Chapter 10: Special Assignment
The soles of Pete’s worn sneakers squeaked slightly on the lobby’s polished marble, the same cold floor that had chilled his bare feet just yesterday. He’d barely made it five steps past the turnstiles, the echo of the pre-dawn bus still rattling in his bones, when a clipped voice stopped him. "Pete. HR. Now." A security guard jerked his head towards the side corridor, expression impassive.
Pete’s stomach tightened. Already? But then he remembered Karn’s low voice near his ear yesterday, the unexpected hardness pressed against his hip, the whispered promise: ‘Almost there. Got you something better lined up.’ A flicker of hope, warm and naive, pushed the anxiety aside. This must be it. Karn’s helping. He adjusted his thin Red Tag vest and followed the guard, his steps quickening with forced cheerfulness.
The HR conference room was its usual tomb of sterility. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, washing everything in a flat, unforgiving glare. The long table, polished to an icy sheen, felt like a barrier. Vance, the HR manager, sat behind it, her posture rigid, fingers steepled. The faint scent of her expensive, slightly floral perfume did nothing to mask the underlying tang of disinfectant and stale coffee from the carafe beside her.
"Pete. Sit," she commanded, not looking up from her tablet. Her voice was smooth, practiced, devoid of warmth. Pete perched on the very edge of the hard plastic chair, hands clasped in his lap to hide their faint tremor.
"New initiative," Ms. Vance began, finally glancing up. Her eyes, a cold hazel, scanned him dispassionately. "Due to recent promotions, Purple Tag employees now have the privilege of selecting one Red Tag for… personal assistance duties. One day per month." A thin, professional smile touched her lips, not reaching her eyes. "Karn selected you. Effective immediately. Report directly to his office. Now."
Pete’s breath hitched. Relief, thick and dizzying, washed over him. Yes. Exactly what Karn said. He really did get me something better. No wondering what awful task I’ll get stuck with today. He managed a small, earnest nod. "Yes, Ma’am. Thank you." Vance’s smile thinned further. She reached beside her chair and lifted a small, clear plastic bag sealed with a corporate logo sticker. Inside lay a folded square of something that shimmered faintly, like oil on water, almost invisible against the plastic. She slid the bag across the gleaming table towards him.
"Additionally," she stated, her tone flat, "you are on today's clothing compliance roster. This," she tapped a manicured nail against the bag, "is your designated attire. The ‘Harmony Weave’ jockstrap. It adheres directly to the skin. Provides minimal coverage compliant with Regulation 7-B. You’ll change into it later." Her gaze held his, unwavering. "Report to Karn first. Do not change beforehand. Understood?"
Pete’s fingers closed around the cool, slippery plastic of the bag. The contents felt unnervingly light, insubstantial. A chill snaked down his spine, momentarily piercing the bubble of relief. The chosen clothes. Karn’s warning yesterday echoed. He looked down at the shimmering nothingness in the bag. "Understood, Ms. Vance," he said, his voice firmer now. He clutched the bag tightly. "Report to Karn first. Change later."
"Good." Vance’s attention was already back on her tablet. A clear dismissal. "Proceed."
Pete stood up, the plastic crinkling faintly in his grip. He gave another quick nod, then turned and practically bounded out of the suffocating room. The heavy door hissed shut behind him, sealing away the sterile chill.
The corridor outside felt different now, charged with purpose. The dread of the unknown workday melted away, replaced by a buoyant sense of being looked after. Karn’s office was on the fifth floor, the Purple Tag zone. Pete headed straight for the executive elevators, a route usually forbidden to Reds, but Karn had secured him special access for this. His reflection flashed in the mirrored doors as they slid open – a young man in a cheap red vest clutching a bizarre secret in a plastic bag, but his face… his face was lit with genuine, trusting happiness.
He stepped inside, the plush carpet silencing his steps. The elevator glided upwards, smooth and silent. He held the bag up slightly, peering at the shimmering fabric within. It felt alien, unsettling. But then he thought of Karn’s easy smile, the supportive hand on his shoulder yesterday amidst the unsettling lobby encounter. Karn wouldn’t steer him wrong. This was the path Karn had smoothed for him. The weird outfit was just… part of the deal. A small price.
