. At his every chance to claim total control, those two thugs somehow managed to thwart his plans at the last second. If he could get rid of them, nothing would stop him.

And as it turned out, there might be a way to get rid of them.

In a particular moment of desperation, Hiram had made his way to a local witches’ coven. There, he had learned an interesting fact: there was an alternate version of Riverdale in a local parallel universe. One where life was very, very different.

After a series of shady deals with the witches, Hiram was taught a spell which could be used to completely rewrite the reality of an individual and slip them into this alternate universe. Only in his case, it would be two individuals.

Now, Hiram walked over to his desk. He had drawn a pentagram and lit candles as instructed by the witches, and spread out in the middle were pages from a 1950’s comic, showing teenagers living in the time period. On top of the comic pages were two photos: one of Archie, and one of Jughead. Hiram made small cuts in each of his palms, and held them palms-down over the photos. As his blood dripped onto the setup, Hiram chanted:

Little boys who think they’re cool.

Hot shots, now made into fools.

No longer swear, no longer act mean.

Learn to say golly, nifty, and keen.

Slick your hair and dance the jive.

Welcome to 1955.

With each word, the photos began to warp and shake as if they were water. Slowly the photos began to almost melt into the comic, until they disappeared from the table completely. Instead, the comics now featured two new characters: goofy looking 50’s versions of his former foes. The candles blew out.

Hiram smiled to himself. What fun they’ll have

Archie wiped sweat off his brow. He had been mowing lawns and trimming hedges all day. In an effort to make some extra cash on the side he had started his own lawn care service for the good people of Riverdale. It was tough work, but the money was nice. And he got to walk around shirtless all day, which was a nice plus.

As he threw down another bag of clippings, Archie heard a voice in his head.

“You’re a good boy, Archie.”

Archie paused. He looked around. There was nobody else on the street right now. Had he imagined that? He shook his head and went back to work.

... but even as he worked, Archie couldn’t stop thinking of that little voice. The phrase “good boy” stuck with him, and bounced around in his head like a lone thought running free. Archie had never considered himself one of those goody two-shoes guys. Given everything that happened in this town, everyone had to have a bit of dirt on on their hands. But what if he didn’t? What if he had the chance to do better, wash his hands off and dedicate his life to being a good son and a good member of the community. Well, gosh, wouldn’t that be something?

Before these thoughts went any further, Archie snapped back into the moment. It was a nice idea, but this was his life.

“You’re a well-behaved, well-mannered boy.”

He hear the voice from nowhere again, and this time it sounded even more persuasive. Unconsciously, Archie shifted his back and stood straight, rigid as a board. It was like second nature - without thinking, Archie knew to look upright and presentable at all times. After all, that was the way any well-behaved boy should act.

And as he shifted into a proper posture, he felt a wave of Euphoria was over himself. Standing tall allowed him to push out his chest and show off his arms, after all. He smiled a wide, wide smile. Acting in this way, being a good boy, it made him feel indescribably happy... and also a bit horny. There was a strange feeling bubbling inside of him, growing stronger with every second. A feeling of peppiness, and perkiness. Archie knew it was right to help people. Gosh, that’s what good guys do, right? That’s why I’m mowing my neighbors lawns for free, Archie thought to himself. But no - that’s not right. No, I’m trying to make money... aren’t I? Archie felt confused, like his truth was being clouded and replaced by a new preppy reality that was only getting more intense. Golly, how much farther could this go?

“You have sharp dress style.”

With those words, the few clothes Archie was wearing flew off his body. He immediately moved to cover himself up, until the wave of preppy euphoria relaxed him again. He didn’t really miss his old clothes that much. Sloppy jeans and t shirts? And he had the audacity to walk around shirtless? Unacceptable, Archie thought to himself. I can’t look sloppy, I’m 18 for Pete’s sake! I should be dressed to the nines at all times!

The universe seemed to comply with Archie’s new thoughts as a fresh set of clothes wrapped themselves around him. 1950’s style tighty whities slip up and covered his private areas, nicely cupping his sizeable package and perfectly outlining his firm, round buttocks. The waist band went up to his high waist in that classic 50’s style, a style that Archie was coming to think of as his own.

A white dress shirt appeared next, buttoning itself up to the very top button. The shirt was tight against Archie’s beefcake body, and the outline of his pecs and arms could be seen through the shirt, a feeling Archie didn’t mind. The shirt had a small polka dot pattern on it, but of course it did. Archie loved fun patterns on his clothes! Sometimes he wore multiple bright patterns just to feel extra nifty.

