FSE

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Morale Booster

M fox/FtM lion, brainwashing/hypnosis, office jobs, dystopian, mental change, videos, mild orientation play (aroace -> gay)

Summary: severance for perverts

Kit tried and failed not to slouch in the office. It was enormous, easily the size of his entire shithole apartment, with a window overlooking the skyline. All of the furniture, from the giant desk to the ceiling-height bookshelves, were made of dark, expensive-looking hardwood. The chair he sat in was leather. Even the carpet was thick and soft. As a rule, Kit detested places made for rich people, but this 80s corporate shit took the cake. Something about it was suffocating. No matter how many times he came here, he never got used to it.

He’d gotten the email summoning him last week. “Mr. Ironweed, I have the pleasure of conducting your performance review. I would like to assure you that this was a coincidence and that our meeting on Thursday will be strictly business.” Bullshit and bullshit. Kit worked in the agriculture building mailroom and Cal was the head of HR. And Cal’s plans for impersonal meetings never panned out that way. The last time he promised professionalism, the meeting lasted about 15 minutes before Kit was muzzled and bent over that stupid fucking desk with his pants on the floor.

He was so concentrated on feeling sorry for himself that he jumped when the door opened and nearly knocked over his cane. An older fox strode in in a well-tailored business suit, his tail lashing. He sat down primly at his desk. “My dearest apologies, Mr. Ironweed. I was in a meeting that went quite over time.”

“Sorry to inconvenience you,” Kit said sarcastically. His tone flew right over Cal’s head.

“No no no, don’t worry about that. I can always make time for you.” He grinned, all long, sharp teeth. “In this case, I’ve got to! Would you care for some water? Coffee?”

“I’m good.”

“It’s important to stay hydrated, you know.”

“Really, I’m good.”

“Are you sure? You look thirsty!” He turned in his leather chair, pouring into a paper cup from a fancy glass pitcher. “I must insist.”

“Fine,” Kit said, and Cal passed it to him. He took a big swig. “Happy?”

“Very.” He pulled a thin sheaf of papers from a file on his desk. “Let’s begin, shall we?”

“Let’s.”

“Now. I’d like to start off by saying that your performance is very consistent. For the most part, you’re on time, and you rarely leave early.” Kit let himself relax. It looked like he was going to get off easy. “That being said, it seems here that you’re just satisfactory in most areas.”

“That’s good, right?”

“Well.” Cal folded his stupid little black paws. Just the motion pissed Kit off. “It’s satisfactory. You aren’t connected with most of your coworkers, you don’t offer many suggestions during team meetings, and you only meet quota around 80% of the time when I just know there’s a 92% in there. We’d like a little more… enthusiasm.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Well, you've just been doing the bare minimum. Additionally, our facial recognition software indicates that you only spend 8% of your workday visibly cheerful. It’d be lovely if we could get that up to around 40 to start.”

Kit’s jaw dropped. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Please, Mr. Ironweed, let’s keep this professional.” He smiled.

“Cal, this barely pays my rent. I am legally barred from getting anything better. If I’m frowning all the time it’s because this job is hell on my leg. The leg that mercs from this goddamn company shot. I don't think it's reasonable to expect sorting mail to be the highlight of my day.”

He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Setting aside the fact that you have refused my attempts to remedy your financial situation—”

“I’m not going to be your sugar baby.”

The look in Cal’s eyes briefly turned murderous. “I’m just going to ignore that little comment. Do you have photosensitive epilepsy?”

“What? No?”

“Excellent.” The fox relaxed, sitting upright. “Then all you’ll have to do is watch a motivational video.”

Kit’s ears perked up. Clover Corp punishments were usually bizarre and traumatizing, not… this. “Really?”

“Yes, really. This won't take long at all.” He rose from his chair. “Why don’t you come with me?”

Kit had to speedwalk to keep pace with Cal's casual stroll. He followed him down a series of progressively quieter and more disused hallways, until they came to a small, windowless room with a concrete floor and soundproofing on the walls. In the center of the room, there was a single chair with restraints set across from a CRT television on a cart. There was a drain directly below.

He’d celebrated prematurely. The setup reminded him of where he’d been tortured after the war. He shot a glance towards Cal, who was as infuriatingly unreadable as usual. “Go on, Kit,” he said encouragingly. “Just take a seat.”

When Kit didn’t move, Cal took his shoulder and gently pushed him over to the chair, forcing him to sit. The fox snapped and tightened the restraints on his wrists, ankles, and head in breezy, practiced motions. Then he pried Kit’s cane out of his paw and set it on a far wall. Cold, numb terror was creeping into his limbs.

“Would you relax,” Cal said casually, striding over to the television. He started to rummage through the shelf of tapes beneath the cart. “I’m not going to hurt you, silly. It’s just a video.”

