Company Life Channel — Even First-Years Have It Rough
There's a joke that makes the rounds on the community boards from time to time.
The unemployed envy office workers, and office workers pine for their unemployed days.
Chanseob had laughed at jokes like that — and sneered at them in the same breath.
"Bullshit. You miss being unemployed because there's nothing else worth missing? Jobless bastards need to cut it out with the cope."
How much walking on eggshells did you have to do when you were unemployed?
How tight did the money get when you were unemployed?
You couldn't even scrape together cash for hobbies, the future was pitch black, and you didn't dare dream of getting a girlfriend.
And you missed that?
This had to be nonsense spread by jealous unemployed losers trying to win a mental victory over people with jobs.
…But after actually starting work for the first time, Chanseob found himself thinking:
Maybe, just a tiny bit, he did miss it?
"Chanseob? Come over here a second."
"Ah — yes, yes, Manager."
Chanseob snapped to attention and presented himself in front of the manager, wound tight as a spring.
Judging by the voice — lower than usual — she had absolutely not called him over for anything positive.
His mouth went dry. His heart hammered.
He'd heard that companies usually didn't expect much from new hires for a while, and so didn't chew them out much either — but this manager had never gotten that memo. The moment Chanseob slipped up, she tore into him without mercy, and she never once let even a single thing she disliked slide.
Fortunately she never chewed him out over nothing when he hadn't actually done anything wrong. But Chanseob had barely been at the company, had no real senior to lean on, and making mistakes was practically a daily occurrence. So as far as he was concerned, it was enough to dry the blood in his veins.
"W-what is it?"
"Chanseob. Are you seriously not going to get your head on straight? I carved time out of my own schedule to teach you how to write reports. By now you ought to be able to handle a simple one on your own, don't you think?"
"Uh, u-uh — was there something wrong with the report?"
He didn't dare claim it was a great report.
But he'd applied everything he'd been taught and written it without any glaring rough edges, or so he'd thought.
Had it looked like a complete mess to people who'd been doing company work for years?
"If it were just the formatting, I wouldn't bother scolding you. It's rough, sure, but you've barely started — that's only natural. At least it hits the basic requirements a report is supposed to have."
"I-is that so? Thank you."
"But!"
A gaze cold enough to raise goosebumps seized his loosening tension in an iron grip.
"None of that matters the second the basic facts in the report are wrong. Do you understand me?"
"Eh — what? Th-the basic facts?"
Had he gotten those wrong? He'd checked everything carefully before submitting it.
Reading the blank incomprehension on Chanseob's face, the manager sighed and pointed at the computer screen as if to say, take a good look.
"Read this carefully and figure out for yourself what's wrong."
"Ah — yes, yes."
Chanseob quickly reread the section she'd indicated.
It was the part where he'd written up his impressions after sampling the pussies in Accounting.
Of course, this wasn't some high school or Academy — it wasn't mere impressions. It was a report describing the characteristics of those pussies based on having fucked them, and arguing which methods of pussy training would be most efficient for discharging sexual desire with each one.
In essence, Chanseob's assigned mission was to provide appropriate sexual relief to pussy-girls whose heads were already packed full of cock, and thereby boost their performance.
"…Um, so, even reading it again I'm not really sure. What do you mean by factual distortion?"
Still a fresh, green rookie. In any ordinary position, Chanseob would have been treated less like productive manpower and more like a mewling infant who needed teaching. If she'd dinged him for incomplete report-writing, or for action plans that were unrealistic or too abstract, he wouldn't have had a leg to stand on — but he couldn't quite grasp what she meant by the facts being wrong.
Nothing weird seemed to be written in there, did it?
At Chanseob's denseness, the manager clicked her tongue and handed him the answer.
"Ha. You really have no instincts at all. It's this part. Right here."
The section she pointed to was the write-up after fucking Manager Kim of Accounting, discussing her future pussy training.
"Eh, ehhh… 'Manager Kim Sun-yeong responds well to her massive H-cup milkers. Shoving cock all the way to the womb while pinching and pulling her nipples makes her come undone. She's also proactive about paizuri, so concentrating her training on those milkers is the rational approach'… I-is something wrong with that?"
As far as he was concerned it was a perfectly straightforward report with nothing to fabricate in the first place. A guy who'd barely started work didn't have the cunning to cook the books on a report anyway.
Unclear data. Flimsy reasoning. Excessively slapdash. If she'd chewed him out along those lines, he'd have had nothing to say — but the facts were wrong?
Even now he could still call up the taste of Accounting Manager Kim's enormous milkers and her pussy. There shouldn't have been anything factually incorrect…
"Haa. You really don't see it, do you. Manager Kim of Accounting's milkers were that sensitive, you say?"
"Yes. The second I played with her nipples she completely melted. Honestly, the way they felt when you squeezed them was kind of fresh. I mean, there aren't many pussy-girls in Korea who go all the way up to H-cups…"
"You do know those milkers were made with surgery, right?"
