I sat in the interview room, wondering which one of the interviewers was going to do the bad cop routine. It was one of those conference rooms where the table dominates the room. The space around the table was a narrow perimeter that was just about enough for someone to pull a chair back and squeeze into it. As I sat down, I felt the queerest flutter in my stomach. I should have paid attention to it, but I ignored it. I twirled my fingers through my long, chestnut hair, being unafraid in displaying my nervousness. There’s an oxymoron for you.

As they grilled me on my coding skills, I felt something brushing my knees. I was too out of touch with my nervous system to do anything about it. I hoped it wasn’t a snake of some sort. Then, as I tried answering a question about Bayesian statistics, something or someone parted my legs under the conference table. My answer was punctuated by a short gasp, which was noted by my interviewers. Before they could start thinking about it, I tried filling their heads with more of my voluble answer.

I felt human fingers undoing and yanking up my skirt. I wasn’t prepared to deal with that sort of thing, so I didn’t. I just let it happen. The fingers pulled my pant down. I felt something wet and with the texture of a human tongue exploring my labia. I sighed while explaining how my stats skills would be useful in their project. They didn’t notice the sigh, and appeared from their facial expressions to think that I was an oddball who gasped and sighed while answering questions. Perhaps they thought it was my reflex reaction to stressful situations.

The tongue probed my lips below, and I felt them circling around my clitoris, which had started throbbing and swelling up at an alarming rate. The tongue licked my pussy, sucked on it, even blew into it, and while I thought it all sounded loud enough, my interviewers stayed on topic, and appeared to hang on every word of mine. I continued to answer another question from them on what I thought of their in-house software, just as the tongue lavished broad strokes on my pubic hair, and I felt a nose nuzzling my pubes.

The tongue returned to explore my love tunnel, and darted as deeply within as anybody ever has into my cunt, as I listened to my interviewers confer on the best order for the questions in the written test they were going to give me in the afternoon. I thought it odd that they’d do so in front of me, but I suggested an order myself and gave the rationale.

They appeared impressed, and beamed at me, while the tongue slurped and sucked and probed my privates with increasing gusto. I gasped while my interviewers were at their loudest, and they appeared to not notice.

I rapidly approached the brink of ‘la petite mort’ as I was told about the lunch I’d be having next. It was to be with a certain Dr. Valente. I wondered whether my lunch companion was a pleasant character, and as though they were telepathic, my interviewers told me that Dr. Valente was charming. I geared up for a boxed lunch, and hoped that my interviewers would allow me a few moments alone in the room after they left. They chatted amongst themselves for few minutes about lunch options and gave me recommendations, while the tongue probed me to high heaven. My whole central nervous system was on fire at this point, and I felt my body spasm in the throes of the sheer ecstasy that the tongue sought to give me. My thighs involuntarily clamped around someone’s shoulders, and I felt someone’s face bury itself in my pussy, bathing in my juices.

I looked up, being lost for a moment, and my interviewers asked me if I was okay, and needed any Tylenol. I shook my head, being momentarily at a loss for words. Then, as they looked at one another with concern, they returned to their discussion on my program for the day. As they did so, somebody under the table licked me clean, and pulled my panties back on. I felt my skirt being returned to its place next, just as my interviewers wound up their discussion. They asked me if I was feeling hungry, and I truthfully replied that I was ravenous.

I followed them out of the room, walking funny. I looked behind me a couple of times, hoping that my oral ‘friend’ would emerge, but there was no such luck. The main interviewer led me to Dr. Valente’s office, and knocked on the door. A female voice asked us to enter, and he opened the door, and I glimpsed a dusky brunette with stunning features and jet black hair sitting behind a simple IKEA desk, with a Lego model of a protein in front of her. She appeared tired for some reason, as if she had been running. My interviewer told me that he’d leave me in her good hands. I smiled and thanked him. When he’d gone, I turned to face the lovely Dr. Valente.

“I’m Sandra Valente,” she said, shaking my hand. “Lovely to tast- err, meet you.”