The Application

I had recently lost my job and had spent numerous weeks pounding the pavement, knocking on doors and handing CV’s to harassed-looking managers. Most of them gave the same inane smile and mumbled something about being swamped with hundreds of applications, promising to get back to me as soon as possible. So far they either seemed to have misplaced my number or have simply written me off as a possible candidate. A woman had run the last place I had visited. To be turned down is annoying enough: being turned down by a woman really wreaked havoc on my ego. She had been a real nasty piece of work, let me tell you. She was a severe, snobbish kind of bitch and most definitely a man-hater. She had looked me over as if I was something she’d scraped off the bottom of her shoe, shook her head and made annoying clucking sounds with her tongue as she browsed through my application form. I hadn’t said one word and already I knew that I wasn’t going to get the job.

“No. No. No.” With a gold ballpoint pen she clicked off the fields I had filled out and I felt that I was back in junior school, being graded on a piece of homework. I am twenty-nine years old, not some pimple-faced teenager, and I felt terribly humiliated by her condescending manner. The add had asked for an office assistant. I’ve worked in offices all my life: I know how to use a stapler and do not feel intimidated by the photocopier. I was more than qualified for the position, was well-dressed in a suit and tie and definitely did not deserve this kind of arrogant treatment. “I’m afraid that you do not meet our qualifications,” she said pointy-blankly and handed me back my CV. She held it by the edge with thumb and forefinger so that she wouldn’t blemish her finely manicured fingernails. I frowned. It was a perfect, 4-piece document and not something I had just fished out of the gutter. “I suggest you try elsewhere.”

My dismissal was indicated by the shuffling of papers around the desktop and the sharpening of half a dozen pencils that did not require any sharpening. I stood there and stared at her while she blatantly feigned ignorance of my presence.

Consuela E. Harper, manager. A mahogany block of angled wood, the name nicely engraved in a plate of stainless steel, the letters painted white with a black trim. Next to it stood a matching pen and pencil cup with an assortment of pointy pencils that were just screaming out at me to be sharpened. She was a recent immigrant for she still had an accent. Not Mexican--- she had aboriginal blood in her for sure for her skin tone was muddy and the hair jet black This was a jungle bitch, half Caucasian, half South American Indian.

Imagine my anger at being turned down by a fucking immigrant. An immigrant who had a better job than I! Although rather good-looking and still young she apparently went to great lengths to pretend to be a lot older. This was a real prim and proper no-nonsense kind of woman, one who had no qualms to tell you just how she felt. Direct, blunt and to the point. With the long hair pinned-up, pince-nez glasses and the black, high-collar lace blouse she looked just like the kind of upper class, virginal prig who’d faint at the sight of a stiff dick.

She had a magnificent set of hooters pushing through that black blouse, full and firm. She was definitely a very handsome woman, no doubt about it. She suddenly looked up and pushed the glasses up her nose with a forefinger. Half a dozen rings shone and glimmered as she lifted her slender hand. She didn’t like the way I had been staring at her and proved it by making a face. She drew the heavy knit shawl closer around her breasts, hiding them, and stared at me. She had education, though, for her English, although accented, was excellent. This was Oxford at it’s best. “Well? Is there something you didn’t understand? Shall I repeat it a little slower perhaps?”

I shook my head and tucked the folder under my arm. I know that it had been a childish thing to do but I knocked over her pencil cup, called her a bitch and left the building. Somehow this woman had gotten under my skin and I vowed to get even with her. I had her name---I just needed a little time to figure out where she lived.

Two weeks later I sat in my car in front of her house. It was past eleven at night and the street was dark and deserted. She and her husband obviously raked in the bills for the house they lived in was quite large and the terrain as big as a football field. It wasn’t exactly a mansion with stone walls and wrought iron gate but pretty well close at that. It was to my advantage that the property was large, for the neighbors lived a fair bit off and wouldn’t be alerted by shouts and screams.

The house was empty. Ten minutes later a Mercedes pulled into the driveway. They must have come from some kind of semi-casual party for they were dressed accordingly and full of silly chatter. I allowed the couple to enter the house and made my way across the lawn a few seconds after. I knocked on the door and was soon greeted by a paunchy, middle-aged man with a hairline moustache and graying hair. He was easily a man well over fifty with a paisley scarf tucked under the collar and an emblem of a sport club embroidered on his blazer. Jeeze---that kind of look went out in the forties! I gazed past his shoulder but the woman was not to be seen in the vicinity. He started to say something but I cut him off with a tremendous punch to the stomach. It sent him reeling backwards. I entered the dwelling and locked the door behind me. The gentleman clutched his midriff and stared at me with surprise. He gave a groan, straightened and started to say something again but I gave him a solid push and he fell to the floor with a loud thump.

