The Interview The clock on the wall ticked as the seconds passed as Mr. Bircham sat at his desk. The wolf tapped his pen against the table while waiting for the interviewee to arrive. “They’re going to be late.” He clicked the pen and scribbled some notes on the sheet of paper before him. “Already off to a bad start.” Many potential employees were in his office today, and they didn’t have the guts or education that fit the bill. One of them was close, but he was a real pansy. This last person was supposed to have potential, but they didn’t complete the application; they had left gender and desired pay blank. Usually, he wouldn’t have bothered to call them, but he was in a particularly nasty mood and wanted to chew someone out. Besides, those that left the gender slot empty were usually something they didn’t have listed, and that caused problems for the current employees. They couldn’t keep up with the new-age ideas of such things. His landline beeped, “Sir, your next client is here for an interview.” “Alright, send them in.” On time, he thought, better off being late. Footsteps echoed through the hall, slowly approaching the office. A black hellhound entered the office, her slim face looking around the office as he approached the desk. The suit was tight around her breasts, revealing just enough cleavage to be considered professional, the white shirt underneath the long-sleeved blood-red coat missing two buttons. Dear god, she’s attractive! He thought as he glanced at her. The coat complimented the red fur on the tips of her long, waist-length hair and claws. The short skirt that sat on her meaty thighs was mere centimeters away from revealing the contents hidden within. The bubbly butt that hid underneath the skirt only lifted the skirt higher. “Ms.…” he paused to look at the application and resume before him. “Garra?” Garra’s wings flicked reflexively. Being cramped up in a tight office building wasn’t something she usually did. The curved horns at the top of her wings were polished and neatly cared for. “Yes, sir, that’s me,” she replied in a deep, motherly voice. Garra held out a hand to shake. She gave Mr. Bircham the strongest, hand-crushing handshake he had ever felt from a female client in a long while. He frowned as he released his grip from Garra’s hand. Garra sat down without being asked, revealing more of her enormous breasts as she leaned over to do so, another tick. She wasn’t told to sit, and strict businesses like Bircham’s ran a tight ship. So that was another tick against her. “I see.” He glared at Garra, who seemingly didn’t notice. “Well, our investment firm is looking for a real go getter. We’re after someone who will go door to door for the technology inept and deliver our summons and other papers.” He was tired as hell and didn’t want to bother with the technical jargon. “From your resume, I see you are quite skilled with retrieval and delivery services. How can that translate to our industry?” Garra leaned forward. “Well, I am skilled in retrieval. Any targets I’m told to retrieve, they won’t escape.” “Hold on.” This threw Mr. Bircham for a loop. “Targets? That is hardly appropriate for this conversation.” “But I am very serious, sir.” Garra sat upright in the cushioned chair. “I was a hitman.” “I’m sorry, you didn’t list that on your resume.” He glanced at it again to find that there was an unusual listing under the ‘Previous Employers’ listing. “Do you mean this ‘Property Retrieval’ position under someone named Lucy?” “We prefer that term. Yes, she preferred if I didn’t release her last name. She’s very big on security. I hope you understand.” Garra spoke with her hands plenty, which let her breasts jiggle with every small motion. Mr. Bircham couldn’t help but stare. “In her industry, it can be a little, how can I put this professionally?” Garra raised her leg, revealing her red lace panties, then set it over her left leg. “Risky to reveal too much information about clients and staff?” “Oh, yes. I understand. I prefer that some details about my personal life weren’t released either.” He cleared his throat, breaking the lock on Garra’s enormous, jiggling breasts. “Anyways, tell me about yourself, Mrs. Garra. Why work for an investment firm when I’m sure a job in,” he paused to look at the resume again, “Property Retrieval seems so much more lucrative.” “It may seem obvious, but Property Retrieval is a dangerous job. I couldn’t count how many times I had nearly lost my life. I’m looking for something more cushy. Something with a lower risk of death. I can guarantee I can deliver any orders, paperwork, or orders of any kind promptly.” Garra stood up, “And…” she began unbuttoning the buttons on her coat, revealing more of her cleavage. “I can promise some benefits for you.” Garra looked at Mr. Bircham with a seductive gaze. “You don’t seem like a hitman, Ms. Garra.” Mr. Bircham cooly replied. He reached for his landline. “Mrs. Oxcar, please hold my calls for the next two hours.” He didn’t wait for a reply.” “Oh, really?” Garra climbed over the desk and sat with her legs draped over his side. “Well, why not let me show you how I handle a gun?” She took off her suit coat, revealing her white undershirt, bursting at the seams. She ran a claw down the front of her shirt, sending buttons flying. Her breasts burst free of their cotton-polymer prison and hung in front of Mr. Bircham. The tribal tattoo on his right arm was slightly warped, but Mr. Bircham didn’t pay much attention to that. “Come here then, big boy.” She knelt on the floor and began unzipping his pants. “Please, Ms. Garra. You already have the job. You don’t have to do all this.” His face was red, sweat beginning to drip from his fur. “I don’t want the wife finding out.” “Trust me, she won’t.” Garra didn’t break