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“I know I could do the job, Uncle Pete. It’s the interview I’m frightened of. What if he asks me loads of difficult questions?”
Sally was the girl next door and as girls-next-door go she was hard to beat: a slim 19-year-old brunette with dazzling blue-green eyes, full lips, and the cheekiest tits I’ve ever seen – perky as anything and swelling just that little bit more every time I had the chance to sneak a look.
I wasn’t Sally’s uncle at all but she’d called me Uncle Pete since I’d moved in six years before and I’d never tried to stop her – it seemed to bring us that little bit closer together. We’d always got on well; she was always bright and cheerful. And she’d become increasingly flirty around me in the past year or two, especially since my divorce, sometimes giving me a hug or kiss for no apparent reason. But I was more than 10 years older than her and though she lit up my loins every time she walked into the room, Sally had always been out of bounds. The most I ever got was to have those lovely tits brush against me when she decided to give me a hug.
That day, when I met her in our street, she was telling how she really wanted an office manager’s job that was going in a little software business in our town, much like the company I ran myself. She’d just finished a business course at college and although I knew she’d done very well at it, there were half a dozen women going for the job and she was easily the youngest and least experienced at job interviews.
But I had an idea, one that could help her and give me the chance to spend some quality time alone with this sexy young thing.
“If it’s the interview that’s worrying you, I can help,” I said. “I know exactly what kind of questions you’ll be asked, so why don’t I just interview you first?”
The next day she arrived at my office shortly after five, just as old Mary, my own office manager, was knocking off for the day along with the other staff. I’d been thinking things over as I lay in bed the previous night and decided I definitely didn’t need Mary around.
Sally had followed my instructions to the letter. She rang the doorbell, introduced herself and asked politely for Mr Jackson – the name of the man who would be interviewing her the following week. I’d put on a suit for the occasion and shook her hand formally after buzzing her in.
“Good afternoon Miss Harris. Please take a seat.”
She was dressed in a grey business suit that I remembered her buying for a part-time placement the previous year. It was neat enough, but she’d clearly grown a bit since she’d bought it and her tits, encased in a crisp pink shirt, were pushing hard against the jacket. She’d put her hair up, her long, tanned legs were bare, and she was wearing a pair of black shoes with a moderate heel.
Sally had put her CV and application through my letterbox that morning and I spent the first few minutes of the interview going through them, complimenting her on her marks at college (she’d got a distinction) and the clarity and presentation of her letter.
I then asked her a few obvious questions, why she wanted the job, what she knew about the software business and so on. Easy ones at first, then steadily a bit more probing.
I was impressed, very impressed. Every answer was pretty much spot on and none of them sounded rehearsed. She gave the impression that she really wanted the job and would be perfect for it.
If it were up to me I’d have hired her there and then. But this wasn’t a real interview and I wasn’t planning to let her off that easily.
“You are clearly very well qualified for the job, Miss Harris,” I said. “But I do see one major problem.”
“My age?” she asked quickly.
“Your age? That is of no concern to me, as long as you’re up to the work,” I said, in the most pompous tone I could muster. “No. What concerns me more is your looks.”
“My looks? But bahis firmaları Uncle Pete…”
“Mr Jackson,” I said, interrupting her harshly. “Yes, your looks. It’s not enough that you simply have the qualifications to do a job. You also need to fit in with your colleagues, especially in a small people-based business like mine.”
“But what do my looks have to do with it?” she asked, clearly surprised by my change of tack.
“Miss Harris, please take off your jacket and hang it over the back of your chair. That’s right, thank you.”
I breathed in deeply and took a long look at her as followed my instructions. She really did have the most perfect tits – they seemed to have almost a life of their own, even in that stiff pink shirt. The time had come to try to get a much closer look.
“In any business, productivity is what counts, and it’s my job to ensure that nothing is allowed to interfere with it,” I said. “I won’t be the first person to have told you, Miss Harris, that you are a most attractive young woman, and not just for your pretty face or nice long legs. You also possess a most magnificent chest, and that, I think, is a major part of the problem.”
“But Unc… I mean, Mr Jackson, why would my chest be a problem?”
“Think of its effect on the male members of staff,” I said. “I appreciate that today you’ve made an effort to dress conservatively, but you’re young, as you pointed out yourself, and I can’t imagine that you’ll wear a stuffy old suit every day. Like any young woman, you’d be tempted to wear shorter skirts, perhaps the odd low-cut blouse or T-shirt. And with a body like yours, the result could be a marked increase in frustration among the male members of staff. Productivity could suffer.”