The woman’s alarmed voice echoed through the foyer. “Charles? What was that noise?” She came out of a side entrance. She stared at the fallen form of her husband, then at me. She clasped a hand to her mouth and blinked stupidly around the room. “What is going on here?”

“Shut up----both of you.” I pulled a .22 caliber pistol out of my back pocket and hefted it in my hand. “This thing is small and not very noisy, but it will nonetheless leave a hole. Don’t make me use it. Come here, lady, and help your husband to his feet.” I stared at the woman as she came slowly across the room towards her husband. She was really something, let me tell you.

She was a short and petite little thing, something I hadn’t noticed that day in her office, not more than five-foot-three, and that in four-inch high heels! She was wearing a yellowish/beige blouse, light in color and of such a thin, silky material that I could see the contours of her bra shimmering through it; and a three-quarter-length skirt, deep purple and lightly pleated. The weightless velvety skirt just swirled around her ankles when she walked, allowing me to see the creamy nylons or stockings she wore underneath. The high-heeled black pumps were of the open-toe, sandal type with a solitary ankle band for support. The ultra high heels really thrust out her round, firm ass and made her breasts push out against the blouse even more.

Tonight she wore her long hair loose and it just cascaded down across her shoulders in a swirl of curls and waves. It was very dark, almost black. It was parted to one side, the thick mane tucked lazily behind the left ear so that the studded amethyst earring was plainly visible. A similar purple-colored amethyst necklace hung in two loose loops around her throat. The glass stones shone and sparkled in the dim light of the foyer, careening of the walls like disco lights. She had big boobs all right, real big ones! Heavy and full, they thrust out from her petite body, stretching the thin material of the blouse so taut across the tips so that I could plainly see the indentations of her nipples.

“Who are you?” she asked, her soft voice quaking with fear. “What did you have to hit my husband for? Can’t you see that he is much older and no threat to you?” Her large breasts heaved up and down---she was clearly agitated. “What do you want?”

I stepped towards them and grabbed the gentleman by the arm. He gave me a confused look but didn’t say a word. I leaned my face in close to the little wildcat and spat at her with such venom that she sprang back, tits bouncing. “Shut your fucking mouth! Not another peep out of you or I will pump granddad here full of holes!” I rammed the pistol in his left ear and he winced. Her face went white and she clasped her hands to her mouth. “Goodness! Please don’t hurt him! What ever do you want with us?”

“Shut up! You’ll soon find out. Let’s go upstairs.” I pointed with the gun and the two of them preceded me up the stairs, he mopping his face, she stumbling as she took the steps sideways, her eyes on me, one arm on his shoulder. I got a terrific view of her heavy tits jutting out through that silky blouse like grapefruits. They were pretty big alright, much bigger than I had thought! The long, light and velvety skirt billowed around her slim ankles, showing me a lot of her stocking-covered calves as she stumbled up the stairs. She had a real firm-looking ass and those broad hips really swayed to and fro. This was not the middle-aged woman I had first met----gone was the pince-nez and the severe, arrogant look. She definitely couldn’t have been more than thirty-five! Since her husband was many, many years her senior she went to all the trouble of looking and acting older. And she had the role pretty well down pact. But she didn’t fool me.

She stared at me. “What do you want?” she wailed and wrung her hands as we entered the master bedroom. “Shut up. Go stand over there and don’t move!” I pointed at the bed, dragged over a chair and pushed the husband into it, binding his hands and feet to it with ties from his own closet. He didn’t offer any resistance. He wouldn’t have been successful anyway.

“Stop this foolishness, young man,” the old geezer exclaimed suddenly and gazed at his bound feet. “It’s obvious that you are not after money or jewelry. Seeing that you have bound me, thereby incapacitating me, I can only assume that you have ungentlemanly intentions regarding my wife. I beg you to reconsider. I am a rich man---I’ll pay you any amount. Just name it.” I almost laughed. The English he spoke came straight out of a Charles Dickens novel. Nobody who I knew formulated sentences like that anymore! What a goofball couple!

