Dressing Up For The Interview

Grace zipped up the grey pencil skirt, its fabric hugging her slender hips with a promise of sophistication. She turned in the mirror, eyeing the way it outlined her lithe frame. Hannah, lounging on the bed with legs crossed, nodded in approval.

"Damn, girl. You're gonna knock 'em dead," Hannah said, her lips curving into a mischievous grin as she tossed her blonde hair over her shoulder.

Grace blushed at the compliment, her cheeks flushing a soft pink that contrasted with the pristine white of her blouse. The top button remained undone, a hint of daring against her modest nature. This was her first time putting on a professional outfit, and it made her feel grown-up, powerful yet vulnerable in a way she hadn't anticipated.

Hannah's gaze dropped to Grace's feet encased in black high heels, adding inches to her height and confidence to her stance. "Those legs... killer," she quipped, as she admired Grace's calf muscles flexing beneath her smooth, honey-toned skin as she shifted her weight in the high heels.

"Here, try on these stockings, that's the final touch you need. It'll make your legs look amazing and complete the professional look."

Grace carefully rolled on the nude-colored stockings, the sheer fabric climbing up her legs like a second skin--subtle allure beneath the professional attire. She peered at Hannah through dark lashes, "You really think this will make the right impression?"

Hannah stood up and sauntered over to her best friend, placing hands on Grace's shoulders and staring into the mirror with her.

"You look like you own every room you walk into." She cupped Grace's chin in her hand, their eyes meeting in the mirror. "Grace Nguyen, look at you, you're beautiful, smart, and of course, graceful, just like your name. You're gonna own the interview."

Anticipation ran through Grace. With Hannah by her side and this carefully curated armor of clothing, maybe she could handle anything. Their eyes met in the reflection, an exchange of trust and admiration. Hannah's hand slid down Grace's arm, her fingers lingering at the delicate wrist. With a playful squeeze, she spun Grace around to face her.

"Remember," Hannah whispered, her lips inches from Grace's ear, "It's not just the clothes. It's the woman inside them."

Grace smiled as she nodded in agreement, feeling a surge of girl-power from the pep talk. The normally shy girl was transforming into a confident, outspoken woman with every blink. She tilted her head slightly, allowing a strand of dark hair to fall over one eye. Hannah swept it back behind Grace's ear with a gentle stroke.

Hannah giggled as she looked at Grace's newfound confidence. "You're gonna make heads turn, Gracie," she said with a playful lilt in her voice.

Grace always felt a thrill at the nickname, a badge of their intimacy. She reached up, tugging at Hannah's blonde locks, a retort to her teasing.

"Maybe I'll make more than heads turn," Grace replied shaking her shoulders playfully as she turned back to the mirror, surprising herself with the boldness of her words.

Hannah's fingers traced a lazy path down Grace's arm and into her hands."Is that a promise?" Hannah asked.

Before Grace could respond, the realization of the time hit her. She glanced at the clock, concern etched across her face. "Shit, Hannah, I need to go or I'll be late!"

Hannah stepped back, but her eyes remained locked on Grace's. "Go get 'em, tiger," she said. "But when you come back..." She left the sentence hanging suggestively in the air between them.

Grace felt herself pulled towards Hannah for a moment longer before she snagged her bag and dashed down the stairs and out the door.

___________________________

Grace burst onto the sprawling campus like a caged bird finally set free. Vanderbilt University buzzed with energy, a living organism of brick and ivy that pulsed with potential to transform anyone there into greatness. Her eyes widened as they swept over the elegant arches of ancient buildings and the lush greenery that painted every corner with vitality.

She tugged at her skirt as she walked, clutching her folder of accomplishments against her chest. The world around her blurred into a backdrop for her own nervous excitement; she was so close to making her dreams happen.

Finding the admissions office, Grace hesitated at the threshold, taking a deep breath. She went inside and was taken to the office of a distinguished looking middle-aged man who sat behind a cluttered desk, his gaze reviewing her like an unwelcomed caress. Grace was too awash in nerves to notice the lascivious gleam in his eyes; she was here to impress, to conquer.

