ACT ONE: FOREPLAY

CHAPTER ONE

 

I kept them both waiting until 5.00 p.m.

They'd been sitting in the reception area outside of my office since nine o'clock that morning. Jasmine, my Executive Assistant, is skilled at drawing out the tension. All 8 hopeful couples had been instructed to arrive before 9.00 a.m.

The Kemps had been sitting there, waiting patiently in anxious silence, hour after hour as the long day wore on, without even knowing who would be called next. They'd occasionally glance across at each other, trying to gauge their own chances versus the competition.

That morning I'd already interviewed 4 husbands and their wives. Another 3 more couples had followed in the afternoon.

Joseph and Susan Kemp were to be my eighth and last candidates that day. The well established 5 o'clock slot.

Jasmine showed them in and they stood side by side, waiting politely in front of my desk. I knew that neither of them would have ever seen an office remotely like it, even pre-the Great Virus, not even in some old Wall Street movie. My mahogany desk on its own covers an area the size of some rooms.

As well as my desk, there's a comfortable corner-seating area of sofas and coffee table where I conduct more relaxed conversations. Then, in the other half of the enormous room, there's a board table that can seat 32 people, with state-of-the-art conferencing facilities.

On the walls hangs an art collection worth millions, with floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over the river and the city below.

And this is only my office. Doors behind my desk lead to my private suite, including a marble bathroom, my personal gym, private cinema and master bedroom.

I completely ignored the two Kemps for a whole minute, continuing to look down at papers on my desk.

The couple stood there side by side, waiting, motionless, in silence. They'd already had to wait 8 hours. So what was one more minute? They'd had to watch handsome-young-couple, after handsome young couple enter my office, knowing that each was here to apply for just one opportunity. I could tell immediately the Kemps weren't confident of their chances.

"Ah ..." I glanced up at the young woman, "... er Susan, right? Susan and Joe, yes?"

"Yes sir." Their voices answered in unison.

In fact, Susan was the reason they were my last couple of the day. I was confident she could play a big part in this particular story. That morning, as always, Jasmine had brought in the day's files with colour photos and full background checks. I'd juggled the eight young women into my order of preference on the desk. Every female applicant was obliged to upload 4 photos into our online form. Jasmine then printed them out for me in portrait format on glossy A4 sheets.

Top left was a close up of the applicant's face. Top right was a full length frontal nude shot taken especially for her application and dated. Bottom left was a rear shot of her naked bottom, fingers pulling her cheeks apart. Finally, bottom right was a wedding day snap with her husband, wearing her bridal dress with him in his tux, plus the date and location of their nuptials.

To be fair, all of today's applicants had been cute. My HR team reject nine out of ten couples who apply without a second glance. But of the lucky ten percent who'd made it to today's interview stage it had been lovely young Susan who caught my eye.

The long form she'd filled in gave me every detail required to make an informed decision. She was 23, a graduate, with a decent liberal arts degree gained just before the Virus struck. Since then she'd been unemployed apart from a bit of casual waitressing in the ravaged entertainment sector.

She'd been with hunky Joe since college. He was her first proper boyfriend and they'd been married for only 2 months. A small wedding of just a dozen people at a burger joint was all the two families could afford. Nevertheless, they looked cutely joyous in their wedding snap.

She'd filled out what our Corporation calls a full 'personal history'. Applicants all understand this includes a full sexual resume, including people, acts and 'solitary habits', a euphemism for masturbation. Susan was definitely a wholesome girl-next-door type. Apart from kissing, Joe was her first and only. She was still an anal virgin. She'd masturbated as a teenager but rarely since.

I left them standing in front of my desk, sensing their eyes on me, as I silently perused her A4 sheet of HD photos. I peered intently at the close up of her anal rosebud, tight and still virgin; at the small diamond ring on her wedding finger as she tugged her pert butt-cheeks apart.

Our research shows that applicants truly hate taking and uploading nude shots specifically taken for us. But we know we'd be wasting our time with anybody who won't. The whole process is designed to identify young people who are both ambitious and desperate enough to be committed and useful employees in the post-Lockdown world.

