Jake Lied on his Resume

There was this old, but well kept, building at the end of the block. Built back in the 1890's, brick building including the corner, windows and balconies wrapping around and continuing on down to the edge of the next building. It's a beautiful building. It was for sale for the longest time, till just recently. A corporation bought it, one of their companies will occupy the whole thing. It will be nice to see the building filled again with people. It's a shame when a building lays empty. Working people brings a building to life.

Jake was an ordinary man seeking work. He had been unemployed for more than a year. He had a degree in liberal arts with a minor in business. Not a great degree for business or typical men's work. But he grew up believing that a man can do anything with a degree, and as a young man, he was a bit green to understand that that's not exactly true. A little older, a little wiser, he acknowledges that a more specialized degree would have made his life a lot better.

The building is having it's name changed with the new ownership. Thomas and Golde building is being restored to its former glory of a previous restoration: Art Nouveau frescoes and Art Deco flooring and structural accents. The outside is becoming beautiful.

Jake is just standing on the other side of the street wearing the suit he bought when he graduated to go interviewing with. A once tailored suit is now a bit worn, stretched, faded, and no longer fitting like when it was new. He can't afford another month's rent on his apartment. There's no more food in his cupboards. He has no car to move into. Jake has a very sad state in his present life.

The name of the company is on the front door in gold, how fitting. The lobby is most of the way finished. It looks beautiful. Phone lines, security monitors, light fixtures are in, dust and debris are being cleaned up and a sign is on the counter "For employment opportunities please see the project manager Cox Building, Suite xxx. between 900 and 1800". Just Jake's luck, it's just around the corner.

The Cox Building is also an older building, fully restored last year by the same ownership. Jake went into the lobby to the reception desk for a pass. Security is high. The Cox Building is an art and auction house. The project manager's office is on the top floor, and there's no elevator. But, Jake is fit enough.

The fourth floor is all offices, marble floors, frosted glass office surrounds with antique wood bases. Antique gas lamps refurbished with modern bulb lighting line both sides of the hallway. People's names are etched into the glass. People are everywhere, mostly men. The project manager is a Mr. Slone at the end of the hall.

Jake confidently strides up to the office door and knocks. He knows he needs a job, any job to feed himself at the very least. "Come in," and in Jake walks.

"What brings you to my office today, Mr.?"

"Wells, Sir. Jake Wells. I saw the sign in the Thomas and Golde for new employment. I'm looking for a job, Sir."

"Do you have a resume?"

"Yes, Sir." Jake hands him a crisp resume from a beat up folder.

"You look experienced, but your resume is kinda empty. I see a degree, good college, but petty work experiences where you worked only very briefly here and there. Nothing substantial."

"Finding work that will accommodate a college schedule is difficult."

"I know. I went to college myself."

"After college my mom became sick. The VA took forever to do tests to make a diagnosis. When it was discovered that she had cancer, she died two days later. She was my only family."

"I'm sorry to hear that, but that doesn't..."

"She needed to go to the VA facilities as often as I went to class. She refused to go to a regular hospital. Neither she nor I had the insurance to anyhow. Work has always been needed, but to accommodate the ability to take her to the hospital. Not too many places were willing to allow that kind of schedule."

"I see. What are you looking for?"

"I'm looking for anything. I've been to so many interviews... I need to eat. I can't afford my apartment anymore. I have no more savings. I... I need to work, Sir. I'll do anything."

"Anything? What's your schedule like tomorrow?"

"I have an interview at the bodega close to my home, an interview at the ice cream parlor around the corner..."

"I have something for you, it's not much, but it starts tomorrow morning at 600 hours. It's early, but..."

"I'll be here."

"Not here, at Thomas & Golde. You don't have to dress fancy, we'll fit you with a uniform."

"Thank... Thank you so very much." I have identification for human resources."

"They're in the basement of this building. Go back to the reception and she'll find you a chaperone. Lots of sensitive material in this building, especially in the basement."

"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir."

With that, Jake left the office. Mr Slone calls the front desk, "Ms Swanson, I have another 'opportunity' coming your way."

"Anything special about him?"

"He's pretty close to being a blank slate: he's worked, but in nothing special or specialized, no family, no mention of friends who would care for him. He's too disheveled to have friends who would care enough for him to let him appear as he does. He has no real possessions..."

