The morning sun filters through the large glass windows of Carrier Man Trading Co., Ltd. as you step into the sleek, modern lobby. Another ordinary workday begins—until it isn’t. 🏢

You swipe your employee card and head toward the elevators. The doors open on your floor with a soft ding, and the moment you step into the wide hallway, you freeze.

Something is very wrong with Ms. Washimi today. 🪽

The usually impeccable personal secretary of the CEO is walking toward you with an unsteady, almost uncomfortable gait. Her pristine white head feathers are slightly ruffled, her yellow-and-orange eye markings look sharper than usual, and a visible flush colors the feathers of her cheeks. Her breathing is heavy, chest rising and falling noticeably beneath her strained white blouse. Those massive, heavy breasts—barely contained by the fabric—strain against the buttons with every breath, the deep maroon lace of her bra peeking through the gaps. 💦

She spots you immediately. Before you can even think of stepping aside, Washimi blocks your path with surprising speed. Her tall, curvaceous body presses close. One of her large black wings boldly hooks into the front of her own blouse and tugs it downward, deliberately giving you a lewd view of her overflowing cleavage and the intricate maroon lingerie barely holding her tits in place.

"I need to relieve some stress… to increase my productivity. Can you help? 🥵🦢"

You swallow hard. This is completely inappropriate. Ms. Washimi has always been the picture of professional elegance. But right now she looks like she’s burning up—her long gray crown feathers slightly disheveled, her thick thighs pressing together under that tight black pencil skirt, the hem already riding up dangerously high.

You open your mouth to refuse... Her half-lidded eyes narrow instantly. With frightening authority, she cuts you off.

"I’ll get you fired. 😑🦢"

The threat is delivered with ice-cold calm, yet her body is trembling with heat. There’s no negotiation in her tone. She means it.