Corporate Restructuring

“Fifth time this month he’s late.” From behind his desk, James tried desperately to distract himself from just how furious he was. Daniel was not a particularly bad performer as far as his work was concerned, but he was a somewhat laxidasical employee when it came to the everyday expectations that the Vita Corporation expected of him. That would be to be on time, to respect authority, to not slack off in his cubicle… Basic fundamental things that make a corporate office run smoothly and efficiently. Looking down at Daniel’s file, James was preparing himself to ream the disobedient subordinate during this employee review. Thus, precisely three and a half minutes past the hour when Daniel entered his office, it shouldn’t have come as a shock.

“You’re late Mr. Fordham. Sit down.” The harsh tone that James spat at the young man was absolutely intended to frighten the young marketing executive, though in typical fashion for the Aussie fella he was, Danny sat down on the bench entirely unperturbed. This had come as no surprise to him, as Mr. Wellington frequently would come down hard on him for just about any minor mistake. There was a bet going around his department about what stupid policy the old American bat would harp on that day, and it was going to make some of the blokes a bit richer.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Wellington?” Danny’s unenthusiastic tone infuratied James. The disrespect his little shit had for him- if they were in Dallas, he’d be on the street with his cardboard box by now, but in Sydney, things were different.

“Fordham, I have told you time and time again about your behavior. You’re soft. You show no respect. You’re late nearly every day. I will not continue to tolerate this type of adolescent rebellion.” Danny tried desperately to hide the smirk which subtly began to pry at the corners of his lips, successfully avoiding tipping off James to his truthful reaction. “But why do you think I called you in this time?” Danny pondered for a moment. Perhaps it was the fact that he tracked sand from the beach across the office carpet on Tuesday. Or that he left his surfboard in the employee lounge overnight on Thursday. Maybe it was the fact that his longboard made skidmarks on the sidewalk at the entrance of the building… Truthfully, Wellington would love to use any of those as an excuse to scream at him.

“Can’t say I have any idea, sir.” James huffed, his face getting redder. He pulled out a piece of paper from the desk drawer and began to read.

“A complaint filed against one Mister Daniel Fordham: Each day during lunch, Mr. Fordham utilizes the building gym for approximately one hour. After which, he showers and returns to his desk on the 47th floor.” James paused and stared at Danny. “Does this sound familiar, Mr. Fordham?” Unsure of where James was going with this complaint, he absentmindedly nodded. James furrowed his brow and continued. “When Mr. Fordham returns to his work, he brings his duffel bag into the office and places it under his desk for the remainder of the day.” Bingo. He now knew precisely where James was going. Looks like Chris and Lyle would be getting $40. “The stench that emanates from this bag is indescribably offensive, distracting, and inappropriate…” Danny chuckled to himself. Which only seemed to enrage James even further. “MISTER FORDHAM! I WILL NOT TOLERATE YOUR INCONSIDERATE BEHAVIOR FURTHER. You will either do something about your… things, or I will make sure you find a job where they do not care about such filth. Do I make myself clear?” Danny nodded, smiling, before rising to his feet.

“Perfectly, sir. I’ve placed it in the men’s room for now, and I’ll think of what do do with it from now on.” James waved off Danny, banishing him back to the cold cubicle which confined him from 9 to 5. As he sauntered out the door, high fiving his coworkers and collecting his winnings, James was fuming behind his desk- he was at the end of his tether. Every other employee understood the corporate hierarchy, and their place in it, except for Daniel Fordham. His work wasn’t by any means subpar. It was completed on schedule, was thorough, and met every goal expected. Rather, it was the tone in which he conducted himself. He didn’t eat, drink, and bleed for the company, and James wouldn’t have it any further. Rising quickly from his desk, he stormed out the door into the large open room.

“FORDHAM! I want PTS reports on my desk in exactly two hours!” The office fell silent, as Danny turned around, dumbfounded.

“I can work through my lunch hour if you need, Mr. Wellington.” James nodded firmly.

“See to it that you do.” James wiped the sweat from his forehead with his handkerchief, and began to walk towards the restroom. All of this shouting was going to give him a heart attack- he needed to take some of his medication and he’d be fine. He burst through the door and leaned against the sinks, fiddling through his jacket pockets to find his pill bottle. Popping the cap, he swallowed two capsules and tossed them back. Controlling his breathing, the middle-aged man looked in the mirror. He was overweight, balding, his suit was baggy and ill-fitted, but above all, he just looked unhappy. He sighed, knowing full well deep down just why it was that he always came down hard on Danny.

