Another Day in the Life Ch. 01: The Applicant

Set in the world of PA Magazine (Thanks Georg Kinaski). I very much appreciate the edit from MizTake. I assure you any remaining mistakes are mine. For anyone looking for an editor, she will turn the story around quickly and put real thought into her answers.

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~*~*~*~*~ Following a disastrous 4 years from the first women president, a backlash forms. All manner of workplace equality laws are eliminated. Lawsuits become a thing of the past. Almost overlooked, prostitution is legalized. Women executives are gradually phased out while the best recent female law school graduates can do is office administration. Gradually, the best paying of these jobs require a sexual relationship with their employer. Suddenly, all of them do. This is the dystopian backdrop in which Sandi is trying to find a better job ~*~*~*~*~

Shit. I forgot the coleslaw. I could picture the Tupperware container sitting next to the fridge. I sighed, fat lot of good it does me there. I peeked up at the clock. Time was running tight and I needed to move my daily 10:00 AM meeting along.

I bit my lip and practiced my rictus of agony/ecstasy for a moment and gave a well rehearsed shiver of pleasure.

I looked back over my shoulder and squealed, "oh god, Mr. Stetson, you're busting my ass"!

Mr. Stetson, my boss, was indeed fucking my ass and had been doing so for the last 10 minutes. To say he was 'busting' it, would be an overstatement, but I was in a rush and Mr. Stetson was easily manipulated by appeals to his vanity. Suggesting he was the master of my ass was the best way I know of to get him to empty his balls already. His glazed over little pig eyes flicked on me for a moment and he grunted his little pig grunt. I recognize his grunts and this one suggested my little act had had the desired effect.

I locked eyes with him for a moment and groaned, "please feed me your cum."

I don't really like to swallow. I mean, who does? But I was in a hurry and I didn't have 10 minutes to try to shit his cum out of my ass. Swallowing, at least, is quick. He nodded and pulled his fat little cock out. I whipped around and dropped to my knees in one experienced motion. My hands reached for his ass and my moaning mouth captured his 5 inches and inhaled him. I felt his hand grab the back of my head and he thrust his hips. I pretended to gag a little (I know, what girl can't handle 5" these days? But like I said, he's a vain man). He grunted once more and tried his best to ram his cock down my throat as he came. I gulped down his load and looked up into his sweaty red face. I swear, if I don't get another job soon, this fat slob is going to have a heart attack and leave his sweaty 300 pound carcass draped on top of me in some incredibly inconvenient location.

"Mmmm, yum," I murmured.

I spent a moment licking his ball sack and worked my way up his lube covered dick until it was both soft and clean. I again made eye contact and made a bit of a show of licking my lips and smacked them together. I opened my mouth and showed him I'd swallowed like a good girl and gave him a naughty smile.

"Thank you so much Mr. Stetson."

"Yeah," he grunted. Mr. Stetson is big on grunts.

He grabbed my chastity belt and tossed it to me, "go get yourself cleaned up".

I grabbed my belt and fetched my make up kit out of my desk and tottered off to the little girls room. I grabbed some mint flavored anal lube (the cherry is just gross) off the vanity that all the girls shared and made my way into a stall. I wiped up the lube that had been rearranged over the last 10 minutes and inserted the dispenser and gave it a quick squirt. I didn't much care for the constant sensation of needing to wipe, but it was necessary. When Mr. Stetson wanted an ass fuck, you bent over. You didn't excuse yourself to go to the restroom first. I pulled my belt up and smoothed my mini over it.

I walked out to the vanity and put the bottle of lube back with the other toiletries provided by Omega. You needed your own makeup kit, but lube, Visine and Scope were provided in bulk by the company. I know, real humanitarians. I took a look in the mirror and gave myself a quick once over. My Chestnut (it sounds sexier than brown) hair was a bit disheveled and my lipstick was a little smeared. But eye liner, eye shadow and rouge didn't need a touch up. My brown eyes were mercifully free of tears. If Mr. Stetson had been choking me with a decent sized cock, I'd have had to redo my whole face. I took stock of my outfit (it's a typical working girl outfit, you don't really need details) to ensure there were no rips or stains that hadn't been there a half hour ago. I touched up my lipstick and ran a brush through my hair. Then I rinsed my mouth out with some Scope. I smiled at myself a little ruefully. When I first started sucking cock as part of my job I would almost run to the bathroom for my bottle of mouthwash. Now, it was almost an after thought.

