Chapter 73: The Interview

by Kathy R.

Uri Matsumoto sat in the hard backed chair quietly. It'd been a good fifteen minutes since Asa's sexretary had directed her to this small room. This room was little different from the one she'd been in on her initial visit. True to form, this room was decorated just as sparingly as his office and the examination room. Uri had to conclude that this man had no woman in his life -- and maybe no money, either. The only other object in the room, besides her chair, was a matching wooden one a few feet from her own. And a plain, round clock hanging on the wall facing her.

She hated this... this waiting. Once again, for the umpteenth time since arriving here, she'd wished she had something to occupy her mind. Absently, she fingered the pin hanging from her right nipple. She'd always been proud of her B+ Nymphomaniac status, but the lure of a better job -- perhaps as a high class streetwalker or de-virginizor for some rich community had become quite a temptation. Mentally, she drooled at the prospect of being reclassified. She knew it'd be easy -- she was a good actress.

'No, I've no worries of being caught, ' she thought to herself. Asa looked too old and too distracted to notice any such "act".

'What was keeping the old man?' She was getting antsy. She'd been told to sit and stay here by the pretty little receptionist. So, here she sat... And sat and sat. And stayed. 'Would it really harm anyone if I got up and stretched my legs?' She looked left and right, not knowing why but feeling as though she was being watched.

'No, ' she decided. She'd better stay where she was -- like a good little girl. 'Enter the room. Enter the room... ' She repeated to herself; mentally willing him to arrive.

Bored, she started picking at her finger nails. Then chewing them. One leg was already keeping a beat all its own -- something she hadn't been aware of until now. She withdrew her finger from her mouth and slapped at the leg.

'I just have to sit still, smile and answer a few simple questions. Simple.' She began fingering her nymphomaniac pin, again. "Ow!"

A pin point of blood bubbled on her index finger. She sucked the finger clean of the red liquid. 'Why is my finger shaking? My hand?' She clasped her hands together, entwining the fingers and tucked them between her legs to keep the shaking from being visible.

She looked to the wall clock. Another 10 minutes had past. 'Come. Come. Come.'

Nothing.

She felt herself getting angry. She came here for a psychological examination and all she'd done so far is sit. Sit. Sit. Sit.

She felt herself getting angrier and now -- frustrated. 'Should I just leave? Say forget about the exam and just go? Forget all about the higher nymphomaniac status?' Her mind was going in circles with these questions. Stay or go? Remain at B+ or go for the gold?

Another 10 minutes. She unclasped her hands and shook them, relieving them of the encroaching numbness. Walk. She needed to walk. 'Is he even in the building?' She started feeling anxious. Angry, frustrated and now anxious. 'How much more do I to endure?'

Her foot started tapping, again to some unknown beat. She needed a distraction. She had to get out of her soon or surrender to the itch that was building in her crotch. She decided to practice her lines as a means of distraction.

Mentally, she ran through them. 'Yes, sir, I did suffer greatly. Yes, sir, I did seek medical attention. Yes, sir, my father does know I'm here today.' All lies, but well worth it. She continued with her practice... 'Why, yes, sir, I have been feeling a bit "cold" lately towards males.' Then, she would recount her tale of the stalker... the early parts of her encounters with him. The time when she had exhibited herself in front of the French window, following his every command via the telephone. She felt the familiar itch between her legs growing stronger.

She became more conscious of the itch. Of muscle tics. 'Oh geez, even the corner of my left eye had developed a nervous tic.' She scolded herself for allowing her body to show it's weaknesses.

'Shit.' She said, as she took note that another 15 minutes had expired.

She was going crazy. She was sure of it. How long was he going to keep her waiting? Again, the persistent itch. Again, she did her best to ignore it. She wasn't used to having to ignore such demands for attention. As a nymphomaniac, she was entitled to being serviced immediately, no questions asked. She looked to the door and cautiously moved a finger down to her crotch. Under the pretense of having a real itch, she scratched vigorously at her soaked pussy. Soaked? She couldn't be wet! If Asa noticed that wetness, he'd know she was lying.

Quickly, she used her palm to wipe her vagina free of the telltale juices. Raising a cheek off the seat, she dried her hand on the satiny soft material of her red skirt. When she was satisfied with her job, she fluffed the skirt over her abdomen and crossed her legs so that she presented herself in a ladylike manner. For her, that was very important and something her father had always insisted on -- being a lady first, a worthless slut second. No, not worthless, she corrected herself. Her status put her above being worthless. Besides, she really did enjoy being the slut -- a slut with expensive tastes!

Her tastes though, had to be left at home. She wanted to give Asa the impression that she was doing everything she could to maintain her status. Wearing her designer outfits would make him think that she was hiding something from the world. So, she wore for today only, this so-called skirt that covered her from the waist down to her... ? She looked down at herself and laughed for the skirt only went down a few inches; and, when sitting down, it bunched up around her waist, leaving her to look as if she had on nothing more than a red belt. Even her matching red underwire bra was really just that -- a red wire under her breast. No straps for over the shoulders. No material covering any portion of her breasts or nipples. Other than the skirt and bra, she wore matching red stockings and red shoes. Yes, for today only, she looked like a real whore. Her parents would be proud of her, especially her father.