Jealousy. He looked at this youthful, relaxed, cool young man who despite clearly being uninterested in devoting his entire life to the company, was as successful as he was. When James was his age, he was a low-level intern, working his ass off to afford rent. Why should this little shit be able to surf through life without a care in the world, while he angrily slaves away, running his company with an iron fist? It wasn’t fair. The man sighed, and looked down. Was this success? It was in this moment that James saw the bag. There, in the far corner of the bathroom, lying atop the granite countertop was Daniel’s ratty old Adidas gym bag he’d just gotten done screaming over.

Something within him snapped, whether it was the mere sight of it or if it was the proximity, but James lost all control of himself. He’d show that little fuck just what he thought of his attitude. He’d just toss that bag down the garbage chute and be rid of it. Then he wouldn’t be smirking anymore, he wouldn’t be joking around, he wouldn’t be so damned relaxed! James scampered over to the bag and took ahold of the beat up shoulder strap… and froze.

One gentle inhale and he was assaulted with it- pungent, odious, rank… the complaint was clearly well founded. The bag was zipped tight and it still couldn’t contain the musk. In his mind, James was ready to entirely eviscerate the fetid bag, but his body disobeyed. He looked around the bathroom, searching for any bystanders who might see him, and when he was satisfied the coast was clear, he turned back to the zipper and slowly began to pull. The quiet buzzing of the zipper opening the bag echoed in the empty bathroom, ringing loudly in James’ ears until it reached the end of the track. Pulling the bag wide open, the smell was noxious. He peered in and saw grey-brown Lonsdale hoodie, shorts, tube socks and Asics Tigers laying atop a heavily worn jockstrap.

James stared down at the items, knowing full well that he should be absolutely appauled, and yet… he was not. He reached out, the tips of his fingers brushing against the still warm, damp fabric of the jockstrap. It was as if he was hit with a freight train, chills ran down his body, seeminly electrifying every molecule within him. It felt… incredible. He looked at his hand, squeezing it into a fist, feeling an odd mix of energetic power and relaxation wash over him. He hadn’t felt this way in years, at least since his early thirties. He reached down and let his fingers drag across the sticky wet socks, causing another burst of electric energy surging through him. This feeling of release, the release of tension that had built within him over the grueling years was an absolute revelation in ways he hadn’t ever experienced before. That’s when he saw his hands… the wrinkles were gone. He peered down looking at his palms, softer, stronger, younger… Turning toward the door, he bolted the door locked and began to shuck his suit.

Free from the bondage of the uncomfortable, cheap suit, he stood naked before the bag, filled with a motivation therebefore foreign to him. The bag beckoned him, and he dove right in. He grasped the jockstrap, bringing it to his nose, inhaling the sharp, sour smell of unwashed dick and sweaty balls. The musk annihilated his senses, forcing a loud moan to escape his mouth, a tad bit deeper than before. His body now nearly on autopilot, he put his two feet into the holes of the jockstrap, pulling it up the sides of his legs until his package fell neatly into the wet, fetid pouch. He felt a stirring in his groin, a odd stretching sensation overtook his cock. Watching with awe, he saw the pouch begin to fill out and sag. He huffed with labored breath as the stained fabric strained to contain the sheer girth and heft of his growing bulge until a long, uncut cock snaked its way out. James poked it with his finger, the slick, slimy coat of pre inundating his pointer finger. Swirling it around under his long foreskin, he gasped at the sensitivity his cock had never before given him, before bringing his hand to his nose. It was sharp, it was virile, and it was hot.

He turned back to the bag, rummaging through it’s contents before he found the shorts, slipping them on just below the waist. His varicose veins retracted back into his skin as it tightened and tanned. The layers of fat melted away and his muscles firmed while bristly hairs began to poke out of his inflating thighs and calves. He could feel his butt tightening and ballooning outward, letting his hands grasp the two strong orbs that now adorned his behind. He turned to the mirror, slapping his ass and enjoying the muscled ripples. He’d grown at least a foot and a half taller, landing at around 6'5.