Susan's top right full frontal nude pic was exactly as we prescribe; a big, forced smile, feet apart, tits out, both cupped in her hands, with two words written on them in black marker pen.

'Please' on one tit and 'Sir' written on the other.

"So, decent qualifications." I commented, finally looking up. "Yes?"

"Y ... yes sir, thank you."

Susan was very pretty. A definite 8 out of 10. She had lovely sapphire-blue eyes and citrus blonde hair. Her wedding day photo revealed perfect white teeth which are a prerequisite for me. No mouth is going near my bits without a nice smile. If anything, she was even prettier in person than her photos. She smelled faintly of rosewater.

"Like everybody else." I shrugged, closing their files regretfully.

There was an awkward silence. They'd just wasted eight hours sitting in my reception area. Not that they would have had anything better to do today. But I could sense their devastation that it was all over so quickly.

Joe Kemp had uploaded four photos too; a facial close up, a happy wedding snap, a full frontal nude, and a close up of his erect penis alongside a measuring tape. Like his young wife, he was 23, a fine upstanding lad, six-three of sports jock, a decent degree too.

Now, the key question was, did he have initiative?

"Sir, I know our academic qualifications and work experience probably aren't any better than anybody else's today. But is there another way we can convince you to give us an opportunity?"

It is widely known and accepted that, in our post-Lockdown world, all those old rules, employment laws and behavioural norms no longer applied.

"Such as?" I shrugged, putting on my bored face as I stared insolently at Susan's delightful cleavage. I could see the skin on her neck was mottled and red with anxiety.

This was important. Make the applicants propose a deal.

"Sir, although we're m ... married, I would be more than happy - honoured in fact - if you would ... you know, have sex with Susan."

The poor boy was blushing crimson, clenching his fists as he spoke.

He was wearing a cheap suit with a white shirt and polyester tie and polished shoes. By his side, Susan was dressed in a black pencil skirt and one-button jacket with a cream blouse. I returned my gaze to her cleavage. Her plump young breasts were filling what her file told me was a D-cup bra.

I smiled at him graciously but gave another condescending shrug.

"And do you really imagine the other husbands I've seen today have said any different?"

He grimaced but was still not yet beaten. Young Joe was growing on me.

"Sir, but I think you'll find that my wife is way more committed, enthusiastic and, I like to think, prettier than the others."

Susan finally volunteered something of her own for the first time.

"Yes Sir ... please."

Her voice was pleasant, melodic. I looked at her lips.

"She's beautiful, s ... sir." He stammered, playing his final card.

I sighed, as if I was doing them both a huge favour.

"I'll be the judge of that. Okay, show me." I gestured to Joe. "You undress her."

The handsome lad blushed again, his fingers trembling, gritting his teeth, as he helped his darling wife out of her high heels, her jacket and skirt, unbuttoning her blouse for her, peeling off her stockings, until she stood trembling in just her black lingerie. Everything was inexpensive but to be fair, quite tasteful, considering their paltry bank balance.

A couple of years ago, many employers would have rushed to recruit Susan and Joe Kemp, at good salaries with great prospects. Anybody making her demean herself like this would have been sentenced to prison.

"Not bad."

"Thank you, Sir."

But nowadays, with 30% unemployment and 60% of all work being starvation-level Government-created 'fake jobs', genuine employers like me don't just hold all the cards. We make the rules. The onus was on young Susan and Joe to make themselves stand out, in any way they could.

"I'm afraid I already blew my load in 3 o'clock's mouth." I sighed, scratching the groin of my jeans. "I've already offered that couple the opportunity."

Their faces fell. Susan's lower lip was quivering with despair and shame. What of course she didn't know was that after she'd uploaded her application a fortnight ago, my tech-surveillance team had owned her communications ever since. We install V-ware on the devices of every single candidate.

