Doll Inc. HR - Employee Satisfaction Division

Disclaimer: this one does not follow the main story line, I love the world setup though, and just wanted to have something with the same "plentiful, easily available sluts everywhere" atmosphere and casual flow. Got a few things following the main branch in the pipeline as well, if that's more your thing.

"Doll. A simple, yet poignant name many of you may still connect to something of a household staple is looking to become something much bigger. This behemoth of a tech giant has emerged the wake of the Coitus Protocols with a new social network for a new age. Many now forgotten tech companies of yore struggled to retain their users in the tumultuous, dark days following the heinous cataclysm unleashed upon the world by the so-called "Eve's Rebellion" terrorist group, overwhelmed by the new social mores that emerged. They were unable to adapt rapidly with overbearing, heavy handed moderation preventing new cultural trends from organically growing online. Maria Zuckerhut, then an MIT grad student financing herself through camming, jumped right into the breach with FuckHer. The perfect network for our new age. Now boasting a 92.6% install rate across the country, FuckHer is one of the defining platforms of our time."

The camera cuts from an unnaturally gorgeous blonde woman to a group of teenagers in a crowded train car. Perky, hot and nubile, the girls are scrolling what looks like the PornHub front page adjusted to modern design sensibilities. Nobody seems to bat an eye. In fact, the whole train car is filled with 7s and up.

"Where other ill-fated early efforts like MyFace faltered, FuckHer enjoys a colossal user base, beloved by heartland demographics for the strong sense of community it enables. The easy to use, social interfaces allow users to organize community groups, exchange messages with their friends and most importantly, share valuable sexual experiences without irrelevant content getting in the way. Now matured, FuckHer remains the most popular Coitus+ app among the core, heavily contested male user group. Although faced with stiff competition from upstarting alternatives such as SnapShag with their focus on easier emoji-focused hookups, reducing the stress on the male or ThotTime with their core focus on younger demographics and viral female content creators, FuckHer still holds the throne."

The camera cuts to the same woman standing in a luxurious corporate lobby, her voluptuous body jiggling as she unveils a life-sized corporate logo. An array of reporters around her snap pictures of the statuesque CEO standing proudly next to a trifecta of Venus symbols surrounding a single, rotating Mars in the center.

"Recently rebranding itself to "Doll" to signal a growing focus on new technologies and markets, the company has managed to inspire market confidence with their announcement of Coitus Uniqueness Markers or "cummies", allowing male users to monetize sexual encounters and re-sell them digitally to receive ...."

The exceedingly busty, curly-haired newscaster continues speaking but her lips now move in silence, muted away by a quick gesture of a perfectly manicured, slender finger. The girls from advertising had done a decent job, but right now there were more important matters to attend to.

Its owner is a slightly bored-looking secretary with a chiseled face that carries just the perfect amount of "bitch" to cause a twitch in the nether regions of any red-blooded man into the strict, dominant type. Instead of listening to the TV, she is on the phone, holding a rather old-fashioned close to a delicate, fine ear. Her features remains stern despite obviously gossiping. The horn-rimmed glasses only add to the severe, professional air she emanates from behind her minimally furnished, mahogany reception desk.

With an appropriate air of superiority and not a single imperfection in sight on her perfect face the woman lets everyone know just how important she is, projecting the image of a supermodel of yore, flaunting a constant intake of the finest Elastix pills and supplements corporate money can buy.

Not that much has changed in the secretary world after all. If anything it has only gotten more competitive. In a world where the average lobby receptionist now looks like a model, big corporations have whole departments dedicated to making their staff stand out. More prized employees are commonly seen casually displaying the stunning combination of perky, bouncy early 20s bikini model bod, a tight, office-approved satin blouse and a face that would have been on magazine covers mere decades ago.

Even in this beauty-inflated world, the further up you go on the corporate ladder, the more dazzling they get. And the gossiping woman certainly could turn more than a few heads. In her case, the look is warranted by a cushy desk job guarding the entrance to the office abode of a certain Alfred Slansby as the name tag on the door behind her suggests. Still, even with advanced plastic surgery being a commodity, her office ice queen air probably didn't need much training to get right. It looks entirely natural, making her a perfect fit.

With the number of males that could still be bothered to be hired by companies being extremely limited, a few highly specialized roles have been developed by corporate boards to extract maximum value from their most prized workers. Of course, that involves keeping their satisfaction at a constant maximum to stop them from leaving for greener pastures. Lucky for the decision-makers, it was now very easy to make the satisfaction couple tightly to the job profile to ping-pong off female cravings. Nowadays, the most commonly found job description for males is that of "Morale Officer", which can mean anything from being attached to a single department to a "Chief Morale Officer" serving women at the highest levels of the hierarchy. Their man job profile is to reward the high-performing employees by spending some "private meeting time" with them, an open euphemism for fucking women that are sent their way. No strings attached, no questions asked. In exchange for emptying their balls into qualified, college-educated holes, those men are paid handsomely. Across management magazines and confidential internal guidelines, over the last few years they have become on of the most popular tricks up HR's sleeves to get productivity to the desired level. Besides, it's the scientifically proven best way to keep perennially underfucked senior holes stuffed and well-greased. Complementary supplies of Elastix and other supplements to the female workforce as well as after-work clubs and seminars ensure the men get the finest working material they can get, even if their sex partners might be devoting less than their entire free time to attracting males, as men in a Coitus Act setting might be used to.

