The Interview

I wore my old army fatigue jacket to the interview. It was for a temp job and I was already in a bad mood ever since I'd gotten demoted. I thought, "What the hell..." I really hadn't expected to pass the initial job screening, but somehow, here I was, so even if I bombed out now...

They told me at work it wasn't because of anything I did that I'd been pushed down the ladder. They said it was 'cause of downsizing and I was taking the place of somebody who had been laid off. That may have been partly true, but the real reason I wasn't the one gone was because I was their best designer. They couldn't afford to lose my background, experience, and skill and take the chance that I might end up with a competitor. And then later, things really got bad. Everyone was being laid off and even the design jobs disappeared. I figured I'd better lay low and stay put as long as I could and see what shakes out. Problem was it left me short of cash and long on time.

So, here I am at this temp agency interviewing for this part-time, temp job to help maintain my somewhat extravagant life style. And that's O.K. I like living good and if I have to help myself along a little during the lean times, so be it. It won't last forever – I told myself.

The agency front office was almost sterile with hard surfaced floors, uncomfortable furniture, harsh lighting, and magazines that were meant to be ignored. I walked up to the reception desk, introduced myself, and was politely asked to take a seat.

During the 20 minutes I sat there waiting, two people entered the waiting area from the back office through the single door to the left of the receptionist and each of them immediately left without so much as an acknowledgement to anyone. Three more job seekers showed up, and just as I did, checked in with the receptionist and sat down.

I noticed that it was quiet in the reception/waiting room. There was no elevator music or water bubbling over rocks. I thought that was a little odd. The other people waiting were busy on their smart phones which emitted occasional beeps causing their user to smile.

The receptionist called my name. I looked up and she was looking at me. She asked me to go back to the first room on the right. I got up, walked over to the door, and opened it. It opened into a barren hall with two doors on one side and three on the other. I walked through the door, down the hall, and entered the first room on the right.

Behind a medium-sized desk was a woman who was having an animated phone conversation. As I entered, she stood up and looked at me with a somewhat surprised look. Then, still talking on the phone, she motioned me to come in and pointed to a chair sitting in front of her desk. I walked over and sat down.

She continued to look at me as she talked on the phone. She was waving her hand in the air emphasizing what she was saying while all the time looking me over. So I did the same to her.

She was medium height with brown hair just past her shoulders. She kept tossing her head to keep a strand of hair off her face. She wore glasses that accentuated her face. She had a classic face, not too narrow, with prominent features that were set off by her anger or excitement – I couldn't tell which – of her phone conversation. She stepped to the side and forcibly shoved her chair under her desk with a thud and stepped behind it. As she did, her considerable chest swayed noticeably under her light blue, button-down blouse. She wore some sort of skirt from what I could tell and her hips were large and well proportioned. She turned her back to me and said something into the phone. She listened, then said something louder. Then she turned around and slammed the handset down on the phone.

Obviously perturbed, she pulled her chair out, sat down, and began fumbling through some files on her desk. In a minute her breathing had slowed and she had calmed down enough and looked up at me.

"Hello," she said pleasantly with the standard "greet-clients-warmly" smile. "You must be Bret." She rose from her chair, leaned over the desk, and extended her right hand toward me. "I'm Stephanie."

As she leaned over, the front of her blouse draped down to reveal a significant cleavage. I was looking at this as I stood up, refocused on her eyes, grabbed her hand, and said, "Hello, Stephanie. I'm glad to meet you, but I'm not Bret." I held her hand for one count longer than necessary, then released it.

"You're not?" she replied somewhat flustered. She sat back down and began shuffling files again.

"No, I'm not," I said hesitating slightly before telling her my name. "I'm Kurt. Most people call me Tank, so if you're looking for my folder, it could be under either name. Last name is Rush, as in 'hurry along'."

She glanced up at me as she continued to look for my folder. "I'm sorry, Kurt, er... Ah... Tank. This has been a hectic morning. And then I had that phone call. Sorry to have bothered you with that."

"That's O.K. Boyfriends or husbands can be exasperating sometimes."

"Ah... Boyfriend. How'd you know?" she confessed and then inquired.

