0 comments/ 118901 views/ 1 favorites Interview By: LvMtrWn I am 21, and waiting in an office for a Job interview and I am seated in an area that is not visible to the rest of the Office. A sexy mature lady comes over and sits across from me, it is you. I try not to stae but you are so hot, I think at least 55 years old. You have sexy to die for legs, just enough makeup to make you even sexier than you are and hot wet, red lips. I notice right off that you are wearing Black Seamed Nylons, a Short Sexy Skirt that comes up just above your knees and Spike High-Heeled pumps. I can not stop from staring and the more I try not be obvious in my staring the more you are exciting me. I am reading a magazine and as you reach over for a newspaper, you seem to part your legs ever so slightly, but just enough for me to catch a glimpse of your Black Nylon tops and garters. You then sit back, slowly re-cross your legs, and as you do this, your skirt rides up a little on your sexy thigh. My eyes are glued to your fabulous nylon covered legs, and the black tops that are just visible above your skirt. You then cross your legs a few more times until the garters are barely visible, but all the while never looking in my direction, just reading the newspaper and jotting down some information. You then dangle a spike heel-heeled pump and the shear sight of you are doing is driving me crazy, I'm hot, with sweaty palms and wildly excited with lust and desire. You are then called for your appointment, you slowly get up and pull your skirt down and as you leave you brush against my leg and drop a note into my lap. When I come out of my meeting you were gone, I was disappointed as I went to the elevator, the sign said out of order so I headed for the stairs, oh great I thought another wonderful day. I opened the door and to my delight there you were standing against the wall, putting on some red lipstick. You look up at me and smile telling me that you liked the way I had discreetly caught glimpses of your leg show. You then raised up your skirt and straightening your black nylons motioned for me to come over. I hesitated for a moment and then moved over to you. You grabbed my hand and placed it on your nyloned thigh, moving it up and down. Our lips connected as we deep French kissed, our tongues probing and reaching. My hands were on both your nyloned legs as you began grinding your hips into me as we kissed even harder. You raised your high heeled leg up between mine and rubbed against my now rock hard cock. We continued kissing deeply, our breathing increasing, my hands were squeezing and massaging your tight butt, as our bodies ground into each other. I moved my hand to the front of your skirt and moved upward until I felt the dampness of your panty covered mound. I slipped your panty aside and began to probe your wet pussy with my finger and you squirmed with passion. I continued to do this as your hand found its way to my hard cock. Rubbing me from the outside you started breathing even harder as I probed you deeper, looking for the G spot. I felt you cum on my hand as we kissed deeper and harder, breathing like it was our last. Trying to catch your breath you suggested that I follow you as we could continue our getting aquatinted meeting in a more private place. You pulled down your skirt and giving my hard cock a final rub, and one last French kiss we went to the parking garage. I went with you to your car as you walked hotly on your spike high heels, making those sexy clicking sounds on the pavement. When you got into your car, your skirt rode high up on your thigh showing off your hot nyloned legs and garters. You told me more was in store when we got to your house. We kissed again and I couldn't help but rub your nyloned legs one more time. You moved my hand up to your wet panty covered pussy and I massaged until we knew it was time to leave. It was hard for me to walk back to my car as my cock was so hard and I was so excited and turned on by your actions............... We arrived at your house in no time, you got out of your car, making sure I had a good look at your hot nyloned legs as they were visible because your dress had ridden up. I was just in heaven at the site of how sexy you were in your Black Nylons and Spike High Heels. I liked watching your sexy walk up the stairs and into your house as I followed behind. When we were inside and the door closed you turned to me and our mouths embraced hotly, our tongues probing each other as our hands roamed each others body. My hands on your sexy tight butt, squeezing and raising your dress to feel your nylons and garters and then rising even higher to feel the crack of your butt and then your warm mound. I moved a hand in front feeling the outline of your pussy through your panties, massaging and rubbing ever so gently feeling you get wetter and wetter. Your hand rubbing and squeezing my cock making it get even harder. We kissed deeper and faster as the urgency of our horniness grew more apparent. You moved your mouth from mine and told me to take a seat as you were going to change and get more comfortable, as I was getting ready to protest, you kissed me again and left the room. It was agony as I waited, my cock hard, my mind a blur, and my thoughts of only one thing...Pleasing You. You reappeared a few minutes later and my mouth dropped, there you were standing in the doorway wearing a sexy black full slip, Black nylons, I could see the outline of the Garterbelt and your sexy bra. You were wearing on your feet, a pair of 5 inch spike black suede high heeled pumps. I just froze as you came up to me and pulled my head into you, my hands went wild, feeling up and down your legs, grasping your butt, reaching up to your back and then around front to grasp your breasts. You ground your hips into me as I pressed my head to your belly. You reached down, pulled up your slip and my head immediately went to your black panty covered pussy. I started to massage your wet mound with my mouth as I felt it getting wetter through the black panty. I kissed and licked the inside of your leg, first one then the other and running my tongue down each leg to kiss your thigh and black nylon top. I resumed my position with my mouth at your pussy licking and pressing against your panty with my lips. My hands held your nyloned legs. I reached up and slowly slid your black panties down your sexy black nyloned legs, then off your suede high heels to the floor. My mouth and tongue went right to your pussy, licking each fold then moving down to push my tongue in as far as I could. Moving my mouth back to your button, taking it between my lips and gently sucking on it, flicking my tongue quickly over the tip as it grew in my mouth. I love the way you taste so sweet and sexy. You start to grind your hips against my mouth as I lick and suck on you. My hands roaming up and down your nyloned legs, feeling how good the nylon feels to my touch. I probed my tongue deep into your pussy and then almost removing it, pushing again deeper, like my tongue was the extension of my hard cock, trying to fuck you with my tongue. I grabbed your butt with both of my hands and brought you even closer to me so I could really enjoy your gifts. I raced my mouth and tongue from your clit to your pussy then back, kissing, sucking and licking as I watched your eyes start to close, breathing increase and your sexy hot body tense. Moments later I taste your sweet juices as it flows from you into my mouth, over my tongue and a little down my chin. My lips and face had that gleam, freshly produced wonderfully sweet pussy juice, I love it. You just held onto my head and kept it between your legs and pussy, I licked a little more and you started to quiver from the sensation. I looked up and smiled at you and I could see from the expression on your face that you had enjoyed my mouth massage. You told me to change places with you, and with that I got up and you sat down making sure your slip was hiked up so I had full view of your sexy nyloned legs. You slowly unzipped my pants as you rubbed your head back and forth against my hardening cock. You removed my pants and then started to move your mouth over my hard cock over my shorts, leaving wet lip marks where you had pressed against me. It feels sooooo good, you're hot breath and mouth making me wonder what else I'm in for. As you pull down my shorts, my cock springs straight out and into your wet warm mouth, the sensation of your red lips and moving tongue is beyond description. It feels so good when your sexy mouth moves up and down my shaft, pressing firmer against it with each movement of your sexy mouth. My eyes are closed feeling the pleasure you are giving me. I watch in awe as you suck me, the sensation beyond description. I want more of your sweet pussy and soon manage to position you so that I could lick and suck on your pussy and you suck my hard cock. My favorite thing to do. I probed deep into you then up to your button to suck ever so gently, sometime blowing on it then sucking and moving to insert my tongue again deep into you. You taste so sweet and I seem to not be able to get enough. The way you are sucking my cock makes me soon realize that I can not hold back much longer and I'm about ready to cum. You sense this and we roll over with you on top, my cock hard as a rock you get up on your high heels and lower yourself onto my hard cock making it disappear deep into your pussy, what a feeling. I start to pump you slowly at first, almost bringing my cock all the way out, then pushing it back deep into you. We start to get into a sexual rhythm as we pump each other, you are so hot and wet. I slide easily in and out, faster as we go, our breathing quickening with each thrust, god it feels so good, you are so good and sexy, I can feel the sensation in my cock as it is almost ready to explode inside you. I want to hold back, but you are just to hot and wild for me. My lust for you is uncontrollable. I tell you I'm cuming and you pump yourself even faster as you ride my rock hard cock, in, out, in, out, faster, faster. I'm starting to cum now, my juices start to flow deep into you as my cock swells with each pump, wow, so good, my eyes are glazed from the excitement. You moan, then scream in pleasure as I feel your pussy contract on my cock and your juices flow freely from inside. We pump each other, wanting to extract all we have. We then slowly come down from our sexual high. I kiss you deep and hold you tight, never wanting this moment to end, but knowing we will have more in the future. Nothing better than an interview and meeting a new hot, sexy, erotic lover. Interview All names, and most of the detail in this story is fictitious. If I've accidentally used your name, my apologies. "Ohmigod! I left the tape recorder running the whole time!" The formerly stylish Jillian Willson leapt from my desk, forgetting how wonderfully nude she was, and sprinted for the table across the room. I said "formerly stylish" because having shed her Voguish clothes, she was just a very charming and sexy woman, now glowing with the joy that I had just been privileged to unleash. She laughed sheepishly as she clicked off the power. "I'll have to be careful how I use this in my office. I think I'll just listen to it on headphones while I work on the article." I nodded agreement, while at the same time feeling compelled to let my eyes enjoy her 40ish curves. She ran