One more look. Good enough. Besides, I had an 11 AM appointment at Office Girlz. Omega Insurance had a full scale, subsidized beauty salon on premises. Omega was a good company to work for. The pay was decent and they spent money to ensure that it's stable of secretarial talent was able to keep themselves looking good. The thought made my heart beat a little faster when I thought about the risk I was going to take that afternoon. Interviewing with a different company was not a path to employment security. A lot of girls out there would kill to work here, but I'd always been ambitious and while my pay and benefits package were good, they were not the best. The best were to be found at Prototype Financial. A tangential Omega competitor in business, but a fierce competitor when it came to acquiring mid west secretarial talent. Prototype was the holy grail as far as mid west office girls were concerned. Roughly the same money, but high end benefits for those girls deemed by their HR department to be 'Prototype Pretty'. Medical, dental, on premises sec dorms (nice ones), paid vacation, company account at the appropriate shops at Jordan Creek Mall and even a "scholarship" program for young interns and junior secretaries regarded as attractive enough to warrant investment in their cup size. Their on staff plastic surgeon was thought to be one of the countries best and his services were available only for Prototype girls. They used that benefit package to attract the highest quality secretarial staff in the midwest (according to Forbes). Applicants were put through a grueling process just to get to an interview with her potential primary. PA's (personal assistants) were the cream of the crop. Former models, C list celebrities and a former news anchor populated those elite ranks and I was looking to join them.

In my more honest moments, I will confess that I'm not exactly 'Prototype pretty,' but I did have my assets. I was pretty, with the aforementioned shoulder length chestnut hair that could be called lustrous. My face was closer to cute than gorgeous. But my lips were full, my eyes large and my nose wasn't much bigger than normal, if not the perfect ski slope so many of the girls the secretarial schools are pumping out these days. If my face was 7, my bod was a 10. Strict diet and rigorous exercise were lifetime habits. As the situation for working girls deteriorated, I had cashed out my dwindling savings and down sized my Prius. The proceeds were now hanging off my chest. As nice a rack as existed in the Omega enterprise, or so Mr Stetson liked to brag. 36 D's that didn't just hang from my chest, but proudly proclaimed to the world, "here we are, take a nice long look". I was educated, clever and creative. Those assets are as important as looks when it comes to keeping a job. The pretty face and big knockers will get a girl hired, but keeping your boss interested takes more than looking good in a short skirt.

I sighed... getting that job was the task at hand. Step one was complete. I had landed an interview with Prototype's next VP of Product Development. A coveted PA position was open and 2 rigorous rounds of screenings with HR had finally landed me my chance. Not just an interview, but a prime slot. I was interviewing 2nd. Any girl interviewing later than that was unlikely to find a responsive interviewer assuming the previous girls had managed to leave with her belly full of executive cum. I just hoped that girl #1 left me something to work with.

I fetched a coffee and wiggled my way back into Mr. Stetson's office. I grabbed the belts lock off the desk, handed it to him and raised my skirt up above my waist. He grabbed his key ring out of his desk drawer and found the key for my belts lock. Even after 2 years of wearing it, the sound of a man turning the locks key and snapping it into place was humiliating.

I smiled prettily and simpered, "thank you Mr.Stetson."

He grunted and went back to fiddling with his spreadsheets.

I tidied up the desk I had been so recently bent over and then cleared my throat apologetically. "Mr. Stetson?"

"Yeah?" Actually more a mutter than a grunt. Even Mr. Stetson will change it up now and then.

"If it's OK, I'd like to take lunch a little early and then I have my appointment at Office Girlz."

"Ah. OK. I've got my own late lunch and then I meet with Ballard at 2, out west. I don't expect to be back today. Just make sure you tidy up before you call it a day."

Wow, a soliloquy of Shakespearean eloquence for Mr. Stetson. But I'd known his calendar when I made my interview appointment last week. And he was meeting Mr. Ballard, but it wasn't at our west end office, but their favorite west end bar. If he was feeling particularly dedicated, he'd roll in again for our daily 10 AM. Mr. Stetson is not a grind.

"Of course, Mr. Stetson."

