Peg's Job Interview

I wasn't certain if he was looking at me, or if he needed corrective lenses and just could not see. But his gaze was on me while I ate my salad. The name of the salad? I don't remember. I don't remember what I was wearing or if I even remembered to dress that morning. His gaze undressed me completely and I felt naked in the room. Beads of cool sweat dripped down the middle of my back and landed at the dimple at the top of my butt, sending chills up and down my legs and arms.

Whether or not I was able to raise my eyes to meet his, he never looked away. When my waiter walked by again, I asked if the air conditioning had failed.

No, Madame. Are you feeling ill?

I managed to go the ladies room in the middle of eating, to wipe the perspiration from my skin and collect my thoughts. Had I dropped food or drink on my silk blouse? Spinach in my teeth? Why was he staring? My nipples protruded through my silk blouse...Oh. He surely saw that. I dabbed a moist towlette between my wet and swollen cunt lips. I smelled the faint aroma of greedy need. I was finally able to get a straight shot of him when I exited the restroom. Not really overwhelmingly handsome, but so...male. Definitely over 5' 11" -- and at least 50. So clean. So neat. And, my God...I knew he smelled great. A man cannot look that confident and not smell great.

Someone told me once that I am attractive, but had I ever stood out in a crowd – sufficiently enough to garner so much of one man's attention? Only today, as far as I knew. Blonde hair, brown eyes and 5'4". That's what I see when I look in the mirror.

I thought, maybe give into this; relent, and flash your killer smile. I looked up and gave him everything I had in one quick glance, then paid my bill and left. I had a job interview right after lunch and I did not want to be late.

The elevator hummed and I watched the number rise. Was this the right outfit? Only one opportunity to make a first impression. Doesn't make a bit of difference what my skills are – not really.

But it matters if my titties are large enough. And they are.

It matters if my skirt shows a little thigh. And today, it damn sure does. Today it shows a lot of thigh. And if I cross my legs just right, he won't be able to miss the lace at the top of my stockings.

Today everything matters. It matters if I can smile through every hint and subtle suggestion of my being a good secretary...or being a great secretary. Good? I do my work and do it really well. Great? I put out...and do not have to work as hard; I travel out of town with the boss to all of his conventions.

Great. I want to be a great secretary. No – I AM a great secretary. He'll see that.

Fourteenth floor. Ten more to go.

I am tall enough to straddle any man's lap – unless he's carrying a 350 Magnum and has a fifty-inch girth. I wear only crotchless panties, so I am always accessible. These darling lacey, open-cup bras present themselves at the mere twist of a button.

And I hope this guy has a better lock on his office door. That last discovery was very embarrassing.

"Oh, my. What more could he want from me? I even included the requested photo with my resume. How can he turn me down?

"I don't want to break through the glass ceiling...I only want to pay my rent...and buy new lingerie...or let him buy it for me..."

Eighteenth floor.

A little more lipstick...and the elevator door opened. In walks the suit from the restaurant. Standing, he really was over six feet tall. Just the way she likes 'em. Clean nails.

"Up or down?" he asked with a smile when the door closed.

And good teeth. Wow. "Twenty-fourth floor. Job interview. Kinda nervous."

"You'll be great," he said. "As a matter of fact," he added, using his forefinger and thumb to adjust the first and second buttons on her blouse -- and she did not flinch or back away -- "You will be more than great. You have everything it takes to work for me.

"Great. Remember that."