Olivia has a great time job hopping it's what she wanted the whole time

The massive glass mug of beer slams onto the table as Olivia's head throbs in anger. The normally prim and proper secretary of Porn Inc™️ sits at a bar table with a Hellhound, Fur of Order and Flame of Chaos, her little sister fur of Precociousness and Flame of Mistakes and finally one with Fur of Motivation and a storm cloud perpetually over her head as a Flame. The table is absolutely covered with oversized beer mugs and assorted half eaten snacks that the little sister is whining about not being able to reach. "The CEO is a fuckin' idiot!" Olivia roars in drunken anger, smoke rising from the corners of her mouth. "Every CEO is! I swear that entire damned company would fall apart without me, y'know!" she continues, stopping only to finish off the glass of beer larger than her head. Order and Chaos nods in sympathy.

"Maybe you should show 'em? Change jobs for a bit, let them see just how much they need you as their ace secretary~" she suggests, pushing a plate of boneless wings into the waiting paws of Little Sis Mistakes who cheers and eats the entire plate, leaving the wings behind. "Yeah! Then they'll appreciate me, I bet..." Olivia agrees, head swimming with alcohol. "Wait, how am I gonna do that?" she questions before seeing the three identical grins on the Hounds before her, their Flames rising in intensity. "Ah, fuck me." "We will!" they cheer.

Wreathed in Chaos, Mistakes and struck by lightning, Olivia's world shatters into a thousand pieces around her, mind swimming in confusion as she hurtles thousands of miles an hour across a void of shattered glass realities displaying an infinity of possibilities. She slams into one and it shatters into an eternity of shards, each stabbing into every one of her pores. She doesn't even have time to scream before an entire alternate life plays out before her eyes and she finds herself seated, sober, in the driver's seat of an expensive car.

Purple hair secured in a tight bun and under a little cap resting between her horns, she adjusts her makeup in the rear-view mirror for just a moment before putting it back into place and checks her itinerary for the day. Miss Order and Chaos, huh? She undoes the top three buttons of her top to reveal as much of her cleavage as is legally allowed on the roads. Then thinks for another moment and taps a button on the wheel to dim the windows and undoes a few more to reveal her perfectly secured black lace bra in it's entirety. The passenger door opens and the Hound slides in, fogging the windows instantly with her musk. Olivia the Valet hits the defogger. "Where to, Madame?" "Hmmm..." The Hound taps her pawpad to her muzzle for a moment. "Road Head Pass." She grins widely, and Olivia nods.

Merging into traffic and making sure everything is secure she taps a few more buttons to turn the car to self driving mode, turning to see the hound's massive red rocket already free and fogging the windows despite the defogger. The valet composes herself for a moment. And then wraps her lips around the head of that rocket, moaning like a whore as she knows how much her employer likes that, and begins to skullfuck herself on the massive, jaw straining red rocket. The Hound grunts appreciatively, wrapping her paw around the back of Olivia's head.

Tears run down her face and ruin her perfect makeup, drool and precum spills from her lips. She rolls her eyes up enough to make eye contact with the Hound, to show how much of a sloppy whore the merest taste of cock has made her. The Hound grunts and howls, balls clenching. The valet's cheeks distend with hound cum and she swallows the best she can, but still leaves a river of it running down her chin to stain her new bra as she rises back to the drivers seat to see how many children the AI has run over. Only five today! An improvement.

The snap of fingers is the last thing Olivia the Valet hears as she's sent hurtling through the glass void of realities again, before she's pierced with an entirely new life. Far from anything as professional as a secretary or valet, she finds herself adjusting booty shorts. The word "RUMP" stretched across fatter cheeks than she had two lifetimes ago, "THIGHS" down the sides. She stares at the mirror and tucks her top further down those cheeks to splay it closer to her braless tits, also fatter than two lifetimes ago. "BREASTS" stretched across them.