the tape back and forth a bit. The subtle sounds of lovemaking were lost on this dictation-type machine: there was just a sound of rustling papers as she swept aside some of my reports in order to make room to perch on my desk. The moment when her fingers had ripped my zipper down its track was lost. But we did hear the tremulous, rising moan that had marked her second climax, the one with me in her. The little one that came first, as I fingered her to eagerness, was barely audible. "I can hardly believe this, but I want to get on your lap and just snuggle with you for a while!" She pranced childishly back to hop onto the swivel chair with me. It felt like the right thing to do... we enjoyed cuddling and caressing each other. As our lovemaking coasted along, I thought about her words, that she could "hardly believe this." In a few moments, I could tell, I would not be able to collect my thoughts-- I'd be too busy sating the journalist's unleashed libido. Right now, though, I was thinking back to the way that this had begun. Before I even had heard from Jillian, I received a message about her from my former colleague at the University of _______________, Professor Johnson. He had gone on to another school, but we had sometimes met at conferences and swapped stories. Johnson was a bit disturbing to me, but we were able to talk with each other. As an assistant professor, I had watched this young instructor working hard to take advantage of his abilities with hypnosis. If he had worked as hard on his research, he would have been at the top of his field. Instead, he did receive high marks on his classroom instruction, but those grades were skewed by the intense devotion of the most attractive women in his courses. I used to try to get him to relax a bit, be more selective, and get to know the women instead of just using them. He, in turn, thought I was a foolish older romantic, enjoying long conversations with the women who connected with me through our thoughts, words, and only after that, sometimes by sharing our physical pleasures. "Johnson," I muttered, "when I go into a woman, it's because she wants me, and she wants to express her own femininity. It's 1996, damn it! If she wants it, she should have it, but she also wants it to be worth remembering. She wants to know that I'm going to remember her for the rest of her life and mine, and she's going to remember me, too. When she's an old woman, it's going to warm her heart when she sees something that reminds her of me, or when she remembers the little gift she gave me to put on my office wall-- and she's going to remember suddenly realizing where all those other knick-knacks in my office came from-- but she's going to be proud of herself for that, sure that she's the one whose image will stick with me." Johnson had listened to my romantic spiel with one eyebrow raised. "With the time you spend preparing one co-ed or colleague for a dreamy trip to bed with you or for a ride in your leather swivel chair, I can have one fucking me, another making dinner for us, and a third shining my shoes!" Johnson had then sighed and looked at me like I was hopeless. On one occasion that I remember vividly, one of his conquests turned up in my office and lifted her bulky-knit sweater to show me a message written in lipstick on her perky breasts. It was an invitation to join her, in more ways than one, at a party at Johnson's place. I said "no, thank you..." but she never registered a conscious reaction to me one way or another. For a minute, as she stood in an accepting pose before me, her body signalled her intense readiness for sex. Then she simply pulled her sweater back down over her swollen breasts, carefully stretching it over her erect and sensitive nipples, straightened it up, and walked away as if nothing had happened. It was fortunate that I had been visited by one of my intimate colleagues earlier in the day for a wonderful cup of coffee and lovemaking, so it was not as hard to do the right thing as one might believe. When I had returned his recent call, I realized that nothing had changed with him. He still felt compelled to show off. A 19-year old named Tara came on the line, so to speak, at Johnson's direction. He asked her to tell me what she had been doing, and in a sweet voice, she explained how good his cock had tasted in her mouth. She excused herself, because she really wanted to get back to tonguing his shaft. My recollection was interrupted by the realization that Jillian's motor was no longer idling. I could feel the energy building in her loins, tensing, flexing, and then she was on top of me, taking me firmly by the hand and guiding me into her wetness. We came in a mad whirl, and then both of us collapsed in the chair, spent. When I awoke, some hour later, Jillian had gone down the hall to freshen up. I lay there enjoying this moment, and resumed reviewing the moments that had led to this sweetness. In that recent phone conversation, after he had brusquely ordered the hungry Tara to hold her horses and let him alone while he talked with me, Johnson had warned me that Jillian Wilson was headed my way. He was steering her to me, because HE did not want anything to do with her. "She's trouble. She wants to write an expose' about professors who abuse their power over students-- sexual favors and that sort of thing. Can you imagine someone doing that?" Johnson sounded genuinely worked up about it. Or perhaps his anxiety was coming from Tara's hungry desire for him. "Can I imagine a professor abusing his-- or her-- power?" I innocently inquired. "Damn you!" Johnson burst out. "You know what I meant. Can you imagine someone spending time on such a worthless topic. I mean, she's got an editor, doesn't she? Is her editor passing up the chance to make it with every hungry graphic artist or free lance writer?" "I don't know." "You know what I mean. You're just lucky that I still feel kind of bad about the way you were run out of the university. So I'm tipping you off that she's coming your way." I had not known that Professor Johnson HAD a soft spot, but I thanked him for the tip. It came just in time, as later that day, she had called to make an appointment. Her request was candid enough to meet journalistic canons of honesty, but not as explicit as Johnson's message had indicated. I wondered whether he had hypnotized her to get deeper into what her motives were. That would not be surprising, nor difficult for him, I thought. It was a pleasure to have an office in which to receive her. Thanks to Sophia's foundation in aid of my research, I now had a modest room under the eaves of the Denver Union Station. There were many small firms represented in adjacent cubby holes there, and no one took special note of my comings and goings or of my visitors. In researching psychic phenomenon, there are some contacts who do not wish to be noticed-- and, believe me, there are some with whom one's landlord in a less public meeting might have issues. From the comfortable chair facing me, Jillian's eyes swept alertly around the mish-mash of papers, cassette tapes, sticky notes and remembrances. Yes, now that I had walls of my own again, I had unpacked some of the souvenirs given me by former students and intimate colleagues. None of the knick-knacks were sensational in themselves. I had left the carved African phallus in its box, for example. It was fun to remember how it had doubled as a dildo for its donor, but now that I was headed in new directions I did not want that distraction visible. When Jillian had the tape recorder rolling, there was not much politesse in the way she started out. There were few questions before the fastball. "I already know why you left your university position. And I've learned that you had more than your share of sexual contacts with the female student bodies. Yes, and I know about some of the guys who you tutored, too. So I'm not even going to ask you about that. What really intrigues me is why I can't turn up one of your students who is angry about it, or even wants to say anything negative. What's the deal?" Apparently, I had already piqued her interest, without even having met her. I looked at her for a long time, and knowing that every word was being recorded, lowered my voice an octave or so and began reciting a script from memory. "Well, did you ever instantly know you were going to like and trust someone for a long, long time? Maybe you only knew them for a short while but it seemed that you had known them your whole life, as if there were a timeless connection between you." "Uh, yeah, but I don't see the connection here." "You should be satisfied with my answer as you think carefully about these words and remember those amazing feelings... I'm not going to ask you to tell me what they are... you're interviewing me, not the other way around... but it's good to know that sometimes life has a way of making us remember those things, right prior to discovering that we can experience those feelings again..." A tiny smile cracked the corner of her professionally cynical pursed lips. She was remembering one of those wonderful times that she habitually suppressed. I was sure that this intelligent woman had once enjoyed something in life! "Go on," she quietly encouraged. "You have me... interested." "With me... in my experience, it's the kind of thing that can't be forced and no essay or words can create it. Of course, as you must have learned, my work is with the mind in all its more hidden modes. Words and appearances are only expressions, vehicles that contain the essence that moves us. It can only happen naturally as the expression of an energy between two people -- can you imagine the feeling of discovery that my students had with me as they came to understanding -- when it does happen... it's just like that feeling of incredible bonding, when all the barriers melt and drop away, and two people come together, fused into one spiritual essence." "It's hard for a journalist to get this sappy, but I suppose that the mingling of energies feeding one to the other, building and increasing and intensifying, mingling into an expression of aliveness that words can initiate but never capture fully, begins to refocus one's thoughts. But that's heresy to journalists. If words can't express how we feel, all that's left are physical actions and we've got to set our work aside." Jillian was mulling this stream of flowing thoughts as she rummaged through her memories. "Yes, I agree with you. It has instead to be indulged inside your own imagination... dwelled on, contemplated, experienced, deep, deep inside you. All of a sudden, instead of another piece of homework or lab experience it's a challenge to your ways of thinking that you will want to think about, process, before you take a new direction." It was a pleasure to watch her trying to see where I was going with this. "I do not know if you are the kind of person," I challenged her, "that can imagine enjoying that... that kind of connection, with someone wonderful who deeply moves you." I paused as I saw her wondering who that might be, perhaps remembering some affair past. "But if you could envision the possibility and feel it opening now before you, drawing you irresistibly forward, how powerfully could YOU feel that urge to stay on and in my office and learn more?" She nodded her head in understanding, and set her notebook down on the edge of my desk. "If these words have