Moesha The Maid

As the elevator doors opened, Moesha stole one last look over her shoulder at the mirrored wall. Nervous, brown eyes peered back from her round-cheeked face. Her hair was too short for dreadlocks right now, so she had (with great difficulty) managed to make it smooth and glossy. She hoped it looked professional - but, then again, was she

supposed

to look professional for this interview? The emails had been so vague. This was it. Either the best or worst decision of her life. Summoning whatever bravado she could, she puckered her full, thick lips and blew her reflection a kiss. She felt silly afterwards, and had to turn away.

She walked down the gilded hallway, counting down the door numbers to her fate. Moesha was a short, thickly built young woman, with broad features, broad shoulders, and

very

broad hips. Her choice of garments fit well enough to look professional, but tightly enough to hint at what lay beneath. Moesha was chubby, which showed a little bit in her cheeks and belly and a

lot

in her breasts and buttocks. Part of the application she had filled out had asked about her measurements (38/33/43), and she hoped that this would be a selling point. However, while she was well used to being admired by her fellow urban blacks, she really had no idea if their concept of female beauty would be shared by her prospective employers.

"Moesha Clarke," she said to the pretty young receptionist, trying to keep her eyes level and her voice even.

The blonde at the desk smiled. "Bright and early," she said peppily. "Mr. Ulnik will be ready for you in about ten minutes. Just take a seat."

Moesha felt the receptionist's gaze on the seat of her skirt as she walked over to the comfortable chairs in the waiting room. She looked over her shoulder. The blonde raised her eyes slowly from Moesha's butt to her face, and smiled. Moesha smiled weakly back. Her heart thumped a little faster, and she felt a shiver; this really was a different world.

After checking the clock, she sat down and picked up a random magazine from the pile on the coffee table. It was about celebrities or something. Wishing she could have a beer or something to calm herself down, she read through a few more media darling articles until she heard a door open.

"Just hang out in the waiting room," said an unfamiliar female voice, "you'll be called back in in a few minutes."

"Right, I got it," answered a very familiar male voice. Moesha straightened up in her chair and put the magazine down. No, it couldn't be. Did that really sound just like...

She looked at the hall entrance, and saw Benjamin enter the waiting room. A moment later, he saw her as well, and stopped dead in his tracks.

"Moesha?"

Benjamin had filled out since last time she'd seen him; his shoulders were broader, his arms thicker, and his clean-shaven face conveying a touch of maturity it had earlier lacked. Aside from that though, he looked exactly the same. Bright green eyes, like a glass bottle washed clean by the sea. A strong jaw and chin that belied his otherwise boyish (well, a little less boyish than it used to be), freckled face.

"Ben," she replied, her mouth unsure if it should smile. "Uh...hi!"

"Hey!" he replied much more enthusiastically, though his eyes were still unsure. He rushed over to where she was sitting, opening his arms just a little bit as if inviting a hug while trying to maintain plausible deniability. Before she realized it, Moesha stood up and opened hers as well, exchanging a polite embrace. He was about an inch taller and his muscles tighter and harder than she remembered. Over his shoulder, Moesha saw the blonde receptionist watching them with a curious grin.

"How've you been?" Benjamin asked as he withdrew from her grasp and sat down in the seat next to hers.

"Workin'," Moesha said, trying to look less regretful of this fact than she was, "saving for school." Then, before she could stop herself, "Not making very much."

She regretted that as soon as she said it, as pangs of guilt shot through his green eyes. A mean, spiteful part of her was satisfied, which didn't make her feel good.

"Oh. I'm...sorry. Have you at least saved enough for a semester or two?"

She chewed her lip a little. "As long as I don't eat very much."

He looked pained. Guilty.

"How 'bout you?" She asked, sitting back in her chair beside him, both hands going to the armrest closest to him, "What's a nice boy like you doing here?"

He chuckled nervously, averting his eyes for a second. "Law school," he said, "law school, and a less than stellar LSAT score. And no way can I ask my parents for more money at this point."

Moesha had only a vague idea of what the LSAT was, but she understood the context. Moesha was a

potentially

good student, but her family's financial needs had limited her high school study time. So, apparently even

he

didn't always get everything he wanted; that appeased her spiteful half, at least for now.