"Well, some of us can read body language," I answered as my eyes drifted down to her chest.

She dropped her gaze back to her desktop and I could tell she was a little bit bothered by what I said and what I did. I wasn't pushing things; I was here to land a temp job. At the same time, I tried to take advantage of every opportunity that came along. Well, then again, maybe I was pushing it.

"Ah... Here we go," she said finally. "Kurt Rush." Then she added with a grin,"...As in 'hurry along'."

She stood up and said, "Let's sit over here," and motioned to two larger, more comfortably looking chairs at the side of the room. The chairs faced each other with a plain coffee table between them. When she stepped out from behind the desk, I saw she was wearing a long, calf-length skirt with a floral design. She sat down in one chair and I sat in the other. She placed my file on the coffee table, leaned back, and with both hands pulled her skirt up between her legs as a lot of women do when they sit with those long skirts or dresses.

She looked at me, smiled, and asked, "Where did you get the name 'Tank'?"

"In the army," I answered as I began my standard answer to that question. I went on to tell her that I was a tank squadron leader, the number of men and equipment I was in charge of, and some of my experiences in combat. "That's how I got the name 'Tank'," I finished.

She seemed to be mesmerized by my story as she was staring at me the whole time I was talking. Maybe the combination of my name and my fatigue jacket affected her. Whatever it was, when I was done, she just stared at me without speaking.

After a moment I asked "O.K. What's next?"

"Uh... What? Oh, yeah," she replied and she looked at her watch somewhat flustered. "Gee, it's almost lunch time. Let's finish the interview over lunch. Are you free for lunch? Can we do this?"

As she looked at me she began fidgeting with the top button of her blouse and it seemed as if her breathing had increased slightly.

"Well, I don't know...," I started to answer.

"Oh, it's O.K. I do this all the time. It makes more efficient use of my time and lunch time is a good time to get to know applicants...," she said and then added "...Better."

I wasn't sure what to make of this, but I decided to find out. Besides it was lunch time and everyone needs to eat. I didn't want to fail the interview.

"O.K." I said.

"Good. I'll check out on the computer and then we can go. We'll take my car," she said as she got up and went back to her desk. A few keystrokes on the keyboard and a couple of button pushes on her phone, then she said, "O.K. let's go." She stood up, grabbed her purse and said "We'll go out the back."

I followed her down the hall and out the back door to a small parking area.

"That's me over there," she said to me as she pointed to a small SUV and walked toward it. We got in and she turned on the A/C full blast. "I love the hot weather, but I love the cool air blowing on me," she said as we backed out and left the parking lot.

We had an easy conversation as she took us to a place she said she goes to often. She said it was a take-out, but the food was great. Traffic was light and we were there in a short time. She parked, we got out of her car, and went inside to another blast of cold air.

"God, that feels good, doesn't it?" she asked. "Going from hot to cold, cold to hot. It kind of gets you going, doesn't it?"

"Sure," I agreed with her, not wanting to say anything to fail the interview.

We ordered, got our drinks, and as we left she handed me the keys and said, "Here. You drive," and she walked directly to the passenger side and got in.

I got in the driver's side. "Give me your drink and your bag," she ordered impatiently, and put my drink in the cup holder next to hers and the bag on the floor at her feet.

"Where're we going?" I asked.

"My place. We'll finish the interview at my place. Take a right out of here," she replied speaking faster. Then she added,"...And hurry."

I eased back onto the street and she began to feed me directions. After the second turn I could see she was getting agitated. All of a sudden she removed her shoes and put both feet up on the dash. She pulled her dress up above her knees so the cold air from the A/C was blowing right between her legs. She leaned her head back on the headrest and let out an "Ahhhhh... Mmmmmmm... That feels soooooo good," as she told me where to turn next.

By the time we got to her place, her dress was up to mid-thigh and her panties were on the floor of the car. I could tell the interview was going to get better. I pulled up and stopped.

"You take the drinks," she ordered as she picked up the lunch bags. "Follow me."