Sally stared at me in silence for about 10 seconds, before the sparkle came back into her eyes and a smile played over her shapely lips.
“Can I ask you a question, Mr Jackson? I don’t know your business well, not yet anyway. How many male members of staff do you have exactly?”
I tried my best not to smile back as I replied. “At the moment, Miss Harris, there’s only me, and Mike the programmer, although I’m not too worried about him. You’d obviously be working most closely with me, but that’s not the point. You must realise that this is not personal – it’s a question of ensuring a happy and productive office. That is my only concern.”
Sally smiled again, but wiped all sign of it quickly from her face before her next question.
“So if I were to come into the office wearing a low-cut blouse, or maybe a tight shirt that accentuated my, uh, breasts, your productivity would suffer?”
“No, I’m not saying that the office productivity would definitely suffer if, ah, you were to come to work thus attired,” I said. “But it might do.
“Consider that shirt you are wearing today. You’ve chosen it very well for an interview – it is both pleasing and neat. But during a busy day at the office, one or two of your buttons might come undone, maybe even three. And that could prove distracting for male members of staff.”
Sally looked straight at me and stifled another smile.
“You mean like this?” she said, and casually undid a couple of the little white buttons. “Or even like this?” she added, undoing another. Through the gap that opened up I could clearly see the inner outlines of both her beautiful breasts.
“Yes Miss Harris, you understand me perfectly. If I may say so, you seem to be a most bright young lady. From where I’m sitting, I can now see down the front of your shirt and, in certain circumstances, it could be most distracting.”
“So Uncle.. er, Mr Jackson,” she said. “Would you want me to come to work covered up more and to keep all my buttons done up?”
“No, Miss Harris, you’ve missed the point again. If I tried to make you dress too stuffily, then it would be your productivity that would kaçak iddaa suffer. And that wouldn’t do at all either. You’re young and you need to express yourself.”
Sally’s eyes sparkled as she looked at me and slowly, very deliberately uncrossed and recrossed her legs (like Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct, although unfortunately the length of her skirt prevented much of a view between her thighs).
“I see, Mr Jackson. So you’d let me dress, er, how I saw fit, maybe with the odd short skirt or dress? Or maybe, in summer, a little strapless top and a pair of shorts? “
“Of course. It’s not my job to tell you how to dress,” I said.
“But if,” she said, barely able to suppress her grin now, “If I decided to dress like that and it had an effect on male members of staff, how would we be able to prevent a productivity problem?”
“Miss Harris, may I congratulate you again. You’ve come to the crux of the issue. As any businessman knows, all problems have solutions. You could even say that every problem is an opportunity in its own right. We have a problem, therefore we have an opportunity – all we need now is to find a solution.”
Sally and I sat and stared at each other. This busty young girl had already had a most noticeable effect on my own male member (though that was hidden beneath my desk) and I was tempted to get up and rip open the remaining buttons on her shirt.
But I had a game to play, so I continued.
“So far, Miss Harris, our discussion of the problem has been somewhat hypothetical. Maybe if we could examine certain individual situations more closely, we could start to work out a solution.”
“Yes, er, Mr Harris. I see what you mean,” she said. “I think that’s a very good idea. Where should we start?”
I took another deep breath.
“So far we’ve been in a formal interview situation, with you sitting over there and me here behind my desk,” I said. “Obviously, if you were to get the job, we’d be getting closer, physically I mean. You might have to come and stand behind me, and look over my shoulder, for example, to help check a letter or document of some sort.”
Sally stood up and walked around my desk until she was standing just behind me. I could feel her breasts pushing up against my shoulder and smell the faintest perfume as she moved in behind me.
“Like this?” she asked, gently increasing the pressure on my shoulder from those perky young tits. “Oops, I think another button’s come undone.”
“That’s the kind of thing that’s only to be expected, Miss Harris, in a busy office environment. If I move my head only a few inches to the left, like that, I can clearly see down into your shirt. To be honest, it’s already having an effect on me.”
“Is your productivity suffering, Uncle Pe.. Mr Jackson?”
“Not yet Miss Harris, but it might do and that wouldn’t be good, for the company as a whole. I’m sure you understand the gravity of the problem.”
