First Interview

The rain hammered the café windows like impatient fingers, and I smelled her before I saw her—jasmine and something sharper, like ozone before a storm. I'd been at the corner table for ten minutes, nursing a coffee I didn't want, when the door chimed and she walked in shaking water from her dark hair.

"Marcus?" Her voice was lower than I expected. Commanding. "I'm Elena. You're early. I like that."

She didn't sit across from me. She slid into the booth beside me, close enough that I could feel the damp chill radiating off her coat. Her knee brushed mine under the table, and she didn't pull it away.

"So you want to work for me." It wasn't a question. Her eyes were green, sharp, scanning me like a spreadsheet. "Tell me why I should hire you."

My mouth went dry. "I work hard. I learn fast."

"Do you?" Her hand landed on my thigh, high, just above the knee. "Show me."

The waitress was across the room, wiping tables. The café was nearly empty—just an old man with a newspaper and the hiss of the espresso machine. Elena's fingers crept higher, finding the outline of my cock through my jeans.

"Here?" I whispered.

"Here." She squeezed, and I hissed through my teeth. "I don't do office romances. But I do... interviews. If you pass, you're hired. If you don't—" She shrugged. "You finish your coffee and we forget this happened."

I was already hard, straining against her palm. She leaned in, her lips brushing my ear.

"Say yes, and I'll tell you exactly what to do. You like being told what to do, don't you?"

"Yes," I breathed.

She smiled—slow, dangerous, beautiful. "Good boy."

Her hand went to my zipper, and I heard the metallic rasp of it descending, impossibly loud in the quiet room. She fished my cock out, stroking me once, twice, her thumb smearing the bead of moisture at the tip.

"Look at that. Already dripping." She squeezed her thumb and forefinger around the base, a tight ring. "You're going to be my best employee."

I couldn't think. She was pumping me under the table, her eyes locked on mine, her face perfectly composed. The old man turned a page of his newspaper. Rain drummed the glass.

"Here's the thing," she said, her voice dropping to a murmur. "I have a business partner. Anna. She's older, she's picky, and she's the one who actually signs the checks. I need to know you can handle both of us."

"Both—"

A shadow fell over the table. I looked up—a woman with silver-streaked hair and a black dress that hugged her curves like a second skin, standing by the booth with her arms crossed.

"Is this him?" Anna's voice was smoky, amused. "He's got a nice jaw."

Elena didn't stop stroking me. "He's got a nice cock, too. Come feel."

Anna slid into the booth opposite us, and her foot found my calf under the table. She was wearing heels; I felt the sharp edge of a stiletto trace up my leg.

"Stand up," Anna said. "Both of you. The bathroom's in the back."

The bathroom was small, tiled, smelling of bleach and lemon. Anna locked the door and turned to face me, and I saw the hunger in her eyes—older, hungrier, more patient than Elena's.

"On your knees," she said.

I dropped.

Anna hiked up her dress without ceremony. She wasn't wearing panties—just a strip of dark hair, already wet. She stepped closer until I could smell her, feel the heat of her.

"Show me what that mouth can do."

I licked her, long and slow, from bottom to top. She tasted like salt and musk, and she sighed and put her hand on the back of my head, not pushing, just resting there.

"Good," she breathed. "Elena, come here."

Elena was behind me, and I felt her hands on my hips, pulling my jeans down. Her fingers found my ass, spreading me, and I gasped against Anna's cunt.

"Don't stop," Elena said. "Not until I tell you."

She was slicking herself against my crack, and I felt the head of something—her fingers, or a toy, I couldn't tell—pressing at my entrance. I moaned into Anna's thighs.

"Anna, he's tight," Elena said, and her voice was thick with pleasure.

"Then make him looser."

I felt her fingers slide inside me, one, then two, working me open while I ate her partner. Anna's hips began to rock against my mouth, and she was whispering things in a language I didn't understand, or maybe I just couldn't hear them over the blood roaring in my ears.

Then Elena withdrew her fingers, and I felt the blunt head of her cock—she had one, it was a strap-on, or maybe that didn't matter—pressing at me.

"Look at me," Anna said, and I looked up at her. "Don't close your eyes."

Elena pushed in.

The stretch was brutal, beautiful, and I cried out against Anna's clit. She shuddered and grabbed my hair, holding me in place.

"That's it," Elena breathed, her hands on my hips, starting to move. "Take it."

She fucked me slow at first, then harder, each thrust pushing my face deeper into Anna's cunt. I was drooling, desperate, my own cock aching and untouched. Anna was moaning now, her thighs trembling on either side of my head.

"I'm close," she gasped. "Don't stop, don't you dare stop—"

I doubled down, licking and sucking, and she came with a sharp cry, her whole body clenching around my tongue. Elena didn't stop—she slammed into me, over and over, and I felt myself getting close just from the rhythm of it, the pressure, the filth of it.

"Elena," I gasped, pulling away from Anna. "I need—"

"Touch yourself," she ordered. "Cum for me."

I grabbed my cock and stroked, three desperate pulls, and came with a groan that echoed off the tiles. My cum splattered across the floor, and Elena thrust into me twice more and stilled, breathing hard.

We stood there for a moment, the three of us, the only sound the rain against the window and our ragged breath.

Anna smoothed her dress down. "He's hired," she said.

Elena pulled out, and I felt empty and complete all at once. She helped me up, her hand warm on my cheek.

"Monday," she said. "Nine o'clock. Don't be late."

They left me there, in the bathroom, my jeans around my ankles, the taste of Anna still on my tongue. I heard the café door chime, and then nothing but the rain.