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Her blouse was white, and while describing it as sheer would be an exaggeration, the lighter, whiter, outline of her bra was clear beneath its fabric, contrasting with the other whiteness of her flesh. I got up, walked around my desk and behind her chair, and let my hands rest lightly on her shoulders. I used my index finger and my thumb to angle the opal white button until one edge found the neatly sewn button hole, and the entire button then slipped through.
The bra itself was more likely to be mesh than an opaque fabric, allowing her areoles to show faintly through both layers, bra and blouse, each areole a two inch circle of light brown beneath the double layer of white fabric. She was clearly nervous, but she had nevertheless decided in advance to dress so that her assets were displayed. I moved to the next button and performed the same careful angling and slipping through the hole She still had said nothing more, so I whispered firmly with my mouth right up against her ear.
Hire me, those lips declared, and this mouth is yours. Stretching an employee's limits further than is comfortable does not bring out the best in them, and it was clear that, amusing as the thought was, a cock entering her anus would stretch not just her sphincter muscle more than she would find comfortable, but her limits of propriety as well. I could already see the light brown of her wide areole through the white mesh fabric of her bra, and I knew exactly where to find her nipple.
Her eyes were blue, the light blue of a winter sky, and her brows and lashes were so fair as to be almost white. The bra fitted her full breasts neatly, but there was enough give in her flesh to allow my hand to ease inside, and by the time my middle finger touched her nipple stub it was stiffly erect in anticipation. One of the things that I have learned over the five years that I have managed my own team, is that it pays to assert your rights early on in the employment relationship. I walked my fingers under her bra, down the malleable flesh of her breast until my finger-tips were beneath the breast itself, and against the hardness of her slender rib-cage. Most people use the thumb and index finger when they take hold of anything as delicate as the exposed stub of an aroused nipple. I squeezed a little harder, then a little more, then harder still, until the tendons in my hand began to hurt. They are two such similar words, so different in their meaning.
I liked their size and the colour, and more so her willingness to let them be noticed. Hire me, those areoles gently whispered, and these breasts are yours. "I said tell me about her school." I opened one more button, the one that once undone, allowed her blouse to open wide and reveal her bra, and the white flesh of her breasts.
She had a black clutch bag, which she had carried in her left hand when she came in, and which now rested on her lap, her hands clasped lightly on top of it. Unlike many blondes, whose white complexion can be marred by fingers that are almost red, hers were pure as snow, only the blood red tear-drops of her varnished nails giving colour to her hands. She had clearly thought through what she would need to say in order to secure this role, and this was the level of compliance that she knew would be required. " "There was someone when I was at university," she said. My husband was the second." "And you have always been faithful to him? "It's a girls' preparatory school," she said, "in Bromley, near our house." I stroked the bare flesh of her left breast along the top edge of her bra. The focus on the school was really focus on her daughter.
To my right was the framed photograph of my family, all four of us, our children aged six and eight when it was taken, now two years ago. Before she had married and had her daughter, she had been a teacher. But she had used it now, and it was satisfying to have made her say it. Married women are less likely to continue sucking cock.
That had only been for two years, but she had enjoyed it. ..." she repeated, either unclear what the question meant, or unsure how to answer. Married sex gets lazy, and more infrequent, especially once children are on the scene. " I could see her struggling to reconnect with family and motherhood, having just been asked about sucking cock and balls. "Yes, she's doing well." "Well enough that you're willing to suck someone else's cock to keep her there?
The squirm was so slight that someone less astute might not have noticed, but I saw it. To my left was my appointments diary, clients, locations, dates and times. I started gently, much as any interviewer would, exploring her previous employment history, the reasons that she was seeking this position, and other easy questions, to ask and answer. Then realising her rapid answer might have given me the wrong impression, she added. My guess was that she did not often use the word, or any other crudities, in her mundane, middle class, day to day, existence. They will suck his cock, and take their time in doing so. "Yes," she said, simple and direct, telling me that her daughter's education mattered more to her than whose cock she sucked to be able to afford that schooling.
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She wore just two rings, the sparkling diamond cluster given to her presumably when she became engaged, and the solid gold wedding band that marked her as belonging to the man that she had wed. It added to the frisson of the interview I would soon start. Her nervousness showed in the taut facial muscle beneath her pure white skin. Her skin was translucent, the pure white emphasised by the fine lines of four light blue veins. It was the reason for her to be here, in my office. For the first time since she had sat down, she parted her legs, even raising herself slightly from the chair so that her skirt could move more easily.
She had delicate features, high cheek bones, a neat, slender nose, and a small mouth whose lips had a natural bee stung fullness that suggested that she was preparing to be kissed, even while they were in repose. The skin was taut, surprisingly so for a mother whose breasts, several years before, would have engorged with milk. "And it is an old, red brick building, with maybe two hundred girls, with playing fields and a playground at the back." I slipped my fingers underneath her bra. It seemed to take something of an effort for her to answer, to register the question against the pain of a vice like pincer, and then enunciate the words. "I do want this job." I like the instinctive politeness of her response. I released her nipple stub, removed my hand, and she relaxed. It was the reason she had accepted the pain of her nipple being tested for its sensitivity, and with that pain the testing of her own commitment and determination to secure the role she sought.