Today was one of those days, apparently, as wool dress slacks with a plaid pattern slid up Archie’s thick legs, coming to rest at his high waist. Through the pants the outline of his full buttocks could be seen. The shirt tucked itself into his pants. As if I would ever go anywhere with my shirt untucked! Archie wanted to guffaw at the thought!

A plaid green bow tie wrapped itself around Archie’s neck into a perfect bow (Archie had mastered the art of tying a bow tie many years ago. He hardly left the house without one). As it locked into place, the wide smile on Archie’s face got wider. He felt absolutely giddy in these clothes. Golly, he loved to dress crisp like this! It made him feel real boss.

Pristine white dress socks rolled up his feet, and wingtip loafers wrapped around them. The shoes were brown leather, so perfectly polished that Archie could see his reflection in them. He polished his shoes every night, he liked to keep them looking a spiffy as possible. A matching brown leather belt, just as polished, cinched his waist, further defining his beefy build.

Over the top of the whole ensemble, a knit sweater vest appeared, in a deep blue. Emblazoned on the front was a gold “R” - for Riverdale High, of course! Archie loved his school and had a number of sweater vests, sweaters, ties, caps, and other pieces of merchandise for the school. He loved to incorporate them into his look - Riverdale’s quarterback should show his school pride, after all!

“You look clean-cut and presentable at all times.”

Archie’s hair ruffled as gel began to flow through it and lock it in a slicked back position. His signature red locks now looked like a plastic helmet on top of his head, perfectly styled into a neat all-American side part (the way every man’s hair should look!), and lightened until it was almost a cartoonish orange.

Archie’s bushy eyebrows slimmed out, taking on a clean styled look, and the pores on his face vanished. Archie how had an impossibly clear and bright complexion, aside from a smattering of freckles across his checks. His teeth straightened into a perfect row. His eyes shined a bright blue, even if his gaze was now a bit mindless.

Archie’s look had totally transformed. He no longer looked like the tough jock he was before. He now dressed like a total square. But Archie didn’t care, he thought his dress style was neato! An artificial perfection settled over his whole look, locking Archie in plasticine preppiness.

Archie rubbed his new clothes. Gosh, he enjoyed the feeling of them so much. As his fingers circled his chest, he heard several more words from the voice, only now he willingly welcomed them:

“You obey your parents, Archie.”

“You follow all orders you’re given.”

“You always hold the door open for those behind you.”

“You’d never do something without asking first.”

“You always say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’.”

“You are a good boy, Archie.”

With every command that rang through his vacant head, Archie’s wide smile only got wider. The perky feeling was growing. It wasn’t just in his stomach, it had spread through his arms and legs, into his fingers and toes and into every hair on his head. On a molecular level, Archie felt like a keen all-American teen. A swell guy who helped old ladies cross the street, always had dates home by 10PM sharp, and ended nearly every sentence with “sir” or “ma’am” when talking to an adult.

Archie’s connection to this Riverdale was fading. The squeaky clean school boy now had little in common with the unforgiving town he had grown up in. Instead, he was coming into alignment with the other Riverdale, the one where wholesome American values had never gone out of style. His memories had also shifted from the old Riverdale to the new, as he only ever remembered the 1950’s haven as his home.

But there was so much to do there! Heading to the malt shop! Going to sock hops with Betty and Ronnie! Listening to records! Gee whiz, Archie enjoyed his Riverdale life so much, he wanted to be there right now!

“Archie, it’s time to go home.”

For a brief second, Archie’s head spun as the world flashed and shifted around him.

Only for a brief second, though. After that, it was back to the setting Archie knew and loved. Technicolor houses, white picket fences. Children playing in the street. Home. Archie sighed and smiled. He was at peace here.

Suddenly, Archie remembered his plans for the day. He was going to pick up Veronica and take her to Pop’s. Without missing a beat, Archie ran to Veronica’s house. His knock on the door was answered by this Riverdale’s version of Veronica, sporting a prim blouse and skirt, with bobbed hair.

“Hiya, Ronnie!” Archie exclaimed with a wide grin.

“Hey there, Archiekins!” Veronica pulled Archie into a hug.

The two embraced for a moment and looked at each other sweetly. It was puppy love, plain and simple. Archie always wanted a girl to be sweet for, and Ronnie was the right one for him. And if he was lucky, they might get to play some backseat bingo in his station wagon later.

