I would like to thank celafille for inspiration and feedback on this story. It's a little different from my other stories, but different is good, yes? Let me know what you think.
*****
She struggled to keep her composure as she sat waiting on the uncomfortable chairs that lined the hall. She was the last to be interviewed; a stream of young men and women had once filled the hallway, each in turn being called into the office ahead of her. Each leaving, some looking relieved, others muttering to themselves. None looked exceptionally confident.
When they called her name her heart leapt. She wanted this job so desperately. She stood, smoothing her pencil skirt by running her palms over her thighs. She took a deep breath, repeated to herself the words of her mentor. "Be confident, be positive, smile." But at that moment she didn't feel confident, at that moment she felt smaller than her petite 5'3" frame, she felt younger than her 20 years. Still she managed to walk confidently into the room and close the door behind her.
She forced her best smile and extended her hand, "Hello, I'm..."
"Laurie Eagleton," the man behind the desk said, not looking up at her, his nose, instead, buried in what must have been her file, "Take a seat."
She was thrown by his lack of warmth, troubled that he didn't bother to shake her hand. But obediently she sat in the chair in front of his desk, trying her best to keep a good posture, chin up, knees together, hands folded awkwardly in her lap. She could never figure out what to do with her hands.
He put her folder down and looked at her for the first time. He was attractive, she thought, older certainly, mid 30s. His brown hair had just the beginnings of a few touches of grey. He ran his hand over his chin thoughtfully as he looked her over, and gave a half smile.
"I've read your resume," he began, "and it's very impressive, but truthfully, I don't want to hire you for this job."
Her heart sank, and her mouth opened as if to speak but nothing came out. She fought back the tears from frustration and anger and disappointment. He hadn't even asked her a single question. How could the interview be over so quickly?
He stood up and walked around until he was directly in front of her. Leaning back against the heavy oak desk, he folded his arms and looked down at her gauging her reaction.
"But," she finally managed to say, "But I waited all day. You didn't even ask me a question." Her voice was breathless as if she had been running for a long time.
"I know," he nodded his head, "I've seen you there, all day, every time my door opened to interview another applicant. Sometimes your legs would be crossed, sometimes not. Sometimes you played with your phone, sometimes not. Anxiously waiting your turn." Here he chuckled to himself, "I even moved your file down in the stack so that you'd be at the end."
"But why," she almost begged, "if you weren't going to hire me?"
"Well," he said, "there are two reasons. The first is that my colleague in another office has a job that you're much better suited for based upon your resume. I've already lined that job up for you. This position would be a waste of your obvious talents, and my friend has agreed to take you on, at my word." He handed her a business card. "Call him when you leave here, he'll give you the details."
She stared blankly at the card, not really taking in its content. She looked up at him, her mouth crooked with confusion.
"Like I said, there are two reasons," he began again. "You see, I've been watching you all day. The way you hold yourself, your posture, the way you wet your lips with your tongue whenever your name wasn't called. And each time that door opened, I'd flip back to your profile, get a better sense of you, there's something..." he trailed off. "Something different about you."
She wasn't sure where he was going with this, but she suddenly felt very aware of the fact that it was past 5 pm and the two of them were alone in his office. She fidgeted in her chair, looking over her shoulder at the door and then back to him.
"You see," he said standing straight and taking a step toward her until he towered over her, "I'm a man of principle. And if you came to work for me, well that wouldn't be good at all."
Staring up at him she said in a small voice barely above a whisper, "Why not?"
"Because I don't fuck my employees, and I am going to fuck you."
The words dazed her, but not just the words, the confidence, the authority. He said it as if she had no say in the matter, or at least as if he already knew that he excited her, that mixed in with fear and anxiety over the interview and the situation was a tingle of a sexual charge that was growing.
Still she felt she had to get away. Standing with an intent to leave, she found that he hovered so close to her that in moving to get away she had inadvertently moved closer to him, her small chest brushing against his torso.
Her eyes looked up at him; her expression hovered between insistence and helplessness. He gave no ground, and when she reached out her small hands and touched his waist, her intent had been to push him aside so she could leave, but instead she lingered.