her gaze. His dick sat in front of her, standing proud with intent, throbbing and dripping precum. The musk was overbearing. She took in the smell with one long smell. “Seems like someone took a break during lunch.” “How can you tell? I thought I cleaned up after myself.” “I’m a hitman, remember?” Garra licked his dick, and it twitched. “I can tell these things.” Promptly, she took it in her mouth, wrapping her long tongue around his shaft and sliding it up and down. She caressed his balls with her other hand, fondling them and stirring them up. “Gif me a huhg one, bigh boi.” Mr. Bircham didn’t register what she said; he was too engrossed in the pleasure. “Ms. Garra, please. Don’t stop!” He risked placing his hand on Garra’s head, which she allowed. He then pushed her head further onto his dick, which she also allowed. Getting daring now, he grasped Garra’s head with both hands and manually shifted her head up and down like a fleshlight. He didn’t hold back his moans, quickly escalating to howls. “I’m gonna shoot, Ms. Garra!” Cum shot into her mouth in piddly streams. The salty flavor coated her mouth. “Well, you’re quick, aren’t you?” She stood up, reaching for her coat. “So salty.” “Wait.” Mr. Bircham grasped her wrist. “I’ll start you in the company as a manager if you let me go another round.” He looked at Garra with lustful, desperate eyes. “Ah, what the hell?” She turned around and stripped her skirt, showing him those tight, red, lace panties. Getting ahead of himself, Mr. Bircham reached for them and yanked them off with a snap. “Mr. Bircham,” Garra giggled, “so eager.” Laying on her back on the desk, she presented her pussy to him, already soaking wet from sucking his dick. “Go ahead, sir.” She wiggled her ass. “Give me that promotion.” He didn’t waste any time. Grabbing her love handles, she thrust his dick inside. Garra let out a loud, lustful moan, only egging him on. Mr. Bircham began thrusting his wolf dick inside of her at a breakneck pace. “OH! SIR! Give me that promotion!” She thought of all the cheezy lines she could. “Work me overtime!” The slapping of the thighs on the ass was filling the room. Without warning, hot, sticky cum shot into Garra’s pussy. “Over already?” She looked up, gazing at his winded face. “But I wanted more.” Mr. Bircham panted and dripped sweat onto his nice suit coat. “Give me ten minutes, hot tits.” He was tired and lost his professionalism. “Is this how you treated the other girls?” Mr. Bircham froze. “Susan, Shifty, Lilly? All those women you promised a promotion to when you fucked them?” “Wait, how do you know that?” He looked at her with arched brows. “I don’t know who sent you, but when I find out-“ The sound of a cackling fire roared behind him. Heat flowed over his body like a breeze. He turned around and froze in fear. A red portal floated in mid-air behind him. “Who are you?!” He turned and asked Garra. “A hitman.” She replied with every ounce of snark she could muster. She bent her legs and kicked him into the portal, muting his screams. She rose from the desk, checking herself out. “I’m gonna miss this form,” she ran her hands up and down her body, “But I certainly won’t be taking any cases where I have to seduce a man again.” She grabbed her clothes and walked through the portal, spreading her wings and gliding down the tunnel. At the bottom of the tunnel, a wide-open area was present. She gracefully landed in front of a throne at the edge of it. A woman with white hair and a black suit sat in it, her black horns with red tips, her breasts nearly exposed as the buttons began at her solar plexus. Her red skin accented how demonic she was. “Hughbert Bircham, a hit was placed on you for your sinful behavior.” Her black sclera accented her red pupils. “How do you plea?” Mr. Bircham was already chained by two flying demons. He knelt before the woman and bowed his head. “I plead not guilty.” “Funny,” Garra said as she approached him, “I remember you offering me a promotion. Where is it?” She pulled his hair, making him look Garra in the face. “You weren’t even a good lay.” She said, pausing. “Not like I know a lot about that or anything.” “Garra, have you developed a taste?” The woman on the throne teased. “It’s perfectly normal for our hitmen to like that, you know?” “No, I haven’t.” She thrust his face down to the ground, scuffing it on the hard and hot rock. Before their very eyes, his breasts disappeared, and his hips and thighs shrank to a fit and muscular physique. The slim face gained some meat, looking more masculine. The long hair shriveled into his head, leaving a mess of hair on the top of his hair, the red tips remaining. Mr. Bircham, his face burned, looked at the hellhound in front of him. Not only was his face scarred, but his emotions were as well. “And this is the last time I take contracts where I have to seduce scumbags like these.” “Wait,” he sniveled, “you’re a man?!” He looked at the strong muscles in his legs, the toned abs, the dick that was longer and wider than his. “Oh my god…” “Always was, asshole.” Garra turned to the woman on the throne. “Lucy, am I free to go?” The demon on the throne, Lucy, laughed, “Yes, Garra, you’re free until the next contract.” Garra spread his wings and began to take off. “Head to the Stripper Bar. I told the girls to treat you nicely after this contract. That is unless you’d rather be doing the dancing?” Garra stopped. “You were watching, weren’t you?” “The whole time.” Lucy laughed once more, nearly falling out of her throne. “Work me overtime!” Garra glared at her, unamused. “Oh man, that was so good! Tell em to get you a drink, on me. Get that salty taste out of your mouth.” “Gee, thanks…” He flew off. He’d stop by his place to get clothes first. A drink was exactly what he needed.