The Interview

My Stories

Dinlas settles in with his new legitimate and illegitimate business ventures. The money rolls in and he decides to hire an assistant. He falls for a candidate who, clearly, is interested in more than just a business relationship. What he ends up with may very well be far more than he can handle.

This post contains sexual situations.

By Wayne Davids/ originally published July 21, 2019

I retreated into my library and dropped a few ice cubes in a glass. Next, I poured two fingers of bourbon and went straight to the bedroom. There, stretched face down across the bed, was an ivory-skinned ginger with gorgeous, waist-length hair. She stripped naked for me earlier, and I securely tied each wrist to the bedposts. I then labored to tie the knots around her wrists, making sure each one sat square and uniform around her wrists. From there, I told her to wait for my return. I purposely left the air conditioning running on full so the room remained frigid. As she raised up on one side, she bared her breasts to me and I could see she was quite chilled.

“Sir, why did you leave me waiting for so long?” she purred.

I didn’t respond but took a sip of my bourbon and ice, then set it down on the nightstand. At the foot of the bed sat a wooden trunk with reinforced metal bands, like a strongbox. It was old, heavy, and covered in nicks and scars from its many years of service. I opened it and savored for a moment the soft, sweet scent of cedar and leather, before removing a ball gag and a bamboo switch. I closed my beloved trunk, letting my fingertips run across the top of it for a moment as I returned to the side of the bed and sat down next to my new friend. She watched quietly as I checked and tugged at the intricate knots on each rope that bound her. I felt compelled to make sure they were snug, but not excruciating. But if she tried to pull, they would only get tighter. Once content, I turned and addressed her.

“Estrella, are you still comfortable with my interview process? We discussed it before, but I need to be sure.”

“Yes, I’m ready for my interview and training.”

Her voice sounded husky and her tone subservient as she twisted her head to look at me while speaking.  I tugged gently once more on the ropes that bound her delicate arms above her head, to the heavy wooden posts on the headboard. She smiled, then twisted her wrists several times. We both knew she wasn’t getting free.

“And you remember the word?”

“Jealousy,” she whispered, “but I won’t say it.”

“Very good, but we shall see. The first part of your session will be about manners. You addressed me when I entered the room a few minutes ago. You do not address me during session unless first given permission.”

I leaned forward and squeezed her mouth open with one hand. Then, with my other hand, shoved the ball gag into place to reinforce my directive. She gagged for an instant, then pushed it forward with her tongue to a more comfortable position. A moment later, I tightened the straps behind her head. I pulled her hair back, and to the side, careful not to tangle her beautiful red locks in the clasps as I cinched them tight.

I sat on the edge of the bed and admired the intricate tattoo that ran her entire length on one side. It started behind her ear as a delicate line of art, then meandered down her neck until it parted at her shoulder. One line swirled down the side of her breast in the front, while the other fanned out across her back in a beautifully complex pattern. The pattern extended almost to her rear before it then joined again with the front line at her hip. As it moved onward, it continued as a single airy design that curved inside her thigh and spiralled her leg all the way to the ankle. It traced a breezy pattern that her milky skin tone only enhanced. It looked as if it were a beautiful vine growing up her side.  A vine that rooted in the heel of her dainty foot, complete with perfectly painted toes.

Or perhaps it was a spider’s thread that swirled and dangled from her hairline, that thick mane of strawberry hair. From there, it fluttered down and around her breathtaking form. A form perfect from head to heel. I stuck my finger in my drink and held an ice cube between my thumb and index finger as I looked at her multi-colored body art. It seemed to shimmer with her every move or undulation.

She squirmed when I touched the tattoo behind her ear with my frozen finger and lightly dusted its multiple paths down her body from start to finish. I paused only once to lean forward and brush a kiss where the ink lines joined at the cup-shaped hollow on her hip. She moaned, low and muffled, when my razor stubble dragged across the delicate spot.

I stood and commanded, “Roll on your stomach.”

She did so, crossing her arms over her head as she turned. With no warning, I dropped an ice cube onto the small of her back, right where her waist curved in to meet the rise of her exquisite tush. She twisted and gasped at the frozen gift. The ice cube fell onto the silk sheet below.

“Oh no, that won’t do,” I said as I retrieved it and placed it back in my drink.

With the bamboo cane, I gave her three smart lashes on the bottom of her feet. She pulled her knees up to escape the sting. Doing so caused her pelvis to rise quickly, then grind slowly down again as she stretched her legs back out across the bed. A whimper caught in her throat, but nothing escaped the gag in her mouth.

I reached, again, into the glass for an ice cube. “There is only one rule here. If the ice touches the sheet, then we re-start your lesson from the very beginning.” 

I dropped another cube onto the small of her back and this time; she held perfectly still. I swirled and savored another taste of bourbon and waited several minutes. As I waited, I watched and paced my breathing, feeling the heat of my ardor rise. A pool of cold water formed in the small of her back and still I sipped my bourbon. She kept her head down, but I knew she enjoyed me watching her lie there helpless. The cube continued its excruciatingly slow melt. Finally, like a lover’s release, it melted enough for a trickle of water to escape the hollow and run down her side. Estrella shivered again in the cold room. Then she remained still. Nothing said. No sounds made. She averted direct eye contact. She wanted to impress me with her gift of submission and her role in our blossoming relationship.

“Now, may I call you Stella?”

Estrella lifted her head, careful not to jar the half-melted ice cube, and nodded yes as drool formed around the ball gag: shiny, slippery, and sticky. I watched as it gradually fell in several long strings, puddling onto the sheet in front of her.

“Excellent, Stella.”

I flexed the switch between my hands several times, then flicked it back and forth in the air next to the bed. It cut through the air with a swishing sound that was most satisfying.

I looked down at her, bound securely, and said, “Let’s start the interview process, shall we?”

Image by Rondell Melling from Pixabay