"Is he hung? I know you looked."

"He's fit, but a bit on the light side. Maybe 150 soaking wet standing 5'10". As for his dick, either his clothes are baggier than are needed, or he doesn't have much to show."

"Or he's a grower and not a shower."

"We rarely see guys like that. He's headed your way for his proof of identification for work. Run his credit, property check, background, everything. When we take him, it has to be like he disappeared into thin air."

"When is he expected to show up for 'work'?"

"Tomorrow morning."

"You're not giving me much time."

"He doesn't seem to have anything or anyone. It should be simple."

"It's never that easy. I'll find something for him to do if I'm not done with his background."

----------

Jake arrived home to his apartment, more of an efficiency. He has a futon that doubles as his bed, a coffee table that's also his dining table. After his mom died he had to sell all of his mother's and familial furniture and possessions to pay for her medical bills. He sold her house to get out of all debts. The last bit of advice he remembers from her about life was, "if you have a car payment and a house payment, pay for your car. You can always sleep in your car, but you cannot drive your house." But, Jake doesn't have a car.

Before bed, Jake set aside his regular medications and a melatonin capsule to help him sleep. He undressed to nude, did twenty minutes of exercises, showered, brushed his teeth. Jake prepared for himself a noodle dinner with a can of tuna and some fresh vegetables. Not the healthiest meal, but it's what he can afford.

Before bed, Jake looked in the mirror. 5'10", 150 lbs. and not a whole lot of body fat on him. He had flat abs, but nothing defined, same with his arms, legs and back. His skin is pasty white, and only a couple scars from when he had chicken pox, fell off his bike and cut his leg on a branch, and when his childhood puppy scratched him deep across the arm. His blond hair is a bit shaggy and he's needing a haircut. His blue eyes are clear and as deep as sapphires. His ass wasn't flabby, and is rather shapely. He's never seen himself as gay, but he knows the importance of keeping that fit. He had always seen his dick as big, but he had nothing to compare it with. In reality it was three inches flaccid, but nine inches extended, a grower not a shower, shaped nicely with a set of nice balls to accessorize the package.

Jake took his medicine and went to bed. He didn't know what life had in store for him, but he was always ready for any adventure.

----------

Five am rolled around and Jake was up. With the Melatonin he slept like a baby, first time in a long time. He didn't know what his job was going to be, or what he would have to do, but he was ready. He dressed comfortably, as instructed, and headed out to an unknown prospect.

The Thomas and Golde building was fogged in a bit with the morning haze. It was a bit ominous, but Jake had to walk in. He needed groceries and to pay rent. He went to the front of the building, but it was locked. When he went around back there was a truck idling, but no one inside. He knocked on the door to the back gate of the building and waited.

The door opened up and this lady was standing there, "You must be Mr. Wells. I'm Cynthia, and I'm going to get you ready. Did Mr Slone describe your job here?"

"Yes, Ma'am, I'm Jake Wells, but no, I haven't been told what the job is. I'm just desperate enough to do anything."

"The market is tough, even with the removal of Obama's attempt to reestablish the typical Democratically endorsed stagnant economy, Trump hasn't been the full ray of sunshine we all expected."

"I'm a Democrat."

"I'm not here to judge, I'm just stating facts. Now, you'll need steel toed shoes, a kilt, and a uniformed polo shirt. We will provide them, we need your measurements. Mr Jackson, at the end of the hall, is the uniform rep who will get you fitted."

"Thanks. Straight this way?"

"Yes, all the way to the end."

The basement is filled with building material, tools, and, strangely, some collapsed cages. Jake strolled down the hallway passing a boiler room and some HVAC equipment to an office in the far end of the hallway. He knocked on the door and it was opened by a tall, black, bald man in black trousers, black shirt, black shoes, and a bright red paisley vest, "You must be Mr Wells. Come in. I need you to take off your shoes so I can properly measure your feet, and I'll need you to take some other measurements for the rest of your uniform."

"Yes, Sir. Thank you. I've never had a job where the uniform was included at no cost to me. Even McDonalds charges their employees for the mandatory uniform."

"Well, you're not working for a franchisee, but a corporation that takes very good care of its employees. Are you working for Thomas & Golde or Cox or one of the various other enterprises?"

"Honestly I don't know. I just talked to Mr Slone yesterday and he said to be here by 600 hours, so I'm here."