Still, there is an acute shortage of such professionals. Even though most of these dedicated men work 10 to 12-hour shifts on a voluntary basis, there is a long waiting list for their services. Most require a personal secretary and a special team to serve their needs, and still they have to work with several well-performing employees instead of one-on-one meetings many times. This is where Dr. Andrea Somersby, an Oxford-graduated Male Attraction Psychologist transplanted from Doll's UK division comes in. Her job organizing and distributing Alfred's limited time to satisfy the optimal circle of stakeholders requires constant, dedicated commitment and expert navigation of corporate political hierarchy. And she masters it with distinction. Her stern, British voice became familiar to most of the employees of the Boulder Office in the matter of weeks. Dr. Somersby is found on her stylish old-style phone most of the time and had built quite a reputation for her persuasive, direct ways. The synergies she has been able to generate speak for themselves.

"I'm sorry Amanda. I know you've been working hard, but this week I can only squeeze in a blowjob for you"

The voice on the other end, definitely female, sounds less than pleased, rising a few octanes before switching to a pleading tone.

"I know we're good friends dear, but you wouldn't believe how busy it gets these days. He's in there with 3 girls from Finance - 3! ... Yeah, right? I'm glad one of them is black, he likes those hussies. Think he'll be able to handle them"

The whole time, her call has been punctuated by muffled moans and screams. The sounds are audibly female, interrupted by the occasional deep male grunt. The statuesque, model secretary ignores them with the casual air of a professional in her element until a black girl's face slams against the smoky glass door. With her pixie haircut disheveled and her lipstick leaving a O-shaped smudge against the semi-transparent surface, the woman still manages to look like a refined version of Halle Berry in her prime. Her ecstatic, shamelessly obscene get louder every time her face and chocolate tits are slammed against the door until they all but resonate through the waiting room. The way the black beauty's eyes almost show whites with each savage thrust of the heavy-set, pasty silhouette behind her, there is no doubt finance professional is cumming her brains out like an absolutely filthy slut.

The secretary looks over her shoulder briefly, and smiles, shaking her head:

"Hear that? Seems like we'll have some more satisfaction records this quarter. Thanks for transferring me here, love. It has done wonders for my career"

Her partner replies with a short, rather unprofessional four-word letter and the two share a hearty laugh among old friends from college.

As the pair exchange pleasantries before hanging up, the next appointee comes in after a slightly timid knock. The girl is looking a bit anxious but not unenthusiastic with a slight wet spot forming at the front of her daisy dukes. The secretary gives her a quizzical look that screams "First time?", before sighing audibly.

"Hey, love. If you want him to give you even another five minutes, you better change out of that cowboy crap into something more proper"

The strawberry-blonde girl, looks even more flustered when faced with the British woman's scorn, timidly stroking her boobs, covered by a brief denim crop top. She's obviously making an effort to pull of the "slutty country girl" look, but it's less than convincing, and even her own voice shows:

"...Really? You.. You think so?"

The receptions straight up rolls her eyes in reponse.

"Yes, love. He won't shag you again if this is what you're flaunting"

Dr. Somersby shamelessly eyes the girl up and down, from her long, thin legs to her tiny waist and perky boobs. She's seen this picture dozens of times and sentimentality isn't in her MO. The girl's almost tearing up after the harsh, direct comments. However, her captivating deep blue eyes light up with a tiny sliver of hope when she sees the scary stern lady doesn't outright order her out of the room. Even though she's been appreciated like a piece of a meat, the mere fact that she wasn't shown the door yet seems to lift her spirits.

"Hmmmgh. You're lucky I'm in a good mood today ... Simone, wasn't it? Let me see ... "

The girl's face, gorgeous in a fragile kind of way, lights up when despite her nervousness and inexperience the overbearing woman seems to be going further ... giving her a chance, almost.

"Thank you. Thank you so much"

The prim and proper woman stands up, acknowledging the younger girl's gratitude with a rare, slight nod. Now standing at almost the same height as her guest, she reveals a wasp waist, hugged by a skintight pencil skirt. The near-godlike figure of the statuesque British woman clearly signifies her superior status. The old-fashioned lace stockings on her long, slender legs add to the carefully crafted appeal. Without wasting time, the jaw-dropping MILF hurries towards a panel wall, her stiletto heels clacking on the floor. She looks to be dressed for a night out at a club by old world standards, but of course, her office attire is perfectly acceptable now. Dr Somersby presses a discretely tucked away button. The wall panels slide aside with a faint mechanical whirr to reveal a large closet prepared for just the occasion. Most, if not all of the plentiful clothing items inside would have been relegated to somewhere between "slutty" and "unacceptable" before the Coitus Act. Not to mention the neon, garish stripper heels and bright plastic toys conspicuously strewn in between them. Now, it is of course normal for high-end brands to manufacture such items, so none of this raises as much as an eyebrow from both women. The notes of surprise in Simone's eyes are only due to the variety of the selection on display. Completely unfazed, the college-educated MILF walks past the different sections with the casual ease of a professional picking a casual outfit for a client, selecting and ruling out items while murmuring to herself.

