Odessa picked up the pace, struggling to keep her too-loose pink flip-flops on as she half-ran, half-walked the rest of the way to the interview. She was verging on late, stress coursing through her. She knew there were stakes this time. She needed to pay rent. She needed to eat. And most importantly, she needed to land this job so her parents wouldn’t look at her the way they’d been looking at her. Especially when she had to ask them for help. It was no good.
The job wasn’t the type of job she was supposed to want. At 19 years old, she sure as hell wouldn’t be telling her parents about it. She would tell them she was a hostess at upscale corporate events and parties. It wasn’t too far from the truth, after all.
She had reasons for wanting the job. A) It was far more money than her mind-numbing telemarketing gig, and B) a lot hotter. Odessa had applied to be a Nyotaimori or naked sushi model. You know, when old, rich businessmen get together to discuss their money while eating sushi off a naked woman’s body? She was applying to be that body. She pictured herself lying there, fully aroused, nipples erect, and pussy clenching and wet, as the men treated her like a dish—an object. She thought she’d be well suited to enjoying herself at a job like this.
She was late. She had no idea what to expect from this interview, only that it was members of the Council of Better Business & Pleasure (a well-funded fringe group advocating for quality of life considerations to be taken more seriously with regards to work-life balance). The group was rich, exclusive, lucrative, and therefore made up almost entirely of older white men. Odessa’s interview was with the Corporate Nutrition Committee.
She’d been surprised when they called her; her skin was a little dark for such environments, she felt. What with her rich and diverse South American blood giving her the reddish brown glow of a jungle goddess and all. But when they did call, she’d realized that she might actually be very attractive to them. She was an object, an animal, a moist tropical flower, sun-skin. She wasn’t sure what the interview process would be like, but she hoped that they would find her suitable to dine on.
“I’m so sorry,” Odessa apologized, breathing heavily. She shut the door of the windowless library conference room firmly behind her and turned to face her interviewers. There were five of them, she saw. Two younger men, maybe in their late thirties, early forties. One of them black. Both of them dressed in very well fitted suits. Shiny cufflinks. The other three were older men, mid-fifties to sixties, she thought. Two of them white with white hair, yet youthfully tanned, and eyes unused to disappointment. The last one, the oldest, was Chinese, with glasses, and a very serious look about him. Except for his purple bowtie. All five of them were surprisingly fit. No bellies in this windsurfing, broccoli-eating bunch of corporate heroes.
“Welcome, Odessa,” smiled Bowtie. “We don’t normally take kindly to lateness, but we’ll give you the benefit of the doubt, and assume that you have a very good reason for making us wait. Your beauty is reason enough for me, of course,” he said, chuckling lightly.
“I am very sorry, guys. I had a situation with my landlord,” she lied. “I’m usually an incredibly punctual person. I ran half way here. It’s an honor to be here, and I hope you’ll still give me a chance to at least be interviewed,” she said. She stood before them all. They sat around her in a half-moon shape. There was no chair for her, but behind her, against the wall, there was a long, wide, X-shaped white table with a perfect round hole at its center.
The young white guy, let’s call him Cufflink, was eyeing her hungrily. “What do you think, guys?” he said. “She seems sorry to me.”
“Young lady,” said one of the older white men—let’s call him Greysuit. “Please have a seat. We’ll interview you now.”
“Ok, thank you. Um… Where should I…?”
“Please have a seat on the table behind you,” said the black guy. We’ll call him Goatee.
“Oh,” she smiled. “Right.”
Dropping her bag to the floor, she hoisted her tight, petite body onto the table—right at the center of the “X,” and dropped her flip-flops from her feet as she sat. Her ass fell through the strange hole a little, but she hoisted herself up with her hands. She was wearing a green sundress. Bright, fiery green to complement her own color. And, as was pretty standard for her, she wore nothing underneath. Her tiny tits needed little in the way of support, and the loose dress reached her knees, so not wearing underwear didn’t seem too risky. Except with sudden gusts of wind. She liked the feel of wind on her smooth, freshly waxed pussy. She could feel it, as she sat. She was already wet. In her fire core. She pretended she wasn’t.
“Odessa,” said the second white old dude—shined shoes. “Can you tell us how old you are, dear?”
“I’m 19,” she said brightly, swinging her feet a little. She knew her answer would arouse them. There wasn’t one of them that wasn’t twice, even three times her age. She was right—there was a moment of charged silence before the questions continued.
“How tall are you?”
“Five foot three and a half.”
“How much do you weigh?”
“One hundred pounds.”
“Why did you apply for this job?”
“I like being naked, and I like sushi,” she smiled innocently, knowing full well that her answer was vapid, unintelligent, and that they would secretly love it.
She pushed her straight black mane of hair to one side, massaging her bare shoulder a little where her heavy bag had made her strain while she ran. She could feel five sets of eyes on her.
“Ok, we’re going to need to see your body, of course,” said Cufflink. He was Jesus, with sex appeal, in a suit.
“Ok, of course,” she said, standing up.
“But first, you understand what kind of work you’re applying to do?”
“Yes, well, I understood that it was… about the sushi,” she said.
“The sushi, yes, but oftentimes, say twice a week or so, the job spills over into the after-hours zone. So imagine a scenario where the guests at an important meeting enjoy your sushi rolls all night long but fail to finish the food completely until most people are heading out. There is often a core few that remains behind to eat what’s left, talk shop more privately, and release stress before retiring for the night. We always have a shower on site and most of our girls usually want a shower at this point, and when they return, all clean and naked, our clients and associates usually want one last performance, one final taste.”
“Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Odessa was hot. Her pussy was opening, throbbing.
“Yes, sir, I do.”
“And you’re comfortable with this?”
“I believe I am,” she said slowly.
