By John Martin
Jennifer Coulter pushed the pencil along the desk and did her best to concentrate on the young man's words. "I'm basically a team player, I like to work with others and....". She was losing the battle; something was distracting her. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but her alarm bells were ringing, which was odd.
On paper he was the ideal candidate for the job. He'd had plenty of relevant experience, he seemed intelligent, was well-dressed, obviously a good communicator and was very self-confident. Maybe too self- confident? Cocky perhaps. But there was something about him she simply didn't like. He'd only been in the interview for 3 minutes, but already she was mentally crossing him off the shortlist. She pursed her lips. There was nothing for it: she was going to have to put him to The Test. It was a special Test she'd developed with her Personal Assistant and very good friend, Jane. But it never failed. If she was ever in any doubt about a candidate, it simply had to be done.
"Sorry to interrupt you there, Stephen, but I'm forgetting my manners. I completely failed to ask you whether you'd like a tea or a coffee. I'm having one. Which would you prefer?" The young man was temporarily thrown off his stride. "Oh, er, um, coffee would be fine thanks." Jennifer picked up the phone handset, dialed three digits and spoke. "Jane? Would you be a darling and make two coffees for Stephen and I? And can you personally make sure it's the Special Moroccan Coffee? Stephen's obviously something of a connoisseur, so only the best will do."
The young man couldn't hear it, but Jennifer's P.A. gave a whoop of joy on the other end of the phone. "Understood, Jenny. I must say, I wasn't sure about him myself. I was kinda hoping you'd ask. It'll be my pleasure!"
And with that, Jane Chilton hung up the phone and started preparing the refreshments for her boss and the candidate. Meanwhile, Jennifer Coulter noticed that Stephen was grinning from ear to ear. 'She likes me', he was thinking to himself. In fact, he had no idea what was in store for him during the next few minutes.....
The small kitchen and restroom were at the far end of the building, so Jane strode purposefully down the office, had a quick look round and popped into the kitchen closing the door behind her. There was one dark blue mug she specially reserved for these rare circumstances. She took it from the back of the cupboard and disappeared into the adjacent loo, sliding the bolt across after her. In no time she had her tights and panties down, and was unceremoniously wedging the mug between her legs. As if by magic, her thick ridge of jet-black pubic hair parted to reveal two dark, glistening piss-flaps. Then, they too seemed to be separated by some invisible force just before a thick column of yellow piss erupted from between them. Within three seconds the mug was almost full of Jane Chilton's hot, golden, salty piss.
The torrent stopped just as quickly as it had begun, so Jane carefully withdrew the mug from between her thighs and then sat down and finished her long-awaited piss into the bowl. Ever since the young man arrived for his interview and Jane sensed something odd about him, she'd been deliberately holding on, hoping for the special 'coded' signal from her boss. It had been several months since the last Test, so she'd been looking forward to this day for weeks. There was only one meaning behind the phrase 'Special Moroccan Coffee'. They both knew exactly what that meant.
Finishing up in the loo, she reappeared and carefully placed her mugful of piss onto the small kitchen table. Then she added two spoonfuls of supermarket instant coffee, one sugar, and put the whole thing into the microwave for 2 minutes. Even she couldn't produce boiling piss! Meanwhile she prepared a normal cup of coffee for Jennifer: she always had Carte Noire, only the very best for her boss. In no time the drinks were ready. Arguably the best instant coffee around for her boss and her own personally prepared 'piss-coffee' for the young man! Everything was ready, so she tapped lightly on Jennifer's door, waited for the sound from within and gingerly entered the interview room. The Test could now begin!
"Oh, thanks Jane, just put the tray down there. That will be all. Now, as I was saying Stephen, this is a job involving a considerable amount of trust. You'll be dealing with complaints from the public, some about you perhaps, and you'll also be dealing with the day's takings and checking the ledger balances. So as you can see, I must be able to depend upon my staff for complete honesty. Do you see that?" The young man nodded vigorously. Jennifer passed him the dark blue mug, as casually as she could, and continued talking.
"I need to feel that you'll be completely honest with your employer. We are putting you in a position of trust, and we need to be sure that you'll never abuse that." She took a sip of her Carte Noire coffee: it was gorgeous. Jane certainly knew how to make damn fine coffee. "In short, Stephen, I need you to convince me that you will always be honest with me, that you'll never lie about anything connected with your work. We value Honesty very highly here. Am I making sense?"
Stephen wasn't quite sure what she was driving at, perhaps she'd managed to find out about the trouble with that 600 pounds which mysteriously went missing? But that was nearly 3 years ago - and how COULD she know about it? No, Stephen knew that the job was his. He took a long sip of his 'coffee' and spoke. "You need have no worries on that score, Miss Coulter. You'll find that I'm......." He stopped dead in his tracks. The coffee was absolutely disgusting! It tasted salty, but somehow didn't taste of anything. Yet it was vaguely familiar.
Jennifer crossed her legs. Watching a man drink a woman's piss always turned her on, and she felt a damp patch grow between her legs. Cruelly, she continued with the Test. "Hmmm, don't you just love Moroccan coffee, Stephen? I knew you'd appreciate it as soon as I saw you. It has a distinctive aroma all off its own don't you think?"
The young man was still trying to work out where he'd tasted or smelled it before. But he couldn't let on, could he? He didn't know the first thing about fine coffee, but he couldn't admit that to his interviewer, could he? And anyway, there was no harm in lying a little if it meant ending up with a job out of it, was there? "Stephen? Is there something wrong - with our coffee perhaps? Mine's okay...."
The trap was laid. His response now was crucial. The job rested on it.
"No, it's great, I've never tasted anything so good." He took another sip of Jane Chilton's special piss-coffee. He forced a smile and swallowed. It was disgusting, but maybe it was supposed to taste like that? He couldn't tell her it was awful, could he? "Yep, you certainly know how to make a fine cup of coffee, Miss Coulter."
Jennifer gave him her very best Princess Diana shy-look, and tried to blush. "Oh, it's nothing to do with me. I just buy it. You need to thank my Personal Assistant for making it. She's a real wiz with coffee, a real wiz." She was bursting to rephrase her little joke, and say that it was really Jane's wiz, her wee; but that would give the game away. Jennifer crossed out two words on the pad in front of her: 'Stephen Carter'. Now she knew all she needed to know.
She couldn't trust this man as far as she could spit. Jane's intuition was right. But then, it usually was. And thanks to her cruel piss- test, they'd both managed to prove just how completely untrustworthy he was, how easily he would lie to suit his own ends.
"Anyway, thanks very much for calling in, Stephen. I think I have everything I need now. We'll make our decision later today and let you know. Okay?" The young man stood up, smiled and shook her by the hand.
"Oh, but what am I saying? I'm forgetting my manners again. You simply must finish your delicious coffee, Stephen. You simply must".....
And she stood and watched the young man drain every single last drop of Jane Chilton's piss from the cup before showing him out the door. "Men", she thought. - The End -
Copyright 1997 by John Martin. All Rights Reserved
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