Handcuffed Jail Shower

Hands behind back. Locked in shower. Hosed down.

He USED to be the "Big Boss," Mr. Corporate CEO, lording over an conglomerate of companies that spanned the world. In his previous life, not so long ago, he dressed in the finest, hand-tailored suits, traveled in private jets, and never deigned to get his hands soiled with manual labor. Sadly, he's lost it all...fallen from grace...tumbled from his pedestal of privilege. Stripped of his finery and reduced to penury, he now begs on bended knee, in the muck and mire, pleading for a menial job at one of his former companies. Let's see if his former subordinates are in a charitable mood...

My dream transformation!

hit a motherload of fetishposting on pinterest i think all my future boys here will appreciate-

Taking the eyebrows...then every other follicle. He's in for a head-to-toe shave!

Keeping an eye out for new prey...

Shoe Worship. Actually, this is exactly what I would like to do with my new intern's wingtips! Imagine the "Big Boss" begging to lick and spit polish his underling's shoes!

The New Intern

Son, I told you that you were due for a change of attitude and a new haircut!

Downfall - A New Mode of Transportation

Before his downfall, the suitedsubmissive drove a fine luxury automobile. German made and costing more than the average worker made in three of fourbyears, it quietly telegraphed his status, wealth and power.

The car, like so much of his former life, is now a distant memory; seized and sold at auction for a fraction of it's worth. The trip into work on his first day as an apprentice janitor was a rude awakening for the suitedsubmissive. With no mode of transportation, and new living arrangements in a district far from the city center, he found himself, for the first time in his life, taking the bus. It was an alien and supremely humbling experience, walking those several blocks, in the cold, no less, to the bus shelter. With second-hand work boots on his feet and dressed in a boiler suit with another man's name patch on the breast, he fumbled in his pocket for the few coins he was able to scrounge together. With a murmer, he asked the two older men waiting at the stop, "How much is the fare?" "Buck twenty five," said one. The suitedsubmissive's stomach dropped. The once high-flying executive reached into his pocket and counted out the dimes and quarters...he was twenty cents short. How far he had fallen. Once, he had been the proud owner of a car that cost as much as a three bedroom house in the suburbs. Now, he was unable to afford a single trip on the city bus. The workers must have seen his face fall, as one of them asked, "How much you need, Son?" Voice trembling, the suitedsubmissive answered, "twenty cents, Sir". A calloused, work worn hand reached out with a quarter, and the suitedsubmissive accepted it, gratefully. "Keep the change, boy," he winked. The suitedsubmissive offered his profound thanks to his savior, a man who, just a few short days ago, he wouldn't have deigned to acknowledge with a nod. Several minutes later, as the overcrowded bus pulled up, belching smoke and looking to be in its last legs, the suitedsubmissive deferentially allowed the two construction workers to board before him. And as he paid his fare, using all the cash he had on hand, he made his way to the back and stood, holding onto the bar, to make the long trip into work. It was only the first morning of his new life, but the suitedsubmissive had already learned a lesson in humility.

Before and After: Humbled

Before his humbling, the suitedsubmissive occupied a gilded perch. The young, high flying executive appeared to have the world in his hands. From his corner office in a sleek tower, he looked down upon a city filled with working grunts, scurrying to their menial jobs in order to earn their meager pay. The suitedsubmissive, by virtue of his wealth, birth, and good fortune, was insulated from the cares of every day life. Making the rent, being able to afford groceries, praying that you would get that third part time job; such concepts were completely alien to him. His dilemmas consisted of trivialities, sheer frivolity; should he wear the navy Brioni or the grey Canali for a partners meeting, was it worth eating at a restaurant with just one Michelin star, would Sotheby's have anything worthwhile at their wine auction next week? But beneath his well-tailored veneer of sophistication and arrogance, there existed an urge, a gnawing hunger, for a different life. The suitedsubmissive knew the he had neither earned, not deserved, this lifestyle of ease. He recognized his natural inferiority. He yearned for a day when someone else would see these hidden desires and push him toward a new path in life.

A Friday night, nearly 11pm, and the suitedsubmissive still had hours of work ahead of him. Who would have thought the polished marble floors of an office lobby could get so dirty. Not long ago, he used to strut across this same floor, confident, vain, the soles of his custom made brogues clicking on the tiles. No longer. The suitedsubmissive had finally taken the plunge, embraced his innate inferiority, learned to be humble and meek, to respect his betters. Gone was the posh office and outrageous salary. His mop and bucket were now all he needed, and he learned to subsist on $7.15 an hour. Gone were the designer suits, those emblems of power and arrogance. He had chosen every stitch he owned to local homeless shelters and charity shops. He learned to give back what he had unfairly taken. The suitedsubmissiv was completely unsuited at last. His wardrobe consisted of three boiler suits and a pair of boots for work, and a pair of Dickie's canvas pants, a few tshirts, and a flannel jacket...all scrounged from his local Goodwill. Gone was his immaculate apartment and its carefully curated contents. He had simply walked out the door one day and never looked back, letting the bank and his creditors fight over the scraps. The suitedsubmissive now lived in a basement apartment, shared with two other men, his "room" was a matress on the floor, with old sheets as a makeshift wall. Gone was his cherished BMW, signed over to a particularly persuasive Sir he met on the internet. The city bus and his own two feet were now his only modes of transportation. And every night, as he labored in his new position, "Janitorial Support," no business cards needed for this job, his tiny dick hardened beneath his sweat soaked work clothes. You see, the suitedsubmissive reveled in this downfall...this reversal of fortune he had brought on himself...and he took his arousal as a sign that he had finally found his proper place in life.

That look on his face. When the reality of his new situation has finally hit him like the proverbial ton of bricks. Fired from his high-powered executive role for financial malfeasance, he is cast adrift. Exposed to his society friends as the "suitedsubmissive," his depraved and humiliating fetishes are aired in public. Forced to make restitution for his crimes, his bank and brokerage accounts are seized, his credit cards cancelled, his posh apartment foreclosed upon, his new luxury sedan repossessed. He is reduced to selling his belongings, of which he was once so inordinately proud, for pennies on the dollar. Furniture, artwork, a first class wine collection, even his bespoke wardrobe... everything gone at fire sale prices. And when he's finally dragged out of the empty penthouse he once called home, sobbing pathetically, he is dumped on the street by security. A derelict, left with NOTHING more than the clothes on his back. One suit, Italian made, and one pair of fine brogues, the last shreds of his old life. Still looking like a high toned businessman, he wanders the streets in a daze, pondering his next steps...friendless, alone, powerless. When a group of young thugs see him, expecting and easy mark and rich pickings, he's unprepared. He runs, into an empty industrial lot, lost and scared. And when he ends up flailing head first into the muck, he cries out, begging his tormenters to leave him in peace. Sadly, he is only just beginning to learn how far a "master of the universe" can fall.

“Cheer up bitch and carry on scrubbing”. 

2 weeks in to its month long punishment of being the company toilet cleaner, the young executive was regretting complaining about the Chief Executives constant groping and intimidation. 

INSTANT HARDON!

the fear in his eyes when he realizes how fast the hair goes away

And I just came!

head down boy

it’s what’s got to happen