The Interview

She knocked at the door, and he opened it, a tall man in his mid-forties, dark hair showing a few threads of silver at the temples, fair skin with a light tan, dark brows shadowing hooded eyes that looked her up and down for a moment.

Stepping back, he pulled the door wider, and waved a hand in a tacit invitation to enter. She walked past him into the spacious office, looking around. On the far wall, windows were covered with venetian blinds, all drawn and showing nothing of the floor beneath them. The glass must've been thick, she thought, unable to hear anything but the soft hum of the air-conditioning, although the office was right over the main pits of the casino floor.

A large desk, almost bare, stood in front of the windows, and two smaller tables, one narrow and padded, the other lower and plain timber were positioned in front of the grouping of sofas and armchairs that took up most of the wall to her left. On the right, the wall was covered with monitors, the centre a giant LCD screen, now black. Underfoot, her shoes sank into the deeply plush grey carpet and she teetered a little as her heels wobbled.

He came past her, moving around the desk to pick up a slim file. Opening it as he walked back to the front of the desk, he looked at the contents for a moment, and she waited, wondering if her outfit was suitable. She hadn't wanted to look too desperate, but it was difficult not to go too far the other way.

Looking up from the file, he said. "They told you what the job entails?"

She nodded.

"Had all the health checkups?" he asked, flipping to the back of the file, and nodding as she did. "I see 'em."

His gaze returned to her, again moving critically down from her face to her feet and back up again. "Alright, take off your clothes."

As she looked around for a place to leave her purse and clothing, he gestured abruptly to the couch in front of the monitors. "You can leave your stuff there."

She undressed, trying not to be quick or slow, fingers tugging her blouse from her skirt waistband, unbuttoning the front and slipping it from her shoulders. Unzipping the skirt, letting it fall and stepping out of it. For a moment she wasn't sure if he wanted everything off, turning to look at him as she stood in the lacy thong and bra, a matching set with the garter belt and fine, silk stockings, her high black pumps still unstable on the deep carpet.

He glanced at her and waved his hand impatiently. "All of it."

Unhooking the bra, she tossed it onto the pile of her clothes, the cool air tightening her nipples. The garter belt, shoes and stockings slipped off with barely a whisper and she pulled off the thong, leaving it on top of the rest.

He gestured for her to walk toward him and she did, curling her toes slightly in the soft pile of the carpet.

"Turn around," he instructed when she reached him. "And take your hair out."

Pulling the pins from the simple chignon, she shook her head as she turned, feeling the long, russet curls fall free and bounce down her back. He would, at least, be able to see that it was all natural, she thought, as she turned back to face him. The strip of autumnal curls covering her pussy was the same shade as the curls framing her face.

He stepped close and looked down at her, leaning in. His mouth brushed over the thin skin of her neck and she suppressed the shiver the light touch brought, lifting her chin and staring at the garish artwork on the opposite wall.

"Don't hide anything," he said, his voice low and slightly hoarse next to her ear. "Your reactions are important."

"Alright," she said, not sure if she was supposed to speak or not. Conversation wasn't normally required.

His lips slid down the side of her neck, his head tilting as he continued the light caress under her jaw and this time she didn't try to hide the tremble it brought with it, or the way her nipples hardened. Straightening a little, he lifted his head, and his mouth brushed over hers, his tongue slipping in, a little teasing, then more forceful. She wasn't sure what to do with her arms. He wasn't holding her, the only contact was their mouths, and tongues. It felt ridiculously awkward as she tried to kiss him back, standing there like a stone statue.

"Good," he said noncommittally as he pulled back. Raising his hands, he stroked her neck, fingertips running lightly over the prominent collarbones and curling around her breasts. He lifted them, squeezing a little, the thumbs rubbing insistently over the nipples which were now aching.

"No plastic?"

She shook her head.

Bending, he ducked his head, his mouth closing over one nipple, his tongue flicking and rasping over it then sucking on it hard. The sensation spiked from her breasts upward into her throat and downward to her clit, a shivery-fluttery feeling shaking her. He tasted the other breast, his hands settling on her ribs, and slowly moving down.

