STAFF TRAINING (mc, md, humiliation) (c) 2002, B. Devlin
Part Two - The Interview
She arrived late. Not much late, but enough to annoy me. She carried
her head high, and walked with a strut. This lady was VERY sure
of herself. She looked around the works with a kind of disdain. Bill
was right about her personality, I thought, but he was right about the
looks too.
She had long dark hair, brushed till it gleamed. Her oval face was
delicately shaped, with high, prominent cheekbones, she had big clear
blue eyes, a small, neat nose and a full-lipped mouth. Her skin was
unblemished and lightly golden. This perfect face was set on a long
neck and a slim, tall body, but when I say slim, I don't mean skinny -
this woman was *all* woman. Her waist tiny, and her belly flat, but
her arse was sweetly rounded, her calves curved beautifully (I had to
guess at the thighs under the knee-length skirt, but had no doubt they
were equally good), and to crown it all she had a pair of high, firm
and full boobs, that I could see at a glance would overflow gloriously
out of my hands. An educated guess said that they would be around a
36D or double-D.
I took all his in, and asked her into my office. I'd decided to start
the interview normally, and try the trance thing once we were under
way.
"How come you don't have any women working for you?" she asked, on the
offensive, instantly.
I shrugged. "It's an engineering works. Few women have ever applied,
when they have, the that got the jobs were better qualified."
"What about administration? Those jobs are usually filled by women."
I gave her what I hoped was a disarming grin. "Nepotism. This is a
family firm, I had nephews who badly needed a job, with administrative
and accounting training. I gave the jobs to them. I don't have any
nieces. "
She smiled then. "I admire your honesty. Are they any good, your
nephews?"
"Very."
It was all true, but not all the truth. The truth is that I simply
don't like working with women. I may be a chauvinist - I AM a
chauvinist -- but when I meet a woman my first question is "do I want
to fuck her?" Maybe it comes of growing up without a female influence
- my died when I was a tiny kid - I don't know and I don't
care, frankly.
If the answer to the question is 'no' then I don't want to be around
the woman, end of story. She may be intelligent, witty, funny, but who
cares? I can get intelligence, wit and laughs from men. All I want
from a woman is what I can't get from men, and since I'm straight,
that means sex.
If the answer is 'yes' and she belongs to another man, then obviously
I respect his property, and can just enjoy looking. If she's free, on
the other hand, my imperative is to satisfy my wants. Therefore a
submissive woman who defers to my opinions and wishes is ideal. I get
a real kick - and a massive hard on - from humiliating a woman like
this one, self-assured, over-confident, with a mind of her own and
determined to speak it; I love to see female arrogance humbled and
shamed, but humiliating a bitch is very rarely the way to spread her
legs.
Now none of that makes for a good working relationship. In a working
environment, submissiveness is pointless, since you need to be told
when you are wrong, but I won't take that from a woman, and no
'strong' woman is going to stay in a job where her boss delights in
humiliating her.
Except perhaps *this* woman. That was what had fascinated me, and set
up a world of possibilities in my mind. If I programmed her properly,
I could have a combination of heaping humiliation on her head *and*
having her submissive. Of course, the company didn't *need* a
psychologist, but if Bill's promises were true, I could find her work
to do while I programmed her, and once she was programmed, I could
easily afford pay a salary to have a plaything on hand.
Now, I'm sure from my description you've guessed that the answer to my
key question was "You *bet* I want to fuck her" so now I just had to
find out whether Bill had been telling the truth.
I gestured her to a seat. "Sit, Lucy, truth drug" I murmured. She
sat.
"How are you?" I asked.
"Twenty-three. It _is_ on the CV I sent you."
Oh dear, I thought, she really is arrogant.
"And how do you expect to do in your final results?"
"I'll get first class honours, no doubt. I'm easily top of my class."
"Right. Do you have a boyfriend?"
"Not right now, I did have but he turned out to be a total loser, so I
dumped him."