"Well," he said, looking back at her and smiling, "I can't believe it. Its been...god, three years? More like three and a half?"

Moesha nodded. "Yeah. We ended in...February, a little after Valentine's."

He nodded back, his smile mostly faded. "Yeah."

There was another awkward pause. She was very aware of his body heat on her face and hands.

"You're doing your interview?" Moesha decided to break the silence.

"No, actually," he said, "I just got hired. They call you back in to get fitted for uniforms and stuff. I'm doing outdoor sports, by the way. How about you?"

She smiled a little. "I'm gonna be a-"

"Moesha Clarke, Mr. Ulnik will see you now."

Damn.

"Gotta go," Moesha said, flashing him what was intended as a mischievous grin but probably came across as something meeker, "wish me luck."

"Just be relaxed," Benjamin advised as she rose from her seat, "don't be too formal, but make sure he knows you're seriou..."

Benjamin stumbled midsentence as Moesha got to her feet, which put the back of her skirt just a foot or so from his face. Due to the forty-three inches involved, he could see nothing else.

"..um...uh, serious. Anyway, just be frank, and honest. He's pretty perceptive about that, so be yourself."

"Gotcha," Moesha said, doing a haphazard imitation of an army salute, "see ya later."

She had been about to ask if he would still be around after her interview, but stopped herself; that would have sounded needy. She needlessly straightened her hair and, with one last, lipsticked smile at Benjamin, made her way to the office.

"Break a leg, cutie," smiled the receptionist as Moesha passed the desk. The woman wasn't even

pretending

to keep her eyes to herself. It was equal parts flattering, nerve-wracking, and intriguing; where Moesha came from, this was the kind of thing you only took out of the closet when you were sure no one was looking. She felt herself getting even more tense; this new kind of freedom was scary and foreign.

She turned the corner that put her ever-so-fascinating situpon out of anyone's sight, and quickly found the door that read "M. Ulnik, C.E.O." She hesitated, her arm raised. She still couldn't believe she was actually doing this.

She swallowed, and then knocked.

...

Moesha sat in a padded, darkwood chair, in front of a massive, perfectly varnished darkwood desk that looked like it belonged in a nineteenth century British headmaster's office. From behind it, a tall forty or fifty-something Norwegian man was smiling at her.

"Ms. Clarke," said his gently accented voice after he took her hand and shook it vigorously. He had a very strong, very forceful grip, "I'm quite pleased to finally meet you."

Finally?

She looked at his welcoming face with a skeptical eye.

I only applied last week.

Flattery, she decided. He probably said that to all his potential employees. She felt a little smug at having figured this out, but that was undone when she realized that - despite her skepticism - it was still working on her. His sky blue eyes and neighborly smile were more than her logic was ready for. His strong cheekbones and aristocratic, confident poise, even less so. Mr. Ulnik had some pepper in his hair and a couple of early wrinkles, but she nonetheless felt that if they met at a bar (not that the two of them would have ever frequented the same drinking establishment), she would let him buy her a drink.

She managed to quiet her racing thoughts, and said, with a demure shrug, "I'm quite pleased to be here."

His smile broadened, and he nodded, the dancing light of the surprisingly convincing fake fireplace flickering across his face. "That's a good sign for your employability," he said, "assuming, of course, that you are telling the truth."

Moesha repressed the urge to nervously bite her lip.

"Well," she said, hoping she hadn't committed some mysterious

faux pas

already, "I wouldn't have come here if I didn't want to."

"Hmm," he shook his head, his face a bit more businesslike, "when I started this business, I thought that same thing. In the years since then, I've hired too many who I should not have hired. They made themselves miserable, which made the guests miserable, which made me miserable when those guests didn't come back next year."

A bit of the smile returned to his handsome face, which calmed her down a little. "No, there are many who don't

want

this position, but only the money that comes from it."

"I'm pretty sure I understand," she repeated. He hadn't asked a question, but he was looking at her in a way that wanted an answer.

"In that case," he said, almost matter of factly, "since you have not left the room, and you are an intelligent girl, this means you know you will love it here. Or that you hope to, at least. This is good. Some don't even hope for that when they step through my door."

He gave a very purposeful smile, his blue eyes sparkling in the fake firelight.