moved you... and that is a key to the answers that you need in this time... then perhaps you are the special,imaginative, fun-loving woman for me and perhaps we are already on the way to being able to feel a special connection; a connection based not just on getting what you want, but moving beyond what you want into what could deeply fulfill you. You want some answers right now, just like my students, but is that all you need? "Me... I am open to that special, adventurous, in-shape woman who can show me she has a sense of purpose to her life and a sense of humor and play to her soul." "Your students were 19, 20, 22, and so forth." Jillian looked at her notes. "These girls were just finding out about life." "They were women, not girls, they were thinking on their own. Just picture yourself at that age, open to new learning, indeed even thirsting for it, but also with your own mind at work. A woman who longs to share with someone special; someone who will be your friend and lover, partner and adventurer, who will make each day together seem like the first and each moment together filled with that sense of a timeless and indescribable connection. Do You Remember feeling that way?? Were the guys in your class able to offer that?" I underlined the last question. "Let me put it to you in a different way. Do you remember when you were a little child and you went to bed expecting tomorrow to be a rainy, stormy day? "But you woke up the next morning and to your delight and surprise, you looked out to see a brightly shining sun, and not a cloud in the sky? And you realized, "Hey... this day is MINE to make happen?" She leaned forward and touched my knee for a brief moment as her thoughts filled with recollections of herself at a less cynical age, feeling the need to be linked with me. Then she remembered her place and leaned back in the chair, pushing that thought to the back of her mind. With a dreamy look, she recounted her experience on a day just like I had described. The *possibilities* that had opened to her had led her to her career. "So, imagine sharing those feelings every day as we work together with someone who truly understands, along with the passions only adults can create and share." She nodded understanding. "I see!" She took up her notebook and jotted some thoughts. I waited while she crossed out a line and then slowly wrote a new entry. "So," she continued, "a lot of things were combined together in their experiences with you, right?" "Well, yes. You want you to tell more about me...?" I queried. "I think that would help me.... my interview, I mean." She nodded. "I am very pre-occupied with stimulating and intelligent conversation. As you must have noticed, I know that you could find no real bimbos on that list." "There's a Cindy ______ on my list who I thought could be a bimbo... I thought you might have just been taking advantage for grades. She was a cheerleader when you "knew" her, and I have to admit that my journalist warning light lit up when I learned that. And she is still good-looking, as you might think.... but what a disappointment, because she's also quite bright in her own way." Jillian paused, flipped through some names in her notebook. "Yeah, damn it, you're right. Anyway, go ahead." "While I love travel-- I believe the greatest adventure is to explore one's passions. The inward journey is a part of our whole being. I define true passion as not just lust in the moment [we probably both are thinking of Professor Johnson at that point] ...it's not even when you are touched so deeply that you find you give all that you have. "It's when you are touched so deeply you find things coming forth from you that you never even knew or imagined could be there. Can you feel that..... would be an amazing thing to experience with someone? "I'm working on some of the most interesting parts of human thought, subjects that have huge potential for our understanding, and sometimes I'm working on projects that will lift some weight of superstition or misled beliefs from some community, so you'll learn lots from me about spirit and mind as well as body! My students would come to feel that I must be with someone adventurous who LOVES to learn new things and is longing for an amazing new direction in their lives as well. "Someone who can decide on her own what SHE uniquely finds desirable, magnetizing and attractive based on her own deep feelings and needs. In other words, only the women who were capable of those feelings and needs were even interested in going further with me. I had routine meetings with other students who are not on your list... including girls who never sensed more than an academic interest on my part. "A woman chooses to involve herself with me not because society would approve. Not because her friends would validate it. Not even because it is what she is used to or expecting or based on seeing her "type" or what is "typical", because maybe what is typical hasn't really made you very happy in the past. "But because she is ready... truly ready... for something beyond what she really even thought could be possible. Because maybe feeling that amazing opening is the link between the girl inside the woman, and the woman inside the girl." "What do YOU like? You keep talking about women." Jillian smiled, and with a wink, placed her hand on mine. "What I like...? I'm strongly into touching, and intense kissing (electricity)... that first, soft brush of the lips so soft you're not even sure you're kissing yet, and it's as if all the passion... all the fire that will be experienced in the relationship is enfolded in that one, first, soft, special kiss, just waiting to be explored and made real. I wish that you could picture those beautiful moments in my office. "It's that moment where time stands still and yet in that one moment, there is an eternity of experience to be explored. It makes your knees weak and your heart soar and every part of you comes... alive... awakened... ready for whatever will come next. "I am willing and able to learn from someone like them, someone like you, just as I am willing and able to teach you many new things. Moving forward together in life, longing for this amazing new direction. Feeling totally excited with permission to not only be who you are, but to totally explore and accept the person who is even NOW emerging." I enjoyed watching Jillian uncross her legs and move a bit to try and make herself more comfortable. Jillian's expressions now moved with mine, as our empathy for each other grew. I tested a flick of my tongue over my lips, and noted her doing the same. The new Jillian that I wanted to see was emerging just fine, beginning to see me as being within her bounds of what is attractive, acceptable, desirable... and tasty. She lowered her head slightly, keeping her eyes on me. Perhaps she was coming to the realization that as we chatted, her body was preparing for sex. "So if perhaps you are this woman," I continued, "with a touch of poetry in your soul (and a bit of a naughty mind), then maybe you can feel surprised at how much you'd like to stay here a bit longer and learn more. "Please understand that looks are not enough; I truly sought a person with a good, strong philosophy of life, high-self esteem, a sense of fun and adventure, a love of life and learning and a great imagination (so very important!), just like you. They also must have a good sense of humor and play, and a love of all things sensual (and the way that your tongue just played over your lip, you must be that)." She was automatically mirroring my well-timed lip licking, so naturally I noted her response. Interview "Does This Sound Too Good To Be True? [I knew that her conscious mind was trying still to think of all the reasons not to go ahead with what her subconscious was preparing her to receive and enjoy.] Sometimes in life, we get hurt and let our disappointments or past experiences block us from holding out hope... hope that real love with real people can be possible. "But behind all that... behind all the cynicism and hurt... the let-downs and the "not quites" is the part and the person who believes. The one who believes in love and being loved for who you are. As you listen to the message that one is telling you right here, right now... NOW what do you feel just might be possible, if you reach out and make this yours?" Her breasts rose and fell as her subconscious struggled to make herself heard. Her lips moved to frame words, but nothing came out. I held out my hands, and she took them eagerly, desperately, as though to hang on to me for support. We both could visualize her pearl swelling, insisting that it was not to be ignored. I shifted to match her change of position, but that also let me reposition my tensioned cock. "Of course, you don't have to have me right away; you might want to take a few minutes to feel the excitement and anticipation or even play this interview over a few times before you have me. Then you can look back on it and enjoy the satisfaction you feel as you look forward to receiving my excitement!" Jillian was completely aware now of her need to take me, and certainly was not worried about whether what I was saying made sense. I suppose that I could have been reading the phone book to her by this time, as she was just enjoying having the locked up need inside her released by the chocolate brown tones of my voice. Firmly, I drew on her hands, enjoying the slight tension even as she rose to advance toward me. We stood, our tender handhold being replaced by my embrace around her. I pulled her toward me, and she grazed the heat under her skirt against the hard readiness I had prepared for her. She leaned back to offer her throat for my kisses. I traced the line of her jaw, her throat, and down into her blouse. For a brief moment, I wondered if Professor Johnson could even imagine the beauty in this woman. Could he understand how it felt to have her so aware of her own needs and of my being the right man now to fill them? And that was the last that I thought of him for quite a while, as Jillian and I tumbled over the edge, focused entirely on building our lovemaking to its natural peaks. In what seemed like a flash, she was perched on the edge of my desk, panties cast aside, opening to embrace me. She wiggled eagerly as she worked her skirt off while I grabbed a condom from the stash in the familiar corner of my desk drawer. There was no bashful glance away as I rolled the rubber up snug-- her face showed a tender mixture of approval and appreciation-- and lust. Tenderly I fingered her to a tiny orgasm. She seemed surprised that I did not just want to plunge into her-- and was pleased when I whispered that I wanted to know her in every way. This taste of pleasure drove her toward complete readiness. Perhaps her surprise at how urgently she needed to have me is why she started to say something. I am not sure what she was about to say, but she took one long look at me standing between her hot thighs, saw me press down my hardened penis to enter her, and her second thought turned into that long moan as I penetrated. Her eyes closed blissfully as she focused on the power in her vagina and on arcing her breasts up for my kisses. I was cupping my hands around her hips, and so I felt her orgasm coming even before she became aware of it. Muscles that had relaxed so beautifully as she invited me in now flexed urgently, pressing me to release