The Interview

I think he had a sense that Maureen had already brought me to climax, so he didn't bother to get me any wetter than I was. Instead, he picked me up in his strong arms and impaled me on his cock. I wrapped my arms around his neck while he bounced me up and down on his member. He kissed me all over my face and neck, and gave my butt some good squeezes as he continued to support me as if I weighed no more than a feather.

Maureen came up and first stroked me along my back, then—since her fingers were already wet with my juices—stuck one or two fingers into my anus. That was a little unexpected, and I burst out with a high-pitched squeal that seemed to delight both of them. The feel of that eight-inch phallus plunging deep into me was a pretty powerful sensation, and I had a feeling I might come again. And I did—just at the time when Miles shot a huge dose of come into me, going on for what seemed like a full minute before he was drained.

He pulled me off of his cock and placed me delicately back on the sofa. I landed with my legs spread, and his emission immediately started leaking out of me. I snatched up some Kleenex so that the stuff wouldn't stain the sofa. Gotta be considerate of my new employers!

He gazed down at me with a soft smile and said, "I think you'll work out very well, my dear."

"Yeah, I think so," I said a bit smugly.

Then he turned around and left.

Maureen cleaned her fingers with some Kleenex, then sat back down at her desk. I grudgingly got dressed—I was getting to like the feel of being naked in this house, as if I were in an obscene version of an Edith Wharton novel—and was getting ready to go when something struck me.

"Maureen, didn't you say that Miles was married?"

She blushed before replying, "Yes, that's right."

"You're sure she doesn't mind her husband, um, dallying with his 'assistants'?"

"She's very tolerant. Anyway, I told you before that she really can't deal with Miles's . . . appetite."

I peered at her keenly. She was looking away from me, embarrassed or mortified or something. Then I said softly:

"You're his wife, aren't you, Maureen?"

She looked at me wide-eyed, then turned away. Eventually she nodded.

The mood had suddenly shifted. I could distinctly hear a clock ticking as we seemed to lapse into a moody silence.

I came up to Maureen and said, "Stand up, please."

She did so without knowing what I intended.

"I think," I said, "I know what the problem is—part of the problem, anyway."

I led her to the middle of the room. Then I had her turn around. I slowly undid the long zipper of her knee-length dress, and it fell to the floor as I brushed it off her shoulders. It didn't take long to get her out of her bra and panties.

She was a magnificent specimen of ripe womanhood. Her back and bottom were works of art, and as she turned around I saw that her heavy breasts were firm and shapely. On top of that, there was her flat stomach, smooth thighs, and the thick patch of fur at her delta. Miles didn't like women to shave, remember!

I bent my head down and sucked her nipples alternately while taking hold of both breasts in my hands. She held my head in place as she moaned with pleasure. Then I led her to the sofa, where she sat down with legs parted. I knelt down on the floor and buried my face in her sex, licking up the wetness that was already trickling out of her. She pressed my head so hard against her cleft that I felt I might bruise it, but instead I just licked and sucked and nuzzled until she came out with a kind of strangled gargle that signified the onset of her orgasm.

After it was over, I looked up at her from the floor, my face glistening with her juices.

"You're a lesbian, aren't you?"

"No, not exactly," she said, her eyes unfocused. "I do like to be with Miles, and I like him to enter me. I guess I'm maybe seventy percent lesbian and thirty percent straight."

"But I take it that you don't care for some of the things that Miles wants to do—like swallowing?"

"That's right."

"And rear entry?"

She just made a face.

"But it's not only that," she said. "I love him dearly, desperately. He's my whole world. I wouldn't know what to do without him. But I really can't satisfy him—there's just no way. You can't imagine how often he wants it—over and over and over again. He's been known to come four or five times in one session, which goes on for hours. It's just too much for me."

"I guess we'll have to share the duties then."

"You'll have to do most of the work."

"Fine, I can handle it."

She gave me such a look of gratitude that it wrung my heart.

I started working for Miles and Maureen Thurston the next Monday—and stayed with them for the next five years.

It was a fabulous time. I alternated between sleeping with him and sleeping with her—basically three nights a week with each. The remaining night (usually a Saturday) we had a threesome, and I found much interest in the tenderness with which Miles made love to his seventy-percent-lesbian wife. It was a joy to see, and you could tell she enjoyed it. But she (strangely enough) got an enormous amount of pleasure watching Miles make love to me—which he did with quite a bit more vigor and force. I didn't mind that: I was young and energetic, and I gave as good as I got.

I even went on vacations with them, going around tourist sites in Europe with Maureen while Miles holed up in some library doing research. Quite often we roped in a waiter or bellhop and made it a foursome. Just a lot of wholesome, innocent fun!

I did leave after five years, with tears and regrets on all sides. I'd done a lot of good work for them, but it was time to do something different—and get a man (and perhaps a woman on the side) of my own.

I'll certainly have an interesting tale to tell when my grandchildren ask me what my first job out of college was like!