Keith Weiden, HR at staffing agency

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Author's Note: This is a switch harem story which gradually transitions from F/m to M/f as the MC progresses in the app.

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Timing was everything. Sleeping was just not in the cards again. So much backlog had run amok, and the pile just kept growing. Today I had to prep another 10 applicants while sifting through wave after wave of resumes. All I could think about was the 22 year old secretary in her senior year of college behind the desk at front. What would she look like with that blouse and skirt on the floor.

I grabbed my phone and saw a scrawl of unread texts on the company message system. Yet another persistent cunt couldn’t get enough of me.

MESSAGE: Keith, I forwarded you the hiring manager’s comments. None of our applicants were selected. We need to do better than this. I may have to assist in prepping a few myself. See me as soon as possible.

MESSAGE: Keith, please answer me. This is serious.

Everything was serious to her. I sighed. But she couldn’t be bothered to leave her office. I had to go to hers from my cubicle. I grabbed my phone off the desk to leave, but then I noticed something. There was a new icon: The Submission Accelerator. I was certain I hadn't downloaded anything like this. Was this an update? Or perhaps a virus?

“Keith, Nina just asked me to tell you she needs to see you.”

That was Kayla; the hot college secretary. The 22 year old who loved her pencil skirts that accentuated her extra long legs. She loved her pilates classes, was a strict vegan, and seemed to be going steady with her walnut raisin salads with balsamic vinaigrette. I doubted she weighed more than 90 lbs despite her respectable 5’8” height.

“Thanks, Kayla. I just saw the message. On my way now.”

No time to look at my phone now. I walk deliberately over to my boss’ office, and knock gently on the door.

“Enter.”

I walk in to see my supervisor of the past six months. She was the one who had assigned me the heaviest workload in the office. She sat there in her power suit behind her expensive oak desk with a thinly veiled scowl of contempt. A petite asian woman of 40 with a trim figure; her perky breasts pushed the blue pinstripe wool forwards. Her two pantyhose clad legs dangled down into low-heeled black shoes. Her body tantalized me even as I despised her. I imagined her kneeling in front of me, profusely apologizing for her attitude, hugging my legs, and resting her cheek in my lap. But now I had to deal with the present; with this bitch before me.

This bitch was Nina Song.