My Carpathian Princess Ch. 01byjeffrey214©
Veronica Stratford had an office on the 40th floor of the Massey Building. That was a very prestigious address, I thought, as I took the elevator up. I was responding to a very strange employment advertisement, tacked up in the Starbucks on the ground floor of the old building in which I had an apartment. I was working two part time jobs, since graduating high school, and I was 2 months behind on rent.
The advertisement was so specific, and with some strange requirements.
Intelligent young man, 18-21, black hair, blue eyes, muscular, 5'10 or less, 180 lbs. or less, limited body hair, pale skin, no living relatives, orphan preferred. Must be willing to travel; work evenings and weekends, extended office hours, sleep-over when needed, and be willing to endure any hardship as require by Female employer. Must write well, have good phone skills, capable of organizing and filing, handling routine office tasks. Call for interview appointment, 555-1234.
Needless to say, I was intrigued. I was 19, and strangely, I met every criterion. I wondered how many other boys could qualify based on the advert.
The Elevator opened into the lobby of the 40th floor, revealing a reception desk in front of an old-looking masonry wall that bore the insignia "Stratford Enterprises".
I walked to the receptionist, a buxom blonde in her thirties with bright blue eyes and a smile.
"Hello, you must be Jeffrey," she said happily, "My name is Roxanne. Ms. Stratford is expecting you, and she is waiting for you in her office."
She led me through an open room of glass-walled cubicles, each was big and roomy, and they were separated with ample walkways. I noted that all the inhabitants, perhaps two dozen employees, were all females in their 20's to 40's. They each gave me a smile as I passed, as though they were happy to see me. I thought it was quite odd that I didn't see any men in the big open room, but I figured the bosses were in meetings or something.
My journey across the office complex ended at a large arched double door of ancient oak. It was rustic yet somehow fit perfectly into the ultra-modern décor of the offices. There was a small sign next to the door, modestly saying "Veronica Stratford".
The door opened as if by magic as Roxanne and I approached, a simple wonder of technology, I thought. Roxanne stopped and shooed me inside, saying "good luck, Jeffrey."
As the door closed behind me, I saw that the room was very large with doors on the sides leading to who knows what. Across the expanse of empty carpet was a large glass slab on two stone pillars, and a striking woman sitting behind the desk, looking at me with cold appraising eyes.
She had long raven hair and startling grey eyes. She was dressed in a sharp business suit of the deepest blood red, with a lacy white blouse beneath her jacket, revealing a substantial cleavage. Her legs were crossed beneath the glass desk top, encased tightly in a skirt that rose to mid thigh. Her feet had matching pumps with 4" heels of the same deep blood red as her suit. She rose and fixed me with her amazing eyes; a smile played on her ruby-painted lips as she came around the large desk and began to walk toward me with the confident and sexually charged gate of a model. Her hand held a black file.
"Hello, Jeffrey," said a deep and sensual voice, "I am Veronica Stratford. I am glad to meet you. Now she was standing before me and I realized that she must be inches over six feet tall with the heels, which would make her still taller than me in her bare feet. She towered over me as she stood motionless but full of grace and poise.
My eyes could hardly keep from fixing on her substantial bosom; the pillowy softness of the white flesh had jiggled perfectly as she had walked to me. I was trying to look at her face but found it nearly impossible.
She held out her hand and I took it automatically. Her hand was soft yet firm, though a bit cool. She held onto my hand as she eyed me up and down. I had worn my best suit, which was 3 years old and nearly didn't fit me anymore. My white shirt was worn and discolored, but my red silk tie was fairly new.
"I, uh, I'm Jeffrey Blaine, ma'am. I'm here for the job interview."
She smiled as her voice purred, "Of course you are, dear, please follow me."
She turned and walked back across the office as I followed, affording me a view of her perfectly formed hips and her heart-shaped ass as it swayed in grace and majesty with every step in her tight skirt.
It was a skirt with the slit in back between her legs, the hem a few inches above the knee, and each step gave me a tantalizing hint of smooth, white thigh. She was stunning, I decided. Already, I wanted the job even more.
She gestured for me to stand in front of her desk as she took her seat again on the large black leather chair. There were no chairs across her desk, so I had no choice but to stand and look downward at her. This made it even more difficult for me to refrain from staring at her plump, exposed bosom. Her breasts were so soft looking; they jiggled with her every move and were like magnets to my eyes.