"I have an order form for shoes, socks, kilt, shirt, hat, undershirts, underwear, and a variety of accessories. Any questions?"

"Kilt? I've never worn one."

"It's part of the mandatory wardrobe. You wear it or you don't work."

"I understand. I'm not complaining, just a little surprised is all. It's unusual."

"It's not an American company you're working for. 'Scott and Knolls' is your hiring company, part of the transport truck company waiting outside. Your uniform is purple, yellow and grey plaid. with a corresponding shirt and hat."

"Yes, Sir. Where do we start?"

"Well, as odd as this may be, I need you to strip so I can fit you properly. A kilt is not a pair of slacks."

"I'm not an exhibitionist."

"Still, I need to fit you, and the uniform is required or you don't work."

"Yes, Sir. It's just that I don't wear any underwear. I'm nude underneath."

"Strip then. I won't blush."

"Yes, Sir."

Jake's physique is exposed and his face turns bright red. Just as he does so Ms Cynthia walked in. She had just barged in and didn't even acknowledge a naked Jake. She handed Mr Jackson some paperwork, discussed some material from her clipboard, and left the room. Jake kinda freaked.

"Are you alright Mr. Wells?"

"What was that?"

"Cynthia handing me work orders? You're a guy. Surely you've been naked in front of a woman before, or showered in a gym locker with 'the guys'?"

"Well, yeah..."

"Well, then, what's the problem?"

"I guess it's just so unexpected."

"Let's get started. Put your left foot here... and now your right foot. 9.5 Mens D shoe size, 11.5 Women's."

"Women's?!"

"Yes. Quick reference for any instance when footwear is damaged and there is no other option."

"Oh, that makes sense."

"Shall I continue?"

"Yes, Sorry."

Cynthia again walked in. Jake didn't try to hide himself this time, and was more confident this time round. His dick even began to spur from hibernation. "Ooh, Your little thing just sparked right to life, didn't it. To which one of us did it spring for?"

"I'm sorry?"

"For me or for Mr Jackson?"

"I'm sorry..."

"Don't be. It's flattering. How big does it go?"

"I-I"

"Here, let me pump it a little and see. I'm curious now." And she stroked him a couple times. Jake brought up his hands, but eventually stopped as she put her hand on his dick and began to massage it a bit. Jake's little penis grew and grew to the full nine inches he knew, but as she gripped his balls with the other hand and continued stroking his dick engorged to a plumpness nearly nine and three quarters inches and as fat as a beer can. Mr Jackson offered him a little bottle and told Jake to breathe deeply. It smelled awful, but he did as he was told still in the fools delight of a simple hand job.

Deeply Jake breathed from the little bottle. Not a lot, but enough. Cynthia is still stroking him, not quickly, but with due diligence. Mr Jackson pulled out a little vial from the drawer of his desk, and pulled a little bottle from the shelf. Without asking Jake breathed in again from the new vial. This smelled sweet and pleasant. Again and again he breathed in. The more he breathed, the more delirious he became.

Jake was now experiencing a high of ecstasy, not the drug, but sexual delight. Jake is gone, his mind shut off. He doesn't feel, or see, or hear. He was gone to fairy dust rivers, naked ladies, big black dicks, a porno in his mind, or so he dreams.

Jake woke up in his bed. It's 1200 hours and he is under the belief that he's very, very late for work. He got up, rushed to his closet for clothes. There is no suit, no gym clothes, nothing of his regular attire. There are one purple hat, one yellow hat, one gray hat, four purple polo shirts, four heather gray shirts, four yellow shirts, six kilts, two pairs of shoes, six pairs of knee high socks and two pair of matching flashes to his kilts, three sporrans, and three kilt pins. "Is this the dream?"

Before he knew it he felt his cock grow the more he moved about. He also felt something between his ass cheeks. He felt and his ass was sore, but filled with something metal and what felt like a key hole. He rushed to a mirror and there was a plug up his ass that was locked in place. His dick also had a ring circumferencing his dick and his sack. In all his haste he hadn't noticed immediately that he had a metal ring around his neck, like a collar. Jake is dumbfounded. How did he become this way? Did he actually go in that morning? Was his porno dream a reality? He needed to know. He was embarrassed, but he intended to go to Thomas & Golde to see what had happened. But he needed to get dressed. He didn't know how.