The elevator chimed softly. 40th floor. The doors sighed open onto a hushed, carpeted hallway lined with dark wood and frosted glass doors bearing discreet nameplates. Karn’s office was at the far end. Pete hurried down the corridor, the plastic bag rustling softly against his leg with each eager stride. He barely registered the few early-bird Purple Tags glancing up from their desks as he passed, their expressions unreadable behind screens. His focus was fixed on the door ahead, marked simply: K. Thorne.
He reached it, his heart beating a quick, hopeful rhythm against his ribs. He raised his hand, hesitated for only a second, the image of Karn’s encouraging smile bright in his mind, then knocked firmly, twice. The sound echoed slightly in the quiet hall. He clutched the bag containing his invisible future, a smile spreading across his face as he waited for his friend’s voice to call him inside.
The rich, cedar scent of Karn’s office enveloped Pete as he stepped inside. Karn rose from his sleek desk, his genuine, wide grin instantly melting Pete’s lingering anxiety. "Pete! Perfect timing, mate," Karn said, his voice warm, rounding the desk towards him. "How was the HR gauntlet? Vance didn’t give you too much grief, I hope?"
Pete felt his shoulders relax completely, the sterile fear of the conference room replaced by Karn’s familiar ease. He held out the transfer document, the paper crisp in his hand. "No, it was fine. Just like you said yesterday, Karn. Thanks for getting me out of the grunt pool, seriously." His voice held pure gratitude. "They gave me this... thing, too." He gestured vaguely at the crinkling plastic bag containing the shimmering 'Harmony Weave'. "The invisible jockstrap."
Karn took the document, his eyes briefly scanning it before tossing it casually onto his desk. A light, disarming chuckle escaped him. "Oh, that old compliance rubbish. Standard procedure, Pete, honestly. Don’t sweat it." He clapped Pete amiably on the shoulder. "Honestly? I’m just glad you’re here. And frankly, I prefer seeing you in your own threads. Makes you look more… comfortable." He gestured towards Pete’s worn but clean jeans and company tee. "Feels more like my mate Pete, not just another Red Tag."
Pete exhaled, a wave of profound relief washing over him. Karn understood. The cold dread associated with the strange garment dissipated. He was safe here, with his friend, in his own clothes. "Yeah, thanks, Karn. Really." He managed a small, shaky smile.
The shrill, insistent ring of Karn’s desk phone shattered the moment. Karn’s brow furrowed slightly, annoyance flickering across his composed features. "Thorne," he answered, his voice regaining its smooth professionalism. He pressed the speaker button before Pete could even blink. Vance’s cool, clipped voice filled the spacious office: "Karn. Pete should be with you now. Ensure he changes into the day’s selected attire immediately. Do not delay. Regulation compliance must be maintained promptly."
The line went dead with a soft click. Silence roared in the plush room, thick and sudden. Karn slowly turned back to Pete, his expression shifting into one of carefully constructed dismay. He ran a hand through his perfectly styled hair. "Pete… shit. Mate, I’m so sorry." He sounded genuinely contrite, the picture of a friend caught in bureaucracy. "I thought… I really thought I could swing you staying dressed today. Vance just overruled it. Corporate policy nonsense."
Pete felt the heat explode across his face and neck, a fierce blush staining his fair skin. He looked down at the offensive plastic bag still clutched in his hand. "It's… it's okay, Karn," he mumbled, forcing the words past the lump in his throat. He swallowed hard. "Really. It’s… better than two days ago." His voice dropped almost to a whisper. "At least I’m not… you know. Naked. Walking around like that." He lifted his gaze, meeting Karn’s eyes with a desperate attempt at bravery. "And… you’ve seen me, anyway. So… it’s fine. I don’t mind." The lie felt brittle.
Karn’s expression softened into one of deep appreciation. He placed his hand back on Pete’s shoulder, the grip reassuring. "Thanks, Pete. Really. Thanks for understanding the position they put me in." The gratitude seemed sincere, masking the subtle thrill beneath. "I hate that this is the way it is."