the feeling that her whole being sought. The excitement of being such an intimate part of her overwhelmed me, and we came in a delirious whirl of intense sighs and coaxings. We continued our embrace for a minute or two after, and she smiled sheepishly as her pose of journalistic detachment returned. "Uh..... I guess I needed that, didn't I?!" She murmured. I said nothing, but flexed my muscle inside her for a last squeeze. She laughed joyfully and her glowing breasts moved teasingly as the tender realization of what had just happened passed through her body to her well-developed brain. ========================== It was fortunate that I had many interesting story possibilities to share with Jillian for her editor's purview. Her story about the poor exploited girls at the University of _____________ was gone. Our little experience, as well as some needed follow-up interviews, had changed her point of view. The girls were women. They were explorers, just as she was. Sophia asked me about how the interview had gone, and she was not too surprised to learn how Jillian's view had changed. She asked no questions about it, not even when a new AP Stylebook appeared in my office, one with a sweet note from Jillian suggesting that she would be glad to be on my desk once again, so to speak, in the form of this keepsake. ========================== Oh, and the best part of this story.... Jillian realized that I was seducing her through control of her own thoughts... that's part of the fun of it, her knowing. At one point in our later cuddling, she indicated that she hoped that I wasn't tired out from dreaming up such a powerful message. She, of course, assumed that she would have required a much more intensive stimulation than the hot women of the University. I didn't tell her that it was just something that was based on some points picked up out of the Internet that afternoon, and that in some respects it was easier to have her because she had such a powerful imagination. Jillian's needs are not as uncommon as she thinks. What IS uncommon is that she recognizes them and acts. ### Comments welcomed. Interview When Marge Kantor at the Graduate Center invited me to attend a reception for Nancy Chu, I was thrilled. "Sharon," she said, "I know how hard you've been trying to sell pieces to newspapers and magazines. It's tough for an aspiring writer to get her foot in the door. I've known Nancy for a long time, even before she became famous. She was one of my brightest students but who would have thought she'd write a best-seller about her life as a call girl? I'll ask her to give you an interview, one you can use for an article." I was grateful for Marge's offer and secretly excited by it. Not only was I having trouble placing my work, but my love life had evaporated. Tommy left town for a better job, so I was horny, as well as unsuccessful in my chosen field. I really wanted that damn interview. The day of the reception I was nervous as hell. In the mirror I saw a cute and shapely college girl, but not an accomplished writer. 'No way Nancy will be impressed', I thought. 'Fuck it - I'll do the damn interview anyway.' Nancy caused quite a stir when she arrived. She was taller than I'd expected, dressed in an outfit that showed off her curves and long legs. Rather than matching my image of a whore, she was a beautiful upscale woman, one I could easily imagine on the arm of a wealthy man. After she'd been in the room for a while, I saw Marge go over and talk to her. At one point in their conversation, Marge pointed to me. I felt stupid and wished I hadn't come. Why the hell would she want to talk to a kid like me? Finally, Marge led Nancy over to where I was standing and introduced me as one of her rising stars. Then Marge stepped away and left us alone. Nancy obviously knew how embarrassed I felt and was kind enough to ask me how the writing career was going. "Not too well," I replied. "It's hard to start out as a writer. There are lots of beginners out there, all trying to get a break." She laughed, "Tell me about it. The only way I could sell stuff was when I submitted material about my life as a call girl. Before that, my submissions went into a wastebasket, I'm sure." "Can I ask you personal questions?" "Of course. I was explicit in my biography and I've been on TV, talking about providing sex for money. Well... maybe not very explicit." "What does that mean?" "I don't use the word 'fuck' in interviews and don't discuss my cunt. I talk about 'making love', and how different clients behave during sex. That's titillating enough for public consumption. I mention blow jobs in my novel, but not in live interviews. The networks don't permit such language. The assholes are afraid of losing their licenses!" She glanced at her wristwatch, saying, "Sorry...I'm on a tight schedule. Ask your questions." I was staring at her cleavage. She exuded sex. Then our eyes met - she knew exactly how excited I was getting, the bitch! Maybe she had a sixth sense when it come to sex. Was she always like that, or had she developed it over time? Maybe that was a good question for the interview, but I wanted to cover other things first. "Your current clients - are you still a call girl, or have you moved on to other things?" She smiled, "Do you think I'm too old to attract men?" My face flamed, "I..I didn't mean that. You're a beautiful woman. But, after making so much money doing stuff like a book and TV interviews, do you have to fuck guys for money?" Right after I said that, I wondered if she would be pissed off at the question. But she answered with no hesitation, "My dear, I don't fuck just for money. I never did. But, generally speaking, men of power and means are more interesting than the average guy on the street. And money is important, don't you agree?" Now she seemed to be interviewing me. How did she do that? "I think money is important, but not the most important thing." That sounded stupid, even to me. But she'd put me off my plan, What the hell else had I meant to ask? Nancy looked at her watch again. It was time to continue, or else I had to walk away with not enough for an article. The question came out of my depths, not planned in any way. "Have you ever done women?" She looked more closely at me, as if she saw how wet I was. "Are you asking me if I service women? If I lick their cunts until they squeal and squirm, if can I capture a clit between my teeth and tease it with my tongue until it throbs like a cock? Yes, I've done women, some famous ones you've heard of, and others who aren't famous. They are quite rich and pay well. From time to time, I still take women, if they please me. You mustn't use that in your interview. If you do, I'll have your head. Understand?" I was stunned by her vehemence and passion, more than I'd expected in an interview. She was a hot woman, like no other I'd ever met! "Yes, I understand. What you just said about other women won't be in my article...but I want to ask you a related question, if I may?" "What?" "How much do you charge your female clients?" As I said that, I blushed again. Was I out of my fucking mind? After a long pause, Nancy smiled and said, "I'm much too expensive for you. Too bad, I find you attractive, and I think you're capable of giving me what I want in return. I like to have a woman eat my pussy, run her lips over my thighs, suck on my nipples, all sorts of things. It would be a marvelous experience for both of us." I was stunned at her statement, suddenly swimming between my legs. Not knowing what else to say, I blurted, "I don't have much money; I'm just starting out." Marge approached and told us it was time to terminate the interview, that I'd taken enough of our honored guest's time. Nancy gave me a long look, dark eyes traveling the length of my body. Then she reached into her purse, wrote something on a card, and handed it to me, "This is my private number. Call me, I'll work out a scholarship for you." Interview I walk into your office... wearing black 8" heels, black leather mini skirt that shows off my long legs, sheer white blouse with a lacy white bra underneath, hair piled on top of my head with only one pin holding it. You come around the desk to shake my hand, preparing to interview me. Knowing this interview is going to end up being a long, slow one, you offer me a seat, but I ignore it and sit on the corner of your desk instead, crossing my long legs slowly, dangling a foot near your knee as my fingers absentmindedly play with the top button of my blouse, drawing your eye to it's already low V, the very edge of my lace bra peeking out at you as the fabric slides a little toward my shoulder. I lean on my hand a little as we talk, raising the opposite hip slightly, seemingly unknowing that I've undone that top button, the curve of my breast clearly visible to you, my foot brushing your knee, and you turn in your chair slightly, more toward me, asking me questions and my high heeled foot brushes over the inside of your thigh. You say something and it comes out funny and I laugh, sliding off the desk, my skirt hiking up very high on my thighs and I make no move to pull it back into place. I stand between your legs and reach down to tug your shirt, urging you to stand. You rise, unable to take anymore and kiss me hard, your hands running over my body, up into my hair, finding the pin and pulling it out, watching as my hair spills over my shoulders. My fingers unbutton your shirt, sliding the fabric off your shoulders quickly, my fingernails raking over your nipples as I run them over your chest, my fingers move to my blouse and undo the rest of the buttons, sliding it off my shoulders leaving me only in my bra and my skirt. Your fingers trace the line of flesh just above the lace of my bra, dipping into the cleavage once in awhile then over the lace, feeling my hard nipples poking out and pushing the lace away from my body. You reach behind me and undo the hook and pull the lace away, and lowering your head you flick your tongue lightly over a nipple, circling it, then kissing just the tip before biting it hard, your tongue flicking over it rapidly. You feel my back arch and hear me moan long and low, my hands caressing your body, fingernails digging into your shoulders hard when you bite me. You move slowly to the other nipple and give it the same treatment and I lean into you slightly to run my tongue into your ear, telling you I need you, I'm hungry. You pull away from me and kiss me hard, pushing on my shoulders, lowering me to my knees before you and make me watch as you slowly undo your pants, sliding them down your legs as your cock springs out at me... and you take it and rub the head over my lips, watching as I extend my tongue slowly... making it wet, tasting the drop of precum forming and I look into your eyes as I nibble all over the head, opening my mouth wider as you press into me urging me to take it inside. I can hear you moan as it slides into my hot mouth, my tongue running over the surface as I wrap my lips around it and suck, using just the right amount of pressure... pumping my mouth off and on you as my hand lifts and runs up between your thighs cupping your balls and squeezing lightly, my other hand reaching around to play with your ass feeling you moan as I take your cock from my mouth to wet my finger and slide it into your ass before sucking your cock back into my mouth, taking it all the way. You feel the head press