"No perfume or scented bodywash," he said, close to her as he straightened again. "Have to be able to taste the real you."

She nodded, feeling herself stiffen a little as his hand slipped through the tangle of curls and between her legs.

"A bit wider," he told her, sliding two of his fingers back and forth along her dampening folds as she moved her feet further apart. "Good response."

She gasped a little as he thrust the fingers into her, his thumb rubbing lazily over her clit. They were long and they curled inside, exploring her as he watched her face. Not quite as clinical as a doctor's examination, it was still too emotionless for her to be able to relax into the sensations he was generating, and she closed her eyes, letting her lips part as she felt her thighs jerk a little.

"Bend over," he told her, pulling his hand away. "Hands flat on the floor."

She did, feeling the hamstrings stretch as her fingers then palms sank into the carpet. He walked behind her and from between her legs she saw him kneel behind her, felt his hands spreading her cheeks and lips as he looked at her pussy and ass, his eyes slightly narrowed.

"See the girl at the desk when you leave," he said, moving one finger slowly down her crease. "She has some cream for the redness after a waxing."

"Yes ... uh, sir," she said, the words getting caught in her throat at the feather-light touch that had sent another flood of moisture through her pussy. She felt him catch a trickle as it slid down the inside of her thigh, heard the slight sucking noise as he licked his fingers. His hands moved back to her cheeks and spread her wide and his breath was on her, then the soft slide of his tongue, from clit up to her asshole, and down again, pushing into her on the next pass up.

She exhaled hard as his tongue probed and licked and tasted her, first her dripping cunt, then circling and pushing into her ass. Her entire body was heating, flushing with the need to have something bigger, thicker, harder force its way into her.

"Good." He stood up and turned for the desk, making a note on the file laid on it. "Lie down on the padded table," he told her over his shoulder.

She straightened up, feeling her knees wobble and another trickle of warm liquid slip down her thighs as she walked slowly to the table.

He looked around, nodding as she sat on the edge. "Face up, head hanging over the edge," he told her, walking around the table to where her head was now leaning over the side.

Standing next to her, her eyes were on the same level as his groin, and she watched him unbutton and unzip his jeans, pushing them down, a thick, long cock springing free as the jeans dropped down further. His hand wrapped around the base, guiding it over her mouth, the head leaking a little as he pushed it over and around her lips.

"Open," he said, pushing his hips toward her and shuffling closer.

She opened her mouth and tasted the liquid as the head slid over her lips and tongue. She was looking at the dark hair curling in the vee of his fly, at his balls, dark and distended, hanging beneath the cock that was sliding into her mouth. She closed her eyes and concentrated on his cock.

"Relax your jaw," he told her, one hand caressing her cheek and throat as the other kept the angle of the cock straight in her mouth. He kept pushing it in and she felt her throat close up involuntarily, cutting off her air.

He pulled out a little, letting her catch her breath, and she saw his face, looking down at her. "This is an important part, take deep breaths, in the same rhythm as I push in."

She couldn't speak or nod so she blinked, sucking down a deep lungful of air as he pushed his cock back into her mouth, and eased it further down her throat. The gag response wasn't so bad this time and she closed her lips around his shaft, sucking a little on him.

"Good," he said, pulling out and thrusting in, slowly, gently. She could feel the cock getting harder, the twisting veins swelling and she sucked him harder, lashed her tongue along the length it could reach.

"That's it, now you're getting it," he said, pulling out, watching her take in a deeper breath and pushing back in again.

There was a rhythm, she found. He was moving faster, going deeper but she could predict it, dragging in air as the head reached her tongue, holding her breath as it pushed in again.

He didn't make a sound, she realised, although she could feel him, feel him swelling, feel the urgency in the throb of the blood through the veins feeding his cock, feel him moving faster. She suddenly wanted to make him cry out, wanted to make him groan and she sucked him hard, her back arching as she felt his balls slap against her face, her pussy tightening and contracting in the same beat as her mouth, as his thrusts.

Liquid, warm, an aftertaste of salt and sweet, shot down her throat, the held breath and oxygenated cells of her lungs not even aching as he jerked against her mouth, each solid pulse sending another warm, thick spurt. He was pulling out, and she closed her eyes, swallowing fast, her pussy tingling and aching, her breasts full and hard, the nipples throbbing.