The programming seemed to be holding, but her answer offended me. It
always offends me to hear a woman put a down. I decided to push
the envelope.
"Do like to fuck?" (now this is going to prove that piece of
pre-programming or blow the whole damn interview up, I thought)
"Of course, provided the knows what he's doing. Too many are
just selfish pricks who don't give a shit about the woman's
satisfaction"
Bingo! But what a cow! If this thing worked out I was going to
positively *delight* in thinking up ways to humiliate this beautiful
bitch. Starting now, even if she didn't realise it was humiliation.
"Lucy, out."
She didn't turn a hair as she unbuttoned her shirt, took it off,
folded it, and put it on the desk in front of her. Next she removed
the lacy white bra underneath and placed it on top of the shirt. The
tits that she got out fulfilled all the promise they'd held covered -
they didn't visibly sag at all as she removed their support, despite
their size - and naked they looked bigger than they had - and they
were tipped with that pretty rose pink that darkens as a woman gets
older and has kids. I couldn't keep the grin off my face, especially
when she spoke, showing off Bill's warped sense of humour.
"They're pretty, aren't they? Do you mind if I play with them?"
"No! No, I don't mind, you go right ahead."
She began to idly run her hands in little circles round the beautiful
globes, tweaking and rolling the nipples between her forefinger and
thumb, till they stood up in lovely hard little points. Then she
pushed the up and together towards my mouth, like an invitation.
For a few moments *I* was the one hypnotised, until she asked, "Is
that all you wanted to know?"
"No. I have a lot more questions yet."
"Okay."
"What's your favourite sexual position?'
"Girl on top. I like to be in control"
Of course. "And your favourite sexual fantasy?"
She blushed then, but kept right on playing with her as she told
me:
"I'm naked in the shower when the doorbell rings. I grab a towel and
wrap it round me to go to answer it, but I find it's only a hand towel
and it won't quite close. So, I hold it behind my back, and open the
door. There's a guy there, a courier, with a parcel, and he looks like
James Marsters - you know, Spike from Buffy - and he's dressed all in
leather, and anyway, he grins at me and hands me the parcel. It's
small enough to hold in one hand."
She stopped for breath, then went on.
"'You have to sign for it', he says, holding out this clipboard and
pen. So I have the parcel in one hand and the towel in the other, and
he's just standing there, holding out this pen, and we both know that
if I take it, the towel is going to fall off. So he says, 'Why don't I
come in, and close the door?' He could offer to hold the parcel and we
both know it, and we both know that he isn't going to. And I look down
and see this huge hard-on in his trousers, and say, 'Yes, come in.' He
comes in and says in this husky voice, 'so sign.' I lean against the
wall to try to keep the towel up, and take the pen. For a moment, it
stays where it is."
All this time, she was stroking, tweaking, playing with her breasts,
which were pink from the blush.
"He reaches out and tugs at it, and it falls to the floor. And my
hands are full. He steps forward, and pushes me tight against the
wall, and the leather is kind of hard and cold on my skin, and he says
'I've got another parcel for you. A big one. Do you want it?'"
I was gripped with the urge to laugh. What a stupid, corny line! Just
like a woman to think of it. I managed to stifle it, in case it
distracted her.
"I know I should tell him to off, but my is wet, dripping
wet. I know he's going to fuck me, and he knows he's going to fuck me,
and we both know that that's exactly what I want him to do. So, I just
kind of whisper, 'Yes please' and he undoes his trousers and slams his
cock into me, banging me hard against the wall. It's the biggest I've
ever had inside me, and I've never anything so good. As he pumps into
me, each thrust is lifting me off he ground, so I have to wrap my legs
around him, and I'm moaning 'yes, harder' like some kind of slut
because it feels so great. He puts his hands on my and squeezes
them and kisses my neck and suddenly I'm coming, and the world is
exploding around me and I'm exploding too."