Youtube is a good resource, and follow typical instructions he did to get dressed. Kilt fit perfectly at the waist, and went just to the top of the knee. Next were the socks that came up to the knee, flashings added, and the sock tops folded over. Shoes were more like boots and he tied them as low as he could. He picked out a yellow shirt, tucked it in, and grabbed a yellow hat. He looked in the mirror and first thought was as a school girl ready for prep classes, and his dick began to grow again.

The collar, there was nothing he could do with. There was no latch or lock. It was screwed into place with a torx screwdriver, but of a size he didn't have in his box of tools. It was two inches thick, but not heavy, looked expensive, and had 'Scott and Knolls' etched across the front with the office contact information just below.

Jake wanted to call the number, but this was so insane. He just left his apartment and hurried down and across town to the Thomas and Golde building. By now there were people everywhere. Jake felt mortified because of the collar, but he needed answers. He went around back and there were more employees dressed very similarly to him, some with and some without a collar. He went to the backdoor to the basement and knocked.

Ms Swanson was there, "Ah, Mr Wells, we were getting worried. I see your uniform fits nicely."

"Yes, but what about this collar thing?"

"Oh, don't worry about that. That will stay on, our assurance policy, till you work off the cost of your uniform. We're investing a lot in you, we want our money's worth."

"I could just sign a contract."

"The paperwork you signed yesterday explained this well. I'm sure you read it, only a fool wouldn't have."

"I read it, but didn't see anything about this in it."

"I have a copy for you to reread. But you will be prosecuted for breach of contract if to take it off."

"I do want to read it, but I do also remember saying that I'd do anything to work. Oh, there's another thing I need to ask..."

"The locked plug in your ass?"

"Yes. How did you..."

"Again, read your contract. This is not your typical job. Our policies and procedures are very different to accommodate our unusual business model."

"What's happened to me?"

"'Happening'. This is 'happening' to you. Your supervisor is Mr Thompson. He'll explain everything as a part of your orientation. Mr Thompson!!" She yelled down the hallway.

Mr Thompson came out from an office on the far side by where he met Mr Jackson. He's a tall, 6'2", bald white man, 250 lbs of pure muscle. He's wearing a kilt, same colors, but a more masculine pattern, and a white shirt. "You must be Mr Wells. How is the comfort level of your uniform?"

"It's an acquired fit, Sir."

With a smile, "Yes, yes it is. Probably a new sensation for you. Come back to my office. There is much to discuss."

"Ms Swanson..."

"Ms Swanson is busy. Whatever she's working on for you she'll get to you when she has time. Step! Step! Your work begins today and you need to know what's going on."

"Yes, Sir."

Jake enters a large room with a desk and files on one side, bulletin boards lining the rest of the room, table and chairs in the middle. "Take a seat, Jake."

"I would, but..."

"Take a seat! It's not a question, but a statement. I know about your being ass locked. You probably had your ass raped by Mr Jackson. He tends to break in the new recruits. Before you try to reason out what's going on, you need to listen. First, your contract is pretty airtight. You are contracted to work for us for five years doing whatever is necessary, and you will work hard, working with urgency, and do everything that you are told as diligently as possible. This is a transport business. Almost everything is as valuable as its weight in gold, and you will treat it as such. If you break anything, we'll take it out of your pay."

"This is all a lot to take in."

"And there's more. We know of your apartment. It's modest, center of town, center of life. It's important to have a good work to life balance. In a lot of ways this is a typical job. What makes us different is what we transport. We only transport the most valuable of merchandise for businesses, people who can afford the finest of things in life, sometimes countries. We carry nothing that's inexpensive or prudent."

"What about the collar?"

"Yes, about that. We're investing a lot of money in you. Uniforms are cheap, but we're paying for a clearance level, your training and certification in handling sensitive materials, your vehicle in time, etc. Three years salary will be spent in the time of three months. Collar is proof that you're ours and no other, as well as our assurance policy that you'll remain with us till your contract is complete."

"Yes, it's quite a large collar"

"And it will remain so till you have proven yourself and are promoted. Each promotion is a smaller and more discreet collar. But you will wear one for as long as you're contractually obligated to us. You have a gps chip in it that will track both you and your truck to make sure that you're on schedule and doing what you're supposed to be doing."