She cleared her throat to regain my attention. "I see from your application file, Jeffrey, that you had good marks in school, and that you are unencumbered with family ties that could affect your position here. You seem like a perfect candidate, at least on paper. Physically, you look to be a good fit for our purposes at first glance, though your pre-employment physical will reveal the rest." She looked up into my eyes, and I made sure mine were fixed on her face this time, and not her breasts, like a young gentleman's should.
The nuns had at least drilled that into him at the orphanage school.
She continued, "I will now ask you a few questions of a very personal nature, Jeffrey. But have no doubt that your truthful answers will bear upon your approval for employment. If you lie, or fail to tell the full truth, I will know, and I will ask you to leave. You will find these questions embarrassing and even humiliating, but if you wish to earn a substantial salary on top of room, board, and living expenses, I suggest that you answer truthfully – no matter how hard it is to do. Have I made myself clear, Jeffrey?"
There was something in her voice that pulled at things deep in my belly, and lower things, every time she said my name. It was as though – and I knew this was insane when I thought it – as though when she said my name, she had squeezed or pulled on my testicles. I knew it was mad to think so, but I had felt it. I shook my head to clear that thought away.
"Yes, Ma'am, I will do my best," I said. Somehow, I knew that she was going to draw out my secrets, my sexual secrets, which I'd hidden all my life. I didn't know how I knew it, but I did.
"Let us begin then, Jeffrey," I felt the tug again as she said my name. I also felt my penis begin to get hard. "When did you last masturbate?"
I took a deep breath, "This morning, Ma'am." I was shocked at how quickly the truth fell from my lips. It was like I hadn't even thought – I simply spoke.
She smiled, "Well done. Perhaps you'll do well with this, Jeffrey. How often do you masturbate each day?"
"Once or twice, usually," I said.
"I see. And what is the most common fantasy you think about, Jeffrey, as you stroke your penis all alone?"
The tug was longer and harder that time, lasting as long as it took for her to say my name and then the word 'penis'. This was getting weirder...
I answered, "It varies, depending on the most recent sexy thing I saw or heard or thought of."
"Please give me five examples, Jeffrey." The tug was strong and I felt my penis really throbbing in my slacks, and it felt like my testicles had swollen. The briefs I wore were becoming uncomfortable and I wished there was more room for expansion in the little tight pouch. I wiggled my hips uncomfortably, trying to make room in the tight crotch of my pants.
I heard my voice say, "I often imagine that I am masturbating for some woman as she watches. I think of a woman touching me and stroking me to force me to come for her pleasure and enjoyment. I sometimes imagine being a slave or captive, usually bound in some way and helpless, as I am used as a sexual toy by a woman. I imagine a woman kissing and licking and gently biting my inner thighs as I masturbate for her. I imagine a woman unzipping me on a train or in a car, taking my penis in her mouth and taking my semen from me. Things like that, Ma'am."
Wow – I felt humiliated but also liberated as I made these confessions to a stranger and prospective employer. These were things I'd never told anyone before! Why was I able to say them so easily?
"Describe the woman, in general, Jeffrey." I felt my testes roll in my scrotum, and it was such a strong sensation it hurt up into my abdominal cavity, but my penis was now fully erect and pressing powerfully enough to really stretch my briefs and tent my pants. I folded my hands over my crotch to try to cover up my obvious erection, but it was clear from her interested glances that she was well aware of my problem.
I answered, "She is always dark haired, blue or grey eyes, tall, powerful, beautiful, busty, with great legs and high heels. She is strong, stronger than me, and I submit to her will. She is always fully dressed in powerful business attire, and I am always naked, or nearly so." These words just flowed out of my mouth like butter and I realized they were true.
"And, Jeffrey, in your darkest fantasies – have you ever imagined this woman's mouth upon your testicles and sucking them?"
When she said 'testicles', it was like a cord was wrapped around my genitals and she had pulled on it. I felt my hips swaying forward in response to the pull, nearly causing me to lose balance.
"Yes," I whispered.
"And does she take your fluids from your penis and testicles, leaving you empty and worn?"