against the back of my throat, your fingers tangle themselves in my hair and you pump your hips, fucking my mouth. I look up into your eyes and watch you as you watch your cock move between my red lips, my lipstick leaving little red rings around your cock. I move my hand a little lower and press my knuckle in just below your balls, running my finger in and out of your ass at the same pace you cock fucks my mouth and I moan deep in my throat. My tongue laps crazily over you as I suck, not too lightly, not too hard, your hips pumping at your own pace... the head moving in and out of my throat. After only a few moments I feel you tense, driving your cock in deep, shooting the first burst right into my throat then pulling out and letting me have some on my tongue. You pull me to my feet fast and turn me around to bend me over the desk. You raise my skirt over my ass and pull on my little lace G, ripping the delicate fabric away as you part my legs with your feet and slide your cock into my warmth, the head finding my entrance immediately and it slides right in. You place your hands on my hips and fuck me slow, grinding your hips into me, your balls tickling my pussy and you can hear my breath coming harder. I tell you to fuck me, its been so long, and you move a little faster... driving in a little deeper... your hands squeezing my ass and you work a thumb into my asshole, fucking it in and out of me as you fuck my pussy. We're soon cumming hard, our moans filling the office, my muscles squeezing hard around you as you empty your cum in me and as you collapse against me you whisper into my ear, "Baby, you got the job..." Interview "I must tell you Mr. Johnson, looking over your resume I must say I am perplexed. I mean you have a Masters Degree in two fields and a Doctorate in Business, graduated Cum Laude in every university you attended. Additionally you have specialized vocational training in car repair, air conditioning, helicopter maintenance and rocket propulsion, hell you are even a certified nuclear propulsion operator and yet the longest you have held down a job has been 3 weeks," the attractive black woman said glancing up from my resume. "Six weeks," I replied. "How's that?" she asked looking at me over her reading glasses. "I worked for six weeks at the car place." "Oh yes, but while there you worked as a salesman, a auto repair specialist, a prep man, and a spot remover. A spot remover?" "All day I cleaned up spots on the car upholstery." "All day?" "They had a lot of spots." "A lot so spots," I said nodding. I gazed into her beautiful brown eyes and then down to her prominent dark cheeks. "When we checked your references everyone commented on how smart you were and how quickly you fit into their program. You seemed to be the perfect worker, but, all the people I talked to had a but..." I lost track of what she was saying, picturing all those butts. I scooted my chair up close to her desk so my chest was almost against the top. Realizing I was missing what she was saying I shook my head and tried to refocus. "Your difficulty?" "What was that?" I asked. "Each and every one of your professional references mentioned your difficulty?" "Difficulty?" "Your problem?" "Oh, oh yes, my problem, well I think all it is really about is concentration. I lose focus in some situations, but it doesn't last too long. As far as my work goes, the clean up is not bad." "Clean up?" "The papers and things." "Oh, I think if you keep up with your work an occasional loss of focus is not unforgivable, as long as you kept us abreast..." Her breasts were very large, but well supported by a black, lacy bra that just peeked out from under her blouse. I could wrap my hand around one and not hold it entirely, the soft flesh would flow between my fingers until I squeeze just a bit. And the nipples, the nipples on such large breasts are incredible, maybe big around as a quarter, just the right amount to fill up my mouth. "Mr. Johnson... Mr. Johnson, please focus Mr. Johnson," I heard her saying. "Oh yes, I'm sorry, it's just that I got lost a moment there." "I see, well we have some rehabilitation specialists that might be able to help you, if you are willing to undergo some therapy while working part-time. Understand that normally we wouldn't be willing to make such a commitment to someone we are just hiring, but your schooling and training is impressive and I think we can help you get over your problems." "My problems?" "Yes, the loss of focus thing." "Oh that thing," I replied, "Yes, some of my employers recommended counseling, but that was always after they let me go. Then, because I wasn't working I didn't have any insurance so I couldn't get any counseling, a vicious cycle." "I can understand your dilemma, well here we approach things very differently, I think you will be surprised at what we can offer. I like your tenacity, how you keep a stiff upper lip..." Her lips, so thick and full, I can feel them kissing me, her tongue slipping into my mouth and then withdrawing as she kissing my face, my nose, my eyes, my cheek and then down my neck. I feel them moving down over my chest, to my nipples, teasing them with her tongue and then down, through my curly pubic hair and then, down and around my cock, kissing it at the base and then up, up my shaft, sliding over the head. Her mouth opens and her full lips roll over me as I slip into her mouth. "Mr. Johnson, MR. JOHNSON, YOU MUST STOP!" she shouted. "I can't, I can't," I moaned, my hand sliding up and down my cock, my fist moving over the head again and again. I found myself standing, my back arching as the sensation rushed though my cock and yes, yes, "Oh yes," I whined splashing my cum onto her desk, the fabric on her chair and one large drop on her dress. "Mr. Johnson, I... ah we... we just can't..." "Oh it's okay, I can clean it up, yes that spot on your chair, a dab of upholstery cleaner, I have some in my car. And for your blouse, just a dab of tonic waster will keep that stain from setting, I know about spots." "I'm sorry, we simply can't hire you." "But you said you could get me into counseling, you could help me..." "After what you did? There is no fucking..." Fucking her would be so nice, seeing her legs spread open, her pussy ready for me as I lean forward and slowly push my hard cock... "MR. JOHNSON, STOP IT, STOP IT NOW OR I'LL CALL SECURITY, YOU HEAR ME MR. JOHNSON?" Interview "What are you looking for?" I asked, purposely attempting to be gentle yet firm and authoritative. The young woman sitting across the table from Me was just barely a young woman. She was old enough to vote, but only by a few months. She definitely could not legally consume alcohol, which was fine in My opinion, as I did not want to deal with a drunk person -- not after having babysat a drunk girl in Vienna nearly two decades earlier. The crowd of the small coffee shop seemed to fade away to nothingness as I awaited her response. The headlights of the cars and trucks passing by just a few feet on the other side of the window seemed inconsequential. I simply raised the latte to My lips, My eyes narrowing as I focused upon her, waiting. Her long raven hair seemed to shine in the glow of the recessed light above her head. The scant make-up was tastefully applied, contrasting greatly with the last few young women who had sat across from Me in this very coffee shop over the previous week. "I'm looking for..." she began, then hesitated. Her voice was sweet, soft, almost silky. If a butterfly's colorful wings could have a voice, it would be her voice -- such was the image which came to My mind as she spoke. The colors of a butterfly announce its presence and draw attention, yet the butterfly seems skittish -- and the same could have been applied to her. "I'm looking for a Master who can teach Me to be more... confident in myself, while molding me into whatever He wishes of me." "I see." I set the latte down and leaned back in the chair, folding My arms across My chest. "And just why do you believe I am the Master who can teach you confidence?" For the first time in perhaps five minutes, she looked up at Me, looking directly into My eyes. Her hazel orbs were mesmerizing, displaying a confidence hidden deep within. "Simply a gut feeling," she replied. "Just a gut..." I smiled reassuringly. "Sometimes the gut can be a much better decision maker than the mind," I told her. "That has certainly been the case for Me in the past, and probably will in the future as well." At last, she took another sip of her mint mocha. Her small hands seemed dwarfed by the large mug. "As small goes," she whispered, more to herself than to Me, "at least that's good for my gut." Leaning forward, I placed My arms upon the table. "Breast size is not indicative of intelligence or worth." "You can say that because of your age." That caused Me to raise an eyebrow. Granted, she was a little more than half My age, but still, I did not believe that My opinion on the matter was age-specific. "Sorry," she said quickly. "I don't mean that you're old." "To you, I probably am." "Sorry." I smiled warmly as I took another sip of My latte. "Age means nothing," I said, "so long as all the participants are old enough to consent." Her shoulders sagged into a position of relaxation for the first time that evening. "Besides," I continued, "if age was a concern for you, you and I would not be sitting here right now. And clearly, age is not a concern for Me." She nodded, not looking at My eyes any longer. I allowed Myself the luxury of looking down below her face. The silver necklace she wore bore a crescent moon pendant which, given her position, swung about an inch or so in front of her chest, the simple black dress providing a nice backdrop to showcase the pendant. Also apparent in that view was that her breasts were rather small. "How do you feel about your chest?" I asked out of the blue. She looked up at Me with shock, her eyes wide, almost a deer-in-headlights expression as if the question froze her in place and she did not know how to answer or react. "I could tell you how I feel about them," I offered, "but first I want to hear how you feel. After all, they're yours. You're the one who sees them every day." A blush came to her cheeks, and a knowing smile came to My lips. "You're not too comfortable talking about your breasts, are you?" She did not respond verbally, instead shaking her head in the negative. "Is that what you meant by wanting to become more confident? Wanting to feel better about yourself?" She nodded. "But more than that," she added, finally looking into My eyes once again. "I know that in order to submit as fully as possible, I need to have some level of confidence in Myself. I don't feel like I have that. Not now. Not yet." I sipped the latte again. "And you believe that a Master can give you that confidence?" She nodded again. "Do you believe a Mistress could ever give you that confidence?" Her shudder was quite visible. "I've... I've thought about it, but I just can't picture Myself being... comfortable with a Mistress." "A somewhat-cryptic but honest response," I acknowledged. "Honesty is very important." "Of course," she responded rather matter-of-factly. ...and on the conversation went for perhaps another hour before she accepted My arm and I led her out of the coffee shop, back out into the night to lead her toward the university campus. As she and I stood at an intersection waiting for