You're a professional. You’ve researched the company, memorized your talking points, and chosen your most unassuming navy blue attire. You couldn't possibly be more prepared for this interview.
The man across the desk is exactly what you expected. Sharp suit, sharper jawline. His eyes are a cool, calculating gray, and they move over your resume as if they’re auditing a financial statement.
"It says here you have extensive experience in project management," he begins, his voice a low baritone that seems to rattle the air. "Can you tell me about a time you had to steer a project back on track after a significant setback."
The questions are standard. You deliver your pre-rehearsed answers, your voice steady despite the frantic hammering of your heart. You’re doing well. You can feel it, though you think he notices you're a little nervous.
He gestures to a crystal pitcher on a small side table. "Water?"
"Yes, please. Thank you." Your throat is dry.
He pours a glass and slides it across the vast expanse of the mahogany desk. It’s cool and heavy in your hands. You take a grateful sip as he continues with another question about stakeholder engagement. The water is crisp, with a faint, almost unnoticeable mineral taste. You drain half the whole glass.
The interview continues. You’re talking about timeline expectations when the first wave of it hits. It’s not dizziness, not exactly. It’s more like the edges of your vision have gone soft, the sharp lines of the office blurring just slightly. A pleasant, liquid warmth pools in your belly, slow and syrupy, spreading downwards.
"...and so the key," you hear yourself saying, though your voice sounds distant, "was to re-evaluate the core deliverables."
He leans forward, steepling his fingers. His gray eyes seem to pierce right through your professional facade as the tenor of the questions change. "We have a very specific company culture here. We value… adaptability. An eagerness to embrace new workflows. Are you comfortable being trained?"
The warmth in your stomach has reached your thighs now, a low, insistent thrum starting between your legs. You shift in your seat, the silk of your panties suddenly feeling abrasive against your clit, which is beginning to swell with an inexplicable, unbidden sensitivity.
"Of course," you manage, your voice a little breathy. "I’m a very fast learner."
"Good." A slow smile spreads across his face, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. "Because our training can be quite… intensive. It requires a complete commitment. A willingness to submit to your superiors. Do you have any issues with authority?"
"No. None at all," you say. Though the word ‘submit’ stirs something in you, and you feel a slick wetness bloom between your legs. What is happening? Was it the water? Your mind is screaming alarms, a frantic, distant siren, but it’s being drowned out by a rising tide of pure, mindless lust. Your nipples pebble against your blouse, aching for a touch you shouldn’t want. The questions continue, not giving you a chance to linger on your fears.
"How do you handle high-pressure situations?" he asks, his gaze dropping from your eyes to your mouth, then lower, to your chest. "When you’re given a task that feels overwhelming, that pushes you to your absolute limit, do you break? Or do you take it?"
You can’t think of a project management answer. The only answer that comes to mind is a raw, physical one. "I take it," you whisper, and the sound of your own admission makes you even wetter.
"Do you enjoy being pushed" he presses, his voice dropping. "Do you find that you perform best when you’re being… guided? Firmly?"
"Yes." The word is a gasp. Your rational mind is a tiny, screaming prisoner in a body that has gone into full, slutty revolt. You need this job. The thought is a desperate mantra, but it’s starting to twist, to warp. Maybe… maybe this is part of the job.
"I think you’re ready for the technical assessment," he says, standing up. He’s tall, imposing. He rounds the desk and stops in front of you. "Stand up."
Your body obeys before your mind can object. The drug, the aphrodisiac, whatever it is, has turned your limbs pliant and willing.
"Present your qualifications," he commands, his voice leaving no room for argument.
You know what he means. With trembling fingers, you reach for the hem of your skirt. You hike it up your thighs, revealing the simple, practical panties you wore. They’re already soaked, a dark patch staining the pale fabric.
His eyes devour the sight. "Good girl. Now the rest. Pull them aside."
A wave of shame washes over you, but it’s immediately swamped by a much stronger wave of arousal. You hook your thumbs into the waistband of your panties and pull, exposing your slick, swollen folds. The cool air of the office hits your wetness, and you gasp, your hips pushing forward instinctively.
"I'm impressed." he murmurs, his voice thick. "You present well. Now..." he begins to guide you with a hand at the small of your back, positioning you.
You turn, your movements clumsy with lust and confusion. You place your hands on the cool, polished wood of his desk, your suit jacket bunching up around your shoulders. You bend over, pushing your ass out, offering yourself to him completely. You can feel him standing behind you, the heat of his body a palpable force. You hear the slide of a zipper.
"The final stage of the technical assessment is a hands-on evaluation," he says, his voice right by your ear. He grabs your hips, his grip firm and proprietary. "We need to ensure you can handle the daily workload."
You feel the blunt tip of his cock press against your drenched entrance. He thrusts into you, long and thick. It’s too much, it’s wrong, but oh god, it feels incredible. The drug makes every sensation a thousand times more intense. The feeling of being stretched, of being filled so completely, sends your mind into white hot static.
He fucks you hard and fast, slamming into you with a rhythm that’s all business. Your face is pressed against the desk, your own ragged moans muffled by the wood. You’re cumming already, a helpless orgasm that makes your legs tremble. You shouldn’t be enjoying this. You shouldn’t be clenching around him, trying to take him deeper. But you are.
Just as you feel another climax building, he pulls out. You whimper at the loss.
"Hold that position," he orders. He presses a button on his desk intercom. "Ladies, could you come to my office? We have a candidate for final review."