Pete nodded quickly, eager to alleviate any burden on Karn. "No problem at all. Least I can do." He hefted the plastic bag. "I’ll just… head to the restroom and change now. Get it done." He offered Karn a tight, determined smile. "Wouldn’t want you getting into any trouble because of me." He turned towards the door, the image of cooperative efficiency, the plastic bag rustling faintly as he moved.
Pete pushed open the heavy oak door to the executive restroom, the sterile scent of lemon cleaner stinging his nostrils. He locked it behind him, leaning back against the cool wood for a moment, his breath shallow. The crinkle of the plastic bag sounded deafening in the sudden silence. He stared at his reflection in the vast, unforgiving mirror: a young man in a plain red vest and worn jeans, holding a tiny bag containing his forced vulnerability.
He tore the seal open, fingers trembling slightly. The folded square slid out, unnervingly light and cool. It shimmered with an iridescent sheen, like a dragonfly wing. Following the minimal instructions printed on the bag – Apply directly to skin; activate with moisture – he quickly stripped off his clothes. Goosebumps prickled his skin in the air-conditioned chill. He pressed the membrane against his groin; it dissolved instantly upon contact with his palm's sweat, leaving only a faint, residual coolness and the unsettling feeling of being utterly exposed.
He looked down. It was as if nothing was there. His cock and balls hung completely visible, unprotected. A hot wave of embarrassment washed over him, his cheeks flaming. He hastily pulled his jeans and tee back on over the phantom garment, the fabric feeling oddly alien against skin that felt bare. Just get it over with, he told himself, pushing down the humiliation. Karn was waiting. He exited, the plastic bag discarded in the bin.
Back in Karn’s office, the cedar scent seemed thicker now, almost cloying. Karn glanced up from his monitor, a casual smile already forming. It faltered for a microsecond, his eyes flicking down and then back to Pete’s face with practiced ease. "All set, Pete? Quick change."
"Yeah," Pete managed, his voice tight. He stood awkwardly just inside the door, feeling Karn’s gaze like a physical touch. "Said it was invisible. Guess they meant it." He forced a weak chuckle, trying to match Karn’s light tone. "Honestly, Karn, this thing… it’s practically like I’m completely naked down there. My cock and balls are just… right out, clear as day. Like I wore nothing at all." He gestured vaguely towards his jeans, a self-conscious attempt at humor masking his discomfort.
Karn leaned back in his luxurious leather chair, a low, appreciative laugh rumbling in his chest. His eyes held Pete’s, gleaming with something unreadable beneath the surface warmth. "Clear as day, huh? Well, Pete," he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur, a predatory edge hidden beneath the camaraderie. A slow grin spread across his handsome face. "If that’s the case, then I definitely won’t be letting my good friend here get out of my office anytime soon. Wouldn’t be right to have you wandering about practically bare for everyone else." He let the implication linger.
Pete blinked, the warmth of Karn's smile clashing violently with the chill spreading through his bones. "Thanks, Karn," he whispered, the words sticking in his throat. He scanned the elegant, intimidating space, the polished furniture reflecting the harsh overhead lights. "Where... where should I set up? For the assistance work?"
Karn gestured easily with a tilt of his head towards the far corner. "Over there, behind the bookshelf, Pete. Got a spare desk tucked away." His voice remained smooth, reassuring. "Perfectly out of sight. If anyone pops their head in, they won't even know you're here. Keeps things private." He offered a small, conspiratorial wink. "Just for us."
Relief, sharp and sudden, washed over Pete. A hidden spot. Karn was protecting him, shielding him from prying eyes despite the humiliating garment. "That's... that's really thoughtful, Karn," Pete breathed out, genuine gratitude softening the tightness in his chest. He shifted, about to move towards the promised sanctuary. "Seriously, thanks for–"
His phone buzzed loudly in his pocket, a jarring interruption against the quiet hum of Karn's computer. Pete flinched, pulling the device out. A new email notification glared on the screen: RE: Personal Assistance Protocol & Immediate Duties - Pete R. #774. His stomach plummeted. He hadn't even started yet. "Um... Karn?" His voice was thin, uncertain. He extended the phone, hand trembling slightly. "This just came. Please... look."