Working at this shitty little titty bar is... humiliating, but circumstances haven't left her with many prospects other than making money with her body, and at least this way she isn't doing porn or anything. Who would ever work in an industry like that? Never Olivia the Waitress. Forcing a vapid smile onto her face she steps out to start her shift, immediately greeted by a chorus of catcalls and disgusting old men waving dollars in the air to get her to their table. Barely an hour passes and she finds her cleavage full of dollar bills and her ass red with the many smacks of the drunken lecherous men and also the hot sauce staining their fingers. Throughout it all she reminds herself to just giggle at the attention and jiggle for more. Then she's greeted with a strange sight: someone that isn't a dirty old man grabbing at her.

Fur of Precociousness and Flame of Mistakes, a little shortstack Hellhound sits on a booster seat at a table by herself, waving the first fifty she's seen all day in the air. Olivia puts an extra sway in her hips as she heads over. "And what can I get you, little thing?" "A plate!" she barks, tail wagging behind her, sparks of flame flying everywhere. Good thing the tables aren't real wood. Then she stops and furrows her brow in thought. "Of wings!" she finishes, finally. Olivia raises a brow but reminds herself to lean over to give the girl a facefull of dragon tit, actually shivering despite herself when she feels those pawpads slide into her shirt to deposit the bill and tweak her nipple. "Right away, babygirl~" she says with a false affection, swaying to the kitchen to deposit the order and then run it.

Upon delivery the little hound unhinges her jaw and swallows the plate and wings whole, crunching on plastic and bone like it was nothing, to Olivia's horror. The little thing then pulls a hundred out of her own shorts, waving it in the air. "And you for dessert~" Olivia gulps. That's... actually illegal to be a prostitute, but... fuck, a whole hundred? "Meet me out back." She hisses, hurrying away to tell her boss she's going on break. Exiting out the back door to a chorus of even grosser catcalls from the line chefs, she finds the hound.

Her massive musky cock out and leaking pre all over the ground. "I wanna hotdog!" the thing says without a hint of restraint, and Olivia blinks before realizing what that means. That's not... SO bad. "Anything for my favorite customer!" she croons, squatting down before the hound. Pulling her shorts down to expose those fat cheeks she gives them a few twerking claps before engulfing the hound's rocket between them. She barely has to move before the thing completely paints her back and her hair in thick, smelly hound cum. "H-hey!" Olivia yelps.

"I can't go back to work like this!" she turns around with a genuine scowl on her face, only to be met with a paw snapping fingers between her eyes and being shot between realities. Glass shatters and she finds herself leering at one of the purple haired sluts from the front. Olivia the Line Cook grunts and adjusts her apron across her plump figure, bordering on outright fat. "We got some real fuckin' bimbos here, ey?" she laughs to her co-worker, a hound the color of Motivation and always surrounded by a storm cloud. "We do." the Hound agrees.

"WHERE'S THE FUCKING FRIES?!" the manager screams from the other side of the window and they both roll their eyes, throwing a basket into it. "Right there, jackass. Fuck this, I'm goin' on a smoke break." Olivia snorts, throwing her apron onto the cutting board and stomping out. The Hound follows her, and the two chain smoke while watching the purple haired waitress slut hotdog some little sister bitch. "Damn. She yours?" Olivia asks, exhaling cancer into the air. "Nah. Friend of mine's though. Fuck, they got me worked up."

Olivia rolls her eyes. "Take my shift tomorrow and I'll give you a handy." her answer is a red rocket slapped into her hand. She snorts and wraps fingers around it tight, immediately stroking at max speed. Only a few minutes before the boss gets on their case, after all. Olivia raises a brow as the purple haired slut suddenly vanishes at the snapping of fingers between her eyes. "The fuck?" she asks before her sweat soaked t-shirt is equally soaked in hound cum now. "Ah, fuck me, Motiv. Gimmie some warning!" a thunder crack is her only response. And then everything is void and glass, a realm that is weirdly familiar to her. And then Olivia the Line Cook is shattered from reality, landing screaming in a massive cushy chair. Her figure is professionally pornographic as she blinks in confusion at the screen in front of her.

