WARNING: This story contains sexual activity in a fictional environment between adults. Some of the scenarios are built around the notion of enslavement and forced servitude and are sensical for the fictional reality that this story is built in. This story may include some of the following themes and topics: sadism, masochism, trampling, squashing, body odors, forniphilia, digital penetration, anal sex between men, oral sex between men, mutual masturbation, and other acts of sexuality. If you are uncomfortable with these topics, consider reading another story instead. Otherwise, enjoy!
The Commodity, by dmuma
Chapter 1 -- Marcus Denner, Commodity Manager
I was in college when I first met Marcus Denner. My financial aid had dried up and I was out of work, looking for anything I could do to make the next month's rent check. I had really overextended myself: credit card debt, school loans -- I was worried I'd end up homeless if I couldn't find something soon. I checked all the job sites regularly, and took a couple of day-job gigs from Craigslist: painting a nursery, helping clear out a yard, etc.
But one day I saw a post saying that I could earn a cool $2,000 for eight hours of hard, but rewarding work. Craigslist had a lot of scams like this, but it wasn't hurting anything to investigate it. I gave the number to call and spoke with Marcus. He was a cool guy: just said he helped connect people with people they needed, brokered deals, kept a little off the top for his own effort, and gave the rest on. He was very down-to-earth, and incredibly honest.
At the end of our conversation he invited me over to his office, saying that there was probably a client I could work with as early as tomorrow. "What kind of work?" I asked.
Marcus' playful laughter came out of the speaker on my phone, "we'll just have to see what comes in!"
The next day I showed up to the address Marcus gave me, an office in a strip mall next to a grocery store. There were a couple other cars, but it was pretty early. I forgot to ask anything about what I should wear, so I just had on basic business: a button-down with a tie and pressed khakis. I had a change of clothes in my back seat if the job was more manual labor.
As I walked in I was greeted by a guy my own age, sitting at the reception desk. He said that Mr. Denner would be with me in a few minutes and I had a seat. The front of the space had been made into a waiting room. Past the front desk were some open-air cubicles and a couple of closed offices. I was thankful I had the shirt and tie because it seemed like the theme of the place.
After a little while, a moderately short (I guessed about 5'6"), chubby, chocolate-bronze skinned guy in long cut-off jeans and a tight polo came grinning out of one of the office doors and towards me. His hair was shoulder-length and naturally curly.
"Gary, right?" He said as he approached me with his hand out for me to shake. We exchanged a firm handshake and he invited me back to his office.
I sat down in the chair across from his desk. The office was fairly plain: a desk with a computer, a telephone, a calendar sprawled out across the desk, and some pictures with Marcus and his family littered the free space. On the wall there were a couple of awards, some more pictures, and a diploma. There was also a framed workplace rules/regulation notice. The kind of thing that the government demands exists in every office, I guessed.
Marcus sat down, still beaming from ear to ear with his goofy smile. I still couldn't help feeling that this was a good guy and I was really excited to get to work and earn some money.
"So, Gary," Marcus said, getting some paperwork out of one of his desk drawers. "Are you familiar with the new Commodity laws?"
My mind skipped a beat. I had heard about the passing of legislature relating to human trafficking, and elective prostitution. It all ended up being called Commodity laws. As long as it was elective, reimbursed, consensual, and available for early termination, people were able to buy and sell themselves and their skills, talents, etc. (with a bit of the money taxed by the government to repay our massive national debt). It had started out as an extremely unpopular idea, but gradually mental health professionals, medical professionals, sociologists, and economists had found that the idea -- if implemented with a strict ethical code -- had merit for individuals and for society.
I was raised pretty liberal by my parents and I was a Freshman in college when most of this took place. Because of the strict regulation of the system, Commodity was meant to enforce servitude without discrimination towards ethnic minorities or genders, even sexual orientations were specifically protected by new laws.
And even though I'd never done one before, I'd seen recruitments for Commodity jobs on Craigslist. I didn't really think I had a lot to offer physically, and I was pretty sure I'd be rejected by any Commodity agency, so I steered clear. Even then, Commodity had distinctly lowered the price of prostitution (which, as you may have guessed, is the primary utilization of Commodity laws). The notion of earning two grand in a day seemed extreme for having sex for eight hours...
I communicated what I knew about Commodity to Marcus and he continued smiling. "Understand," he said after I finished, "that I'm not a pimp. When I formed this company two months ago, I made it very clear to my staff and every Commodity worker we've employed that this is an optional for-pay gig.
"Yes, I keep a little off the top," he said, scratching his torso, "it helps me pay the cubicle dwellers who handle taxes and payroll and stuff. At the end of your gig, you get a cashable check, and we handle everything else."