Food was about the last thing on my mind, but I grabbed the cups, got out and followed her as she walked up to the south side of a neat, little duplex. She opened the door and entered in front of me leaving the door open. I followed and kicked the door closed. There was a small kitchen area on the right and I put the drinks down on the counter.

"Follow me," she said again as she walked down a short hallway and turned into a room. I followed.

She was standing in front of her bed fumbling with the clasp on her skirt. She looked me straight in the eye. "Damnit, Tank! Hurry!" She stepped out of her skirt. Her puffy pussy lips peeked out from between her legs.

Not wanting to fail the interview, I began to take off my shirt and unbuckle my pants. She was working the buttons of her blouse. She tore it off, reached behind her back to unclasp her bra, and threw it on the floor, too. She flopped on her back on the bed, spread her legs, and began to play with her pussy.

I was ready.

"Just fuck me," she ordered again.

It was an understatement to say the sight was inviting. Her brown hair was splayed out on the bed. She had a look of anguish and need on her face. Her tits were like two sentinels framing her face. Her legs were bent at the knees with her knees almost touching the bed on each side of her. I could see her pussy glisten as she continued to play with herself.

I didn't want to screw up the interview, so I decided it was best to follow orders and fuck her. I got between her legs and she immediately grabbed my cock with both hands. She guided it right into her sopping pussy.

"Uhhh... Uhhh... Uhhh...," she moaned as she began to rock and rotate her hips. In no time we were fucking like we had been doing it for years. She was hollering and pulling and pushing on me to get farther inside her. I was kissing her face and her tits, and trying to hold out until she was done... I didn't want to fail the interview.

She raised her legs up and I put my arms under her knees. I pushed them back so they were on each side of her head and began to assault her pussy with a vengeance.

"Oh, fuck! Yes!" she cried as I pounded her hard. With every thrust my balls would slap against her and her tits would shake back and forth. She was so wet that it almost sounded like water splashing each time I reached bottom.

She was bent in half with her pussy in the air and I was holding her down as I continued to hammer her cunt. We established a rhythm where I would slam into her full stroke and she would grunt and say, "Fuck! Yes!"

After a while I felt I was getting close, but didn't want to blow the interview. I started taking dirty to her and her intensity picked up. She started breathing harder and gasping with her mouth wide open trying to get enough air. Finally I said, "Come hard, you fuckin' slut!"

That did it. She groaned and her body lurched hard even though I had her pinned to the bed. She began to flail her arms, pounding the bed. She jerked and shook and kept moaning, trying to catch her breath.

I didn't let up. If I thought her cunt was sloppy before, it now became a river. The squishing and splashing sounds became even louder as I punished her cunt. As she was coming down I continued to slam into her, "Splat... Splat... Splat..."

"Uh... Uh... Uh...," I grunted as I finally dumped my load. She was so sloppy she probably wouldn't even notice the extra cum I had added.

After a minute I backed out and let her knees loose. She put her legs down with her elbows bent and her arms over her eyes. I rose up and looked her over. There was about a 12 inch circle of wet on the bed covers. Her pussy was red and swollen and still dripping. Her breathing had slowed, but was still ragged and her mouth was open. Her tits were still stunning and proud. I moved off her, my wet cock leaving a trail across her leg. I sat up on the bed next to her.

"I like your interview technique," I said as I pushed some more and moved over her with my cock and balls above her face.

"Clean me up," I ordered, taking full advantage of the situation.

She immediately began to lick my cock and balls clean. She was looking at me as she took each of my balls into her mouth and tongued them clean. She licked all the juices off my cock and engulfed it with her mouth as it began to stiffen. Before long she was bobbing her head on my cock as she played with my balls. With one hand I pulled her head against me and my cock slid down her throat. When she gagged I let her up, then slammed her head against me again. I was in sort of a trance as over and over again, I brutally fucked her throat.

Then I was coming with my cock down her throat. I could feel her swallow spurt after spurt. She was still sucking hard as I pulled out of her mouth.

"You really are a fuckin' slut!" I complimented. She just licked her lips.

"Did your boyfriend piss you off that much? Or do you fuck everybody you take out to lunch? Did I pass the interview?"

"Uh, huh."