His hands took her by shoulders and held her firmly, but not forcibly, the way one may hold a egg, knowing how fragile it is. There was power in his touch, and it coursed through her body like the stunning shock of an electric eel.
As he lowered his lips to hers, she told herself she had no choice, that she was pinned and helpless, but that could only explain why he was kissing her, it would never explain satisfactorily why she was kissing him back, or why it was her tongue that ventured out in search of his. His hands moved up her neck from her shoulders, until he cupped her face in them as he kissed her.
"Take off your blouse," he said into her mouth as they kissed. And without hesitation her slim fingers began undoing buttons.
She could sense him smile at her obedience and she hated herself for it. She had read stories of women who longed to be taken by a man in control and never thought herself to be one. But now, in the midst of being taken by such a man, something instinctual took over, her unconscious desires betrayed her, and she was his willing conquest.
When her blouse was unbuttoned, he slid the silk material down her shoulders, just to her elbows, but then stopped and roughly twisted the fabric behind her, binding her arms. She whimpered at her helplessness, but did nothing, shouted nothing to protest.
His free hand went to her small breasts that were still encased in the lacy material of her bra. He guessed rightly that it was a front clasp, and with a dexterity that spoke to years of experience taking young women, opened the clasp and exposed her chest.
Taking a firm grip on a soft mound of flesh, he found her hardened nipple with his thumb and forefinger and rolled it until it was harder still. She whimpered into his mouth, her breasts and nipples being especially sensitive.
"You moan like a whore," he whispered before plunging his tongue back into her mouth, stealing any chance to reply. His tongue parted her lips just as his finger twisted her nipple harder, making her whine again to demonstrate his comment.
"My god," she thought, "am I really so easy that I let a man I just met..." her thought interrupted as he gave her nipple another twist, and a mix of pain and pleasure shot through her young body and she melted into another moan.
He released her with his hands, letting her shirt finally fall completely away. Taking hold of the back of her neck he said, "I want to see how good you are with your mouth." He gave a gentle downward pressure on her shoulders and without question or resistance she sank to her knees in front of him until she was eye level with his zipper.
Her eyes darted up to his, a mix of anxiety and expectation. She'd only ever given one blow job in her young life and she didn't know how to proceed. She didn't want to embarrass herself by revealing her inexperience, so she waited for him to tell her what to do.
"Go ahead," he smiled down at her, bemused by her naiveté, "undo my pants." She hesitantly reached her slender fingers for the clasp of his trousers. She fumbled a bit, but once undone, his zipper fell easily. She could see the bulge in his boxer briefs as his pants fell away and without thinking she reached out and rubbed her palm along it, feeling his cock grow beneath the fabric.
She hesitated, not sure whether to slide his underwear off, or reach her hand into the flap. Her cheeks reddened at her own embarrassment for not knowing. Luckily he reached down himself, pushing his boxer briefs down just low enough to free his cock, which now stood mostly erect mere inches from her mouth.
She reached out and took hold of his cock. It already felt so much bigger than the other boys she had touched. Maybe this man was special, or maybe men's cocks grew bigger as they reached middle age. As she began to slowly run her hand over him, she realized how little she actually knew about men.
He reached down and stroked her hair, but at the same time gave her firm guidance to bring her mouth to his cock. He wasn't forcing her, exactly, but he was tired of waiting for her lust to overcome her inexperience. She drew closer, opened her mouth wide, and took the mushroom shaped head into her mouth.
He tasted salty already. Was that precum? She had only given one blow job before but she had insisted the guy not cum in her mouth. Now as she slowly worked her head back and forth over just a few inches of his thick cock, she was consumed by the thought that she was tasting his cum, or precum anyway. What was the difference after all? It was on her tongue, she was swallowing it.
She almost cried as she thought about how slutty she must seem, to be so easily taken. Almost cried, because in the end every time she thought the word; slut, whore, tramp, harlot, a jolt shot through her and she could feel herself become slick. So she kept going.