Again, a wave of pressure tugging at my groin, causing my penis to throb madly, and I began to worry that I might ejaculate right there in my pants.
"Yes," I rasped, my throat had become strangely dry...
"And lastly, Jeffrey, in your dreams, does this woman seem to enjoy – and even gain physical strength and health – from taking your fluids?"
I was right at the edge of climax. My knuckles were white and I was making fists – squeezing my hands as they tried to cover my surging erection. Gritting my teeth as I stood before her, I gasped, "Yes, Ma'am."
Suddenly, she sat back in her chair and grinned, and the pressure on my groin lessened, allowing me to back away from the edge of ejaculation. I found that my hands had fallen to my sides and now my erection was obvious in my pants in her clear view. She just threw her head back and chuckled deep in her throat. It didn't seem like she was laughing at me, but more that she was simply very happy. I couldn't help but smile in response.
"Very good, Jeffrey," she said warmly. She touched a button on a flat panel embedded in her desk top and said, "Roxanne, please escort Jeffrey to the clinic for examination."
In a few seconds, the big doors of Ms. Stratford's private office opened silently, and I watched Roxanne shimmy and jiggle across the expanse of carpet in her four inch heels. She smiled brightly, as always.
I thought they were a marvelous invention – high heels– which had the three-fold purpose of making a woman's feet and legs look spectacular, making her hips sway more seductively as she walked, and causing her breasts to bounce and jiggle delightfully with the impact of each heel on the floor. A pair of heels turned a woman into a WOMAN. This observation, of course, did nothing to lessen the noticeable bulge in my pants, particularly as Roxanne seemed reluctant to take her eyes off of it. This must be how women felt when men looked them in the chest, I thought.
I returned her smile as she took my hand and briskly led me out of Ms. Stratford's office, scarcely giving me opportunity to look over my shoulder and say a quick, "Thank you, Ma'am," to Ms. Stratford.
"My pleasure, Jeffrey," she said in a sultry voice that again I felt pulling me back to her by my genitals.
I must be imagining it, I thought.
We walked right back out into the open warren of beautiful business associates. I was again treated to the sight of so many legs, skirts, pumps, blouses, and suit jackets, all sizes shapes and colors, adorning a bevy of beautiful and intelligent women.
Not one had a 'bimbo' look about her, but each one paused in her tasks long enough to give me the once-over, head to toe, and always with a lingering glance at the bulge in my pants and a warm smile for my face. Several women added a delicate wave of greeting with red-lacquered nails on a soft and feminine hand. Others gave a sly wink. Others gave me a sultry "Hi again, Jeffrey." And a few blew me an air-kiss. But most unnerving was the fact that I caught almost all of them licking their lips at some point in my journey through their gauntlet.
I scanned the arena and confirmed that I was, indeed, the only male presence among all of these gorgeous 40-something executives and their 20-something assistants. At nineteen years old, I was hardly a match for this much estrogen, and felt like I was being ogled by every one of them, and that I was to them equal parts eye candy, and some kind of dessert to be tasted.
My penis was throbbing hard and walking around under their gazes at my obvious erection was exciting and terrifying. I couldn't cover myself without being obvious, since Roxanne held my hand pulling me along behind her. I had no choice but to pretend there was nothing below my belt buckle to see. Everything was normal...
We arrived at a far corner of the room, where there was yet another glass cubical. This one had some sheer curtains on the inside, such that I could see objects and people moving, but couldn't make out any detail unless the angle was such as to see through the gaps between curtain panels. There were a few 4 to 6 inch-wide gaps here and there in the gauzelike white fabric.
Roxanne ushered me in through a glass door to find two women in lab coats. One was the stunning, 40-something, red-headed who introduced herself as Dr. Eliza Marsdale, and the other was a young, busty brunette, Nurse Sherri Peters. They each greeted me warmly and shook my hand as Roxanne introduced me and told them that Ms. Stratford had approved of my in my initial interview, and had directed that I undergo the usual pre-employment physical examination.
This seemed to please the medical professionals greatly. They took charge of me instantly and ushered me behind a changing screen.
"Jeffrey," said Dr. Marsdale, "Please take off all of your clothes and put on the supplied gown you'll find hanging there."
