Hey, we’ve all been there, and if we haven’t, we will be soon.
You’re a die-hard Liberal graduate with designs on becoming a well-heeled urban sophisticate. Suddenly, your upwardly mobile life trajectory is derailed by a market crash, and you find yourself economically displaced, forced — forced! — to work among the common man despite your contempt for him. This is nothing like Wall Street!
You’re supposed to be moving dividends around, not hauling loads with your smooth, uncalloused hands that have never been reduced to menial labor, but fate abandons you and soon enough you’re toiling away in a ware…house with uncouth, lumbering men who say things like “supposably” and add a superfluous “s” to “you.” Don’t you roughnecks understand that the pronoun “you” is made plural merely by context?! By context! Oh, you may swallow your pride, but that won’t be all you’re compelled to swallow!
If you really draw the short straw, then you end up with towering Girth Brooks — beefy, hardscrabble, hirsute, and balding in the hot way — as your task master. What starts out with taunting and humiliation at your effete expense gets real when he one day crosses the line, whipping out his jawbreaker of a dick when you’re alone in his office — its vein as engorged and protruding as the one in a seething stock broker’s forehead — as he thrusts you down to your knees with his meaty paw. “Suck me off, bright boy!,” he exhorts, his lip drawn up in a mocking sex sneer. “Never!,” you defy. “This is a clear-cut case of sexual harassment, and it’s not even in my job description!” Grasping your hair, he forces his cock through your protesting lips. “Whatever, pretty boy! I didn’t go to readin’ and writin’ school! Now make it good and quick — I got an installation to installate!”
Before you know what’s happening, you’ve become his personal suck boy, taking it hard atop the desk and cowboying on his mammoth prick, your regular nooners audible to everyone who knocks at the door asking for Girth and is driven away by his gruff snarl of “We’re almost finished!” “I hate you motherfucker!,” you say through gritted teeth as Girth maneuvers you up and down that shaft before he finally sprays all over you. “You’ve turned me into a whore!” He makes you polish off that sex stick with your smart mouth, holds your face in his massive palm, and grins before zipping up and strutting off. “Yeah.”
Word gets out that you’re the work site slut, and by the end of your first month, you’re servicing everybody, each night going home sore-assed and defiled by all those surly, haunch-banging motherfuckers — sometimes in groups — who went to DeVry.
Now you know what capitalism is, boy.
Catch this entire scene NOW!