The interviewer's lips curled into what she assumed was a welcoming smile, but to another person it looked more like a wolf sizing up its prey. "Miss Nguyen," he said as stood up, extending a hand that lingered too long around her dainty fingers. "So pleased you could make it."

"Thank you, sir," Grace replied, unaware of how his eyes roamed her body.

She seated herself and crossed her legs, the skirt riding up just above her knees. Grace didn't notice his avid stare, her mind racing through the points she wanted to cover.

The interviewer leaned back, his chair creaking under his weight. "Tell me, Grace," he began. "Why should Vanderbilt choose you?"

Grace took a deep breath, one hand pressing into her knee. "I've been part of the robotics team for three years," she said, her. "We've built everything from drones to robotic arms. It taught me how to solve problems and work as part of a team..."

Yada yada yada, he thought as his eyes drifted down to her slender, fidgeting ankles. Same shit over and over again from these fucking Asians.

"That's impressive," he replied. "But how does that relate to your potential at Vanderbilt?"

All he heard was more yada yada as his eyes roamed up to her chest, noticing the slight protrusion of her nipples pressing through her blouse as an erection grew.

"I'm also the first violinist in my chamber orchestra and I was just selected all-state last week. Leading my section has taught me to listen and adapt, skills I believe are essential for any collaborative environment."

"And you plan to join Vanderbilt's orchestra?"

"Absolutely," she said, squaring her shoulders. "I can't wait to play with talented musicians and contribute to the community there. Music is a huge part of who I am. It allows me to express myself in..."

Yada yada yada, boring as fuck. He watched the smooth lines of her neck sway gently with each word she spoke.

The interviewer took a glance at her resume. "Varsity swimming," Mr. Lester nodded with approval. "Tell me about how you mentally and physically prepare for competition. What are your workouts like?"

"Swimming is my solace," she said with a steady and clear voice. "It's the calm before and after the storm. Preparation starts in the mind, with visualization. I imagine the water, the pressure, the crowd. Each race is a battle against time, against myself..."

As Grace carried on about her rigorous regimens and disciplined rhythm, Lester's mind strayed from her words. His eyes zeroed in on the fluttering movements of her pouty lips as she spoke, then drifted down to the curve of her neck and onto her lean shoulders, imagining the straps of an athletic swimsuit tracing the path his gaze took.

He began to imagine her body submerged in water, her supple form slicing through it like a nimble fish. He imagined her tight suit clinging to every curve and dip of her body, accentuating everything that lay beneath.

"Sometimes it gets overwhelming," she said with a hint of exhaustion. "The pressure to be faster, better. But it's worth it when I touch that wall and look up at my time."

Her eyes burned with determination, but his focus was elsewhere. In his mind, he could see the curve of Grace's breasts, the swimsuit pushing them to barely reveal cleavage. They were just the right size -- just enough to fill his hands -- perky and round, with firm, likely cranberry sized nipples that would harden at the touch of cold water.

"But swimming isn't just about competition or records," he heard her say, pulling him out of his erotic reverie momentarily. "It's about resilience, about pushing one's limits..."

How true that was, he thought. His eyes drifted downwards, imagining how that swimsuit would hug her waist, accentuating her nimble figure. He imagined the water glistening off her body as she climbed out of the pool, droplets trickling down her legs.

He let his mind wander further, picturing the way her suit would outline her taut, protruding ass, snuggling against the cleft. He imagined her long, smooth legs extending from the edge of the swimsuit, toned from years of training, the muscles rippling beneath the skin as she kicked off from the pool's edge.

"And when I've exhausted every ounce of energy," Grace went on, oblivious to his lascivious thoughts, "there's such a high, such an exhilarating release...".

His mind spiraled further into the gutter as he pictured Grace's release - not from physical exertion but sexual pleasure. He imagined her innocent face twisted with ecstasy as she reached her climax, her body jerking, legs straining, and toes curling at the release of tension.