It may have been out-dated English, but it was English. The woman stared at me and slowly brought her hands to her face as the realization set in. She shook her head and whispered, “No,” numerous times. She was under shock, her eyes wide with fear.

I nodded at her. “Yes! You and I are going to get acquainted. Intimately, that is. I am going to re-apply for that job.” She raised her eyebrows for a moment and stared at me. “Oh! Now you recognize me, eh bitch? You turned me down, remember? Well tonight you’re going to change your mind! I want your complete obedience. If you do not obey, well, then, I shall be forced to hurt your husband. His fate is in your hands-----don’t be foolish.”

She gave a small cry and clasped her hands to her face. “Madre Dios!” she burst out in her native tongue. “You can’t do this!” she cried out and stamped her feet. “Let it be known that I shall attempt to fight you. You will not take me without a fight!”

“Bah!” I pocketed the pistol and shook my head. “I don’t think so. If you do not obey my every command I will hurt him. Unfortunately he is somewhat old---he may succumb to the beatings I will give him. Now, are you going to sacrifice his life because you are afraid of another man’s touch?”

She wrung her hands and stared at me with incomprehension. She brushed back her hair with both hands and stamped her feet like a spoilt child. “Please . . .”

The old man spoke up and his chair rocked as he tried to get my attention. “Please, sir. I’ll pay you! Please don’t do this!” I turned and punched him in the side of the jaw. Blood squirted from his torn lips. “Shut your fucking mouth, pops! Not one more word out of you. You just sit there and watch!”

“No!” The woman emitted a shrill shriek and launched herself at me. She frantically clawed at my arms and I had to push her away. It was a heavy push. She cried out, tits bouncing and heaving as she collided with the bed. The loose skirt skipped up her calves and those meaty tits just sloshed up and down. I could actually see the lacy design of her bra cups pushing through the thin material. She stopped panting and shook her head. “No. Please don’t make him watch! That’s horrible.”

“He’s gonna watch every fuckin’ minute of it!” I snarled at her. “Now get on that bed, woman, and kneel on it. Move it!” To prove my earnest intentions I gave the husband a brutal clout across the back of his head. A broken tooth that had been jostled loose by the previous blow sailed from his mouth. He gave a groan and the chair rocked. The woman emitted an ear-piercing scream and with a swirl of her skirts she flung herself on top of the bed, tits heaving. “Okay! Okay! Please do not hurt him!”

“Kneel, bitch! Lean back on your arms a bit and stick your chest out,” I ordered her and approached the bed slowly. “I want to see those fantastic tits of yours.” She drew the long skirt up her thighs, exposing those creamy stockings and fell forward on the bed with her knees, the skirt wrapped around her like a veil. She gave a sob and straightened her back and placed her arms behind her on the mattress. The long skirt billowed around behind her, the slim heels of her black pumps sticking out like sticks. Her huge tits just drilled forward through the silky blouse, thrusting out at me like volcanoes. Tears streamed down her cheeks and she lifted one arm to brush the hair out of her face. “Please! Please don’t do this.”

“No more talking!” I started to remove my clothes. She fell forward and buried her face in the mattress and wept. It was an interesting view---the billowing skirt from behind and volumes of dark, wavy hair up front, and in the middle that thin and silky blouse with the bra straps and back band pushing through. Her arms and legs were completely hidden by both hair and skirt.

The gentleman spoke up, his face moistened with tears. “I see that we are at your mercy. But I do beg you to be gentle with my wife. I married her when she was very young---she has never been with anyone else.” He gave me a pleading look. “I also do hope that you have thought of using adequate precautions,” the old man said softly. “My wife is still young enough to bare children. I was never able to give her any, you understand, although she desperately wanted to. Having to watch you rape my wife is horrible enough----making her pregnant with your child would be devastating!”

“I go in bareback, pops,” I exclaimed. “If she plops out a squid after, than so be it!” I straightened, turned and approached the bed. He suddenly whitened and stared at me with horror. “Oh Lord!” he breathed with surprise when he saw my stiff member. “You’re huge! You will kill her with that thing!”

Alerted by his cry she rose with a jerk, tits heaving. She made a horrible gasping sound and clasped one hand over her mouth with shock. I had just pulled it out and it was huge already, sticking out a stiff ten inches! She had one hell of a shock coming to her----it grew even bigger when fully aroused! It turned into a 14” long monster, the shaft 2-1/2” thick and heavily veined all over. The oval-shaped head alone was 4” long and 3” in diameter, as big as an over-ripe avocado. It made women shriek.

