When I was called for the job interview, I was so happy, because I didn’t think I even had a chance when I applied. It was more of a lark than anything. I heard they sometimes ask you to strip down to your underwear, so I made sure to wear my cutest red panties under my shorts and a nice shirt, too.
I got to the building, and there were lots of girls in the waiting room. Some of them were wearing dresses or skirts. Others, like me, were wearing shorts or pants. Before they started calling us, we talked. Some of the girls had heard rumors about the interview. They said you had to show ’em your tits. I was shocked, but I tried not to show it. I looked around the waiting room as this rumor flew. I smiled when I saw some girls clutch their breasts unconsiously through their shirts. I could see I wasn’t alone in being shocked at this.
Gradually, as we waited, I began to rationalize the showing-of-the-breasts, and something very odd happened. I began to accept it. At first, I wondered if I should show my breasts or just leave. But then as I thought about it more, I got over my shock, and realized the job was more important than my shirt, and tits are just tits, so why not?
I was nervous standing in the middle of the room, where it was brightly lit, because there were half a dozen people, all nicely dressed, sitting at a table, watching me. The first question they asked me was whether I would mind taking off my shirt. After sitting in the waiting room, I was expecting this, so with my heart beating fast, I took it off.
There I stood, with my high beams shining on them for the longest time before anyone spoke. It was a woman. She said I was “border line”. Border line? What did that mean, I wondered. But I couldn’t think what to say, so I didn’t say anything. Finally, a man spoke. He said I could put on my shirt, and go home, or else I could go back into the waiting room and wait for round two.
I said I would like to try for round two. I started to pick up my shirt when one of the men cleared his throat loudly. I was going to put it on, and go back to the waiting room. Startled, I looked up. He asked me how stupid I thought I was, and wondered whether I understood English. He explained slowly, as if to a small child, that my choice was to take my shirt and go home, or leave my shirt on the floor, and go back to the waiting room.
“You mean, topless?” I was incredulous. I wasn’t looking forward to meeting all those girls again without my top. I would feel so naked.
“Yes!” he said, apparently overjoyed that I finally understood.
I really wanted the job, and sitting topless with a bunch of girls wouldn’t be that bad, I supposed. So I left the shirt on the floor, and walked back into the brightly-lit public waiting room. I folded my arms in front of me in a pathetic effort to hide my partial nudity. I could see all the girls talking to each other about me. They were clearly worried about having to take off their own shirts. In a way, I was glad to have that part over with.
One by one, the other girls went in for their interviews. Some of them came back — minus an article of clothing. And others never came back. I could only guess they were offered the same choice as me. It was an interesting interviewing technique. Only the girls who really wanted the job badly enough to strip for it were retained. One girl came back bottomless, and sat down next to me. She said she was so embarrassed to have to take off her bottom, and then sit in the public waiting room. She kept her legs together so she didn’t look too obviously naked. As we talked, I don’t think she even realized she was stroking my naked breasts, but I could see she was upset so I didn’t say anything. She said they asked her a horrible question. I asked her what it was, and she started crying. I waited for her to compose herself, and she told me. They said, indicate to us how much you want this job without talking by removing either your top or your skirt. If you want the job, take off your shirt. If you *really* want the job, then you’ll show us your panties. But I wasn’t wearing any panties, she started to say, but the minute she started talking, the sarcastic man asked her what she thought not talking meant. She really wanted the job, so she took off her skirt. Even the people at the interview table were shocked to see she had nothing on under the skirt except a fully shaved pussy. That’s when they knew she really, really wanted the job. So she survived to round two.
I was first to be called for the second round. They told me the next step was to take off my shorts, or else I could go home. I really didn’t want to take off my shorts, because I knew what would happen next. I would have to wait in the public waiting room wearing nothing but my cute red panties. I was seriously thinking about just taking my shirt, and going home. But before I could even ask about that option, they told me they were holding my shirt, and I would get it back only if I stayed until the end of the interview. Well, I wasn’t about to take the bus back home, topless. So I did as I was told, thankful for my red panties. Surely, my willingness to strip down to my panties would get me the job, and more importantly at this moment, get me my clothes back. So I took off my shorts.
I was preparing myself mentally to return to the waiting room wearing only my panties, when one of the panel of interviewers looked at her watch and said it was lunch time. She said all the candidates were welcome to come to the company cafeteria for lunch, continue waiting in the waiting room, or there were several restaurants in the area. It was my job to give the other girls their choices. All the girls were partly naked by this time, so none of them wanted to venture out to the area restaurants. Some stayed put, but the majority came with me to the cafeteria. It must have been quite a sight, about thirty girls, almost all of us topless, most of us wearing only panties. We huddled together, walking in a group. Many of us held hands or hugged, for various reasons: as a show of sympathy for one another, solidarity, affection, or just to hide our near-nudity from the prying eyes of the workers eating their lunches.