He mused that since she's a competitive swimmer, her mound must be shaved; he pictured her bare, untouched folds encased in the tightness of her swimsuit, murmuring for release. His fingers twitched at the thought of being the first to explore that untouched terrain. Lost in his fantasies, he barely registered her words as she concluded her speech.

"And I want to bring that passion to Vanderbilt."

As she finished, Lester blinked back to reality and cleared his throat, trying to regain composure.

"Impressive," he said, voice suggesting something other than admiration. "Quite a list of accomplishments for such a young lady," he said as he leaned forwar, his elbows on the desk as if trying to close the distance between them. "With all this focus on your future, I'm curious how you've managed your personal life. Ever find time for dating?"

Grace's eyes opened, taken aback by the sudden shift in conversation. She felt a tinge of unease but quickly squashed it. "No, sir," she replied. "I've dedicated all my time to my studies and preparing to get into Vanderbilt, the college of my dreams."

The interviewer nodded slowly, his lips bending into a knowing smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"A singular focus," he replied, while his mind registered that she's a virgin. "Admirable... but it's important to experience all aspects of life, don't you think? Balance is key to a fulfilling intellectual life."

Grace uncrossed her legs and shifted in her seat, suddenly realizing that she may be coming across as a stereotypical Asian applicant - all work and no play. She straightened up, determined to prove otherwise.

"I do agree, sir. I plan on fully embracing college life once I'm here. However, my parents have certain expectations for when I should start dating," her voice growing stronger as she took control of the conversation.

Grace nervously crossed her ankles, bracing herself for whatever question would come next. He sensed her discomfort, amusement in his eyes.

"Ah, upholding traditional values," he said. "It's refreshing to see someone who still believes in chastity and purity in this wicked day and age."

"It's how I was raised, sir," she said, hoping her voice contained as much respect as defiance. "I believe in the importance of my culture and traditions."

Mr. Lester nodded appreciatively, leaning back once more. "A beautiful answer," he said. "I believe you'd make a fine addition to our university, Miss Nguyen."

A wave of relief rushed over Grace, her slender stature relaxing for the first time since she had stepped into the office. "Thank you, sir. It would be an honor to attend Vanderbilt."

"How about I show you around campus?" he offered under the pretense of hospitality.

Grace's heart pounded with excitement. She hadn't expected this, it was an opportunity she couldn't pass up. "That would be lovely, sir," she replied.

As they walked through hallways lined with the promise of academia and future success, his subtle comments about her appearance crept into the conversation--compliments on her outfit, on how well she carried herself for someone so young. Each word was like a sticky web trying to ensnare her, but she accepted them with the innocence of someone not used to such attention.

His tour included unnecessary detours--to secluded gardens, dimly lit corridors, places where his shoulders brushed hers. While Grace focused on imagined lectures and future classmates, his imagination wondered about what hid under her clothes and hidden beneath her professional facade.

By the time they returned to his office, Grace was filled with information and excitement, oblivious to the trap being set. "You're exactly the kind of student we want here," he said, leaning back in his chair with a predatory smile. "Smart, ambitious... beautiful."

Grace blushed, mistaking his intentions for genuine praise. "I would love to attend Vanderbilt," she said, trying to contain her excitement.

He tapped a pen against his lips thoughtfully. "I might have some sway in the decision. Perhaps we could further discuss your potential contributions to our university... over dinner?"

The invitation hung heavy in the air--laden with implications that Grace didn't fully grasp. She wanted to accept.

"Sorry sir, but I need get back on the road. It's a three-hour drive home and my parents expect me back by dinner."

"Oh, that's too bad," he said with disappointment. "Be careful driving home."

As she stepped back into the sweep of campus life that she so badly wanted, Grace released a breath she didn't know she was holding. The interview was done and it seemed to have gone well. Now it was a waiting game--a game she hoped to win.