Dean hugged the edge of the pristine leather lounge while staring at his phone.
"What a small world! I thought you looked familiar," said the tall and slender young lady who was sitting on the other end of the lounge, "I almost didn't recognize you because I barely ever went to professor Belmont's lectures."
Dean swallowed hard and didn't return her gaze. He glanced up to the young man behind the reception desk who didn't appear to be paying attention to the exchange.
Apparently this femme had been in his cohort in college but he didn't remember meeting her before in his life.
"Has she been interviewing many boys?"
"I don't know," Dean spoke without looking away from the safety of his phone.
He noticed the receptionist was a young man, and apparently the only male in the office. Staff had been passing through reception to go home at the end of the work day; all of them were femme.
"Hmm," the girl rubbed her chin and looked around, "From what I hear, boys can't hack it on the creative teams here these days. You must be pretty special if you landed an interview. I had to get a recommendation from professor Belmont just to book this appointment myself. It's nice that they still give boys a chance though."
He didn't know what to say so he just sat in silence. Placing one had on the arm of the lounge chair, he shifted to make more room for the chastity cage which had an ever-present hold on his masculinity. Each time it pinched him was another reminder of his place in the world. Shifting his weight sent a soft tingle through his perpetually sore buttocks. It was impossible to get through a shift at Lady Lakshmi's Palace without coping a few blows from a drunk old lady or two.
Only 18 hours ago, Dean had been dancing on stage dressed up in a Starboy costume. The ridiculous superhero outfit was even more revealing than the tight spandex of the comics and movie adaptation. Dean wore the boots, the neck collar and a much smaller version of the chest armour that left nothing to the imagination. Of course, he wasn't on stage long before ripping his g-string pouch off like a wanton slut, showing off his shamefully hard cock and naughty red butt cheeks to countless strangers.
Everything made sense up there on stage. He always knew what to do under those warm lights. Hearing the reaction of the ladies in the audience made him feel confident and in control. He had worked hard to become the best dancer in the club; it was his world.
But now, in the centre of Gynohale, everything was different. He couldn't even find the correct floor without help from one of the janitors. Despite doing well in school, this place intimidated him unlike anything.
He wanted to open a window and fly away just like Starboy. But even that didn't seem to ever help the young super hero. Despite being able to fly, he always managed to get captured by the villain in every one of the 'Vigilant' movies. Since he wasn't good for anything else, fighting wasn't an option either. He would always play the damsel for the real hero. Vigilant would perform some remarkable feat to save the city and rescue Starboy. She would always be rewarded with a deep passionate kiss before grabbing a handful his toned butt.
Dean had to work again tonight. Instead of the Starboy costume he would be wearing a collar and puppy dog ears. The patrons always seemed to tip a little better when the boys were dressed in that theme every Thursday night. Lady Lakshmi was always looking for new creative outfits that were pleasing to the feminine gaze regardless of how humiliating they were for the boys. Dean sometimes wondered if the humiliation was exactly what appealed to that type of lady.
Now was his big chance to get out of that place for good; to stop selling his body. If this interview went well, the cock between his legs would belong to him again, and not just be some bargaining chip for a sleazy old porn director.
--
"Thank you Eleanor. Your references are very impressive. I'll be in touch in a day or so," said Riya.
She stood and shook the hand of the tall college graduate.
Riya was sitting again before the applicant had closed the door behind herself.
She glanced back down at the resume. It wasn't an impressive interview; the applicant had stumbled over a couple of basic questions. But she was an outstanding candidate because her mother was a senator, the kind if connection that could be invaluable for doing business in America.
Riya had done her research. A close relationship with the government was always good for business back home in India, but in America it was essential. The right connections could do more than open up work, they could also help overcome various licensing and resourcing problems. This was a fact that she found distasteful. Like it or not, she had to hire Eleanor.
Riya swivelled in her chair and gazed out over the beautiful view of the Gynohale business district. As much as America was the cultural leader of the world, she worried that it was leading everyone off a cliff. There was a reason that every skyscraper in view was at least 50 years old. In Mumbai, there would always be a new one coming up. America's biggest export was her creative and cultural zeal, not her prosperity. Long gone were the days of patriarchy. Although most of her colleagues were convinced that the remnants of patriarchy were to blame for the stagnating economy so she kept these thoughts to herself.
She tapped her pen against her desk and ran her fingers over it. The hard steel and glass of Gynohale shone with a brilliant orange in the late afternoon sun.
Butterflies filled her stomach again. A boy had made it past screening. Not just any boy; Dean Johnson himself. She could hardly believe that she would be sitting across from him.
His resume was even more surreal. He was second in his class. Occasionally she would see similar academic performance from boys back home but American boys seemed to be too concerned with spending time at the gym or the salon to study. And the ones who couldn't afford those activities just worked as labourers.
"Full of surprises," she mumbled to herself.
Her eyes skipped down to the bottom of the page to see that he had no work experience.
"That's not entirely accurate," she thought.
Riya immediately chastised herself for reducing the only remaining male applicant to a sexual object.
"I'd better not ask about work experience," she thought.
Then she wondered if he might recognise her; how humiliated she would feel to be exposed as a horny, sexist middle aged lady who hangs out in strip clubs.
"Don't worry Riya," she soothed herself, "he didn't see you that night at the club. Besides, if he had any idea that management for Aphrodite campaigns held meetings at Domina Lakshmi's Palace he never would have applied to begin with."
BEEP
The intercom made her jump.
"Yes Mike."
"Lady Patel. We have a... Dean Johnson next."
"Send him in"
"As you wish ma'am."
Riya stared at the door handle for what felt like an eternity. Suddenly, it began to move and her heart stopped. The first thing she saw was his toned masculine shape. Broad shoulders and carved legs that were well suited to labour. Her eyes automatically moved to his crouch, but he was dressed to look professional. He wore leggings that revealed a hint of a genital bulge without giving everything away. The buttons of his thin short-sleeved shirt struggled to contain his beautifully carved chest. His eyes and face were glorious. He smiled nervously at her and his deep blue eyes almost glowed. The last time she saw that smile, his face was covered in a thick creamy film of some luck lady's cum, before licking his lips clean and looking into the camera saying, "Wow! Thank you domina!"
The same warmth entered Riya's body just as it did while she was watching him dance only a week ago.
Riya sighed and realised that she had been holding her breath.
"Good afternoon Dean. Take a seat."
"Yes ma'am."
Dean managed to make even the most mundane of tasks seem like a dance. He sat with nervous poise. His back was straight, and subtle smile tense with a hint of vulnerability.
She held his fate in her hands.
Riya had forgotten what to say next. He was the last interview of the day, and by now she could run an interview in her sleep. But all she could think about was how she shouldn't think of that video where he takes a spray of thick pussy juice to the face.