"But this we will discuss soon. For now, I have printed your application."

He pulled the copy from somewhere behind the desk and laid it down in front of himself. Moesha's shoulders fell into a relaxed position. This was more like what she had expected. This part, she wasn't nervous about.

"This says you have been a maid, kitchen worker, and waitress," he read the paper in a way that made it seem like he really hadn't memorized it before she arrived, "five years, on and off?"

She nodded firmly. "Yeah. I did housework at home since I was a little girl. I got my first job room cleaning and laundry at the Nook Motel."

He nodded approvingly. "And since then," he said, "you've been cleaning, room service, dishwasher, even waitress at two businesses?"

She nodded again, carefully fixing her hair again when he was looking down at the papers. The questions continued for several more minutes. He was more thorough than the online questionaire, but still nothing that caught her off guard. She felt her confidence building until he put down her application and changed his tone.

"But now," Mr. Ulnik said, sitting back in his chair and letting a more wry smile spread across his face, "we come to the second part of your interview. Stand up, Miss Clarke."

She did as she was told, feeling much more vulnerable now that she was standing in front of the old-fashioned desk. All those schoolgirl stories she had read came back to her.

"Turn around."

She felt her cheeks get hot, but this wasn't at all unexpected. With a shy chuckle, she turned her back to the desk, leaving Mr. Ulnik faced with the cause multiple traffic accidents. The seat of her skirt was almost an entire foot closer to him than gravity would have had it, bulging out like the body of a well-formed vase.

"I see you were not exaggerating your measurements. Good, this is what I had hoped for. Raise your skirt, if you don't mind."

Moesha looked over her shoulder. That wasn't a request she was used to hearing from someone twenty-five years older than her, and the "if you don't mind" part just made it all seem unnatural and wrong. Ulnik's face was still carefully professional, but she could tell that there was more than a profit motive that kept his eyes on her thickest portion. She felt that power that she usually had over men return to her, and her heart quieted down. Slowly, she reached down for the hem of her skirt and pulled it up above her waist. Each chocolatey-brown cheek was the size and shape of a beach ball, pointing almost impertinently out behind her in shameless defiance of gravity. Her lacy black panties hid only a small section of them from view, the high, jutting crowns and fat, pouty sit spots bulging out above and below the lace.

"Your application so far is very promising," said Mr. Ulnik, not bothering to completely mask the lechery in his voice and face, "You may turn back around."

Heh. "May." He's probably hoping I won't

. Feeling much more confident in her physical charms now, Moesha's natural tease came back to her, and she smoothly let go of her skirt and turned back around, smiling innocently. Mr. Ulnik chuckled, as if amused. Either he liked her attitude, or that was meant to be foreboding. Maybe both.

"Well, my dear," Mr. Ulnik said cheerfully, rising to his feet, "you have the work experience, and you certainly have the biology. But there's a few more tests you need to pass before I can hire you in good conscience."

Moesha felt her heartbeat accelerate a little again. Mr. Ulnik's smile had grown more predatory, giving the words "silver fox" a more literal meaning. She felt a pins-and-needles tingle in the cheeks of her bottom. She had a pretty good idea of what was coming, and she had spent all day mentally preparing for it. Hopefully, it would get easier once she was actually on the job...

"Open the door," said Mr. Ulnik, "and invite the person waiting outside to come in."

Huh

. Well, to be honest, Moesha wouldn't have terribly minded if Mr. Ulnik had administered the practical test himself. To be even more honest, she had gotten just a little excited when he told her to raise her skirt. But, she told herself, this was probably for the best. It would be kind of awkward if the boss...

She opened the office door, and saw Benjamin waiting in the hall.

For a moment, they both stared, Benjamin's green eyes widening as he realized something.

"I'm...helping with

your

interview?" he almost stammered.

Moesha looked over her shoulder at Mr. Ulnik. He looked slightly impatient.

"Uh..." Moesha's mind shook off the incongruity and got back into action, "I guess so? Um, c'mon in?"

Mr. Ulnik walked over toward the two young adults as they came in. "Moesha Clarke," he said with a gracious smile, "this is Benjamin Callen. He's a new hire, starting at the same time that you hope to. For today, he will assist in your practical interview."

