Conquer the interviewer

In silence, one either erupts or utterly succumbs. Ultimately, there was no eruption; instead, I sank into a sea of desire, unable to escape, becoming someone else's sex slave. This is my life, my destiny, and I will eventually shed tears of regret for my past choices. But pain and pleasure coexist in my life, perhaps until the very end.

I am a recent graduate, finding it difficult to find work. I've changed jobs repeatedly, only to be fired before the probation period was over. One day, I suddenly saw an advertisement on 58.com: hiring a personal assistant with generous compensation. Whatever, even if it's a pyramid scheme, I'll go; I'm almost out of money.

The interview location was in a secluded neighborhood. Building 4, Unit 619. A strikingly beautiful woman opened the door. She had a voluptuous figure and a delicate, alluring face. Dressed in black, she scrutinized me with a stern expression. "Come in," she said. I entered and found she was a secretary; the interviewer was also a glamorous woman.

Forgive me for using the word "alluring," but her skin was fair, her eyebrows thick, and her eyes seemed to speak volumes, radiating a seductive charm. She

was breathtakingly beautiful.

She spoke, her voice strangely magnetic, enough to make anyone's lower body itch and harden. She glanced at me and said softly, "Do you understand what kind of person we're looking for? Our pay here is good, 8k base salary and benefits. But once you join, you'll have to sign a confidentiality agreement and a long-term contract, with relatively little rest time. Can you accept that?"

I was overjoyed. My previous salaries hadn't even reached 3k, and here it was 8k! Haha, this is awesome! Even working in Africa only pays 6k! When I'm rich, I can hook up with any type of student I want, upperclassmen or underclassmen, it's all up to me. I've been eyeing that busty, short-sleeved slut in my class for a long time. Every time she wiggles her shorts, her plump buttocks sway like ripe peaches. Unfortunately, as a loser, I don't have the courage to look her in the eye. Now that I have money, maybe I should try to seduce her? She might not be suitable as a wife, but sleeping with her for a few months would be quite comfortable.

My mind wandered, indulging in fantasies and fantasies. I imagined this interviewer looking so sexy, with her snow-white, perky breasts, her black leather jacket outlining her curves, and her long legs in flesh-colored stockings. I wanted to strip her naked, push her down, and thrust my penis into her vagina.

The interviewer didn't speak, letting me stare blankly, grinning like an idiot. Suddenly, she threw the documents on the ground and said, "Look, sign the contract." I had just squatted down when I took the opportunity to look at the interviewer's beautiful legs in flesh-colored stockings, her snow-white feet in high heels making me restless. I had the urge to smear

my semen on her high heels, and my testicles were throbbing. Suddenly, a dark shadow attacked me from behind, and I passed out. When I woke up, I found the interviewer and the woman who opened the door had me bound hand and foot, the rope digging deep into my flesh. My testicles and penis weren't spared either, tightly bound with rubber bands. My glans was swollen and

almost necrotic. I was completely drained and unconscious for hours. Suddenly, I noticed the interviewer lowering her beautiful face and releasing my penis, though my entire body was still tightly bound to the table. She lowered her head and thrust deeper and deeper into my penis. Her tongue playfully grazed my glans, and I looked at her snow-white breasts, pink nipples, and soft, low moans. It felt incredibly good, and my lower body grew hotter and hotter, as if it wanted to explode. The beautiful woman who opened the door was wearing shorts and straddled my face. Her honey pot was flowing with fragrant fluid, and I couldn't help but lick her thick, almost insane labia, my tongue trembling slightly as I played with her clitoris. She rode on my face, and the suffocating pleasure and the tingling sensation of her being sucked over my lower body surged towards me like a tidal wave.

The interviewer tied her hair into a neat ponytail, took off her leather jacket, revealing her snow-white, plump buttocks. She had a clitoral ring, and she swayed on top of me, moaning. Her breasts rose and fell, like waves surging, as if the most beautiful scenery was dancing before my eyes. Her ponytail fluttered in the air, and her clitoris grew hotter and hotter, gripping my penis with a rhythmic tug and release, a slow and steady beat. I wished this moment could last forever.

I couldn't hold back any longer; my glans twitched a few times, and my thick, white semen gushed out, striking the interviewer's uterus. Her vulva trembled, and her plump buttocks bounced forcefully against my penis. With a cry, she also released clear vaginal fluid.

I found this encounter strange. If this was the job, I would be happy.

But breathing became increasingly difficult, and the woman riding on my face with her vulva still hadn't reached orgasm. After all, my tongue wasn't trained; it was already numb. The pleasure in my lower body was gradually fading. She suddenly stood up and went to the inner room to bring out a white medical kit. She exchanged a ghostly smile with the interviewer. She was more beautiful than a peach blossom. Seeing the two plump beauties standing beside me like white sheep, I shamefully got hard again.

She gagged me, then injected me in the testicles, leaving my genitals numb. I began to feel fear. The interviewer fiddled with my penis, a slow, seductive smile playing on her lips. She put on white medical gloves, took a sharp scalpel, and began to cut at the base of my penis. I watched helplessly as my hard penis fell to the ground, crushed under her foot.