Porn clich , I thought. Stupid bitch, no originality. Sexy though.
"I scream as he keeps pumping and I keep coming, and I let the parcel
and the clipboard slip out of my hand, so I can put my arms round him.
There's a crash, and the scent of lavender as it hits the ground, and
at that moment he comes, I can feel him come and I spasm against him
as his gushes into me."
The perfume is a nice little touch, I thought. New. The spasm and the
gushing aren't, but she's young.
"Then he slides out of me, does himself up and picks up the clipboard.
I whisper, 'thank you, that was the best ever' and he says 'all part
of the service', and then he opens the door and goes, and I never see
him again."
"Are you wet now, thinking about it?"
"Yes."
"Would you like to stroke yourself?"
"Well kind of, but I couldn't do that in an interview!"
I didn't point out that she was, in fact, doing *just* that to her
tits.
I decided right then, that she's going to get the job. I'd seen enough
to know that even with my limited skills at hypnosis, with Bill's
foundation and her suggestibility, I was going to be able to fulfil
several dearly held fantasies of my own. I wanted to be sure that she
took it, though and also to add a couple of intensifiers of my own.
"Damn, it's hot in here right now" I said, and paused , "Aren't you
hot Lucy?'
And it came right back "Yes, but I like it hot, it makes me feel calm
and happy."
"Do you know that you are under hypnosis at the moment, Lucy?"
"Oh yes. I like being under hypnosis."
"You really want this job badly, don't you Lucy?"
"Yes, I want it badly."
"Jobs are important, and this one attracted you the minute you heard
about it. Now you've talked to me, you know that any other job would
be just second best. You'd really love to work here, to work for me,
isn't that right?"
'Oh yes, Mr Eaton. This is the only job I want, I'd really love to
work for you."
"So, if I offer it to you, you'll do your very best to do what I want,
isn't that right?"
"Yes, of course, I'll do my very best to do what you want."
"To help you with that, when you are under hypnosis and you hear the
words "essential skill" you'll know that the thing I'm talking about
is a very important thing, and it is very important that you listen to
what I say, because I'm going to give you a set of instructions to
remember and a keyword to remind you of them when I want you to carry
them out. So you have to remember the instructions and the phrase so
you'll know what to do when I say it. Does that sound reasonable?"
"Yes"
"Tell me what you should do when I say "essential skill" so I know
that you understand."
"I understand. It's very important to listen to your instructions and
to the keyword so I'll know what you want me to do when you use it."
"Right. Good girl. And whenever I say "Company policy dictates",
whether you are under hypnosis or not, it will mean that everything I
tell you to do right after that, until I next ask you a question is
something you must always do - every day, all the time, without having
to be told again to do it. Isn't that right?"
"Yes. Do it every day. That's right."
I smiled. I'd do more later, I thought. "That's better, cooler now."
"So Lucy," I asked, "Why should I give you this job?"
"Because I really want it, and I'll do my very best to do what you
want. My best is very good."
"Now, company policy dictates that everyone should wear a uniform to
work. Yours will be provided to you. Are you okay with that?"
"If it's company policy, then fine. I'll do it. I really want this
job."
"Great. What size are you?"
"Skirt, 12, Top 16-18 depending on manufacturer."
"Shoe size?"
"Five"
"And what's your bra and cup size?"
"40DD."
So I'd underestimated. The bra must be a minimiser. We'd take care of
that later.
"Lucy, hush.. You get your results next Friday, don't you?"
"Uh-huh."
"Call me then. If the results are even close to as good as you think,
you can start on the Monday after next. Come in early and we'll get
you fitted with a uniform, Okay?"
"Yes, great. Thank you Mr. Eaton."
"Lucy, cover up." As she put her clothes back on, I said, "by the
way, Lucy, company policy dictates that you should call me Master
every time you speak to me. Better start as we mean to go on, don't
you think?"
God, how I grinned when she said, "Yes Master, of course, Master."
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