“Then why—why are you—”

“It’s for my safety. You were a dissident, once. It’s unfortunate, but we’re alone together in a rather empty part of the floor, and the company has determined that it’s for the best if you’re properly restrained.” The look on his face made it clear that, if any of that was not a massive fucking lie, he thought it was very fortunate. “Ah! Here we are.” He pulled out a tape marked “MORALE MALE” and slipped it into the VHS slot, then put in a pair of earplugs. He sauntered back to lean against Kit’s chair as the tape started automatically.

The video opened on a CloverCorp logo spinning and sparkling into focus. It cut to a smiling golden retriever in a suit. He was standing in the plaza in front of Clover’s semicircle of skyscrapers. “Hello!” He waved. “If you're seeing this video, it's because you've been noted as having poor morale during your yearly performance review.

“It can be hard to stay motivated on the job, especially if there are outside stressors. But I’ve found that keeping three things in mind has really helped me: knowing how my work benefits my community, the corporation, and, of course, myself.”

The video cut to footage of various Clover facilities circa the early nineties. “The Clover Corporation is the backbone of not only the western Réníasyan region, but the entire planet. Your work is vital to the industries of agriculture, pharmaceuticals, security, arms manufacturing, occultism, and government. But don't just take my word for it!”

It cut again, this time to a talking head shot of a fidgety mouse. “Well, gee, I just don't know where we’d be without Clover! Before the pesticide and neurotoxin factories moved into town, Marysville was struggling. Now, we’ve got a 100% employment rate!”

Somewhere in the audio was an irritating, high-pitched squeal. And by the headache he was getting, he could tell there were frequencies he couldn’t actually hear. He jerked against the restraints, but the chair was bolted into the floor and everything held fast. Something was making him drowsy and he wanted to get out before it overtook him.

“Sit still, darling,” Cal murmured. “Just relax and pay attention, now. Good boy.”

Now there was a bull talking, gesturing to some giant golden statue of a unicorn. Kit vaguely recognized it as the CEO. “We employ over 20 million people. And those 20 million have brought trillions in value to our shareholders.” Something briefly flashed onscreen, but it was too fast to see. He thought it was a problem with the tape; it looked a bit like a test screen for old televisions. But they were nice. The colors were nice. He liked them.

“Thanks to your hard work and dedication, I have been able to afford a second yacht,” the bull said. There was another flash of patterns and colors, and Kit had a thought occur suddenly, clean and sharp: RELAX. Half of him screamed to stay awake and fight, but he slumped a little in his chair. Relaxing was good, right? It was good to relax.

There went more flashes and more words: OBEY. SUBMIT. GOOD BOY. Kit started to purr. He understood now. He’d wanted to be a good boy, desperately, and it was so easy. Somebody else was doing the thinking. All he had to do was let them.

Gradually, the words being spoken melted into pleasant background noise. Cal was absently stroking his mane, and he knew that he was supposed to be angry about that, but mostly he was just happy. He watched the pretty flashing patterns and the pretty furs milling about on screen. His jaw went a little slack and his boxers felt damp.

“You may be a cog in the machine,” the dog said, “but just remember: you’re a cog in the most important machine on the Trance Planet.” Then the video switched off.

Cal circled around and removed the VHS tape, then pulled out his earplugs. “Are you with me, Kit?”

“Yessir,” he breathed.

“I’m going to give you some more instructions. You’re going to repeat after me, okay?”

“Okay, sir.”

“You love your job.”

“I love my job.”

“You’re at your happiest and most fulfilled at work.”

“I’m at my happiest and most fulfilled at work.”

“You are indescribably grateful to the Clover Corporation.”

“I am inde… indescribb…” For some reason, the words wouldn’t fit in his mouth.

Cal smiled. It looked benevolent. Suddenly, Kit was absolutely convinced that this man would never hurt him or lie to him. “That’s alright. We can move on, huh?” Kit nodded. “You love nothing more than taking orders.”

“I love nothing more than taking orders.”

“Work is your biggest priority.”

“Work is my biggest priority.”

“You are a good, obedient citizen.”

“I am a good… obedient citizen.”

Cal paused for a moment, considering Kit carefully. “You are a massive slut.”

“I am a massive slut.”

“You are a fucktoy for your superiors.”

“I am a fucktoy for my superiors.”

“You are in love with Cal Catmull.”

“I am in love with Cal Catmull.”

Cal snapped, and the world came into slightly more focus. “There we go. Do you mind filling me in on what just happened, Mr. Ironweed?”

“Um, we, uh…” Kit tried his hardest to remember the events of the last 20 minutes. He squinted. “You took me in here, then… we watched a video, and then… it’s fuzzy but it felt really nice.” He relaxed and sighed. “I feel so nice right now.”

