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The interview Part Two of Four
The interview Part Two of Four
Mr. Shuman’s high back chair bumped up against the wall just as you reached him. The way he swallowed down his odd fear was intoxicating to you as you planted your knee between his slacked thighs, slightly tapping the stirred flesh beneath. Your manicured nails traced his boring chin down to his overly skinny neck down to the slight puff of salt and pepper hair poking out from underneath his white undershirt.
“You are going to just sit there, right?” You asked quietly, a sultry flavor of honey rolling past your lips with each word. You gently poked his nose with one hand distracting him for the briefest of seconds then grabbing a full hand of his cock through his Dillard’s Father Day special Navy Blue slack.
“Ummm… yes… “, stammered the one time interviewer, stumbling like a teenager faced with his first three hooked bra in the front seat of the K-car at the drive-in theatre. He was sweating making his skin pasty but this was about the act and not the man. Would you call him a man? Only in equipment but not spirit.
Straightening up and drawing back your delicate hand, you slapped the fuck out of him. The blow rocked your wrist and brought a droplet of blood to the edge of his already cracked lip. “You will call me, Ma’am!” Your tone was stern but your volume hardly reached a whisper.
“Good,” you hand went back to his growing bulge and you started to lower yourself to your knees on the plastic covering that people frequently put behind their desks so their cheap ass chairs could roll easier. The plastic hurt your knees but you didn’t let on. Mr. Shuman was following your eyes, there was nothing more important than maintain eye contact. You could imagine him repeating this mantra in his head over and over again. “Look her in the eyes, don’t piss her off.”
The belt came undone. The zipper fell. The slacks came open. You watched him intently with every move. You were a pro on your knees. This was the first place that you had ever felt power in your life over men, on your knees. You were the conductor and everything rose or fell with your whim.
Mr. Shuman’s cock was non-descript and slightly on the smaller size but it fit his body and personality nicely. You drew the tip between your glossy lips and felt his body shudder spastically but he was not all the way hard. You started to bob forward, your tongue working the underside of his cock while you massaged his nuts through his slacks. He started to squirm in his seat, his hand came to the back of your head but you slapped it away. His ass was moving in the seat and he was trying to thrust up from the seat into your mouth but you were controlling the situation like a puppet master. You were torturing this poor soul, you had not taken his cock all the way in although it was obvious to all that you could swallow him to the base with no problem.
“Suck my cock!” He gasped, his fingers digging holes into the arms of his chair. His eyes were rolling back into his comical skull and if you were not careful the salty seed of a middle aged insurance salesman might be flooding your mouth.
You straightened. You hit him hard on the front but the back swing is what spun his head the most. The slap must have echoed down the hall but no one was making a move to come in his defense. “I give the commands, little man!” You barked and not in a seductive whisper this time.
He stared down in fear and you dropped your mouth down around his cock like a chopping block. His penis drove all the way back into your throat until your lips hit the hilt, your hand clamped down on his nuts lifting him from the seat and deeper into your mouth.
“Enough.” You stood, leaving the small flagpole jutting from Mr. Shuman’s pants and unattended. You pulled him forward by the scruff of his collar until your faces were inches apart. He was confused and prepared his lips for a kiss. A growl wiped any idea of a kiss right from his face. “Don’t mistake this kindness and you sure as fuck aren’t getting a kiss. I am going to give you incredibly clear instructions and I want you to follow them to the T. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Ma’am!” He responded like a nervous cadet with a drill sergeant up in his pimply face.
“Good. I am going to stand up and bend over this nasty desk of yours. I want you to get on your feet and fuck me with that cock of yours. I don’t want you to showboat or slow so you can last longer because you aren’t fooling anyone. I want you to fuck me as hard as you can and as long as you can.”
With that you spun around and planted your tits and elbows on his desk, resumes, three days worth of unread newspapers. You heard him fumbling behind you and felt your skirt lifting, his cock slid easily into you from behind but that was no surprise as you were already dripping down your legs. He followed your instructions like a good little dog and fucked you with all the power and speed he could muster. Behind you there was the huffing and puffing of an exhausted but highly aroused man, none of the fantasies that had floated through his mind through the years could amount to this one incredible moment in his small office except maybe for the threesome idea with his wife and her hot sister in Montana. You weren’t an unsatisfied customer in his throttling, although his shortish cock was doing little to tickle the bottom of your pussy his nuts were smacking against your exposed clit at feverous pace. Maybe it was that or your nipples dragging across the desktop but it was probably you staring at the picture of Mr. Shuman’s wife that brought a small orgasm over you. Your pussy tightened and this set off your insurance man lover, he couldn’t cum like a normal man and had to fall away from you as his pathetic two squirts hit the hem of your black dress then edge of the desk.
“I would have expected more out of you, Mr. Shuman.” You turned and let your skirt dropped back to your ankles as you towered over him. He was lying on the flower next to his fake plant and fit perfectly in with the rest of the fake things in his small office. “And I am really not interested in the job.”