“Ready to go, sweetie?” Archie asked. Veronica responded with a nod, and the two made their way to Pop’s to split a sundae. Another perfect Riverdale day!

———————————————————————

Jughead paced the floor of his dad’s trailer. He’d been tipped off by a connection on the outskirts of town that Hiram Lodge had been seen paying a visit to the local coven. That could only mean he was up to trouble. Jughead had been trying to contact Archie all day, but his friend had seemingly gone off the grid. Jughead was getting concerned that it wasn’t a coincidence. If Hiram was resorting to black magic, Jughead had no idea what to expect or how to respond. As much research as he did, that was one area he did not mess with.

But now Jughead felt like he was at the end of his line. Hiram had tried multiple times to take him and Archie out, and if he had finally figured out a way, Riverdale was doomed.

He had to contact the witches. That was the only way, Jughead decided. He would drive out there and convince them to undo whatever Hiram had them do. He would beg, make them see that the safety of Riverdale was on the line. It wasn’t his best plan, but it would have to work. It would have to.

Jughead picked up his keys, but dropped them again just as quickly after a booming voice echoed inside his head.

“You’re a good boy, Jughead.”

He couldn’t move. He knew this was the end. But even scarier than the absolute terror he was feeling in the face of defeat, was the fact that those feelings of terror were disappearing. As much as he didn’t want to listen to the voice, the phrase “good boy” just refused to go away. It comforted him, the idea of giving in. Jughead had worked for so long to be a total nonconformist, and yet in this moment he wanted nothing more than to just fit on. Be one of the boys.

Jughead was terrified by the thoughts he heard and felt. He was fighting to hold on to his consciousness, but it was quickly becoming a losing battle.

“You’re a goofy, fun-loving guy.”

Jughead chuckled. He sure did feel that way sometimes. All throughout high school he had been a class clown, always making light of the situation. It was just his way of seeing the world. He liked to make people laugh, but nobody laughed louder than he did at himself.

“You are always dressed in a clean, respectable fashion.”

Jughead’s denim jacket and flannel disappeared from his body. Jughead didn’t mind too much. He wasn’t the kind of guy to dress to the nines, but he did think that every young guy should know how to dress. Jughead kept it simple, but he kept it clean.

To highlight this point, a blue turtleneck sweater popped up around his slender frame, leaving him feeling very comfortable.

White briefs wrapped up his nether regions like a Christmas present, and black dress slacks covered the top of them. The pants were freshly ironed, with visible pleats down the front. Jughead always wore clean clothes!

White tube socks rolled up his legs, and over the top of them came a fresh pair of Chuck Taylor All Stars. Jughead sighed with relief as he wriggled his toes around inside the shoes. Nothing made him feel more boss than a pair of Chucks.

On top of his head, Jughead’s beanie had reformed as a paper crown, his trademark accessory. Jughead didn’t know how he had started wearing it or why he still did, but it sure was fun! And it matched his goofy personality well.

“Your appearance is just as well groomed as your clothes.”

Jughead’s long, unkempt hair was pulled to the side and perfectly groomed into a side part, shortening down in the process to a fresh cut. His teeth whitened and his skin cleared up, just as it had for Archie. Jughead now looked like a perfect model for a Normal Rockwell painting.

Jughead loved the way he looked. This was who he was: just one of the guys, always ready to join in on plans, but never looking to stand out. He was a lovable goofball, and he wore his reputation with pride.

Jughead stood in place, enjoying the feel of his new getup, as more commands piled into his head.

“You love to eat.”

Food was one thing he couldn’t get enough of. He often had multiple hamburgers at Pop’s, and always had snacks no matter where he went.

Jughead let out a low burp. His stomach rumbled, then expanded under his sweater, reflecting his new big eater tendencies. Jughead enjoyed his little pot belly. He chuckled thinking about it.

“You love to laugh.”

And as he did, his chuckle turned into a full-bellied laugh, sending waves of joy throughout his body. His laugh began to take on a honking quality as the tip of his nose expanded to a bulbous shape.

“You are slow-witted, but keen and well-mannered.”

The light behind Jughead’s eyes faded. His journalistic wit and hard-hitting problem solving skills were gone. As Jughead’s goofy personality took over, he felt his care for school and work disappear. He didn’t like to try too hard, raised people’s expectations of him too much. And besides, that school stuff was so hard. Why not take life easy?