"Roll over," he said, holding the slowly softening cock in his hand. "Lick it clean."

She obeyed, taking it into her mouth and licking and sucking on him.

"Alright," he said, stepping back and tucking himself back into his jeans, zipping his fly as he walked back to the desk. Leaning on her elbows, she realised she was panting a little, heat flushing her skin.

He made another note on the file and leaned across the desk to the phone. "Charlie, you can come in now," he said, not waiting for answer.

She started to sit up and he looked around at her. "Stay where you are."

The door opened and she looked along the length of her body as a woman entered, blinking a little as she realised it was the ice-cool blonde receptionist.

"You have any religious or otherwise objections to being touched by another woman?" he asked, moving away from the desk to stand beside the padded table. "Or touching one?"

She shook her head. She hadn't been with another woman since college and that had been a drunken fumbling attempt to gain relief from a horniness that afflicted her and her room-mate one boring weekend, resulting in a lot of laughter and not much else.

The receptionist walked around the table to her head, lifting her thigh-length skirt and revealing a narrow strip of trimmed blonde curls over her pussy. She stepped up onto a pair of low wooden steps that was against the end of the table, her thighs moving to either side of her head.

"Sixty-nine," he said to the receptionist, then turned to look at her. "And make her come."

The blonde curls descended toward her mouth, and she swallowed, running her tongue over her lips as she felt the blonde's hands move down to her thighs and spread them apart. The pussy above her was already wet, and she darted her tongue out, tasting the sweet liquid, not as salty as a man's, thinner, lighter. Forget about it, she told herself, lifting her hands to spread the soft lips wide. Think about what you like. Do it like that.

Her tongue circled lazily over the firming nub above her, and she slid it down the folds as her own cunt was invaded, the blonde's tongue curling around her clit then diving into her, thrusting deeply. She shivered a little as she tried to emulate the other woman, pulling her hips closer, her mouth and nose buried in juice-coated skin, her tongue diving deep. Distantly she could hear - could feel against her clit - the woman's soft moans and she explored her more slowly, sliding her fingers in and curling them a little against the smooth flesh, letting her teeth graze over the hard nub between her lips.

She was getting lost, she thought dazedly, unable to differentiate between the feel against her fingers and tongue and lips and the sensations pouring through her pussy and clit, as if she was somehow tonguing and fingering herself to this explosive building of climax. Above her, over her mouth and cheeks, around her fingers, she felt Charlie's throbbing, rippling orgasm, the warmth on her cunt vanishing as she heard a fluttering cry and felt the soft thighs tighten around her face.

There was another set of fingers in her and she opened her eyes as the blonde straightened up, leaving her with the cooling liquid coating her face, sticky and thick, then a cock slid into her and she arched up, driving it in more deeply. He thrust in hard, and she was falling before she knew it, her body shuddering around him, internal muscles trembling and sucking at him fiercely. She heard his exhalation at the same time as she felt the hot squirt inside, his fingers curled around her hips and holding her tightly against him.

For several moments, no one moved or spoke, then he pulled out, saying to the blonde, "Clean her up."

She opened her eyes and forced herself to sit up. Charlie, skirt pulled back down, but her eyes still dreamy with satiation, was picking up a box of wipes and a towel. The man had returned to the desk, leaning on it as he made another notation in the file.

"Alright," he said, turning to glance at her over his shoulder. "That's all satisfactory. There's another round to go, but we'll take a five-minute break."

Five minute break, she thought bemusedly, watching him walk out of the room.

"God, darling, you have a wonderful mouth," Charlie said conversationally to her, wiping the come and saliva from her pussy and thighs. "And you taste divine."

"Um, thanks," she said. "You're very sweet too."

"All in what you eat," Charlie laughed softly. "Was this your first time with a woman?"

"Since college? Yeah," she said, leaning back on one arm. "Is it a part of the duties for the job?"

"Not often, but occasionally," the blonde said. "A lot of the high rollers like to see girl-on-girl."

"Oh." She slid a glance at the doorway. "He, uh, doesn't seem all that excited. I - uh - well, I thought if he groaned or something, I'd have a better idea of how I was doing."