I smiled sweetly and turned out of his office before he could change his mind. My heels clicked down the hall to the secretarial break room. I ignored the gaggle of girls assembled there who turned down the volume of their gossip when I walked in. I don't have a warm and cuddly reputation with Omega's office girls. As senior secretary on the 12th floor, I was responsible for enforcing discipline. I grabbed my sandwich and mourned for my coleslaw once more. I gave the girls the eye as I turned and clacked my way out of the room and to my cube. They wisely didn't return the look.

I wolfed down my sandwich and rehearsed my introduction once more. I'd been told that my interview would last 10 minutes, not a minute longer. Informally, I'd been told that it would be 5 minutes of interview followed by another 5 at Mr. Snyder's discretion. Those 5 minutes would largely be left to the girl to make her case. My introduction needed to be perfect. I planned a 4 minute speech with another 1 minute of padding for questions he might have. This would leave me 5 minutes to withdraw the contents of his scrotum. If I made it to minute #6, I was confident I would be in the final grouping over the weekend. Mr. Snyder would narrow the field to two and re interview the finalist over the weekend. I was certain the field would consist of girls prettier and younger than me. Some of them might even suck cock as well. Those first 5 minutes were crucial.

I looked up at the Prototype building and took a deep breath. I knew I looked my best. I'd given myself a hard once over in Office Girlz before agreeing that there wasn't anything more to be done. My hair had been elegantly sculpted into a sleek bob. Makeup had been expertly applied. More a suggestion of color than anything screaming out for attention. Unnecessary rimless eyeglasses. Faux pearl earrings and matching necklace. Basically, it was the same look I had chosen when I applied for my first job out of college. The clothes were different, of course. My suit was still charcoal gray, but it was a short, snug mini instead of pants. The blazer was form fitting and managed to support my boobs without benefit of a bra. A tasteful amount of cleavage showed through my sheer black turtleneck. My ensemble was completed by thigh highs that were the regulation 1" below my skirt and my 5" black and white, oxford lace up pumps. I know, what would be appropriate for a strip club 10 years ago, is now elegant and subdued for today's corporate world. Whatever, I needed the job. Another deep breath and I pushed open the door.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fucking,fuck!" I thought.

I'd navigated my way through hallways full of mini skirted secretaries, bimbo interns and the occasional executive in brooks brothers suits and found my way to Mr. Snyder's office on 24. There were 4 girls whose idle gossip came to an immediate halt upon my entry. The 2 girls sitting on the reception area couch were scanned and dismissed as minimally threatening. As I expected, they were both younger and prettier. Perfect noses, cheekbones you could cut glass on, big tits and legs that went all the way down to the floor. They didn't worry me in the least. Dime a dozen office girls that could be called up for a quick nooner. Not someone you'd have administer your office. The one I focused on was a girl a little older than me who was standing next to the receptionist desk sipping her coffee and examining me as bluntly as I was her. She was a pretty blonde (no more Prototype Pretty than I was)with a taut body and hair that hung to the middle of her back. I was sure I knew her and the fact made me a little uneasy as I couldn't quite place her.

The pretty intern (yes, Prototype Pretty) manning the receptionist desk offered me her best smile (why not, whoever got this job would have the power to make her life miserable) and referred to a list displayed on her monitor.

"Good morning Ms. Sandi?" At my nod confirming my identity, she cut her eyes to the list once more.

"OK, ladies I'll let Mr. Snyder know you're all here. Ms. Staci, you'll be going first, probably in the next few minutes."

She went on, confirming that I was going 2nd and yada, yada, yada.

As soon as she referenced 'Ms. Staci', I'd starting tuning her out. Staci Cooney. She was fucking Staci Cooney! "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fucking fuck!", I thought.

Staci Cooney had been the KWDE news anchor until a year ago. It had been widely speculated that she might have to resort to PA work and it was assumed that if she did, she would end up at Prototype with her former competitor from WHO, Erin Connor. Now, here she was, fucking up my day! Of all the shitty luck. She saw the emotions play out over my face which normally expressed nothing I didn't want it to.

"Good luck honey," she offered, trying to be nice.

I wasn't interested in nice. But making enemies unnecessarily never made sense, and less so these days.

"You too Ms. Staci," I said with what passed for my sweet smile.

Fuck you and the broom you rode in on. I turned and made my way to a chair by the other 2 bimbos and took a seat. Hopefully, 'Ms. Staci', that fucking cunt, would freak during the interview. It had happened before. Particularly if she'd kept herself insulated from the new realities facing girls in the workforce.

