The first twenty minutes or so of my interview at my Dad’s law firm had been pretty convention
The first twenty minutes or so of my interview at my Dad’s law firm had been pretty conventional HR stuff. I’d met with the head of Human Resources, filled out the requisite paper work and provided a copy of my high school transcript and a resume of my extracurriculars and accomplishments. My Dad had coached me through this part thoroughly so I pretty much sailed through it without a hitch. I was told that I would be taken shortly to Mr. Sullivan’s office where he would conduct the one-on-one interview portion of the process personally.Getting time with Mr. Sullivan cost potential clients upward from $750 an hour, so to get time with him at all was a huge part of the enticement for this position. Whoever was hired would be his personal apprentice for the summer, and if things went satisfactorily, sponsorship to college then law school were also possible. It was an amazing opportunity that had set up guys who’d come before me for successful careers launched without the crippling mountain of student loans that would otherwise accompany this career track. My Dad had been one of those guys. He’d apprenticed with the senior Mr. Sullivan, the current Managing Partner’s now retired father. The current Mr. Sullivan was about my Dad’s age and they’d come up in the firm together. Their relationship had certainly gone a long way toward getting me in the door. But Dad let me know in no uncertain terms that landing the apprenticeship would depend completely on a successful interview which left Mr. Sullivan with a clear demonstration of my ambition and skills.So, the next part of the process was the critical piece. As I sat outside the imposing door of the corner office where it would take place, I was relaxed and confident. Having met Mr. Sullivan on several occasions I knew that his reputation as a brilliant, and if necessary ruthless, attorney was legend. He had an aggressive and very masculine presence that could be instantly intimidating to many. But so did my Dad. I was confident that I could hold my own with Mr. Sullivan and was eager for the chance.When his personal receptionist finally smiled at me and told me that Mr Sullivan was ready for me, I hopped up from my seat and went to the door ready for whatever he might want to throw at me. The office I entered was beyond spacious, it was massive, and filled with top quality furnishings and art. The sheer size of it as well as the in-your-face opulence of the appointments were intentionally designed to broadcast both the level of success of its occupant and the upper stratosphere of compensation that would be required if one was to make use of his services. It was a space that could overwhelm even the most confident of men. The man sitting on the fine Italian leather sofa that occupied a magnificent seating area to the right of the huge desk that took up the opposite wall not only appeared comfortable in his surroundings, he dominated them. Alex Sullivan is a big brawny guy with dark skin, salt and pepper hair that had been artfully cut to look effortlessly stylish and just enough silver speckled scruff on his face to let you know that he didn’t give a fuck about other people’s opinions about professional appearance. His impeccable custom tailored suit showed off the power of his physique by hugging every curve of his well maintained body without being the least bit tight or constricting. It was every bit a feat of engineering as it was fashion.Mr. Sullivan was looking over the folder of my information and application as I entered the office. He looked up at me with a slight smile on his face that didn’t quite reach his eyes. They held an intensity that lacked any suggestion of levity as they scanned up and down from the top of my head to my feet and back again. There was no doubt in my mind that just that once over had provided him with detailed information that no amount of flowery descriptors on a resume cold provide.“Have a seat, Mr. Richards,” he said neutrally indicating a comfortable chair sitting at a right angle to the end of the sofa where he was sprawled out loosely. He continued to look over the contents of the folder for a few more seconds before putting it down and looking me directly in the eye and holding his gaze on me intently. If I hadn’t been prepared for it, just the intensity of his direct attention would have probably made me break out in a sweat. I was sure many who’d been on my end of things had. But my Dad had the same way of looking at people and I’d been on the other side of his thousand yard stare for my whole life. It didn’t make me nervous, it challenged me. And it turned me on.So I sat there and returned his stare with one of my own, with one major