Jason Jones was interviewing for the position of waiter. He was 24 years old, 5' 8'', with a slim build. He had light brown hair and brown eyes that usually shone with bright good humor. But just now they were burning with lust as he began his closing interview; seated in the manager's office, his clothes all piled neatly on a nearby chair he sat before the manager's wide, polished oak desk and slowly stroked his already straining erection.
Opposite him, behind the desk was the Club's manager, Mr. Colbert. Mr. Colbert's right hand was clearly visible, leafing through the pile of pertinent documents on the table: Jason's C.V., recommendations from Jason's previous employers, the results of his blood tests and so on. Mr. Colbert's left hand was hidden from view under his desk, but his arm could be seen, moving steadily in a slow back-and-forth motion. Had been since Jason walked into the room ten minutes ago.
The office itself was a combination of minimalism and opulence -- the floor was bare wood, but looked like the quality kind, not the stuff you could buy at Home Depo; the only pieces of furniture were Mr. Colbert's desk -- once again, quality wood; his executive's chair -- high backed and comfortable looking; two chairs in front of the desk -- less comfortable, but still fancy with their inset cushions; a closed cabinet, which Jason assumed was a liqueur cabinet behind the desk and to the left, and a black leather sofa in front of the desk, also to the left.
For the interview a row of plush chairs had been arranged along the right wall, in which the various department heads sat. Jason had only met two of them -- Owen Cavanough, the head of the waiting and hosting staff, and Dr. Mark Jeffreys, who had administered Jason's physical. Between Dr. Jeffreys legs knelt his assistant, Rory Daniels, who had drawn Jason's blood for the blood test -- and from the movements of his head it appeared that drawing out bodily fluids from men may well be a vocation for the young medical assistant.
When he'd been led into the room by Mr. Colbert's secretary introductions had been made, so he knew the other men were Alex Filbert, the stage manager, for both the cabaret show and the more private performances in the upstairs rooms; Roy Masters, head of props and supplies; Chris Monroe, the Club's chief of security; and chef Henri DuMont, who had made a name for himself in the culinary world as a gormet genius long before "disappearing" from the scene to become the Club's master-chef.
After entering the room and being introduced to the men seated there, Jason had been told that he had one final test remaining before he could be welcomed to the staff. "Please remove your clothing and take a seat," said Mr. Colbert, looking Jason in the eye before allowing his eyes to wander over the young man's body, clearly visible through his hip-hugging slacks and tight polo shirt. After complying with the order Jason sat in the chair, all too aware that he was the only naked man in a room full of hard-ons -- hard-ons which were quite likely to find their way into his only-too-willing body.
"I can see that you've passed all our standard qualifications as far as physical health and service record, but now we need to see if you have what it takes to work at our establishment. Please take hold of your penis and begin masturbating."
It took Jason a moment to understand the order, as it had been delivered in a quiet, calm tone of voice rather than the excited, urgent tone with which he usually associated such a request. His cock, while not fully hard, had long since started to swell, and so it was no great hardship to stroke it the rest of the way to hard.
"Very good. Now, Mr. Jones, I am going to ask you some simple questions, and I would like you to answer them in as calm and even a tone of voice as you can. And, of course, you have to actually be able to give coherent replies, no matter how aroused you find yourself," Mr. Colbert stated, his emerald green eyes seeming to grow darker as he stared at Jason's engorged 7 inches, as Jason's hand moved slowly up and down the throbbing length.
For the next half hour Jason was required to keep stroking himself as he answered such questions as why he was seeking employment at the club, how had he gotten his start at the service industry; even such seemingly irrelevant questions as where did he get his laundry done, and so on. The point of this test, as he was reminded later, was to see if he was capable of maintaining both sexual arousal and a minimal conversation without either losing his erection or losing track of what had been said to him.
Although hardly easy -- Jason wanted nothing more than to shove a few fingers up his twitching back passage and stroke himself the rest of the way to orgasm -- he managed to hold his own, in both categories. Even though the sights around him didn't help his concentration. Before him was the impressive Mr. Colbert's massive physique, with his short-trimmed beard showing off the strong jaw and his wavy dark red hair giving him a leonine air, as well as the slowly stroking hand under the desk; to his right an entire panel of sexy men, all of whom had opened their flies and were openly manipulating their own or each other's erections -- except for the good doctor, who had his buried in his assistant's sloppy, slurpy mouth. God! He could hear the wet sucking sounds all too clearly, could see the pleasure on the Doc's face as his assistant's head moved up and down.
At long last the questions came to an end. "All right, everything appears to be in order," Mr. Colbert said, taking a last look at the papers on his desk, his hand still doing that tantalizing back and forth movement. "In any other interview this would be the time for you to ask any questions you may have back at us -- but I suspect you would like to move right on to the welcoming committee, would you not?"
Jason's answering nod was energetic and whole-hearted, "Yes, please, sir!" He knew what was entailed, and couldn't wait to get his greedy hands on all the man-flesh that was staring him in the face.