The door opens, and two women walk in. They’re dressed just like you, in sharp corporate attire. Their faces are placid, their eyes holding a calm, knowing expression. They don’t look shocked or horrified. They’re here to evaluate. To see if you have what it takes to be one of them.
"This is our new candidate," he says, gesturing to your exposed, trembling form. "What do you think? Does she have the right… attitude?"
One of the women walks closer, peering at your ass with a critical eye. She reaches out and runs a finger through the slick mix of your fluids and his pre-cum. "Definitely receptive," she says in a calm, professional tone. "And she’s clearly eager to please. A little tight, but that can be worked on during orientation."
"She takes instruction well," the other one adds, nodding. "Good form. Seems durable."
He grunts in approval and shoves back inside you. "You should see her in action..."
He pounds into you again, harder this time. The two women stand there watching, offering quiet words of encouragement that sound like performance feedback.
"Really lean into it!"
"See? You’re a natural."
"You’re really taking it. Management is going to love you!"
Their voices, their praise, it all blends together. Your mind starts to break. The shame is gone, replaced by a desperate need to perform, to please, to get this job. You start to buck back against his thrusts, meeting him with a pathetic eagerness. You’re cheering with them in your head. I can do this. I’m good at this. I'm a professional.
He cums deep inside you, a hot, heavy flood that makes you scream into the desk. But it’s not over. Time starts to blur. One of the women steps forward. "You must be thirsty after all that. Here have a little more."
She's right. You are. You gulp down more eagerly. Have to stay hydrated, after all. Shortly after, you feel hands all over you, mouths on your tits, fingers sliding into your mouth. You think your first interviewer leaves and another man comes in. Or maybe it’s the same man. Faces and cocks begin to blend into a seamless, overwhelming ordeal of use.
At one point, someone whispers in your ear, his voice apologetic. "Sorry for all the interview rounds, but rules are rules. We have to be thorough. Make sure you’re a good fit for the whole team."
You just nod, your mind a slurry of cum and compliance. You’re passed around the office, a piece of communal property. The cheers of the office whores are your only anchor in the storm. You’re covered in cum, your suit is ruined, your body is a wreck, but you’ve never felt so… successful. You aced the interview. You know you did.
Hours later — or is it minutes? — you’re kneeling on the floor, dazed and spent. That same man from before is standing over you, his suit perfectly straightened, not a hair out of place. The other employees have vanished. It’s just the two of you in the quiet, pristine office again.
He extends a hand to help you up. You take it, your legs shaky.
He smiles, a genuine, warm smile this time. "Congratulations," he says, his voice back to its cool, professional baritone. "You exceeded all expectations. The position is yours. Welcome to the team."
Tears of relief and something much darker stream down your face. "Thank you," you sob. "Thank you so much."
"We’re happy to have you," he says. He picks up a sleek, black velvet box from his desk and hands it to you. "Your welcome package. Standard issue for all new hires."
You open it. Inside, nestled on a bed of satin, are a slim, pink vibrator and a jewel tipped anal plug, both bearing the subtle etching of the company logo.
"You’ll be expected to have these on your person at all times during work hours," he explains calmly. "Consider them part of your uniform. Your orientation begins tomorrow at nine. Don’t be late."
You stare at the toys, then up at his face. Something has changed in him... or maybe in you. He’s no longer the predator from the interview; he’s your manager, your superior.
I have realized that most of the tumblr population is delusional, so far from reality that they might exist in a matrix, entitled to their brainwashed asses and for some ungodly reason think they are intelligent. The ill-informed uneducated portion of this app, I urge you to learn something before you go spewing fancy words and accusing countries whose internal or international politics and ground situation you have no idea about.
India led targeted attacks limited to the compounds of known terrorist organizations, which have from decades relentlessly attacked *innocent Indian civilians* and we had done NOTHING for years. We had silently digested it time and time again. THIS was not a declaration of war. This was retaliation for the Pahalgam terror attack, which was carried out by Pakistani state backed radical islamist terror outfits. Before whinning about morality on online platforms, go ask your government why they have been hosting *known* terrorists and backing their terror attacks since time immemorial in *your* own damned backyards.
And to the dumber Westerners supporting these nonsensical hypocrites in the reblogs, the compounds we have bombed are backed by the terror organization responsible for 99% of every attack carried out in Indian and European soil along with the 9/11 attacks. You are welcome. CIA wouldn't have been able to even *find* where Bin Laden was holed up in, without the help of Indian intelligence. Ungrateful shitheaded dicks.
Edited : Terrorist supporters, you will be blocked. I don't care for your hypocrisy and your stupidity. This is not up for debate. You reap what you sow. We have had enough. We won't roll over and die anymore.
we usually think of mood as a scale from 1-5, but there's actually a negative scale too, where the frown turns back into a smile, but just a little insane !
You ever been in a state where you physically have no energy, but you're bored and socially understimulated so you kind of wish you could just invite people to come over like this:
i genuinely think that physically it’s easier to have hard conversations when you’re both facing forward, not having to look at each other. the catholic church knew this also
The secret to being a private person is to overshare dumb shit so people think you are an open book but then not tell them any of the important details of your life.
I think I am the way I am partially because my first ever big video game with a story was Super Paper Mario. The narrative is kickass but honestly more than anything I haven't seen many examples that come close to how visually coherent Super Paper Mario is. The amount of geometric shapes in the art direction of the game really drives home how many characters could only exist in 2D, which really drives home the ability to swap to 3D!!!! It's so cool!!! and all the weird equations in the sky and the bizarre (even for Mario standards) enemy designs and the way each world seems to have a unique pattern to the way the world layout is stylized.....its absolutely incredible