Swiping the socks and sneakers, he brought the dripping wet items to his face, letting the sweat smear across his face. Ripe, rank, and addictive. Eagerly, he slipped the wet socks up his ankles and calves, and thrust his feet into the massive sneakers. Immediately, he felt his soles begin to expand against the footprint embedded in the insole, stretching and creaking against the leather shoes. His toes elongated and strengthened, as if years of surfing and skating had naturally grown the two prized size 16 boats. From waist below, he was not the same man. Not even a younger version of himself, but rather someone entirely different. His knees weren’t buckling, his ankles weren’t sore, his balls hung low, filled with buckets of potent cum and pumping testosterone. And there was only one more item left.

He grabbed the hoodie, turning to the mirror to see one last glance at the old James Wellington, before he thrust his arms into the open holes. Bubbles began to form beneath his skin, liquefying the heavy sacs of fat that drooped down from his weak arms, until it solidified, being entirely absorbed into his muscles. His biceps and triceps inflated like balloons, straining against the fabric before easing up. His hands were now youthful, limber, strong, tattoos began to crawl out of his knuckles and stretch upward toward his broadening shoulders and swelling pecs. His gut collapsed in on itself in an instant, as if popped by a needle and letting the excess air stream out of him, leaving a tapered, tight waist and strong, cobbled abs. His head popped out of the top of the sweatshirt, caught in the hood itself.

The years melted away, the wrinkles tightened and his hair thickened and shortened into a tight, but sweaty crop. His eyes struggled to adjust to the brightness of the room, until he could finally see out of their piercing blue irises. He fell backward against the wall, sliding downward as if completely exhausted from a particularly long workout: damp, ripe, and pulsating. The lock clicked on the bathroom door, allowing his secretary to walk in.

“No I can’t imagine why the door is loc… Oh! Mr. Wellington! You’re back from your exercise already?”

Jimmy smiled, looking up at his faithful assistant and pulling himself up from the ground. He sauntered over slamming his massive hand onto the lanky young man’s shoulder.

“Sure am. Just taking a breather.” His low, thick aussie accent poured out of his lips like syrup. “Gonna get changed in a minute. Could you see if Danny could come see me in the office whenever he has a minute?”

AN HOUR LATER

Danny walked up to the heavy wooden doors, annoyed beyond belief that he’d be subjugated once again to James’ shrill shrieking. He turned to the assistant, quietly typing behind the desk, though for the first time he’d ever seen before, the bloke was smiling.

“Ay, you alright, Curtis?” The man turned and nodded with a chipper demeanor. Danny brushed it off as a good day for the fella, as he pushed open the heavy door. Immediately he was taken aback. What once was a dark, stuffy, extremely formal room was now open, light and airy. The heavy mahogany desk was gone, replaced with a streamlined metal and glass one at a third of the size. The heavy blinds were gone, letting the full rays of the Sydney sunlight permeate the room. Danny confusedly looked around the empty room, until he caught a familiar whiff coming from the back corner directly behind him.

“Ah good, Danny, you’re here.” Danny spun around, immediately seeing the lean, suave, sexy sight of his boss sipping a glass of whiskey on the rocks. He sat back in the seat, his huge feet and long legs extended outward in a relaxed stretch. Huge feet that… seemed to be the same size as his. In fact, legs that were the same length as his, a suit that was the same dimensions as his… a body comparable to his own that smelled… just like his. “I have a proposition for you, bud. Sit down.” Danny sat down across from Jimmy, dumbfounded.

“Now then. I believe this belongs to you, my friend.” Jimmy tossed the gym bag back to it’s rightful owner, who ignored it entirely to continue his slawjawed awe of the man that sat before him. “What on earth have you been doing, Danny? New preworkout? New vitamins? New protein powder? You do anything different lately?”

“Well, I did take some of the trial supplements from R&D a few days ago. Did wonders on my stamina, but… sir…” Jimmy waved his hand, offering a glass of whiskey to his current subordinate.

“I figured. See, we were hoping to test that in a few weeks, and I’m so glad you tried it early. Looks like the VitaSupps project works better than we anticipated… with some interesting side effects.” Jimmy reclined, throwing an arm behind his head. “I like your energy, Danny. Your essence. I think it’s the direction we need to start heading in, and I think you’re just the kind of guy I want next to me as we do it.” Danny smiled from cheek to cheek, thrilled he was finally getting the recognition he’d always deserved. As the two executives clinked their glasses, the deal was sealed. The Vita Corporation was going to be rolling out their new lifechanging supplement, and they had quite a bit of restructuring to do. Out with the old, in with the new, and with Wellington & Fordham working side by side, the company was more than ready to proceed.