My team had arranged 5 promising interviews for Susan at five different companies. Each was a job she was fully qualified for. But all five companies had cruelly rejected her. So it had been set up that today was her final chance. I was well aware just how desperate she was. It meant she'd arrived in exactly the right frame of mind.

I smiled at their crestfallen expressions.

"But I can easily change my mind and withdraw the offer I made to that pair. I could make one to you instead."

I could see their young minds working. They at least had the intelligence to realise I could do exactly the same thing to them and change my mind tomorrow.

In this brave new world, my word's hardly my fucking bond.

"Besides," I continued, "hers wasn't actually a great blowjob."

They waited patiently, not daring to speak.

"Tell you what," I exhaled magnanimously, "be here again before nine tomorrow. I may reconsider your application then."

 

CHAPTER TWO

 

THE NEXT DAY

 

This time I only kept them waiting for four hours; until 1 p.m.

Jasmine served me the young couple along with my lunch tray. They returned in what they'd been wearing the day before, eyes with dark rings from lack of sleep, but otherwise hopeful.

"Undress, both of you this time. Hurry. I don't have all day."

I sat back, hands behind my head, and gazed out of my office's full length windows, at the tall buildings and river below. I remembered a dystopian novel titled "After the Pestilence" written way back in 2005. It had seemed farfetched at the time.

But 15 years later, here we all were.

The disease had been the spark. But it was the subsequent lockdowns and economic measures that were the gunpowder.

An explosion of opportunity for people like me.

I looked at them. Susan now stood in just her bra and thong, and Joe was in his white cotton briefs, both in front of my desk.

"Off with those as well." I said, picking up a cold beef sandwich.

Blushing, they stepped out of their underwear and stood naked before me. Joe was a fine young specimen, 1.9 metres of beefcake, v-shaped torso, broad shoulders, ripped abdomen, hairy groin and pendulous balls. I thought back to the printed photo of his 16-cms erection. In contrast, his penis now was wrinkled and withered with nerves.

Joe Kemp wasn't aware of it yet, but he'd already enjoyed his last orgasm for a long time.

Susan was a foot shorter than her husband but she had nice slim legs and held herself upright. Her hips, waist and torso formed a harmonious set of curves, leading up to that sensational D-cup rack.

At 61 yrs old, albeit a youthful, fit and virile sixty-one, I'm hardly a young girl's dream. But as I see it, that's her problem, not mine.

Don't misunderstand, I like mature women too. There's nothing wrong with a well preserved and experienced dame in her 40s, even 50s. Or a gym bunny MILF in her 30s. They all have their plus points. But it's those youthful tits you miss most when you get to my age.

They hang high on a young woman's chest, seeming to defy gravity; no need for a bra, they're ample and firm. They jiggle under a sweater without bouncing like balloons when she runs. There's no hint of that sag and stretch that's sadly coming down the track. You really only find tits like that on the under-30s.

Frankly perfect tits are wasted on young men. The husbands and boyfriends can have them back when they're stretched and sagging and past their best-before date. But until then it's hands off my hooters.

"Did you two have sex last night?"

They exchanged glances. "No Sir." I could tell that was the truth.

"Too apprehensive, huh?"

Joe swallowed. "I guess, Sir."

I smiled. There was something about this couple I actually quite liked. Their good looks, obviously, but it was their manner too. Deferential and humble, yet resilient. They were fighters. They'd do whatever it takes to survive.

"Come here." I beckoned to Susan with my index finger.

She came round the side of my huge desk and stood by me.

"Nearer."

I examined her, taking my time; every curve and inch of her five feet three. I ran my fingers through her neatly brushed flyaway hair, drew my nail over her attractive cheekbones, her jaw, neck, shoulders, down to those plump, high boobies. Her skin did indeed smell of rosewater.

I glanced across my desk at Joe occasionally. We both knew I wasn't only evaluating his wife like she was a piece of meat. I was deciding whether to buy her, lock, stock and two smoking boobs. I was acquiring her like a possession. In a few moments she'd belong to me, not to him.