No, although there was no pain in my genitals, my heart sank into an abyss. She skillfully severed my penis, pulled out and cut off my testicles from the prostate, crushed them in her hand, and threw them into a trash bag. Then she sprayed me with hemostatic spray. Soon, the bleeding stopped, but my heart began to shatter.

I lay in bed for three months, cared for by them. Every day they injected my breasts and applied medicine to my genitals, making them unbearably itchy. I found that looking at their beauty, my desire began to diminish. I lost not just my male dignity, but a lustful heart. My breasts began to swell, my skin turned white. My buttocks began to become rounder and more perky. Later, the interviewer performed another surgery on me, causing my genitals to become concave, like a woman's vagina, and I started to itch and produce copious amounts of vaginal fluid. The desire for penetration brewed within my flesh. She injected me with estrogen and a gestational injection. Recently, I noticed my breasts were starting to perk up, and milk was starting to secrete. Being milked every day, with a dildo inserted into my vaginal walls, became my daily routine. I suffered through orgasms, and in the pain, I would faint, forgetting who I was. My arms became slender, and the dildo I used to have became a concave slit of flesh, unbearably itchy, my sensitive clitoris constantly secreting vaginal fluid. My face in the mirror also started to thin. The interviewer started training me to change my voice. If my pronunciation wasn't seductive enough, she would whip my breasts. I felt like I wasn't myself, but another naked woman with a wasp waist and pert buttocks, pressing me down and squeezing my clitoris with her clitoris. My breasts were being whipped and shaken. Sometimes, when she got tired of playing, she would kick her black leather boots into my hole and straddle my face with her plump buttocks, spraying her white, lustful fluid into my mouth.

Other times, she would change her tactics, wearing a cold, artificial penis and whipping my genitals. The penis would thrust in and out of my vagina, the tender flesh of my buttocks being forced open, the exquisite walls of my flesh being brutally pounded. There was no orgasm, only coldness.

The anger inside me roared. I feigned compliance in a daze, but I desperately wanted revenge and to escape this hellhole. Perhaps I would never see my family again. Time passed quickly. I became more and more like a woman—in my speech and mannerisms. I also wore makeup, both natural and artificial, and I experimented with different combinations of cosmetics. Looking at my unfamiliar yet beautiful face in the mirror, I was stunned… One day, I finally found an opportunity. The interviewer was posting job openings again, and another woman was out shopping for groceries. The interviewer was tall and plump, with strong, shapely legs; I was definitely no match for her. The recruiter arrived. Perhaps my months of obedience had lowered her guard; my ID and money were with her, and in my high heels, I couldn't escape. I swayed my plump hips as I opened the door. Outside stood a student-looking man, with a simple, honest appearance and a thin frame. If he were dressed up, he would definitely be a beautiful woman.

Here we went again, the interviewer and I ambushed the student. We tied him to the bed, leaving only his penis exposed for me to play with. I stroked the glans, watching his penis slowly harden. I gently lifted his skirt, revealing his snow-white buttocks. I aligned my vulva with his and eagerly sat down, beginning to moan rhythmically. The interviewer also leered and stripped naked, revealing her lamb-like body, slender, with full breasts and a pert bottom. She played with her red, wet clitoris, placing her vaginal opening against the boy's mouth, her large, bell-like breasts swaying. I looked at her voluptuous buttocks and swallowed hard. She continued to sway, and her vaginal fluids flowed like a stream from my pubic hair onto the boy's penis, moistening his glans.

I clenched my vagina and began to shake my hips. The man couldn't take it anymore and licked the interviewer's genitals even more frantically. The interviewer's hair swayed, and I gently pulled her black hair, shaking her beautiful face like riding a horse. She was also close to orgasm; the walls of her lower body began to writhe and slick with moisture, her labia swollen. The man's tongue licked even more vigorously. I pretended to casually pull her braid with one hand and gently lifted the medical kit with the other, smashing it against the back of her head. She was stunned by the blow, swaying, trying to break free of my grasp to see what was happening. I continued to punch her temples. She finally collapsed unwillingly, her lower body petals opening and closing, her tender clitoris proudly erect, contrasting with her snow-white, perky breasts.

Time was of the essence. I found my ID card and the cash in the house, used hemp rope to tie the naked interviewer up tightly, binding her into a ball. I stuffed her into a large suitcase and quickly fled towards the back gate of the residential area. The story that follows is about me singing the tale of conquest to the interviewer with a whip and candles. The interviewer was gay, had always liked women, but disliked them for being too delicate and unable to withstand the test of time. So, after several years of advanced studies in the surgical department of medical university, he secretly underwent human modification. The woman who opened the door for me was also a pitiful test subject, subjected to long-term "training."

I escaped this hellhole, but I wouldn't let the interviewer off so easily. Everyone has a devil and an angel within them. My angel had shattered along with my testicles, and the devil was beginning to sprout. Pain and pleasure intertwined as I continued to struggle in the sea of desire.

[The End]

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