I swivelled round and reached up to the front of her shirt, where I slowly undid another button. It was almost half open now, and her breasts were on full display in a perfectly-chosen white lacy bra.
“You see, Miss Harris, when your shirt buttons start popping open and we’re working in close proximity to each other, I might be sorely tempted to reach up and touch your young breasts. Like this.”
I slid my right hand under the lacy cup holding in her left breast, which seemed to quiver under my touch. I took hold of her hard little nipple and tweaked it gently between thumb and forefinger.
“Ooh,” she said. “I see what you mean. That feels good.”
She slid her hand down my chest towards my lap and asked: “But what about your problem, Mr Jackson? Shouldn’t we do something about that?”
I took yet another deep breath as she ran her fingers across my erect penis. This suit would definitely need to be pressed again after this interview.
“I kaçak bahis think you’re missing the point again, Miss Harris, although not by very much. This isn’t my problem, it’s our problem, that’s how we like to work in this office. And I don’t think we should rush into partial solutions – we need to find an overall solution for the problem as a whole.”
“Take our time, you mean?” she said, her fingers still brushing the cloth over my painfully distended member.
“Exactly, Miss Harris. Exactly.”
I removed my hand from her left breast and slowly ran it up under her skirt.
“I’m gratified to find, Miss Harris,” I continued, “that your, er, pussy is warm and delightfully wet, sopping wet even. That is very good news. A perfect solution presents itself to me – but we still need to ensure proper use of resources. In the meantime, I shall remove your panties.”
“Proper use of resources? What do you mean?” she asked as I pulled the damp white panties down to the floor.
“I was thinking, Miss Harris, that if you were to undo the zipper on my fly, you might want to sit down and share this chair with me.” I took another deep breath.”That could provide a solution to our problem while encouraging full use of company resources.”
Miss Harris dutifully obeyed. She undid my zip and freed my cock, gasping ever so slightly as it sprung up, hard and thick. Then she lifted up her left leg and swung it over the leather chair.
“Like this, Mr Jackson?” she said as she lowered herself onto my shaft. “Am I doing it right?”
“Perfectly, Miss Harris, perfectly. You are a most remarkable young woman.”
Her pussy edged slowly, inch by inch, down over my cockhead. She was hot, wet, and deliciously tight, almost too tight. Meanwhile, I opened the remaining buttons on her pink business shirt and slipped the clasp of her bra to free those wondrous breasts, smooth and pert, and quite a lot larger than I had expected.
Sally clasped her hands around my neck and began to bounce slowly up and down on my cock, taking more and more into herself. I held her firmly behind the waist and leant forward to kiss, lick and bite at her tits. Her long dark hair was working itself free and falling down around her shoulders.
“That is good, Miss Harris, very good.”
It wasn’t the longest fuck of my life, but it was easily the most exciting. As she bounced on my member, Sally pushed off my jacket and ripped through the buttons of my shirt before pressing herself to my bare chest, rubbing her nipples hard up against me. We kissed frantically as the pace built up. My hands cupped her soft round arse as I slammed her up and down onto my cock.
After just a few minutes of animalistic humping and pawing, Sally screamed out: “Mr Jackson, I’m almost… there.”
“Keep going, Miss Harris, keep going. The solution is on hand.”
Moments later we came together in a shuddering climax, my loins trapped under hers and her nails digging sharply into my shoulders. Our juices flooded over my precious company resource and for a couple of minutes more we continued to bounce away gently, my cock still fairly firm inside her.
Then she kissed me gently on the lips, tilted her head back and asked: “Do I get the job, Mr Jackson? Or are you still worried about your productivity.”
I took another deep breath – and then made the best decision of my business career.
“Fuck Mr Jackson, Sally,” I replied. “Or rather stop fucking him. It’s not Jackson that’s hiring you, it’s your old Uncle Pete.”
That was six months ago now and Sally has fitted perfectly into the company, although I do sometimes have to take her to task for her short skirts and tight tops. Old Mary wasn’t too impressed by her arrival and left shortly afterwards, so I’ve even managed to give Sally a promotion.
And our productivity? To be perfectly honest, I think it may have suffered a bit. But Miss Harris and I are always willing to work late in the office if something comes up and I pride myself that employee satisfaction has never been higher. All in all, it was a most useful interview.
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