Karn frowned, taking the phone with a hint of confusion. "Personal Assistance Protocol?" he murmured, scanning the screen. His expression shifted, the practiced charm freezing, then cracking into genuine disbelief. "What the hell...?" His gaze snapped up from the phone, locking onto Pete. Shock widened his eyes, genuine and unmistakable. "Pete?!"
Pete wasn't standing anymore.
He was kneeling on the plush office carpet, several feet from where he’d been moments before. His knees were spread wide apart, creating a stark, vulnerable space between them. His hands were clasped firmly behind his head, elbows jutting out. His spine was rigidly straight. The cheap fabric of his jeans stretched taut over his thighs, but the area between them... The shimmering membrane of the 'Harmony Weave' had somehow slipped completely, drawn down by an unseen force or its own bizarre properties. It now rested like a cold, damp whisper beneath his balls, leaving his flaccid cock and the taut sac beneath utterly, glaringly exposed. The harsh office light gleamed on bare skin.
Karn stared, his mouth slightly open, the phone forgotten in his grip. The polished confidence was gone, replaced by raw astonishment. "Pete," he stammered, taking an involuntary step back. "What... why are you... like that?"
Pete kept his eyes fixed straight ahead, focusing on a knot in the dark wood of Karn's desk. His cheeks burned crimson, but his voice, when it came, was unnervingly calm and formal, stripped of their usual camaraderie. "Section One, Subsection A of the Personal Assistance Protocol, Mr. Thorne." The respectful title felt like broken glass in his mouth. "Mandatory Pre-Work Greeting Ritual. Posture must be maintained until acknowledged." He swallowed hard, the muscles in his bare throat working. "The protocol states... states that acknowledgement is formalized... when the assigned Purple Tag uses their... their toes to stimulate the Red Tag's penis to full erection." A faint tremor ran through his rigidly held arms. "I await your acknowledgement, Mr. Thorne, so we may commence the assigned duties." The silence that followed was absolute, broken only by the frantic thudding of Pete's own heart against his ribs and Karn's stunned, shallow breathing. Karn’s polished leather Oxfords shifted minutely on the carpet, inches from Pete’s splayed knees.
Karn’s polished leather Oxfords shifted minutely on the carpet, inches from Pete’s splayed knees. Pete kept his eyes glued to the dark wood grain of the desk leg, the rigid posture demanded by the protocol burning in his shoulders. The silence pressed down, thick and suffocating, broken only by the frantic thud of his own heart against his ribs.
"Pete... mate," Karn finally breathed, the word sounding alien in the charged stillness. He took a half-step closer, the expensive leather of his shoe creaking softly. "This... this is insane. Vance sent this?"
"Protocol, Mr. Thorne," Pete repeated, his voice tight, straining for that detached formality. "Section One, Subsection A. Acknowledgement required." He couldn’t look up, couldn’t meet Karn’s eyes. The cool air of the office whispered over his exposed skin, a constant, humiliating reminder. Karn’s shadow fell over him.
"Shit," Karn muttered, low and strained. He dragged a hand over his face, the picture of a man burdened. "Alright. Alright, Pete. I... I'll make this fast. For both of us." He sounded almost apologetic, the familiar cadence of his 'supportive friend' voice returning, but it couldn't mask the tremor beneath. "Just... stay still. Okay?"
Pete heard the rasp of a zipper, the soft thump of a shoe hitting the carpet, then another. The rustle of fine cotton – a sock being peeled off. He squeezed his eyes shut, clamping down on the bile rising in his throat. Just get through this. Like the lobby. Like the compliance checks. The cold marble of that vast, empty space flashed in his mind, Karn's unexpected hardness pressed against his hip. Almost there, Karn had whispered then. The memory felt like ash now.
He sensed movement near his knees, the displaced air as Karn crouched slightly. The clean, slightly woody scent of Karn’s cologne was suddenly overpowered by the warmer, muskier smell of bare skin and leather polish. A bare foot, pale and well-groomed, slid into his limited field of vision. Karn’s toes, neatly trimmed, hovered hesitantly just above Pete’s flaccid cock.
Karn took a sharp breath. Pete felt a feather-light pressure, the tentative brush of Karn’s big toe against the soft skin of his shaft. Karn moved to curl his toes, to grasp.