I traced her scared nipples, shrunken and soft like her husband's withered cock, her hard flat abdomen, neatly trimmed pubic triangle, and that pudgy, welcoming V between her thighs.

"Turn round."

I ran my fingers down the knobbles of her spine, cupped her pert buttocks, fingered her anus. Yes, this young lady would make a fine addition to my workforce.

"Tell me, Joe, has your wife ever taken it up the ass?"

I knew the answer but wanted him to admit it.

"Er ... no Sir. N ... not yet."

"I will relieve you of that burden." I smiled at him. "I will fuck Susan's ass and no doubt several of my senior colleagues will too. But I'm glad you missed your chance. Because you'll NEVER know that feeling now, Joe. It's contractually reserved for your betters. Is that completely understood?"

He blinked, bowed his head. "Yes Sir."

"Understood?" I asked Susan, smiling, patting her pert bottom.

"Yes S ... Sir."

I turned back to Joe. "And does she give good head?"

He glanced at his wife. "Er ... well ... to be honest that's not her thing either. But she has tried."

I laughed, shaking my head at them both, imagining their uninspired missionary-position couplings.

"But she's a good fuck at least, right?"

"Oh yes, Sir. Fantastic." He realised he needed to do a selling job or I might change my mind. "She's passionate, energetic, everything you could want. And obviously tight too, Sir."

"And you're her one and only, so far?"

I slapped Susan gently on the butt, turning her round.

"Yes, Sir."

"And how does it feel, Joe, knowing your employer will be the second?"

He bit his lower lip, struggling to lie. "Awesome, sir."

There's something deeply emasculating for a man having his boss fuck his woman. The same guy who makes all the decisions about his job and career, his finances and lifestyle, also decides whether to have sex with his missus that day, or not, and whether the rest of the office knows about it, or not.

"Come." I ordered him. "Lie here on my desk here. Face up."

Joe clambered awkwardly onto the shiny top of my desk. I'd pointed him so that his head was near the edge and his feet were towards the seating area. His brown eyes looked up at me. I tersely adjusted his naked body, pulling him so that his neck hung over the edge and I could stare down into his despondent eyes.

"I want your husband to have a close up view of our first fuck, my dear."

Susan's blue eyes looked solemnly at me but she didn't object. I'd felt her shoulder tense when I used the words 'first fuck'. She'd obviously clocked that today wasn't going to be a one-off. I smirked and gestured her into position.

She had to rise slightly on tiptoe in order to mount Joe's upturned face.

"Excellent." I adjusted her naked body until she was steady and had settled back down onto the soles of her bare feet. Now most of Joe's nose was now wedged inside her trimmed bush and the pink folds of her pussy. I could see his heart beating hard in his chest.

"How does that feel?"

"O ... kay." She answered uncertainly, "Sir."

"And you Joe? Comfortable? Good view?"

"Myuh ... ymgu ... ur."

"Give her a bit of tongue, Joe. Prepare your wife for me."

I got up off my chair, undid my belt, unzipped and lowered my jeans. My staff mostly all have to wear suits and office clothes. But I prefer to dress casually.

I thumbed my cock and rubbed the crown along Susan's ass crack until I was fully hard. Her peachy skin was lovely and soft.

"Right, bend over." I instructed her. "Lean your body along your husband's chest, and rest your face on his crotch."

Susan bent at the waist and slowly pressed her nakedness against Joe's. They looked such a cute couple. Docile and tender, comforting each other, like one of my Rodin sculptures. Her face and mouth lay decorously on his hip, an inch away from his wrinkled genitals. He'd feel her warm breath as she gasped.

It was time to plunder such an affectionate scene.

I reached down and fingered between her thighs, feeling Joe's nose and chin there. I eased her labia apart and stuck two fingers in, peeling her open like a piece of fresh fruit. Joe's tongue had moistened her but she was still quite dry.

"Spread your legs wider, darling."

I spat saliva on my fingertips and lubed her up. I could see Joe's hair beneath me, but not his face, which was now hidden underneath Susan's body.

"Okay, guys, time to start your interview."