"……What?"
Surgery?
What the hell. He had no idea.
"Half-fake milkers that were only built with surgery, and they had that excellent sensitivity. Doesn't that strike you as a little suspicious?"
"Ah — no. But they really were incredibly soft. A-and the way she came and looked so happy felt completely real too."
"You stabbed your cock into her womb while pulling her nipples and she came undone… in other words, wasn't the key factor the cock side of things?"
W-was it?
Chanseob rewound the old footage in his head. Some time had passed, so the resolution had dropped and a lot of it had weathered away — but now that she mentioned it, whenever she'd climaxed from the milkers, it did seem like it had always been while he was pounding her.
"B-but she herself kept bragging that they were natural milkers."
"Complete lie. You're really naive, Chanseob. Don't you know pussy-girls will lie without a second thought if it makes them look better to a cock? You have to learn to tell a pussy's truth from her lies. How do you expect to function in society otherwise?"
The manager clicked her tongue as if she pitied him and held up a photo on her phone.
In it was a pussy-girl whose milkers, while not exactly flat, were nowhere near that size.
"See this? This is Manager Kim Sun-yeong when she first joined the company. Night and day from now, right? Those current milkers are nothing but the work of the plastic-surgery gods. Enjoy yourself when you enjoy yourself — but at least know the basic facts while you're at it."
"H-holy crap."
Milkers that natural had actually been built with a doctor's help.
From here on he felt like he wouldn't be able to believe anything at all.
What were they supposed to rely on to face the truth going forward?
"Tsk tsk tsk. That's why you should have carefully verified the facts. Even if you didn't know, wrong is wrong. Understood?"
"I-I'm sorry."
"Of course, even artificial milkers will process sexual desire just fine if you train them. But that's inefficient, isn't it? Our company always has to think about efficiency. This is not a company where inefficient, incompetent people get to plant their feet. That goes for our company's sole Pussy Welfare Officer too. Got it?"
The company's sole Pussy Welfare Officer.
Sole, and the first — it sounded pretty cool when you put it that way.
Actually doing the job felt a little different.
First meant no senior to learn from.
Sole meant no colleagues.
He had to push through work no one had ever done before, entirely on his own.
Of course people around him did help to some degree — but the distance was unmistakable, and there was no getting around that.
"Ah, and another thing. I told you to write up taste reviews of the cunt juice from the pussy-girls you've fucked, and you phoned it in completely. Are you joking right now? A pussy-girl's cunt-juice flavor is one of the most important indicators for assessing her health. And you're neglecting that?"
"Ah — no. Of course not. I-it's just that every pussy-girl's cunt juice tasted pretty much the same to me. I didn't have anything to write…"
"Then you should have at least fed it to other pussy-girls and written down their evaluations. Isn't that awfully half-assed?"
"I tried, but the other pussies refused — said why should they have to drink some other pussy's cunt broth when they weren't missing anything…"
Excuses.
Excuses.
Excuses.
He knew how pathetic it sounded even to himself, but there really was nothing else he could do. At Chanseob's rank, he couldn't exactly force anyone.
The manager sighed as if he were utterly hopeless.
"You really have no work sense at all, Chanseob. Of course they refuse if you just ask them to taste pussy broth. Try dumping a generous creampie on the pussy that needs tasting first. What pussy-girl is going to turn that down? Do I have to teach you even these little things one by one?"
"I-I'm sorry."
The manager's lecture went on and on with no end in sight.
Chanseob had no choice but to sit there, take it, and apologize.
Office life was stricter than anything he'd imagined.
"Ha. Fuck. I want to die."
Alone in a conveniently empty break room, Chanseob groaned.
He was stressed enough that he almost wanted to take up smoking, something he'd never done.
No senior, no manual — and they still rode a rookie this hard over every little thing. It was enough to make him want to tear his hair out. At least she properly told him what to do next time; that much was a mercy.
"Tch… it's true I didn't do the work well enough."
But was he just going to bottle all of this up inside?
Absolutely not.
That way lay a mental breakdown. He had to vent these feelings somehow.
And on a post like that, a striking comment appeared.
Chanseob did as suggested, and nodded.
"Mm… paycheck."
The only drug the state permitted.
You had to receive it on a fixed cycle, without fail.
Stop receiving it and the withdrawal hit.
You had to endure the wreckage of body and mind to keep getting it.
It made you forget the pain of reality, if only for a moment.
"Right. Quitting my ass. What kind of nonsense is that."
Where else was he going to get paid this much for work?
The job was hard? He'd get used to it.
The manager was a bitch? He'd get used to it.
You got used to everything, eventually.
For now, just endure.
"Alright! Time to get back to work!"
"Ah, Chanseob. Production Section 1 put in for overtime and filed a pussy-welfare request along with it. So just so you know — you'll be working late with them."
"……"
But still — working overtime almost every single day really didn't seem right.
Couldn't something be done about at least that?