"Wait!" The word burst from Pete, sharp and desperate, shattering the awful tension. His eyes snapped open, wide with panic, finally meeting Karn's startled gaze. Karn froze, his foot hovering.
Pete’s voice was raw, scraping against his throat. "The... the second rule, Mr. Thorne. Same Subsection A." He forced the words out, hating every syllable. "It says... it says I have to move. My body. Against your toes." He swallowed, the sound loud in the silence. "Until... until it’s fully erect. Sir."
Karn stared. His expression flickered – shock, confusion, a flicker of something darker, sharper, quickly masked by that familiar veil of dismay. "You... have to...?" He trailed off, glancing down at his phone still clutched in his hand, then back at Pete’s exposed vulnerability. He didn’t confirm or deny, just watched. Silent. Waiting.
Pete’s cheeks burned furnace-hot. Tears welled, blurring his vision, spilling over to track hot paths down his crimson face. There was no choice. No escape. Karn’s bare foot remained, an obscene demand inches from his flesh. He squeezed his eyes shut again, blotting out Karn’s watching face. Gritting his teeth, he pushed his hips forward, a tiny, jerking motion. The sensitive head of his cock bumped clumsily against the rough pad of Karn’s big toe.
He flinched, a small gasp escaping him. The touch was alien, jarring. He pushed again, another awkward thrust. Then again. Each small movement was agony, a violation orchestrated by his own body. Karn remained utterly still, a silent, oppressive presence. Pete could feel his own cock stirring against his will, responding traitorously to the friction, the sheer, degrading intimacy of the act. Move against his toes. Like the invisible jockstrap dissolving. Just another compliance. He moved with more deliberate, grinding thrusts now, his breath coming in ragged hitches.
Karn watched, transfixed. He could feel the change beneath his foot. The softness yielding, thickening, the skin growing taut and hot. Pete’s cock hardened, lengthened, becoming a rigid, insistent pressure against his instep. He could see the tremor running through Pete’s clasped arms, the tight clench of his jaw, the tears dripping steadily onto the expensive carpet between his splayed knees. The transformation was horrifying, fascinating. Pete’s cock pulsed against his skin, fully erect.
Karn slowly lifted his gaze back to his phone screen. His thumb scrolled down, the movement deliberate. His eyes scanned the text beneath Subsection A. He found it. The final stipulation. He read it silently, then looked back down at Pete. His voice, when it came, was unnervingly calm, devoid of its earlier feigned distress. "Pete."
Pete stilled instantly, panting, his cock a hard, aching line pressed against the top of Karn’s foot. He kept his eyes screwed shut.
"Look at me," Karn commanded softly, his tone leaving no room for refusal.
Pete forced his eyes open. They were red-rimmed, swimming with tears, filled with a devastation Karn hadn't seen since the farm auction notice back home. Karn held his gaze, his own expression unreadable, polished marble. "The protocol states," he said, his voice cool and precise, echoing Pete's earlier formality, "that upon completion of the acknowledgement ritual, the Red Tag must properly express gratitude to the assisting Purple Tag." He paused, letting the words sink in. "Verbally. And physically."
Pete’s breath caught. He understood. The humiliation wasn't over. It demanded an encore. The tears flowed freely now, silent rivers carving paths through the flush on his cheeks. His throat worked, struggling to form words past the crushing weight in his chest. "Th... thank you, Mr. Thorn-" His voice cracked, a sob breaking through. He choked it down, wiped his nose roughly with the back of his wrist, smearing tears. He drew a shuddering breath, focusing on Karn’s foot where his own cock had just been. "Thank you... for helping me... get fully erect, Mr. Thorne."
The words hung in the air, obscene and brittle. Karn didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just watched.
Pete bowed his head. He leaned forward, his spine curving from its rigid posture. His forehead, damp with sweat and tears, lowered towards Karn’s bare foot resting on the carpet. He pressed his brow against the cool, slightly rough skin of Karn's instep. The scent of leather polish and Karn filled his nostrils. He held the position, trembling, his formal thanks echoing in the silent room like a curse. A single, hot tear splashed onto Karn’s skin.