the Walk symbol, I finally asked her the important question: "Why should I choose you?" To her credit, she hesitated for a moment, looking down at her low red heels. "Because I want to better myself by submitting to You, Sir." I smiled, already ninety-nine percent certain of My eventual decision. The following morning, on the way to the office, I mailed a postcard to her with just one word in the message area: Accepted Interview "Mr Smith will see you now." I jump slightly when your secretary signals me to go into your office. I have carefully prepared for this interview, have looked the company up on the internet, gotten my resume and references in order, and thought about how to answer any questions the interviewer would most certainly ask. I have dressed conservatively in a dark red skirt that goes to just below my knees, a white blouse and a black jacket, hose and dressy heels. Very little jewelry and make-up, my light brown hair almost demurely in a bun. I'm feeling good about myself and I'm in control. Yes, I think I'm ready. I knock on the door and after a brief "Come in", I do just that. You sit on the opposite side of the room behind your desk and sign some papers, and without looking up you say "Have a seat Ms.....?" "Dee," I say, "Please call me Dee. It's nice to meet you, Mr Smith." You look up, surprised, a bit annoyed but I think I see a tiny smile right in the corners of your mouth, and I feel I've won the first battle, or at least broken the ice. I sink onto one of the chairs in front of your desk and place my bag on the other. You lean back in your executive-style leather chair and watch as I get comfortable and cross my right leg over my left, making sure my skirt doesn't ride up too much as I move around. Now I sit and wait for you to start the interview. "Ok, so, Dee, I have looked over your resume...." While you talk, I get the chance to take a closer look at you. I see an attractive man, somewhat older than me, a friendly face but a rogue-ish look, for a moment earlier I thought I saw a sparkle in your eyes. You're well groomed and well dressed and have a pleasant voice. I like your hands.... I always look at hands and wonder how they would handle me, how they would feel on me..... No! This is an interview for goodness sake, plenty of time to fantasize about this man later! You ask questions and I reply, then I ask questions and you reply, it's all very dry and business like, only I'm not so dry at all anymore and feel almost as if under hypnosis under your staring look. I wonder if you're looking at me that way because you're trying to imagine what I look like underneath my clothes.... I certainly wonder the same about you. Good thing this interview is about finished because I'm having a hard time holding on to my concentration and controlling my breath. This is crazy! I'm trying to get hired, not laid, geez! You say "Well Ms... Dee, I think that's about all I needed to know. We will call you in a day or two, thank you for stopping by." You get up and I do as well, almost hastily so, and grab my bag. We meet about half way around your desk and I extend my hand for a hand shake, and say "Thank you for your time, Mr Smith, I look forward to hearing from you." You take my hand and squeeze it lightly, suddenly you're right in front of me, suddenly my knees are all wobbly, your eyes stare directly into mine and I feel your breath on my face. I can not control myself and offer my lips to you. Your mouth finds mine and without hesitation your tongue invades me and plays with my tongue, we unite in a deep, hungry kiss. Now our hands roam over the other's body, tearing at clothes, loosening ties and undoing buttons. Your mouth leaves mine and creates a hot trail down my neck as it makes its way into my blouse, caressing my breasts while my hands push your head into my cleavage, wanting more. Muffled grunts from you mingle with openly lustful gasps from myself, and I stumble backwards to lean on the desk so we won't fall over. Your hands continue to remove my skirt and pantyhose, your fingers slide under the elastic of my pink panties and without warning dip into my wetness, you laugh a hoarse laugh when I moan out loud, and when you discover just how soaked I am for you. You push me onto your desk and, in a tone full of authority, instruct me to play with myself. I am so overcome with desire and completely under your spell that I obey your command, now dressed only in my pink bra and my open white blouse I lean back and allow my fingers to dip into my wetness. My legs are bent at a sharp angle and I am totally exposed to your view, fully aware of my submissiveness and vulnerability but also strangely turned on by it. My fingers work gently but efficiently, fucking myself, rubbing my swollen clit, it feels so good to know you are watching me. I hear as you unzip your pants, and I pause for a second to look up just in time to see you dropping your boxers. "Oh God, oh fuck me please.." is all I can say before I feel you slamming into me with one powerful thrust that makes me scream out loud. You are so deep inside me and you don't move as my pussy gets used to your invasion, and I catch my breath and open my eyes again to look at your face. Your eyes are closed and your head tilted to one side while your hands slide from my knees down to my hips, caressing my thighs and belly in a very tender gesture. With my pussy wrapped tightly around your shaft you slowly pull back, then push back in, it's such a tight fit and it feels wonderful, causing me to purr and ask for more. You oblige my request by speeding up and fucking me in earnest, your cock slamming in and out of me, your balls hitting my cheeks. My pussy makes obscene slurping noises as it keeps sucking you back in, my hands squeeze my breasts through the pink lace, my universe centers around your cock and the moans that come out of your mouth. I hear you say "Take this Ms Dee, you dirty girl, take me deep..." All I can do is cry my lust out into the room, unable to form coherent words, feeling my orgasm building through the intense pounding. One hand travels across my belly and rubs my clit as you're fucking me hard, the extra attention is more than I can handle and it pushes me over the edge, screaming, my orgasm washes over me, triggers spasms all through my body, still you continue, all I can do is push back at you, now I want your lust, now I want your pleasure. My hips come off the desk as I encourage you to finish, my muscles still clamp around you for an even tighter squeeze. I mumble "Cum for me Mr Smith, cum inside me and make me yours.." when a second, smaller orgasm ripples through me at the same time your climax hits you full force, and you groan loudly as you thrust into me one final, powerful time. As I feel your hot semen spill deep inside me your knees can't hold you up any longer and you collapse on top of me, panting, kissing my neck. Wrapping my arms and legs around you I whisper "Does this conclude the interview, Mr Smith?" You reply "No, Ms Dee, I will have to ask you a few more questions, over drinks tonight. Meet me at 8pm and don't wear any panties." Interview at a Parisian Restaurant This is a little something I did for promotional purposes. I've never heard back from the people I sent it to. So I'm assuming they're not interested. So I'm putting it up here. Enjoy. As always, this piece is done in memory of Colleen Thomas, a good friend who I miss to this day. Don't forget to vote and comment. I love hearing from my readers. The idea of an interview with Georges Belleveau and Diane Patterson was first broached to me in a chat on-line at a publisher's website. We were discussing an e-book recently released. Someone thought that an interview with the main characters from it would be fascinating reading. I shrugged that suggestion off, telling the person that Monsieur Belleveau and Ms. Patterson are fictional characters. Which makes it very hard to interview them. Until I received a package from a courier. I signed for it, wondering all the time what it was. I don't get a lot of packages. Opening it was a big surprise. Inside was a plane ticket from my city to Paris, leaving the next Wednesday, a credit card in my name and a note. "Bon jour," it read. "We understand you would like to speak with us. We're quite amenable to the idea. When you arrive at Orly get a cab to Le Roi Henri IV. There's a room for you there, paid in advance. "We'll be in touch." I thought that was very strange, to say the least. Checking the airline I found the ticket was legitimate. The limit on the credit card was very nice and it belonged to a French company who I assumed would be covering any purchases I made. Searching on line for them and sending an e-mail confirmed that fact. What the hell? I decided. I've always wanted to see Paris. Nice to do it on someone else's dime. My passport was up to date and in less than a week I was stepping out of a cab in Paris in front of my hotel. Le Roi Henri IV is one of those small, very luxurious hotels you can find in Paris. It's located in the 3rd arrondissement just south of Rue Saint-Giles. They were ready for me and in minutes I was in my room. It was everything a hotel room should be. But I'm glad I'm not paying for it, was my thought. I wondered for the umpteenth time who the people were that wanted me here in Paris. When I finished unpacking I decided to do a bit of the tourist thing. The Musée Carnavalet-Histoire de Paris was nearby and history is one of my favourite subjects. As I walked past the front desk the young lady there called me over. "There's a message for you, Monsieur," she told me while handing over a slip of paper. "If you would," it read, "please be at Le Fin de Sieclé tonight at 10 PM." A little waft of emotion, equal parts interest, anticipation and annoyance, passed through me on reading this. What game is being played? I had to wonder. The museum was far better than I hoped. I spent hours there, soaking up Paris' story. I didn't get to see it all and made a note to return tomorrow. It was twilight when I left, so I found a café for dinner. A meal by the sidewalk in Paris is a treat not available anywhere else. Finished that, I hailed a cab and he took me to Le Fin. Le Fin turned out to be another café, one with a distinctly bohemian buzz. The customers were very mixed, Parisians of all sorts plus the occasional tourist such as myself. They were a friendly and eclectic lot. I ended up in many conversations that covered just as many subjects. The locals were very patient with my bad French. Most switched to English quickly. It was well after midnight that I returned to my hotel. But whoever was sponsoring my adventure didn't show, or at least didn't announce themselves. Much as I was enjoying myself I was getting somewhat annoyed. On awakening the next morning I continued seeing Paris. Finishing the museum I then wandered aimlessly through the Marais and the Latin Quarter. I never noticed how long I was at it. This part of Paris was interesting to distraction from mundane things like exhaustion. I took a cab back to my hotel. To find that there was another note waiting for me. "Please, be at the Eiffel Tower tonight at 10 PM." That caused a little sigh of frustration. I did wish my host, whoever he or she was, would get to the point. But I went. The Tower is quite impressive. I hadn't realized there was a skating rink on the second level, a surprise