Olivia the CEO, clad in the finest and most expensive suit money can buy, tries to make sense of the flood of numbers and letters in front of her before an idea forms in her dull little brain. "Wait, like... I'm rich, other people, like, can do this for me!" and presses a button. The door of her top floor office opens and her trio of Hellhound secretaries step out of it. "Yes, miss?" one of them asks, fur of... something and fire of... something. Olivia doesn't have to know, she's rich. "Make the numbers green, because green is good!"

"Of course, Miss! We would have never thought of that. This company would be lost without you!" another responds and Olivia grins smugly, leaning back in her chair and twirling her hair. "Like, duh! Gawd, tell me something I don't know." she laughs hautily. "If you insist, miss. Did you know that pregnant CEOs make more money by far?" the third secretary tells her. Olivia tilts her head in an imitation of thought before the idea of some preggers bitch making more money than her makes her angry. "Knock me up! That's an order!"

The three hound secretaries salute before pouncing her to the floor, carpet so plush and expensive that it feels like a fine mattress, and tear her suit to shreds. She pouts, but whatever, she can go shopping later. "Filling all three holes increases chance of pregnancy." "Then do it! Gawd!" Olivia huffs before her vapid mouth is stuffed full of cock that tastes of Chaos, squealing around it as her asshole is filled with cock the feeling of Mistakes. Eventually her pussy is stretched to capacity too, full of Motivation.

The brainless CEO doesn't even remember why she's getting fucked within moments, exposure to a trio of hound musks turning her smooth little brain into pudding, and then the pounding of their cocks into her every hole turning that pudding into air. After... whatever time is passes, the three hounds finally pull away, sighing with relief at the emptiness of their balls as they stare down at the twitching, drooling, and EXTREMELY pregnant idiot CEO. "Phew. Will that be all, miss?" one asks, Olivia furrowing her brow as she tries to remember what words are and how to speak them. "Uhhhhhhh..." she starts, jaw slack and tongue lolled out of her mouth. "Duhhhhhhh..." she continues, the barest spark of life returning to her empty eyes. "Numbers... up." she finishes, and the hounds clap at her genius.

The pregnancy of the CEO of Porn Inc™️ is a major news story, and it does actually raise their profits quite a bit as the sight of the brain dead bimbo bursting out of her clothes with her increasingly round maternal belly on the news draws more and more people to search for MILF and impregnation content, which of course they provide! The video of her brutal fucking by her three secretary hounds alone makes them more money than she can count, which is admittedly not very high to begin with. Olivia rubs her pregnant belly and leaking tits and smiles. Life is great when you're rich and a genius and right about absolutely everything! She should, like, call her book that, when she remembers how to write and stuff. That's her final simple thought before a trio of snaps and thunder shatters reality out from under her.

Olivia, Secretary of Porn Inc™️ stares at the three hounds before her as five entire lifetimes swim in her skull now. She reaches down to find a pregnant belly very much not pregnant, her figure it's normal size, aside from the beginnings of a beer belly forming from these outings. "Did you learn your lesson to appreciate your job and stuff or whatever?" Little Sis Mistakes is the first to speak up, tail wagging behind her. Chaos and Order nods, as does Motivation, as they stare at her awaiting the answer, smug grins on their muzzles.

"... THAT WASN'T EVEN WHAT I WAS TALKING ABOUT!" Olivia shouts, a gout of dragonic flame erupting from her mouth, setting the table aflame for but a moment before Little Sis Mistakes cheers and slurps the fire up like a particularly long noodle. "Fuckin' hounds..." she grumbles, rubbing her temples as she orders another drink, the two hounds not preoccupied with happily eating fire like it was spaghetti looking at each other and shrugging. "Some dragons are so ungrateful." "Absolutely, I know." they nod to each other.