“Attaboy. How would you feel about going to my office? Just to conclude your review.”

Against his will, Kit started to purr. “I-I’d like that, sir.” He was blushing. Why was he blushing? It felt like there was a magnet in his stomach, drawing him towards Cal as he undid his restraints. It was… frightening. He’d never felt like that before. Something was wrong. Before he could question it too much, Cal was helping him up, passing him his cane and leading him out of the room.

As they walked, Cal rested a paw on the small of Kit’s back and it felt like fireworks. He let out a small whimper. God, he wanted Cal. He wanted him more than anything.

The two of them walked into the office and Cal locked the door behind them. Something about the room still set his hindbrain off, but the version of Kit in control liked it. It felt warm and fuzzy and nostalgic now, like a sitcom set. Best of all it smelled faintly like Cal.

Paws on his shoulder guided him to the desk, and he ended up bent over it, his head resting on the cool wood. He sighed. Cal’s paws were soft on his waist, pushing his shirt up and stroking his back, trailing down to his hips and thighs.

“We’re going to fix that 8%, one way or another,” Cal purred. He squeezed Kit’s ass and it made him squeak. He turned him over like he was a ragdoll and shoved Kit’s pants down. “Christ, you’re so fucking pliant when you’ve been broken in properly.”

There was something that Kit wanted to say, but all that came out was “please”. He kept staring at Cal’s chest. It was lean and nicely-shaped, with greying fur. He’d never been turned on by someone’s body before. Usually, Cal had to muzzle Kit and put a gun to his head to get him this worked up. Was this what sex was supposed to feel like? It was disorienting.

As Cal pulled away to unbuckle his belt, dread sparked up in Kit’s chest, then died. He liked this too much to be truly scared. And then Cal grabbed his shoulder and shoved into him.

Kit fucking wailed and bucked his hips, grabbing onto Cal’s shoulders and digging his claws into the expensive fabric of his suit. Above him, Cal groaned. “Oh, attaboy. You like being my sex toy, don’t you? You fucking love this.”

“Yes sir, please more,” Kit purred. It felt like his skull was full of cotton candy. Mindlessly, he bucked his hips and whined out his name. Fucking hell. He could hardly hear the part of his psyche begging him to wake up, to do something. Sheer pleasure was drowning it out. He cried out again for Cal and held him tighter, hitching his good leg around his slim waist.

Cal leaned down and bit into Kit’s shoulder, hard. He almost came then and there, but he managed to pull himself together at the last second. He wanted to be good for Cal, right? He wanted to make this as good as possible for him.

When he spoke, Cal was panting. “You know, sometimes I think we’ve finally beaten the beast out of you, and then I see the way you act when we fuck.” He shoved Kit’s head down and held it against the desk. “You turn into a wild animal. It’s like you’re fucking rabid.”

Kit moaned in response. “I am, I’m a rabid animal, please put me down,” he breathed. His voice sounded unfamiliar, all high-pitched and adoring. “Fuck me.”

“Worthless little anarchist whore,” Cal snarled, “I should’ve shot you when I had the chance.”

That did it. Kit got shoved over the edge with a wail, hard enough that he went deaf for a second. He was too out of it to know how much longer Cal spent railing into him, but eventually, he came inside of him and collapsed on his chest, out-of-breath.

After a moment, Kit found it in himself to ask “Did I do good?”

“Yes. Very good.” Cal pulled himself out and stood fully, a little unsteady on his paws, then tucked himself back into his pants and zipped them up. “Good boy.” He patted Kit’s head absently, like he was a quiet child being sent back to his room. “Go clean yourself up. Bathroom’s down the hall, you know the drill.”

“Yes sir.” Kit managed to push himself off of the table and pull his pants up. Cal was already circling back around, sitting at his desk chair and getting his papers back in order. He felt a jolt of joy. Now that Cal was done with him, he’d get to go back to work.

***

From then on, things were different at work. Kit smiled and greeted everyone. He cheerfully ignored the screaming pain in his leg. Sorting mail became something that he could get completely and utterly lost in without zoning out or daydreaming. He worked quickly and efficiently. Every day, he’d meet quota by noon. Then he’d come home at the end of the day, send Cal whatever pictures or videos or voice recordings he wanted, and go to bed early. That way, the next day would come sooner and he’d get to go to work again.

And when something in the back of his skull screamed in panic, he ignored it. He ignored Elsie’s texts to just please talk to her, ignored the dreams of old gods and the prairie. He ignored the sense that something wasn’t right. He ignored the feeling that his body wasn’t his anymore.

He’d never been happier. That was what Cal said, anyways.