This is the first Faunus Fantasies, LLC story, originally called
Faunus Fantasies, LLC
, amazingly enough. When I wrote it back in 2013, I thought I was done. No more Faunus. The End.
I was wrong.
Late in 2019 I had an idea for another story. I couldn't stop thinking about it. The only way to get it out of my head was to write it. Then I had another idea, followed by another. Without meaning to, I had written a series, but the titles didn't make that clear. I'm now fixing the titles so their order is more obvious.
Thanks so much for reading and commenting! I really appreciate it.
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Before I signed up with Faunus Fantasies and started getting paid to fuck hot women, I was a branch manager for a small, independent bank. I'd been with them for more than ten years, working my way up from an entry-level teller position right out of college. We got bought out by a much bigger financial institution. The new owners closed my branch, so I was out on my ass with no prospects because of the recession. I looked for a job in my field for over a year. I sent out a zillion resumes, but never got a single phone call, letter, or email in response.
Things were bleak. My wife cheated on me with several different men -- and a couple of women -- then left me for a college-age slacker who lived in his parents' basement. She got the house in the divorce. I moved to a tiny apartment in a sketchy part of town. When I looked out my one small, greasy window, I had a great view of a graffiti-covered brick wall. My sex life was nonexistent and my self-esteem was in the toilet.
I finally got a low-paying sales job at a big chain store. I wore a fake smile and a blue polo shirt all day. I sold overpriced washing machines to angry husbands who didn't want to be there. I was trim and fit at 35 -- six feet tall, 190 pounds, and horny as hell. I sometimes got hit on by much younger coworkers but I kept things professional. Don't shit where you eat, I always say.
Most of my paycheck went to my ex-wife and my landlord. I had just enough extra to pay for food, gas, rent, and Internet. Luckily, I got to keep my computer in the divorce. After work, I'd hit the free community center gym for a couple of hours. After that, I'd slink home and surf the Web, looking for job leads and free porn. One night, an ad for Faunus Fantasies caught my eye. "GET PAID BIG $$$ TO MAKE LADIES' DREAMS COME TRUE IN YOUR AREA!" the garish black-and-red animated text shouted. "FAUNUS FANTASIES WILL MAKE YOU THE STUD YOU ALWAYS KNEW YOU COULD BE! CLICK HERE FOR MORE!"
On an impulse I still can't explain, I clicked the ad, figuring it was probably a boner pill website that would try to mess up my computer. I was surprised to find a very professional-looking site. It was hard to tell what they were selling, but the testimonials from their clients -- all of them women -- were glowing with praise. "Best time I've ever had in my life. -- Teresa A." "I love you, Faunus Fantasies! -- Melanie R." It went on and on.
Still not sure what the hell they actually did to get so much praise, I clicked around the site trying to figure it out. Finally, I selected their careers link. I found myself filling out a painfully detailed job application, on the theory that their questions would help me guess what they were up to. They asked for my work history, education, height, weight, health habits -- the normal stuff, plus some. I kept answering their questions, not paying close attention. I'd filled out so many online job forms, I could do it in my sleep.
The questions got more personal. I continued clicking with more curiosity. They wanted to know my sexual history and tastes, including my sexual orientation on the Kinsey scale, the number of partners I'd had and their genders. One lengthy section asked what sex acts I'd participated in, whether I was the giver or receiver, and how likely it was that I would do them again.
Then they wanted to know the length and girth of my erect penis. I found a tape measure, then pulled up a favorite porn clip for inspiration. After getting my measurements and squeezing one off into a tissue -- that video got me really horny -- I completed the form and clicked the submit button. It was after midnight and I was pretty sure I'd just taken two hours to apply for a job as a male prostitute. "Why the fuck not?" I thought. "I'm getting screwed by my ex, my landlord, and my employer -- why not screw somebody else and get paid for it?"
Annoyed with myself, I shut off the computer and went to sleep.
* * *
The next day, my phone rang right as my lunch break was ending. I didn't recognize the number, so I let it roll over to voicemail. I wasn't able to check messages until after work, walking back to my car.
"Hi, Mike. This is Claire Stevens with Faunus Fantasies. We got your application and we're very interested in meeting you. Please call me if you're still interested." She left her phone number before hanging up. I called even though it was after ten. Because it was so late, I expected to get her voicemail but a gruff male voice answered after half a ring.
"Faunus Fantasies. Eddie here."
"Hello, Eddie. This is Mike. Mike Moller. Claire Stevens left a message earlier today, asking me to call."
"Yeah, she did. Thanks for calling, Mike. Lemme cut to the chase, here. On paper, you got what it takes to be positively ace at this job, but we gotta see you in person to be sure. Our office is downtown, in the old sewing machine factory. The Whitson Building. You know the place?"
"Yes, sir, I do."
"We're in suite 206. When can you swing by?"
"I'm off tomorrow. Would that be too soon? I know it's short notice."
"Lemme check my calendar." I heard him drop the phone and curse. This was followed by the sound of papers rustling. He picked up the phone again. "How about nine thirty in the morning?"
"Sounds good."
"Great. See you then."
"Thank you. Goodbye."
"Catch you later."
* * *
I put on my best pinstripe suit, yellow polka-dot tie and black tassel loafers for the interview -- the same outfit I used to wear every day at the bank. I checked myself in the mirror. I'd taken some hits, but I hadn't let myself go. I looked neat, trim, and perfectly hireable. Hell, I would have hired me, back when I was making hiring decisions.
I parked my cheap beater car in front of the Whitson Building at 9:00. I was grateful for free parking. I rode the elevator to the second floor, where I found myself facing a plain, wooden door labeled "Faunus Fantasies, LLC". I let myself in.
"Hi, you must be Mike," the receptionist said. "I'm Claire. How are you today?"
I took in a sharp breath. Claire was a stunner with green eyes and a dazzling smile. Her short, dark hair emphasized her feminine facial features, and what I could see of her body above the desk was amazing. Nice, round tits, not too large -- probably not much more than a handful each -- and a trim waist. She stood to greet me and I was treated to a view of one of the most amazing pair of legs I've ever seen. In heels, Claire was about 5' 11" and maybe 140 pounds. She wore a tight green top and a dark gray pencil skirt that stopped several inches above her knees. As she stepped out from behind her desk, I saw that she was wearing three inch open-toe heels. Her calves were delightful. We shook hands.
"Hi Claire. Yes, I'm Mike. I spoke to Eddie last night. I have a nine-thirty appointment with him."
"So you do. It's great that you're early. This is one of those places where if you're on time, you're late." I could not help but return her smile. "I'll take you to Mr. Tor's office now," she said.
I followed her down a short hall, all the while watching her round, firm ass swaying hypnotically. I felt my erection growing. I was glad I had my suit coat to hide it. Eddie's door was open when we reached it. After Claire waved me in, she closed the door behind her. Eddie was a balding, heavyset guy in a yellow polo shirt with the collar flipped up. He wore cargo shorts, sandals, and dark socks. His skin had the color and texture of cottage cheese. He leaned all the way back in his big, brown, leather chair. He was arguing on the phone.
"Listen, Skip. You want to work again? Follow the goddamn script! Nowhere in the script was that skirt supposed to get fingers in her ass. You got that? Not everybody wants that. That's why we got a checklist." He listened for a few seconds to Skip's explanation, then interrupted. "I don't fuckin' care what she said she wanted when you were doing the scene. The script's the script, right? Fuckin' remember that next time. Assuming you get a next time." Eddie slammed the receiver down with some force, then turned to me with a wide grin.