She stared at me with horror. “No! Please! No! Not with t-that thing!”

“Shut up!” I warned her. “Do not make me hurt your husband. You know the rules. Disobey me and he will suffer greatly.” I slipped to the end of the bed and knelt there in front of her, my penis sticking out like a third leg. She made a mewing sound and her body started to shake and quiver as she gazed at it with shock. She was experiencing breathing problems, gasping for air which caused her full and heavy breasts to jerk erratically about. The fact that I knew her name did not seem to register. “Oh my God!”

“Spread your thighs wide and brace your hands on the back of your shoes,” I ordered. I bent down a bit and helped her spread the velvety skirt across her thighs, exposing her creamy stockings. Then I reached up and tenderly stroked her shoulders, brushing the thick hair across her back. She gazed at me drunkenly as I took her face in my hands. I gave her a kiss and surprisingly she did not flinch. I held the back of her head in the palm of my right hand and pushed her face against mine, and started to really kiss her passionately on those thick, red lips. I forced my lips on hers, then slipped in my tongue and swirled it around. I kissed her cheeks, the tip of her nose and tenderly worked my way down her neck. I licked and flicked the amethyst earrings and toyed with her hair, moving slowly down to her throat. I gazed into the open collar of her blouse but it was buttoned up too much to see anything but skin. The purple amethyst necklace glimmered and sparkled. I slipped my hands down her body and gently cupped her tits. She gave a little cry as she felt my fingers sink into her flesh. Man, they were firm and solid! I loved the way the silky material of the blouse squished through my fingers. The bra she was wearing was definitely a thin and flimsy thing for I could actually feel her nipples and actually get my fingers around them! I squeezed and fondled her big tits for awhile, enjoying the way the silky and slippery blouse slipped through my fingers. I grabbed hold of them, hard, and really sank my fingers into them. She squealed a bit as I man-handled her big tits. They were so big and forward-thrusting that I could hardly get my hands completely around them! I slipped my hands to the tips of her breasts and pinched the fat nipples through the blouse. She emitted a small shriek as I pulled and tweaked them.

I lifted her chin with a forefinger and gazed into her eyes. I draped my arms around her shoulders and slowly stroked her neck and throat. We squatted there like that for a few moments, our eyes fixed on each other. Wordlessly, my eyes still on hers, I slowly curled the collar of the blouse in my fingers. I slipped my fingers down the front of the silky blouse, lifted the amethyst necklace and slowly undid a button. She stiffened as I undid the second, and with a squeaking, protesting she sound brought up her arms and covered her breasts. “No!”

I rocked back a bit and stared at her with a frown. She started to cry again, shook her head and tucked the blouse lapels tightly together. I reached out and gave her such a slap across the left cheek that her body fell to the side. I grabbed her by the arm and drew her back, gave her another slap so that her head blew to the side. “Sit still, damn you!” I sank my hands into the partially opened blouse and tore it down to her navel with one deft pull. She screamed as numerous buttons sprayed around the room. Her bra-covered breasts sloshed about once or twice and almost threatened to pop out of their cups from the force of the pull. I clamped my right hand around her small throat and she immediately stiffened. I raised a warning finger, shook my head and she gave a sob and placed her arms behind her again. She was learning, albeit slowly, that I had complete control over her. I gazed at the massive mounds tucked inside the cups of a very skimpy bra indeed and licked my lips.

She was wearing a white demi-bra, sheer of fabric and finely laced. I would have expected all of her body to be the same coppery color, but this was obviously a woman who rarely, if ever, wore clothes with a plunging neckline. Her entire breasts were creamy white! Most of her creamy skin shimmered through the fine mesh and I could clearly see the pink of her nipples. Her large breasts just spilled out over the narrow cups of the demi-bra, the lacy hem of the cups themselves barely covering the nipples. You can imagine the view the skimpy bra provided me with. She didn’t have round and bulbous breasts but long and slim torpedoes that created a long and dark cleavage. The thrust of her heavy breasts pushing against the bra created that pointy look I had seen and felt as her nipples were being pushed through the lacy cups. She definitely had to have some real fat and juicy nipples for they were sticking out of the thin material like tent poles.