“Let’s proceed with the interview, then,” he said. “Take off your clothes, please.”
Odessa obeyed, dropping her dress from her shoulder tops onto the floor in a flash. She was naked, completely. And tiny, and brown, and bald—every inch of her. She felt them take it all in, and it felt like the sun on her body. Her flat chest was contrasted by her thick, muscular ass, which men always fawned over. Her pussy lips were larger than average and hung a little low, but she had never looked to mainstream porn to tell her how she should feel about that. Most men loved those lips.
“You have a beautiful body,” said Goatee.
“Thank you.”
“You’re so tiny, and tight, my god,” said Greysuit.
“Very nice pussy,” said Bowtie. “Please bend over and spread open your ass and lips as best you can. You can lean on the table. We need to see your holes from behind,” he said. “You can understand, we need to see the ins and outs of anything we choose to eat off of.”
Without a word, Odessa obeyed, standing on tiptoes. She bent over, leaning her entire upper body over onto the hole in the table top and reached back to spread everything wide open. Gaping. Wet. She knew what it must look like.
“Mmm. Delicious. Now climb up onto the table, please. Kneel there, and open your legs very wide.”
She did, a limb of the X for each leg.
“Now play with your pussy for us.”
She did. There was little air in the room.
“Ok, turn around to face us, lie back on the table, arms and legs open wide, and straight out, on the X.” She complied and found the table was more than wide enough to hold her extended form. Her ass lined up perfectly with the not-so-mysterious hole in the X. Goatee was grabbing some kind of harness-looking thing. No, they were restraints. “Many of our guests like a little BDSM edge to their Nyotaimori experience. Is this ok?”
“Yes.”
Before she knew it, she was essentially harnessed to the table. Her ankles and wrists were being held in place with restraints that were attached to some sort of under-the-table set-up. She found it hard to believe she was in a library conference room, naked, tied up, and exposed as she was. But there were no windows. It was soundproof. She understood why they had chosen it.
“What would you like us to test first?” asked Bowtie. Old enough to be her grandfather. “Food, or fucking?”
“What he means is,” said Shiny Shoes—the second older white-haired man who had so far remained silent—“we can bring out the sushi and test your capacity for stillness, right now. You’d be surprised how many girls find it difficult to stay still even when restrained as you are. Or, since that can get kind of messy fast, we can save that for after, and test your ability to be fucked by up to five men while in restraints first. See how tight your holes are, how well you take cock, how still you can stay, how quiet you can remain. Our guests really get off on a woman who can stay, as much as possible, like a piece of furniture. We don’t expect you not to get aroused. You may even cum, but if you do, it will be sudden, and silent. Understand?”
She nodded, breathless.
“So, food or fucking?”
“Fucking,” she whispered.
“Good choice,” said Cufflink, undoing his belt with a jingle. In fact, they were all undoing their expensive belts, she saw. They remained dressed, with their cocks out, stroking, breathing heavily.
“Open wide,” said Cufflink, holding his hard cock in front of her mouth, pushing his tip between her lips as she opened to let him slide in, right away to the back of her throat. “Can you take it? Can you just be your holes for us? Huh, little girl? You need the money, so you’ll just be holes for us, am I right?” Her mouth and throat had become slick very quickly with arousal. She tightened her lips around his shaft, and sucked him well, breathing in time with his thrusts.
Goatee was between her legs, parting her other lips, her pussy, running his tongue along her outward fray, opening her like fine seafood. “Feels wet enough for my cock,” he said, pulling his out and sliding it into her, filling her up, completely. Her taut pussy held him very snug as he cried out instantly at the moment he entered her.
“Shhhhh,” he said, shaking his finger at her with a smile. She had never been so turned on, and part of it was the trying to be quiet and still. She had never tried this before.
Suddenly, she was tilting forward, upward, and realized abruptly that the table she’d been lying on could be turned, tilted, suspended, in any direction, giving them perfect access to all her holes—through the conveniently placed, um, hole. They positioned her upright, so that while Goatee continued to thrust upward into her tight, clenched pussy, and Cufflink continued to caress his cock with the back of her slick throat, Bowtie could also crack her open from the other side to insert his tongue in her asshole and swirl it around, preparing her to be filled entirely.
She wanted so badly to scream out, to thrash, but instead, all of her desire, all of her arousal, went to her muscles. Her clenching, ready, wet, and tight body. From head to toe, she opened, and from toe to head she squeezed her muscles with excitement. The result was the type of tightness that drove all of them insane. She found it hard to imagine how the second part of the interview would be necessary. Bowtie was now slowly working his way into her ass, and soon she was filled from three angles, stuffed, silent, and soppingly sentient. Which each thrust, as the men took turns, swirling the X around this way and then that to better fuck her, she got closer and closer to exploding widely, and wildly.
Then it was Bowtie’s turn to fuck her pussy. Cufflink was behind her, grabbing her hips from the front and ramming his cock up into her relaxed, aroused asshole. It felt divine. As he entered her from the front, the combination of the two cocks filling her with their shape in the exact way that they did, was simply too much to handle. Shiny Shoes and Greysuit had their cocks out slapping her face at the same time as her two base holes were filled. Pounding, reaching, rubbing her in sync, from the inside. These rich men who could never buy romance.
She was screaming. Roaring. She was clenching, squirting. Hurdling. Good thing she was harnessed. She had pushed all cocks out of her body, and her pleasure was dripping from the sterile X table, undeniable.
“Wow,” said Greysuit.
“Wow,” said Shiny Shoes.
“Well, I think you’d make a great party trick,” said Cufflink, wiping the sweat from his brow. “The stillness and silence thing was a bit of a joke, bit of a test. Far as I’m concerned, you’ve got the job.”
She would have thanked him, but Shiny Shoes was busy filling her mouth up, so she moaned in approval instead.