Getting the Job

As Cathy flies home in the Daemon shell, she shakes her head and checks with her assistant, “Dinah: Any other interviews lined up?”

The HUD lights up with a response, “Interview for the bouncer position at The Local Dive, 4 pm.”

Cathy takes a breath, and nods, “Okay. Dinah, directions to The Local Dive, please.” The directions on her HUD realign, and off she goes.

On the way, she gets bored, and speaks up, “Dinah, play the local news.”

The AI activates the radio, “...Creative Artistic Passion Theater went up in flames today. Reports are still coming in, but initial witness interviews suggest a gust of wind from a special effects interviewee blew a curtain into a space heater present for…”

“Dinah, play some classical music, please,” Cathy orders through gritted teeth, and the radio switches to some classical piano.

Setting down in an alley behind the nightclub, The redhead switches shells: “Dinah, Bouncer.”

Her Daemon shell vanishes, replaced by the Bouncer shell: An extra few inches of height, a few of reach, and a lot of muscle… and all the actual protections of the Daemon shell, plus allowances for keeping her air fresh… no flight or claws, but enough muscle that fists should do fine. Of course, she styled the clothes like she's seen when visiting: A tight fitting black shirt (leaving off the “Bouncer” for now, as she doesn't have the job yet), tight black pants, black army boots, and a fanny pack (which simulates the purse she doesn't carry), all of it intending to show off the (completely fake, but very effective thanks to SCIENCE!) muscles. Her holographic “makeup” is of course completely plain, and her hairstyle is done up as a no-nonsense buzz cut, plus the head of a dragon tattoo on her neck that spirals down out of sight under her shirt: The point is to be intimidating, not pretty.

A bit early, Cathy takes the time to review the AI’s correspondence… odd that it never used her first name or title, always ‘C. Cumin’, listen to some music, and then goes to the door exactly ten minutes early, nice and relaxed.

The current bouncer at the door stops her, of course, “ID?”

She shrugs and pulls it out of her fanny pack (technically a scanned hard holographic copy, making it a touch difficult to pickpocket effectively… but it looks and feels completely real, the numbers will all check out, and it will even relay signals to the chip buried in this state's version to the real thing).

The bouncer looks it over, and frowns, “You seem a little taller…” yes, he's actually checking.

“I wore flats to the DMV,” Cathy shrugs, “But I'm here for the bouncer interview, not to party.”

“Hmm… a girl bouncer huh?” He purses his lips as his gravely voice rumbles, “Good. I've been getting too much overtime as it is, and it's nice to see the boss is branching out.” The man nods.

Puzzling out what the man meant by that, the mildly disguised heroine walks in… technically a little before the place is actually open. They still have the lights and music running, and the staff are handling last minute tasks - setting up tables and chairs, polishing glasses, restocking the nar shelves, etc - but no patrons as of yet. Walking to the manager's door, the woman knocks.

“Come in,” a deep woman's voice answers from behind the door, and Cathy enters.

A woman in a dark blue business suit, complete with a matching tie and somewhat excessive shoulder pads, looks the heroine up and down as she sits behind her desk, closing her laptop, “And who are you?”

Cathy answers the raven haired woman easily, “Cathy Cumin, I'm here for the interview.”

“C. Cumin, ah.” The woman pauses, pursing her painted red lips, “I was expecting a man.”

The heroine raises an eyebrow, “Everything on my resume and in my correspondence is accurate,” there are no falsehoods, at least, “are you saying I would not have gotten this interview had you known?”

The manager frowns, her mascara making her look somewhat menacing, “Look, there's a reason bouncers are men: Women just don't… satisfy… the same way,” she licks her lips.

Considering, Cathy gives a whispered command, “Dinah, run fetish mod fifteen,” which her prototype keeps inside the shell, and then speaks regularly, which is relayed through the shell like normal, “Oh, but I can, if you're willing to try me…” she slips her hand under her shorts, which stretch as per the mod, tugs slightly, and when she pulls her hand out, now has a considerable bulge.

“You're trans?” The manager tilts her head, causing her black locks to cascade down her shoulder, “Best tuck job I've seen in a while… I'm willing to give you a trial run,” she pushes aside the items on her desk, and then backs her chair up, revealing her matching skirt… and with her legs spread, the lack of panties and shaved slit. “Come over here….”

Knowing well enough what the woman wants, Cathy walks over and kneels, sliding her face under the skirt, and eating some taco for a while while the woman grabs the back of her head and moans.

After a few minutes of progressively more ragged breathing, the naughty manager pushes Cathy's head away and moans out, “I want you inside me.”

Smiling, the heroine pulls her shorts down, revealing a very solid eleven inches and a pair of golf balls, picks up the manager, and sets her down on the very solid holographic rod, raising and lowering the impaled woman via enhanced strength from the shell, grunting a bit herself from the tactile feedback to her hidden equipment. Slowly speeding the pace, using the manager as a fleshlight, Cathy keeps it up until the helpless woman loses control entirely, screaming out in pleasure.

“Oh, that's good, you can…” the manager begins.

Cathy interrupts, planting the manager tits-first on her own desk, “I'm not done yet, and I'm NOT a ****, so I get to have my cookie too,” and continues to ream the woman doggy style until she goes off again. Only then does Cathy give the key phrase that the Prototype was patiently expecting: “I'm cumming!” At which point, it launches accumulated fluids from Cathy's own lubrication deep into the girl on the desk as the heroine feels her own orgasm rock her middle.

The fake meat rod then deflates, and Cathy pulls out and pulls her shorts back up, pushing lightly on the fake equipment, which ends the mod.

Having only had one ‘cookie’, Cathy recovers first, and sits down in the manager's chair, patiently waiting. Eventually the woman on the desk takes a ragged breath, “Okay, you have the job… I'll let Frank know he doesn't need to come in tomorrow…” the manager confirms, “let's get to the paperwork…”

Cathy fills out the forms, and heads home.