I sighed, nothing to be done now anyway. I reviewed my presentation once more, thinking of what I might do if Mr. Snyder didn't react as expected.

The temp, prompted by some unheard signal said, "Ms. Staci, Mr. Snyder is ready for you now".

Staci gave a little start and I could see her face flush nervously. Huh, maybe I had a chance after all. She took a deep breath, tugged on the bottom of her blazer and strolled easily into his office on her 3.5 inch pumps. Huh... No working girl wore anything less than a 5" pump unless she was wearing some kind of fetish outfit.

"You'll be on in 15 minutes Ms. Sandi," said the temp.

I could feel applicants 3 and 4 checking me out. No doubt wondering how a girl on the wrong side of 30, not 'Prototype Pretty', and not, apparently, any kind of celebrity had rated the highly desired #2 slot. Bite me bitches, I thought. If things went well, what was so special about me would make the rounds soon enough. Juicy gossip like this would move like wildfire through a sec dorm.

The next few minutes ticked away in an uncomfortable silence as we all wondered what was going on in the office next door. No sounds escaped, and the temp gave nothing away, though it's unlikely she knew anything anyway. Exactly 10 minutes after she went in, Staci walked out of Mr. Snyder's office. The top 2 buttons of her blazer were now unbuttoned and the white lace bra beneath could clearly be seen. A long strand of jizz from the top of her forehead, down across her left eye and ending above her jaw bone could also clearly be seen. She had a mortified air about her and walking into reception in this state was obviously uncomfortable for her. As there was no hiding it, she kept her chin up and walked out of reception and took today's version of the 'walk of shame' to the ladies room around the corner. I grinned snarkily to myself, "welcome to the rest of your life 'Ms.' Staci." Of course, if all went well, I'd be taking the same walk in another 15 minutes.

The other girls in reception exhaled at the same time. I was sympathetic. We had all assumed applicant #1 would receive a nut, seeing it was still a little disappointing. If I did my job, girls 3 and 4 would be packing it in. I could feel them returning their attention to me.

"He'll be looking for you in 5 minutes, Ms. Sandi."

I nodded. Every minute Mr. Snyder spent recovering before my interview was to be valued. I forgot about the other bimbos and rehearsed my bit again.

I felt as confident as practical. I was rehearsed, I'd anticipated any number of questions and I felt sure I would perform well. But my nerves were active and there would be real consequences if I didn't land this job. HR departments networked and news of this application would make it's way back to Omega. There was also the possibility that I just wasn't pretty enough. Maybe I should have gotten a nose job instead of the tits. I looked down at my chest and smiled. No, these were the right investment to make. I took a steadying breath. Composed, calm, confident. Make him interested by being interesting...

The girl behind my future desk (how's that for confidence?) broke in. "I'll send her right in Mr. Snyder."

How the hell was she communicating with him? I couldn't see a handset or intercom of any kind. Focus Sandi. I breathed again. I stood, smoothed my skirt and gave the girls on the couch my most dismissive smile and strode into Mr. Snyder's office like I owned it.

"And why should I hire you, Sandi," asked Mr. Snyder?

I took a deep breath and took one more look around his office. Elegant and masculine, it was what one would expect of an executive office at a Fortune 500 company. Hardwood floors, modernist paintings, a leather couch and a little bar were behind me. In front of me was Mr. Stetson's large mahogany desk. Perched on the edge of the desk was a cute as a button intern. She was 19 or 20 and wore a canary yellow skirt, a matching bra and the same color heels. Maybe a B cup and a pixie haircut. She also had a long strand of jizz running down the right side of her face. Presumably she was on her knees next to Staci when she had received the load she wore through reception. I would have to do something about that. I was settled in a tall chair in the middle of the room. Presumably, this best displayed the charms of the applicant. It wasn't comfortable, but I wouldn't be in it for long so why quibble? Behind the large desk was the equally large Mr. Snyder. After 2 years of Mr. Stetson's lard ass and tiny dick, I was hoping for a trim primary. He wasn't quite the fat ass Mr. Stetson was, but he was clearly familiar with his way around a buffet table. But while Mr. Stetson had pig eyes, Mr. Snyder's were insightful and sharp. I didn't think he would be quite as easily manipulated as Mr. Stetson was. The jury was still out on the size of his dick. But back to the question at hand.