I found quite charming. The Tower has an excellent view of the city. I was struck at how careful Paris was to preserve the heart of itself. Since most of the buildings in the city centre are of light colouration, it seemed a negative of other cities I'd seen at night, with the buildings white and the streets dark. But no one approached me to tell me why I was in Paris. I was approaching quite peeved when I took a cab back to the hotel. The next day was a visit to the Louvre. It's everything it is rumoured to be. A gorgeous building with some of the finest art in the world. Again, it was too big for a single day and I resolved to return until I had seen it all. Of course there was a note waiting for me when I returned to my hotel. "Le Restaurant du Carl, 9:30. Give your name to the maitre d'hotel." What ever! was my first response, accompanied by a rolling of eyes. I shrugged then and decided to go. At the very least I was going to get a free meal out of this. Leaving my hotel at 9:15, I hailed a cab. It took less than ten minutes to get to my destination. Not being familiar with Paris all I can say is we crossed the river at one point. When I exited the cab I found Le Restaurant du Carl a bit of a surprise. It's small, a three story brick building wedged between a bookstore and a boutique. The only indication of its purpose is a small brass plaque on the door. Climbing the steps to that door I opened it and went inside. The maitre d' gave me a warm smile and asked my name. When I gave it to him his smile grew wider and he said, "Of course. Your hosts are waiting. This way, please." Following him into the restaurant proper I found myself struck by the ambience of the establishment. I don't believe I've ever encountered a place so intimate and comfortable. All the tables were occupied. It wasn't surprising that most patrons were couples taking advantage of the atmosphere. I was lead up two flights of steps then the maitre d' and I entered a small balcony at the back of the building. There were two people already seated at the table set there. My first impression was how much in love these two were. You could see their focus was completely absorbed by the other person, and that this absorption made them very happy. The second was rather like that of a mouse discovering that cats are real. I was sharing space with characters I'd thought were fictional, and were vampires to boot. Oh, they looked human enough, but I'd read the book about them. I knew what they were. The couple turned to us then, smiled and rose to their feet. They moved with a predatory ease. "Merci, Phillipe," said the man. "De rien," replied the maitre d' with a bow. He turned and left us alone. "Bon soir," the man went on, extending his hand. "I'm Georges Belleveau." His English was excellent, there was hardly a trace of an accent. Enough though to show his French origins. "Evening," continued the woman, with her hand out. "Diane Patterson." Her voice had the honey drawl of the American South. My only response was a swallow. The couple chuckled. "There's no need to worry," Diane told me with a small smile. "We're here for an interview, not a meal. And we do apologize for the runaround. We had to make sure you were alone." I managed to walk forward and shake their hands. "Thanks for this opportunity. It's a shock though, to meet you. I didn't know you were real." They smiled and chuckled once more. Reaching into a shirt pocket, I started up my tiny tape recorder. I always use this in interviews. As I did I looked them over. Monsieur Belleveau was about my height. His build was lithe and a little on the thin side. His hair was a very dark brown, his eyes blue. Those eyes were rich in expression; joyful, calm but with a sharp awareness in them. He was dressed in black, a silk shirt with the top button open, simple cotton slacks and shoes. They were expensive with an air of practicality. Ms. Patterson was beautiful, built along the same lines as her lover. The top of her head was just above Georges' chin. Her hair was a mane of rich auburn, shoulder length. Her eyes were same as her lover's save for being sea green. Diane's black silk dress was the same simple and expensive garb as her lover wore. The legs she stood on were shapely with sandals tied to her feet. There was an aura about the two of them. If they walked into a crowded room I'm sure everyone in it would turn to look. "Sit, please," Georges said then, gesturing towards the table. It was easier to move this time. My shock was receding. Some how, I trusted these people. I relaxed and decided to treat this like any other interview. I sat in the third chair, pulled out my notebook and jotted down what had happened so far. My shorthand is excellent. I use both recorder and notebook to make sure I miss no nuances. Georges and Diane sat as well. Their hands immediately joined in a warm clasp. As I looked up from my notebook I found another woman on the balcony with us. Tiny with brunette hair, she carried an open bottle of wine. "Here's the bottle you requested, Monsieur Belleveau," she stated as she walked towards me. "Merci, Marie," he replied. I picked up the wineglass in front of me and held it up. Marie poured a finger's worth into it. Swirling it under my nose, sniffing, I then tasted it. I'm no oenophile but, damn, it was good! "Merci," I told the sommeliére, "it's wonderful." Marie acknowledged my praise with a smile, filled my glass and left us. I turned back to my hosts. "Shall we start the interview?" "Let us leave it until after you've had dinner," Georges replied. "Working on an empty stomach isn't much fun." He chuckled. "Are you eating as well?" I asked him. "We already had a bite," Diane told me. "We can't eat food anyway." "I beg your pardon?" I asked, surprised at this little snippet of information. "If we eat human food, we can't digest it. It'll sit in our stomachs until it rots. The smell would draw attention, and we prefer to avoid attention." I scribbled that down. It was beginning to hit me, how little I knew about my hosts. So much of what I know of vampires is from reading, TV and movies. Subtle little things like this aren't mentioned in the media. So I ate and we chatted through the meal. My dinner was wonderful, one of the best I'd ever had. The courses arrived at just the right time. The portions, flavours and textures were perfectly balanced. The wine highlighted it just right. I often had to shake my head in wonder as I ate. My hosts were great company. We discussed history for the most part. Georges spoke of seeing Kaiser Wilhelm I shortly after he crowned himself in Versailles after the Franco-Prussian War. He talked about Paris and how it had changed over the years he had known it. Diane was a learned and charming companion as well. She hadn't her lover's experience but she always had a trenchant observation to make and her own knowledge to impart. There was a tone to their conversation though, a distance. It was as if what happened in the world was a rather interesting entertainment, not something of any importance to them. Finally I finished dessert and checked my watch. It was well after 11:00 PM and it was time to get to work. "Shall we get started?" "If you wish," replied Georges. "Sure," added Diane. "First question then. Tell me a bit of your history, Monsieur Belleveau. Where were you born? Where did you become a vampire?" "Ah. I was born in Alsace in 1748, a scion of a minor noble house there. The third of seven children. "We were somewhat different from our class. We didn't pass head of the family to the oldest son. The current head chose who would replace him. Or her sometimes. Since we couldn't expect to rule, and couldn't avoid it if chosen, all of us were educated to fulfill our role. We couldn't be lazy about it. "My family also had a tradition of working. When I was what you would now call a tween and a young teenager I spent time working in vineyards, horse stables or pastures. I think that was wise. I learned about the people I might end up being responsible for. "What I enjoyed most though, was learning. My family was wealthy enough to hire excellent teachers. I soaked up knowledge as fast as I could. "When I came of age, my family made use of that. I spoke French and German very well. I'd done a good job of learning history. I understood how politics worked, who was who and what their goals were. So they sent me off as a courtier to various places; Berlin, Paris, assorted small German countries such as Schleswig-Holstein and Bavaria. "It was interesting, but not entirely enjoyable. I found I quite disliked the courtly life. It was always full of what you would now call 'posers'. The games they play for status and power were annoying and a waste of time. "So I always found a bit of life outside the courts. I made friends in universities, with artists and writers, with middle class people. It added an honest taste to my life. "I was in Versailles when I was made into what I am now. That was in 1788, when the rumblings that grew into the Revolution started to become loud. "I believe I had a clearer view of what was coming than most of the courtiers there. I knew people outside the court and they kept me informed. "The person that made me did so without my consent. He was ancient nobility, had spent centuries playing the corridors of power. He was vehemently opposed to the changes that were coming. And I was supportive of them, at first. His purpose in taking me was to neutralize me, and to gain my lines of communication to the world outside of Versailles. "I served him, most unwillingly, for five years. But, when I thought I could get away with it, I served my own purposes as well. "In 1793, I realized the whole Revolution was going to spiral out of control. The factions had become too radicalized. France wasn't going to be a safe place for a while. "So, I had people I knew denounce my maker to The Committee For Public Safety. They sent men to arrest him, his villa burned and I've never seen him again. I assume he died when he was pulled into the sunlight." Georges' face took on a smile of vicious satisfaction. "I fled France that same night. I had myself shipped to England in a coffin. That's when I took on the name Georges Belleveau. My human life and title had no more meaning to me, and I liked shedding the burden of it. "From England I went to Quebec City. I thought it would be something both new and familiar. After two decades there I moved to New York City. In 1853 I returned to Paris. Things had calmed down and I love this city. This is my home. I've a touch of wanderlust though. I've done a fair bit of traveling. There's so much to see in this world. Even an immortal needs time to see it all." I scribbled down his last line, smiling. History has always been a great love of mine. I quite enjoyed hearing about it from someone who had been there. His story about his maker was rather chilling though. It was frightening, this hint of what he was capable of. "And your story, Ms. Patterson?" I asked then, turning to her. She smiled a sweet smile. "My story's not nearly as interesting as Georges'. I'm a Mississippi farm girl. "My parents married late and I'm their only child. I was born in 1970 on the farm my father had bought after he left the U.S. Army. "It was a good place to grow up. My parents doted on me, but didn't spoil me. They taught me to read before I went to school. I love reading, and learning. I was