Charlie laughed again. "Oh, sweetie, he just got out of a six-year stretch. He doesn't make a sound these days, no matter how much he's getting off. But he likes you, I can tell."

"You can? How?"

"He never does this part if he doesn't like the girl, just leaves it to me and Chuck. And so far, you're the first he's tested himself all the way through," Charlie confided, pushing her legs apart to dry her off with the towel. "Roll onto your hip, yes, that's good," she added.

The towel slid between her legs and she shivered at the rough touch over her hyper-sensitised skin.

"What's the last round?" she asked curiously, wondering if what the woman had said was true. He hadn't shown any signs at all of whether he approved of her or not.

"Spoil the surprise? Not me," Charlie said, putting the wipes away and tossing the towel into a cloth-lined bin at the end of the desk. "You'll love it."

She noticed the blonde wore no make up at all. Not that she needed it, she thought, looking at the porcelain-smooth skin, vivid blue eyes and wide mouth as she straightened her clothes and fluffed up her hair. As if she felt the regard, the blonde looked at her thoughtfully.

"I hope you don't mind me saying this, but you really don't seem the type to be applying for this position," she said.

She smiled, lifting a shoulder in a one-sided shrug. "I'm not qualified to do anything else, really," she said. "I have a Masters in Historical Literature and there's not a great deal of demand for Lit professors apparently."

Chuckling, the blonde shook her head. "No, I can see that," she said. "Their loss, our gain. You'll be in demand, sweetie, you have a beautiful body."

She ducked her head. She thought she had a fairly average body, neither tall nor short, fat or thin, her curves were in the right places, she supposed, but they weren't huge or noteworthy.

"Chin up, it's the oldest profession," Charlie told her cheerfully. "And this is probably the best set up you could've found for it." She pointed to the small bar fridge next to the sofa. "Get yourself a bottle of water, you'll get dehydrated."

She waved as she walked to the door, going through and closing it behind her.

Walking over to the bar fridge, she opened it and saw that it was full of bottles. Soda, juice, sparkling and still mineral water. No alcohol. It seemed unlikely in this kind of establishment but she shrugged off her curiosity, pulling out a bottle of still water and closing the door. She cracked the lid and swallowed a mouthful.

She had no doubts about what she was doing here. Those had come and gone in the last few days since she'd received the acceptance letter, giving her this appointment. It wasn't where she'd envisaged herself being at twenty-six, but she'd tried to look at the situation pragmatically. She could earn enough here in a couple of years to get herself set up - a home, car, no debts. After struggling for six years at college, trying to make ends meet on three part-time jobs, she didn't want to keep struggling. It was her body and she enjoyed it. She didn't have any particular hang-ups. She knew that somewhere down the line there might be a price to pay, perhaps emotionally or mentally, but that was a risk she was willing to take.

Just business, she told herself, finishing the water and wandering across the room to throw the empty bottle in the trash can.

The door opened and the interviewer walked back in, his gaze flicking toward her and then to the grouping of couches. Behind him, another man walked into the office, a little shorter, blond hair cut close to his head, a handsome face and broad-shouldered frame. He closed the door.

"Last section," the tall, dark-haired interviewer said, going to the desk and picking up her file.

The second man smiled at her, and gestured to the longest couch, taking off the thin, filmy white robe he was wearing. She turned away to go to the couch, but not before she'd seen he was naked under the robe, a toned, hard-muscled body with a fine matt of reddish-blond chair covering his pecs and running in a light trail down to the darker reds curls between his legs. His cock was half-erect, and impressively thick even then.

She stopped by the edge of the couch as he lay down on it, turning to look at the dark-haired man.

"Get him aroused," the man told her, his gaze on her file. "Then get on top."

Turning to the couch, she bent over the man lying there and started to kiss and lap at his neck, letting her hands trail over his body.

"No!"

The snapped-out word stopped her instantly and she lifted her head, twisting around to look at the interviewer.

"That might work for your college boyfriends, but it's not enough here," he grated, walking closer and staring down at her. She wasn't sure what she'd done to deserve the edge of anger that filled his voice.