Moesha and Benjamin looked from each other to Mr. Ulnik back to each other.

"Mr. Callen, you may stand by the door for now," Mr. Ulnik gestured as he stepped back toward his desk, "Ms. Clarke, please stand in front of my desk."

Her eyes wide, she looked incredulously from Mr. Ulnik's face to Benjamin's. There weren't words in the English language for what she was feeling right now. This was just wrong. This was like a dream she might have after eating something whose name she couldn't pronounce. She opened her mouth to ask for a different "assistant," but quickly stopped herself. If she gave Mr. Ulnik the impression that she wouldn't get along with another employee, he would be much less likely to want her on the team. With one last, awkward glance over her shoulder at Benjamin, she ignored her burning face and walked up to the desk.

"While at work," Mr. Ulnik said, wresting one well-manicured hand on the shiny black desk, "you must always be prepared for chastisement. It can come from anyone, at almost any time. And it can happen in

front

of anyone. This is what we charge for in the summer season."

Moesha nodded slowly, keeping her eyes fixed up on the older man's. He was staring back rather intently.

"So," he continued, "before I can hire you, I must see that you are comfortable with this." He paused for a moment. Then, "My dear, pull up your skirt and bend over the desk."

She didn't dare look at Benjamin as she dragged her feet to the desk. She felt her joints going stiff, her body unwilling to subject itself to this humiliation. Why didn't they just have someone on staff to always watch during interviews? Couldn't he have called in that blonde secretary girl instead? She would certainly be happy to see Moesha's clothes come off. She gritted her teeth as her waist touched the side of the desk. Doing her best to pretend there was no one else in the room, she bent over the hardwood until her breasts were flattened under her chest and pulled her skirt back over her hips.

"Perfect position," said Mr. Ulnik's voice from right behind her prostrate form, "but often, you will not be wearing undergarments. Pull them down.

Holding in her breath, Moesha reached behind her enormous hips and found the waistband of her panties. With a bit of side-to-side motion, she got them down to her thighs and felt the cool air on her privates. Her legs instinctively closed together, but she reopened them just a couple of inches, remembering the pictures from the brochure.

Getting this job is what's important

, she reminded herself as she felt the chill against her labia,

the only thing I can afford to care about right now is getting hired.

Eyes still closed, she felt the heat of Mr. Ulnik's body on her naked butt cheeks as he came even closer.

"Stand over here, Mr. Callen. She must know that you can see her nakedness."

"Ah...yeah, okay." She sensed Benjamin draw a little closer. Before she could respond to this, a long, hard, and calloused hand slapped her hard across her naked bottom.

"Oh!"

She felt herself startle and shake over the desk. She had expected him to tell her when he was starting. Another slap followed soon, stinging across the crowns of her oversized buttocks. She looked over her shoulder. Mr. Ulnik stood just to her left, his right hand already rising for another stroke. A youthful delight shone beneath the professional calm of his weathered, European face. Directly behind her, getting a head-on view of her sacrificial bottom, Benjmin stood, his hands carefully at his sides, his eyes as round as bottle-green marbles. There was absolutely nothing on display that he couldn't see. Damnit!

Mr. Ulnik spanked at an even pace, each slap landing on a new and unexpected bit of Moesha's chubby nates. Due to their size and shape, her cheeks perked up above her hips and waist, forming a figure eight that hid her lower back completely. This meant that Mr. Ulnik barely even had to aim; he swung his arm, and some part of Moesha's bottom would alight with stinging pain. Soon, her entire butt was flaming and he was laying a second - and then a third - dose of fuel over the heat. She started panting a little, clutching the edge of the desk to stop herself from reaching back to cover her helpless booty. She forced another quick, pain-clouded glance at Benjamin, who looked about to start salivating. She had never been so embarrassed in her entire life. In the back of her head, a small, passive-aggressive part of herself was saying

that's right Ben, watch. This is what you've been missing out on.

Then Mr. Ulnik started slapping much harder, and she garbled out an incoherent yelp as Benjamin disappeared from her mind.

"How much longer?" She gasped desperately after a particularly vicious spank that caught her right inside the lower cleft of her right cheek.

"When you are working," Mr. Ulnik said neutrally without breaking paced, only a little exertion showing in his voice, "you will not always know."