The interview Part One of Four  

MastrandSlav 42M/47F
93 posts
6/17/2006 10:28 pm
The interview Part One of Four


You paused slightly mid stride as you navigated the carpeted hallway. Your reflection off an office’s mirrored window had caught your eye and damn you looked good. It was the whole package and not just your newly trimmed and expertly curled red locks. Your smiled which always garnished you compliments was glistening nicely with your cotton candy lip gloss and the white halter that hugged your breasts seemed tailored just for you. The black peasant skirt that swished around your ankles completed your look but it would be unlikely anyone could work past your sparkling blue eyes and provocative smile. The confident bounce in your step and the black leather planner that I given you spelled professionalism and there was little in this world that was going to keep you from getting this job.

With one last breath of calming air, you turned the doorframe and strode directly into Mr. Shuman’s office. His office was at the end of the hallway and one of the halogens was burnt out creating more shadows then lit areas. Not what you would expect from the Market Manager but then again you weren’t terribly clear what that title actually meant. You extended your hand and he accepted your handshake with a weak smile but he did not match your gaze. He was too quick to sit you thought and you took the seat in front of his cluttered desk although it was never offered. His eyes dropped to your resume or you guessed it was your resume, you did not even know what color they were. You were the one interviewing for a unmentioned position but quickly found yourself the one judging the situation.

Mr. Shuman was wearing navy slacks and a button up shirt, no tie and a white undershirt with a weak collar just like his smile and handshake. He was clearly underpaid and over worked, he also did not have enough back bone to manage anything so his title was just fluff like all the Wal-Mart framed certificates lining his walls. His black hair was graying and receding at the same time, a cosmic double whammy to this man’s already fragile ego. He started talking in a rehearsed tone and script but your ear’s never registered a single word. This was a bogus job and you were pissed, you were not a life insurance salesman and your resume on the internet had never hinted at that. You were victim of a desperate man trying to drum up minions for this lousy little company, corporate was leaning on him for recruiting results and he was spamming genuine folks in hopes of snagging one or two out of twenty. You scanned the room, your eyes searching for something to fuel the upcoming storm that was causing tremors in your body. A picture frame, you couldn’t see what picture it held but you were sure that it had a smiling wife and one and half kids standing in front of a two story house and a white picket fence. That is all the fuel you needed, you switched from interviewee to predator.

“So Miss Jo….”, his words trailed off as his mouth drooped low, interesting enough your half cloaked eyes and knowing grin were enough to stop his tongue in its place. If your look was enough to sidetrack him, he was in trouble. Deep fucking trouble.
“Mrs. and tell me some more about this position.” You trailed your fingertips from your chin down to your neck and even further down the cleavage created by your great bra and the revealing halter. “Something about this job and the adventure behind dynamic sales catches me in a way that is just plum embarrassing.”
“Plum embarrassing?” He echoed. The Deep South angle might have been over dramatic but you quickly redirected his thoughts. You couldn’t have him thinking that you were making fun of him that would just ruin all of this. You dropped your hand between your legs, the black skirt clung to your knees but sagged deeply in the middle. Slowly you pulled back on the garment, more and more of you legs started to glimpse out from under the midnight fabric.
“Continue,” your words were sweet but there was a definite command there. The hem of the skirt reached your knees and he started to explain colorfully the exciting daily life of a life insurance salesperson.
Your mind wisped you away to me. Your hand reached your innermost thigh and the crotch of your already moistened panties. Control and power over the meek fueled a furnace that drove straight to the cover of your sexuality. Your long index finger creased the damp clothe as you pressed through your lips to your clit.

Your mind was wrapped around the image of me fucking you against a bay window on the 15th floor of the Crystal City Radisson, your naked body pressed against the chilled glass.

Your mind was wrapped around me throwing you over the hood of my car in the pitch darkness at the lonely park, your breasts leaving smears on the paint that I wouldn’t wash off for months.

Your mind was wrapped around me spanking your ass until the pain equaled the orgasm rolling over you.

Your mind was wrapped around surrender, obedience, and servitude.

Opening your eyes, you realized Mr. Shuman had stopped talking and was just staring. This might be more than his heart could handle. You had fished your own breast out from under the confines of your halter and were twisting your nipple violently between your pinched fingers; your other hand was rapidly rubbing away.
You took a long look at the Market Manager and smiled, you were my dirty little slave but this was a different ball game. He pushed back from his desk as you rose, retreating but there was no where for this man to run.

There was no measure of how much you despised weak men and it was your silent charter to destroy them.

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