I didn't want to interrupt him from his disclaimer about not being a pimp, but my insecurity had caught up to me. "I'm not sure I'm the kind of person who can be a Commodity worker..."
Marcus frowned slightly as he looked at me. "Moral qualms about Commodity?"
"No, nothing like that," I quickly replied. "I just don't think anyone would find me attractive."
His handsome mouth erupted with his boyish smile once again. "I don't know what you like, but I know there are plenty of clients who would love to work with a Commodity such as yourself. My job is to work for you and to work for the agency's clients -- I make the connections, and Gary," Marcus' eyes twinkled as I looked at him, "I'm damn good at it.
"What's important to me," he continued, "is that we find a good fit, and it's work that you feel comfortable doing."
I stammered briefly, feeling a nervous and warm under my collar. "I don't even know where to start..."
Marcus pushed the forms he'd taken out of his desk towards me. There were a series of questionnaires which I scanned through briefly. Questions caught my eye like: "would you be willing to have sex with more than one person at a time?" "How often to work out?" and "Rate your arithmetic skill."
"These forms help me place Commodities with clients," Marcus explained, "and it will be a great jumping off point if you wanted to get started with us. But my more pressing concern is a client we have on the books today. His requested Commodity has completed his contract, and I need a temp to fill in. That's why I posted call for help on Craigslist, and why I was so excited when you called in."
Before I could ask any questions, and as if he was reading my mind, Marcus continued on, "it's a one-time deal, you wouldn't be dedicated to even coming back to agency after you get paid. Normally we do background checks and the whole nine yard, but our client is very insistent he have a replacement and has doubled his pay to make sure we acquiesce. So if you're agreeable, I'll give you $2,000 -- pay your share of taxes and everything, and if you decide you want to try another gig, we'll get you on contract and I'll see what matches up for you."
"What's the job?" I asked, feeling a bit emboldened by the idea of having enough may to pay rent, utilities, get groceries and even take a swing at a chunk of debt.
Marcus grinned as he pushed a sheet of paper towards me. It was a photocopy of client's original request. As I read through the specifics I became nervous but also excited. I looked back up at Marcus when I was done and agreed to take the job.
I walked up the flight of cobblestone stairs towards apartment 2013 with Marcus, taking deep breaths as I tried to calm my anxiety. A couple hours ago, I thought I was meeting with an agency to be placed with a corporate job or something, and now here I was being a temporary Commodity.
Strictly speaking, Commodities aren't supposed to be "temps," they are supposed to enter into long-term agreements with their purchaser. The notion of taking any Joe or Jane off the street and assigning them to go serve a customer could be rife with disaster. Marcus had explained all this too me as a driver took us to the apartment. Past his jovially exterior, I could tell that he was a businessman at heart. He was putting a lot of trust in me (and paying me a cool $2,000 for a single days' work), and I didn't want to let him down.
Marcus told me that usually he didn't go with Commodities on their gigs. Because this was a special occasion, he was escorting me so that he could communicate with the client. For my part, I wasn't really supposed to say anything. I'd read over the client's request in Marcus' office with a lump in my throat, but the offer was too good to pass up, especially when I thought about the looming rent payment or credit card bills back at home.
Commodities -- a legal form of servitude, mostly associated with sexual prostitution -- had been made legal through some recent laws passed by the legislature. Marcus worked to connect Commodities with clients, kept a bit off the top, and managed the taxes and payroll, etc. Normally, a Commodity appointment wouldn't fetch the price this job was going for, but the client had been long-standing with the agency, and his usual Commodity had completed his contract. The client was willing to pay for a short-term replacement, and with what he wanted, I wasn't surprised he was willing to up the ante to get it.
I had changed into a plain white t-shirt and still wore my khakis; though I'd discarded the belt I was wearing and left it in the car. Marcus told me that for this job both me and the client would be more comfortable without the button-up and tie I was wearing when I showed up for my interview. Though the attire I had was not exactly the client's preference, it was a compromise that Marcus was certain he would accept.
Marcus had given me the description of the client's request before we had left, and I wasn't sure it was something I could handle, but Marcus had assured me that this could be a onetime thing, and it would give me a major leg up on my finances. I'm not a real muscular guy, I'm about 5'10" and 175lbs of a mixture of puppy-fat and some tone; I just hope I'm fit enough for the task ahead of me...
"Are you nervous?" Marcus asked as we got to the second floor landing of the apartment building.
"Yeah," I stammered, continuing to be very conscious of my breathing.
Marcus smiled at me, which helped me feel calm for a moment. His soft, brown eyes told me I could do this. It would be over before I knew it. Then he turned to the door, raised his hand, and rapt the door with his smooth, brown knuckles.
The door slowly opened, and I knew that I was in for it.