difference. Whereas Mr. Sullivan’s face was pure Alpha male dominant, mine was defiantly submissive. I would yield, but only to someone I considered superior. The man in front of me was that and I let my eyes show that I recognized his authority, and that I knew my place in it. After a full minute or so he raised one eyebrow at me and gave a slight nod of his head as though a question had been asked and answered to his satisfaction.He began then firing a series of very direct questions at me about what I was looking for and what I’d done to prepare myself to achieve that goal. I answered him using all the phrasing and tone that my Dad had drilled into me for months now. After a few minutes of this Mr. Sullivan gave me a knowing grin and nod of his head saying, “Very good, Mr. Richard’s. Your Dad’s expertise at witness prep is on fine display here.”I didn’t reply. We both knew that I’d been prepped. There was no point in denying it, so I held my tongue and simply looked back at him with no hint of anxiety in my demeanour. Finally, he rewarded me with a genuine grin and a nod of acknowledgment saying, “Of course the prep’s only as good as the one who executes it on the stand.”“Thank you, Sir” I said sincerely.“Okay, then,” he said finally warming up both to me and the process itself. Clearly we were past the formalities and getting to the real meat of the interview. Mr. Sullivan signalled this by spreading his arms out over the back of the sofa and adjusting his posture a little lower into the seat. He spread his legs out to either side just enough to give the movement an aggression and confidence that was instantly sexual. I lowered my gaze deliberately to the well filled crotch of his dress pants and lingered there appreciatively for long enough to be respectful. When I looked back up to his face his eyes were half lidded but no less intense for it.“So, Mr. Richards, “ he said in a much deeper, much more raspy tone of voice, “your Dad tells me that you have a well developed skill set that might set you apart from some of the other applicants.”“I believe so, Sir, “ I answered letting my confidence out now with a little impunity.“Would you care to elaborate?” he said, the dare in his tone unmistakable. “If you’re anything like my Dad,” I replied, “then you’re probably more of a show-me rather than a tell-me kind of man.”“Shall you show me, then?” he asked, the first hint of lust creeping into his tone.I didn’t answer. I just lowered myself to my knees and turned to face him. Mr. Sullivan spread his legs wider to accommodate me and pushed up with his hips a bit. I reached for the zipper of his pants and lowered it with practiced ease. Once it was all the way down, Mr. Sullivan reached in and hauled out his fat, veiny uncut cock and held it at the base as it rose to a hard, slightly curved ten inches of gorgeous man flesh. He pushed it toward me. It was an offer and a dare. I leaned over enough to center my mouth over the fat, foreskin covered head, then opened wide and slid my lips down his entire massive pole in a continuous, effortless move that ended with his entire length buried deep in my well practiced throat.“Fuck yes,” Mr. Sullivan groaned on a huge exhale as he grabbed the back of my head, holding me in place. I submitted and began working the muscles in my throat to massage his huge meat just like my Dad had trained me to. That pulled another groan out of him and he ground into my wide open throat as I felt his cock throb all the way down my gullet. When he finally eased up on my head I began expertly deep throating the entire span of his gorgeous pole in slow deep strokes designed to elicit a maximum orgasm once he finally blew. It took almost thirty minutes to get him there, but when he finally exploded it pulled an involuntary shout out of deep in his chest. i drank every drop of his load hungrily, then proceeded to clean every inch of his softening cock with reverence. After pulling his generous foreskin over the head with my lips I leaned back and admired his gorgeous endowment with piggy satisfaction on my face, laced with a hunger for more.As I was admiring him, Mr. Sullivan took his cell phone out of the breast pocket of his jacket and speed dialled a number. “Joshua,” he said to his receptionist on the other side of the line in a completely relaxed and satisfied tone, “cancel the rest of the interviews. The position’s been filled.”I smiled to myself triumphantly as I carefully put his still swollen cock back into his pants and carefully raised the zipper. I was already looking forward to bending over the conference table at the back of the space while Mr. Sullivan spread my hole open with his huge battering ram. I hoped that it would happen sooner, rather than later. And it did. I love my job. -- source link