using my parents' library all the time. My favourite thing to do was be taken to the library in town. "School itself was OK. I didn't need much teaching, and my teachers usually understood that. I was rather a loner though. I made friends, but not many. "I got a good scholarship in a university up North when I graduated. I stayed for a while to get a Masters in history. After that, I got a job at another university in the Mid-West. "It was a nice, quiet life I lead. I spent most of my time alone, which suited me fine. I often had the feeling I was waiting for something. "Then I met Georges, and found what I was waiting for." She gave her lover's hand a little squeeze and him a happy smile. "So how did you two meet?" This seemed the obvious question. "Blind luck," replied Georges with a chuckle. "I had been invited to the city and university where Diane was. I've a little fame as a historian." He winked. "I wrote several books that were well received in the community. The university rented that minor prestige for a year. "I needed it. Something had happened to me not long before, and I was performing a penance for it. Teaching was a good way to perform that penance." Georges' face grew very bleak. His eyes unfocused and horror filled them. A shiver ran up my spine. What could have happened to a vampire that would frighten him? Diane leaned over and placed a soft kiss on her lover's cheek. "Don't beat yourself up about that, my love. Those things happen to us. If you don't stop feeling bad about it I'll torture you with kisses until you cheer up." His fearful expression faded, a warm smile replaced it. Turning his face to her he said, "Oh no. Anything but that, please." Leaning forward the couple shared a loving kiss. It went on for rather a while, and grew more passionate moment by moment. "Shall I give you two some privacy?" I cut in. They broke apart and grinned at me. "Sorry," Diane said, "we do get carried away at times." "Well," Georges returned to his story, "I was hunting one night, looking for a meal. My hunting ground was a pub. Such venues are excellent for that purpose. Most people go there to look for something or someone. I'm good at taking advantage of that." "And, as the many jokes go, I walked into that pub." Diane smiled. "I found a seat at the bar. Georges sat next to me and started to chat me up. "I turned to him, meaning to give him a sarcastic comment, cut him off. That first sight of him still gives me shivers." "That's not surprising, chére," Georges interrupted. "I was hunting. That was supposed to be your first impression." "Perhaps, love. But you've told me you stopped using your powers almost immediately. And that shiver didn't go away." Diane returned her attention to me. "We ended up talking. We stayed until the bar closed. It was like we'd been friends for years." "And it was the first time I'd not finished a hunt for a long while," Georges continued. "I just walked her home, said bon nuit, and found a meal somewhere else." "I'm still thankful," Diane remarked, "that I decided on a drink that night at that place. It hasn't always been easy, but I would never as been happy if I'd made a different decision." "Moi aussi," he told her with a little squeeze of her hand. "There were problems?" I asked. "Read the book," returned Diane. "It goes into much greater detail." I recognize when a subject is closed, so I took the interview in a different direction. "What's it like? Being a vampire? How is it different from being a human?" "I think Diane is better qualified to answer that question. I hardly remember being human." Interview at a Parisian Restaurant "Merci, chér," said Diane. "Surprisingly, I don't find it a lot different than being human. "We have abilities and powers that humans don't. We're a lot stronger. Not long ago I threw a man the size of a NFL linebacker against his truck hard enough to break a fair number of bones." A look of malign pleasure crossed her face. "I once hit someone with a small car," Georges added. I swallowed a nervous gulp at that revelation. Diane went on. "We're faster than humans as well. I can do a hundred metre sprint in about six seconds. Our reflexes are somewhat faster than humans." Georges chuckled. "Not fast enough to dodge bullets though." She turned to smile at him. "Charging into a room like that? Not surprising." "You were in danger. I wasn't thinking very well." Diane's smile grew very warm. "Thank you for that." Returning her attention to me she continued her lesson. "Our senses are sharper. We can see almost as well in the dark as a human can in the day. Our senses of smell, touch and hearing are more sensitive as well. We are predators, after all. "We've abilities that humans don't have." "Such as?" I inquired. Diane looked at me, and the most intense lust hit me. My jaw dropped and there was an instant reaction in my groin. I'll bet my eyes glazed over. That ended as quickly as it started. She chuckled. "We're usually more subtle than that." "We can do this," Georges cut in. He held up a hand, and two inch long claws grew from his fingernails. "I can take gouges out of a steel sheet with these." I barely managed to suppress a 'Yipe!' at the sight of a vampire's armament. Georges withdrew them with a "Pardon." Ms. Patterson picked up the thread of her lesson. "We can use the blood in our bodies, to augment and repair ourselves. We can increase our strength, the sensitivity of our senses. Most wounds can be undone in seconds. When used just so, we can move so fast that we can barely be seen." "There's this ability as well," interjected Georges. I looked at him, and darkness enfolded him like a fog. There was only a miasma of blackness where he had sat. If he had been in shadows, I wouldn't be able to see him. A start shook me as he reappeared. "We have to be careful though," Diane went on, "with how we use our blood. If we use too much, we get hungry. maybe even starving. A starving vampire is something to fear. All we'll think about at that point is feeding. We won't be the least kind about how we get our blood. "Balanced against that is our weaknesses." "Such as?" I inquired. "We have to sleep when the sun is up. We can rouse ourselves if there's great danger, but we're not at our best. "Sunlight is absolutely lethal. If it falls on us we'll burn like sodium in water. In seconds there's little more than a tiny pile of ash. "We're vulnerable to other things that burn; fire and acid for example. Those wounds are hard to heal. I takes a lot of blood to do so. "Being shot, clubbed or stabbed isn't much of a burden. It hurts, a lot. But it's easy to repair. "It would be obvious to someone if we were captured and examined that our bodies are dead. Only our supernatural nature keeps us from rotting. Our hearts don't beat, our lungs don't breath. We don't sweat and we excrete no wastes. And contrary to what you read in many books, our sexual organs don't work at all. Georges can't get an erection, I don't lubricate when I'm excited and I can't conceive. I haven't had a single period since I became a vampire." She smiled with a wry twist. "That's one of the nicest things about being what I am." "Oh," I succeeded in commenting. "That's why you don't eat human food." They nodded. "There are other things that our state prevents us from doing. We can't laugh or cry." How sad, popped into my mind. For the first time I felt pity for the people sitting across from me. Something Diane had told me about being undead clashed with a common belief about them. So I asked the question this raised. "You say you can't display any of the physical traits of lust. Then why are vampires so often such sexual beings in legends?" "Feeding is our orgasmic act," explained Diane. "Our bite heightens the emotional state of our prey. Since we most often hunt by seduction, and are very fond of feeding at the moment of orgasm, it's not surprising legends grew around that fact. "It's orgasmic for us as well. We don't just taste the blood, we taste the soul. All of what a person is flavours their blood. When in orgasm that taste is heightened, enriched. We enjoy it as much as our prey." I felt the need to return to our original point about the weaknesses of their kind. "Do crucifixes work?" Diane chuckled. "Any religious item will work. If the person wielding it actually has faith. Not just belief, faith. Belief has a smidgen of doubt, and that doubt negates the power of the item. The person using it must have bone deep faith." She chuckled again. "There's a lot of people who were surprised when they tried to battle people like Georges and me. For a few moments." Her grin was ferocious at that observation. A coldness was growing in my gut. I liked my hosts, but it was becoming more and more evident to me that they were not human beings. Swallowing, I stated, "That shows how different you are from human beings. You claimed it was much the same. I don't see how." "We have all the emotions of the living," Diane explained. "We feel joy, sadness, happiness, grief." She turned to smile at Georges. "And love." Turning back she expanded, "If anything those feelings are stronger. I don't think I've ever been bored since I became a vampire. I think, perhaps, being dead is like being reborn every moment. "And most important, as Georges explained to me before he changed me, is that we have free will. How we act is our choice, and our responsibility. I've discovered that is true." I stared at them. I'd never considered that vampires might be philosophers and ethicists. It was time for another question. "I gather from reading the book about you that what I'm seeing is camouflage. May I see what you look like when you're not hiding?" Both their faces went cold, and they replied "No" with the same breath. "It's not something for humans to see," Georges explained. "If we showed you, you'd have nightmares for years." I suspected that was what was going to happen regardless. The cold now ran up my spine and my fine meal sat like a lump in my stomach. Taking a deep breath, I asked my next question. "Are there other vampires besides you two?" "Yes," Georges told me. I waited but he said no more. This interview was becoming frustrating as well as frightening. They switched back and forth between wordy and closed mouthed with no rhyme or reason I could see. So I asked another question. "Is there a vampire society?" This time Georges chuckled. "Barely. We generally live in cities. More places to hide and lots of food. One of us is usually elected to help keep the few rules of our kind." "Such as?" "If a couple of us get into a conflict over something, the vampire we've chosen makes sure we keep it under control. No major violence or anything that attracts attention from humans. "That rarely happens. We vampires aren't a horribly competitive people. Perhaps being dead moves us beyond the avarice and pride that causes conflicts in humans. We do often build structures of power, wealth and information. It makes us safer, to know what the humans are doing, being able to affect them. We rarely get crazy about it." "What other rules do you people have?" "There's only one important one. Humans cannot know of the existence of vampires in their midst. Those who find out we either kill or turn. Usually we kill them." "Oh Jesus!" I gasped. I'd just had a death sentence passed on me. "You needn't worry," said Diane. I snapped my face towards her. And I fell into her sea green eyes.