All names and characters contained herein are fictitious and do not intentionally relate to any person, either living or dead. This story is a work of fiction, a fantasy -- so read it with a grain of salt and an open mind. Voting and feedback is greatly appreciated, especially positive feedback and frequent "fives".
I stand in front of the tall, smoke-glassed building, clutching my portfolio containing my resume and other sundry job-hunting items. My knees grow weak as I realize this is probably the last and final interview before I become another statistic in the latest government unemployment census.
****
Stepdaddy stands over me, his large, knobby cock a few inches from my face. Looking down on me, his brow knit in consternation, he strokes himself a few times, cum pouring out of the end of his bulbous, purple head. Absent-mindedly, he wipes himself off on my forehead, warm sticky sperm smears across my eyebrow.
"That'll do pig, that'll do," he whispers, as he pushes the head down to my lips.
"Suck it clean, like a good girl, that's it, just like that. You've earned yourself a little ice cream – lick up the floor first, then you can help yourself."
He pats my head like an obedient dog, and zips up his trousers.
****
I shudder, bringing myself back to unfortunate reality. I escaped Stepdaddy and survived, even excelled, for six whole years. I landed a great sales job in the big city-- health insurance, bonuses, a 401k plan, all the good stuff.
It all came crashing down about six months ago, when I became part of the "big layoff."
After cashing in my 401k (and taking a nasty hit from the IRS), I had a little over $20,000 in savings to last me until I found a new job.
At first I partied my ass off, not really worried about making ends meet -- I mean, I had enough cash in the bank to last a few years, right? Wrong. A big wrong. What with rent as high as it is in the city, take-out every night, credit card bills, I was about two weeks from being bankrupt and homeless.
Physically I looked good. Catching a glimpse of my reflection in the big, mirrored front doors of the Wulfwinter Agency, I see a smartly dressed, twenty-six year old petite woman staring back at me. Dark, charcoal Ann Taylor business suit, black, high-heeled Ferragamo pumps, hair pulled severely back in a tight, businesslike pony tail.
My chestnut hair glints in the fall sunlight, showing streaks of honey (highlights I had put in at
Chic
, the city's premier styling salon).
I take a deep breath and stride forward to enter the glass lobby.
Seated on a raised dais behind a large mahogany desk, the male receptionist has a glazed, almost satisfied look on his face. He peers down for a brief second, then suddenly looks up at me for the first time. His face strangely flushes red and his mouth works absently, and he holds up one finger. He places both hands on the desk in front of him, arches his back and looks up at the ceiling high above us.
I follow his gaze and see nothing noteworthy, other than lights and a few fire sprinklers.
For a second I think I hear the sound of a zipper, then his voice breaks my reverie.
"May I help you, miss?"
"Yes, I have an appointment with human resources, a Mister Hollingsworth."
"And your name is...?" he queries, as he looks me up and down.
"Jessica Martin." I reply, smoothing the front of my charcoal skirt.
"One second." His hand presses a button and he speaks into the headset he is wearing.
"Mr. Hollingsworth, there is a young lady here in the lobby to see you. A Ms. Martin, sir."
"You may go up, eighteenth floor, at the end of the hallway to the right as you exit the elevator." He waves his hand dismissively and his attention turns back down to something under the desk in front of him.
Peculiar, I think, as I make my way to the bank of elevators. My heels make hollow clicking sounds as I walk across the lobby.
The building is modern, made of mostly chrome and glass, with shiny marbled floors. The center is a large atrium, the elevators glass tubes that shoot up silently into the depths of the building above. I press the up button and wait for a set of doors to open for me.
As I wait patiently, I look around the atrium at the offices. Pretty ordinary stuff, yet something nags at me as I peer through the windows at the men working diligently at their desks.
Not a single woman in sight, I think nervously, my stomach doing somersaults.
The glass doors open and I step in and press "eighteen". As I start to go up, the car next to me settles to a stop, and for a brief second through the glass I could swear I see a woman on her knees servicing a man in a dark suit. Then I am up into the building, the walls flashing by in blinding speed.
At eighteen, the car stops and the doors open to a clean, well lighted hallway. A sign on the wall in front of me reads "Human Resources →"
For a moment I pause and take a deep breath to compose myself. This is it. Last ditch effort to save myself. If this interview fails like all the others, I'll have to crawl back to Stepdaddy on my hands and knees. Literally.
****
I am down on hands and knees, Stepdaddy behind me, grunting. His right hand grips my reins, pulling my head up painfully, arching my back. The stiff, scratchy horsehair attached to the plug embedded deep in my ass swishes across the backs of my naked thighs. Stepdaddy's big, knobby cock courses in and out of my moist, dripping pussy. His left hand reaches under me and big, calloused fingers stroke my hot, hard clitoris.
"Good girl, fuck back against me, that's it," he gasps as he thrusts into me. He reaches up and scoops butter out of a container on the counter. Briefly pulling his engorged prick out of me, he smears butter up and down his shaft and shoves himself deep inside me again, his pelvis pressing against my ass cheeks, painfully pushing the plug in even harder.
I squeal around the bit in my mouth and jerk back onto his big, veined dick. I can feel his thick pubic hair tickling my pussy as he thrusts into me. His finger stroking my clit picks up speed and I feel an orgasm coming, hard. The flush starts at my breasts and spreads downward until the whole world spins out of control. I cum, hard, panting and gasping around the cold, metal bit. Every thrust pushes the plug deeper into my ass, sending me over the edge yet again.
Stepdaddy yanks the plug out and in one swift motion, replaces it with his big, ugly cock. He thrusts once, twice, three times, using both hands to pull my reins back painfully, and cums with a deep shudder. I feel his heat fill my bowels and warm sperm leaks out around the edge of my ragged rectum, dripping down across my battered pussy lips. I reach under and rub some of his cum into my cunt with my finger.
He pulls out with a plop, and moves around in front of me. Removing my bridle and bit, he places the purple tip of his cock at my mouth and demands "Lick it clean, lick it clean, girl."
I lap up his seed and lick his fuzzy, spent balls clean of any errant sperm, and look up at him for approval.
"That'll do, pig. That'll do." He pats my head and tucks himself back into his trousers and goes back to reading the paper, leaving me on my knees on the kitchen floor.
****
Mr. Hollingsworth is a short, red-faced man with a receding hairline and a large, wide nose. He is dressed in a crisp, gray, three piece banker's suit, with a starched white dress shirt and a simple, black tie. He leans back in his leather office chair and peers at me over his wire-rimmed reading glasses, fingers steepled in front of him.
"Miss Martin, your resume is impressive, yet I feel that you are not quite the, shall we say, caliber, of most of our female employees."
I feel the gorge rise in my stomach as his words hit me like a wave, and for a second the edge of my vision starts to go black.