That took me by surprise. I was expecting a pressure cuff, temperature, maybe a blood sample. Undressing was not what I had expected. I looked behind me and saw there was a full 6" gap in the curtain, as well as the fact the I could see the women in the office moving around – which meant that they could see me.
Knowing I could do nothing but cooperate if I wanted the job – and I did - so I bravely turned away from the curtain and began to undress. I was soon at the moment of truth – whether or not to remove my little white briefs. I remembered that the doctor had specifically asked that I take off "all my clothes", and I wasn't fool enough to think that it didn't include my underwear. I put the gown on first, and then slipped my briefs down, letting them fall to my ankles and stepped out of them. I dared not look behind me to see if the office staff was watching; I somehow knew they were as I bent to pick up my underwear and lay them neatly atop the other clothes.
I still had the erection that wouldn't go away and it pushed the front of the gown out lewdly, but I walked boldly around the screen and presented myself to the doctor and nurse. The gown was short, and I was sure if I bent over again I would bare my bottom. It seemed even shorter in front from being pushed outward by my erection, and I wondered if they could see my testicles hanging below the hem.
I held my breath as the two women eyed me for just a moment too long.
Dr. Marsdale said, "Jeffrey, please hop up onto the exam table and lie down on your back."
Oh, no, this is horrible, I thought, my erection will be even more obvious and humiliating. But I climbed up on the table, laid down, and tried to pull the front of my gown down far enough to have some modesty, but as I lay my head on the little sanitary pillow, I could feel cool air on my testicles and knew they were exposed.
The Doctor and Nurse took up stations on my left side, nearest their cabinets and charting area, the Nurse Peters put a pressure cuff on my arm and stuck a thermometer in my mouth, while Dr. Marsdale stood lower down the table by my left knee. I watched the smile on her face as her eyes casually slid back and forth between my face, Nurse Peters, and the tent in my gown. I knew she could plainly see my testicles and perhaps the base of my penis too.
She gently placed her hand on my upper thigh, just below the hem of my gown, and casually remarked, "So, Jeffrey, how did the interview go? Did you like Ms. Stratford?"
"I think she's wonderful," I said, not really knowing why. I mean, I did think she was wonderful, but I wasn't sure that's the best thing to say about your boss. It seemed unprofessional.
"Well, that's good," she said. She picked up a chart and said, "Today, we're going to take a few samples. I see orders here for blood, urine, and semen, so that shouldn't take long, although it looks like we may need to change the order of the tests..." Her eyes twinkled at her little joke, and she looked directly at my stiff penis, making the gown tent. Nurse Peters stifled a giggle.
She continued, "I think it would be best, Jeffrey, to save time by taking the blood and semen samples simultaneously." She flipped up the hem of my gown to expose my nakedness, as though she did it all the time. She produced a small bottle of lubrication from her pocket and squirted it liberally onto the head of my penis.
I was frozen as if in shock as the two women looked at my throbbing erection, dripping and glistening with lubricant. Dr. Marsdale took reached over and took my right hand, placing it around my penis while Nurse Peters removed the pressure cuff from my arm and the thermometer from my mouth.
"You may begin stroking your penis, Jeffrey," said the Doctor calmly.
I began to rub myself, and looking up I noticed again how sheer were the curtains and how plentiful the gaps. I now could see feminine heads swiveling all over the room toward the clinic area. Women seemed to migrate closer to the clinic with files and urgent messages for those in the nearest cubicals. They pretended that they weren't trying to look in, but it was clear that they were.
I sighed in resignation and laid my head back down. They were going to watch anyway and there was nothing I could do about it, so I tried to think of something that would help me to cum quickly.
"Be sure to let me know when you are nearing ejaculation, Jeffrey," said Dr. Marsdale, now holding a small glass beaker while staring fixedly at my hand as it rubbed up and down on my hard penis. "I'll want to capture the entire sample as we are testing for volume as well as quality."
"Yes, Doctor," I said, humiliated beyond words.
Meanwhile, Nurse Peters was tying off my upper arm and swabbing the crook of my elbow while keeping her eyes on my penis. I guess she had done it so many times that she could do it without looking.
She brought the needle, which looked really big, right up to my arm and stopped. She stared at my glistening penis and my pumping fist, as though waiting for something.