"hmm... long pale legs ... maybe garters ... no ... too obvious ... maybe goth?"

She turns her head back to the still awkwardly smiling guest:

"Love, what size are those tits?"

The girl's voice sounds just as **** to please as her eyes look following the woman's rhythmic steps.

"C, miss"

"Really? That's a shame love. Could have sworn that was a D."

Before she turns back around, the older British slut/lady's expression turns to judging again as her sideways glance turns into a full-on glare:

"What are you still standing around for? Drop that clunker, love"

Even before a meek, schoolgirl "Sorry", Sophia is already pulling down her skimpy shorts and untying her top, before finally taking off her high-heeled cowboy boots.

"I'm so sorry, Miss. I'm just very excited"

Shaking her head in disbelief, the secretary continues, throwing together a quick outfit for the now-naked girl, standing in all her tall, pale, almost emaciated, thin alluring glory.

"hmm... tits too small... let's see. Yeah... that could work. Now, where's that shirt ... ah, yes"

With a satisfied smile, the woman emerges with a few items in her hands, turning to the slightly shivering, thin girl who tries to **** a smile on her pale, pure face. Dr. Somersby sizes her up her "client" one more time, before walking up and handing her the pile.

"Alright, Simone. You're definitely no throwback big breasted goth shag with those puppies and you're too shy to be the confident office skank type, but I think "heroin chic" will work. That's an old British thing, love. You reminded me of Kate Moss. One of our British national exports. She was doing it long before the Eve, without Elastix. All natural... Oh, but I'm off on a tangent again. He's just coming down from three greedy girls competing for every inch, so it'll leave a good impression to have something more meek.... What are you waiting for? Love, put it on! Hurry!"

That seems to set the shivering, tall hottie in motion, finally. The thin trainee starts with the shirt top. It looks stained and messy, but obviously is quite expensive, with multiple strategically placed cuts and holes already revealing plenty of her skin before abruptly ending in a diagonal cut that leaves one of her boobs and her entire flat, kissable midriff exposed. Then she puts on the Doc Marten's boots, looking heavy and mismatched but adding a **** charm to the whole look. The secretary shamelessly watches as her "protége" slutties herself up. Taboos go by the wayside when her job is involved, after all.

"Have you ever shagged, Sophia?"

"Ex..excuse me?"

The British woman's voice grows threateningly intense again, her patience clearly running thin:

"Have you ever been fucked, love? Have you ever had a fat cock shoved into your twat?"

"Oh, noo... I'm a virgin"

The Oxford-educated receptionist hmpghs again, this time in a more content tone, while the girl pulls up a flimsy lace thong between her thin legs, awkwardly placing it on her bony hips. It doesn't even cover her cute, meticulously shaved landing strip.

"Great. Listen love, you look like a great piece of **** meat for him to feast on, so just go with the flow. Don't worry if you have to cry or feel like screaming, he'll like that. And least of all, don't worry about the clothes. That's Dior and Prada. If you want to get that for your own wardrobe, but I can pull a few strings for you. I think it suits you."

Just as the older woman makes some final adjustments to look Sophia look as fuckable as possible, the office door flies open, and three women stumble out, looking obviously used, drained and satisfied as hell. The first to emerge is a blonde surfer girl with an angelic smile, DD boobs and a streak of jizz plastered across her face from her blonde mane to her strong chin. Next up is a small, raven haired Asian who looks a bit worse for wear, with her hair being a total mess. The way she smiles is even more exhilarating, the jizz leaking along her toned yoga thighs definitely being reason for celebration. Last to stumble out that tall black girl with a professional pixie who just left a few O's all over the door. Looking like an absolute bombshell, her lipstick is absolutely smeared and she has bite marks around her mocha nipples. Her contagious, full smile and her gaping, cum dripping pussy speak volumes.

The secretary whispers her last words into the girl's ear:

"And Simone, love, once you can think straight tomorrow, be a good doll and let your mother know Dr. Somersby from HR was so nice to help you get such a thick, throbbing cock as your first. Good luck, love"

Upon seeing the new arrival, the three freshly-fucked bombshells coo, and wish her good luck, the blonde even slapping the fresh meat's dainty pale ass playfully. There's not a single note of shame on their satisfied faces as the trio changes back into more professional clothes, discarding their torn pencil skirts and skimpy blouses into a half-full bin at the exit.

Meanwhile, the timid Sophia has already stepped inside. As she closes the door behind her, the last words that the remaining women hear are a nasal, deep:

"Goddamn, you sluts know my tastes well..."

The trio share knowing glances directed towards Ms. Somersby before bursting into yet another fit of laughter. The imposing British woman completely ignores them, already back at her phone.