“You love to joke, dance, and do other fun-loving, innocent teenage activities.”

Jughead smiled as he remembered his Riverdale. A town where all his best pals were, and where he got to enjoy his neighborhood and all the pleasant people within. It made Jughead happy to think of his Riverdale. He never had to try hard there. Eating burgers and drinking shakes were his highest priorities. The most work he did was cracking a joke in response to Archie’s latest goof.

Jughead kept thinking about his town and how swell he felt when he was there, and realized he wanted nothing more than to be back. Back in his 1950’s home.

With perfect timing, the final command came.

“Time to go home, Jughead.”

Jughead spun, and so did the world. Then, half a second later, everything was back to normal. He was at home, in the suburbia of good ol’ Riverdale. The sun was shining high and proud, and for the 782nd day in a row there was not a cloud in the sky. Jughead knew this was where he belonged.

And just his luck. Across the street was none other than his best pal Archie Andrews! Archie was with Veronica, but was grinning ear-to-ear as he saw Jughead, and Jughead felt the same way as he saw his buddy. Jughead ran across the street to join them (after looking both ways first, of course).

“Howdy Jug! Boy, you have no idea how glad I am to see you!” Archie exclaimed.

“Right back at ya, Archie! Gosh, I’ve been looking for you all over!”

The two pals exchanged perfect white smiles, filled to the brim with glee. What could be better than life in Riverdale, with good buds and great manners?

Archie opened his mouth again “Hey Jug, Ronnie and I were about to go to Pop’s. Wanna tag along?”

“Golly, Archie! You know I can’t say no to Pop’s!”

The three friends all laughed in unison. They turned and began to walk down the street. The sun was shining on another perfect Riverdale day, and it was only noon! Who knew what kind of wacky adventures they could get in today?

TWO WEEKS LATER

Hiram sat and enjoyed a celebratory glass of wine. It had taken several nights of hard bargaining with Mayor McCoy to get what he wanted, but after pointing out the town’s high crime rate and lack of development (and also after making a few “charitable donations”), Hiram got what he finally wanted: ownership of Riverdale. He now truly felt on top of the world.

“This morning’s paper, sir.”

Hiram turned his head to watch as Smithers, the Lodge family’s long time assistant, came in to the room. Hiram thanked Smithers as he left a copy of the morning’s Riverdale Registrar on the table. Hiram truly didn’t care about most of the tat in that paper, even though he was technically it’s owner. But he flipped through, looking for one section that he had recently insisted they add.

“Bingo!” Hiram found what he was looking for as he flipped to the comics page. There at the top was a full-color page of comics labeled Archie and Friends. In today’s installment, Archie (clad in the most garish red bow tie Hiram had ever seen) was helping the neighbor’s kid find his model plane, before being tricked and falling into a swimming pool. Hiram found himself laughing. Archie had always been a gullible fool, it was nice to see that reflected in his new persona. And there right next to him was Jughead, laughing along and eating a sandwich.

Hiram enjoyed seeing what his two former nemeses were up to. He now had a copy of the Registrar delivered to his office every day so he could observe their ridiculously corny adventures. His eyes rolled along the page, looking at the various scenarios the boys found themselves in.

His eyes stopped at the end of the page where the strip had introduced a new character, and older gentleman in a waistcoat with slicked back hair.

And his blood froze as he saw Archie call this new character “Mr. Lodge”.

...Coincidence, surely? There was a Veronica in the strip, so maybe this Mr. Lodge was just her alternate universe father. Why on earth would he be in the strip?

Then, Hiram knew exactly why. In order to convince the witches to hand over their secrets, Hiram had promised to grant the witches legal ownership of their coven’s land, as it was within town limits. Hiram had of course told them what they wanted to hear, but in his legal proceedings earlier that day, he had laid out plans to turn the woodland containing the coven into a tourist lodge.

And somehow, they had found out.

Hiram maintained his composure, even as panic rose inside him. He had faced tougher foes before, and he wasn’t about to let a group of hokey witches take him down. He just had to think of what to do.

Only it was becoming terribly hard for Hiram to think, because a new voice was speaking to him:

“You’re a good boy, Hiram.”

[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.

[cyoc49]

Mr. Grey’s Newest Boy

First story, decided to suit up one of my biggest crushes (Jim Halpert). Inspired by the legendary stories of @mrstepford​.