I walked in with a girl wearing only a t-shirt. She was glad her shirt at least partly covered her bottom, but she wished she had worn panties like the rest of us. Then, at the entrance to the cafeteria, the poor girl was told that job candidates weren’t allowed to wear tops inside the cafeteria, but she could get her shirt back when she left. For a long time, she dithered. She thought about going outside, to a fast food place, or just waiting with the one or two other girls who decided not to have lunch. But I held her, and told her it was OK. I reached under her shirt, and tickled her to relieve the tension. As she giggled, I helped her out of her shirt. I smoothed her nipples, which were hard as rocks. I even kissed her sweetly on the lips to help her forget how completely naked she was. With my arm around her waist, I stroked her soft skin, and made her feel better as we picked out our food. There was a special seating area for job candidates, on a raised section of the floor. We all sat together against the wall. The table had lots of legs, oddly positioned, so the only way we could sit was with our legs apart. For me, this was no problem — thank God for my cute little panties — but for my friend, she was shy about spreading her legs because she was naked. So I rested my hand in her lap, which made her feel a lot more comfortable. She returned the favor, slipping her hand into my panties, which felt really nice. After we finished eating, we kissed for a long time. When we left, I really expected her shirt to be gone, because that’s the way things had been going in this place, but her shirt was waiting for her. She was so glad to have it on again, she hugged herself inside it while I stroked the lower half of her butt cheeks that were left uncovered.
Soon after we rejoined the other girls in the waiting room, I was called in for round three. I was so relieved to see they had my clothes waiting for me, but before I could have them, they wanted me to prove my dedication to this job by removing my panties. “And then I get my clothes?” Maybe they nodded, but they were in shadows so I couldn’t see. They just waited, so I realized I had no choice. I took off my panties. Then they said I would get my clothes back, but when I went to reach for them, they said they would hold onto them just a little while longer, and I could wait in the “Employee Recreation Room”.
Having no choice — I certainly wasn’t prepared to take the bus home in the nude — I went as directed. Once inside the rec room, I started to read the signs. They were very disconcerting to say the least. One read “Please rape naked girls only.” Rape? I must have said it out loud, because another girl said “They call it ‘rape’, but it’s really voluntary. You can leave whenever you want.” I looked at her, and saw she was naked, too. “So you’re just waiting here to get fucked?” I asked. I couldn’t believe it. “Most of ’em don’t fuck you,” she said. “They just play with you and let you go.” This was too weird. I watched the girl as a man chased her around the room. He finally cornered her, and unzipped his pants. He had a full hard-on. He was about to push his way into her when she escaped, giggling. He chased after her without even bothering to holster his thing, and then caught up to her again, and pinned her against the wall. This time, both panting from the chase, with her facing the wall, his hands over hers, he fucked her good. When he was done, he zipped up and left. The girl stayed against the wall, her legs apart, for some time before I realized she was crying. I pressed my naked body against hers and hugged her, stroking her belly and breasts to comfort her. “Hopefully, you’ll get your clothes back,” I said. But the girl didn’t think so. She had lost count of the number of times she had been raped.
That’s when I decided this job wasn’t for me. I decided it was better to take the bus home naked than get raped, and I was almost out the door, when someone slapped my butt. I turned around, angry, and saw it was a cute boy who had hit me. My heart melted when I saw his smiling face, and we kissed. He supported my butt with his hands, and I wrapped my legs around him as we kissed. His fingers worked their way into me, and it felt really good. Sweetly, he asked if I would like to make love with him. Make love! How could I resist? He was so sweet, he didn’t just whip out his dick through his zipper, he took off his pants. And he even let me take off his shirt, so I could look at his sexy chest. When he was naked, I couldn’t resist him. We kissed again, and this time, he eased himself into me, which felt so good because I was ready for him. He was slow and gentle. I ran my fingers through his hair, and felt his muscular body writhing as he neared his climax. He kept me on the edge of cumming for a long time before I succumbed. When I came, it was the sweetest orgasm I remember in my whole life. I held him as tight as I could, and then still tighter. And then it happened. He exploded inside me, and I came again. My first double orgasm.
He kissed me again before dressing, and then he was gone. I looked around for the other girl, and saw she had left. I hoped she had gotten her clothes, and not been forced to leave while she was still naked. Then I saw another naked girl had been delivered to the room, and she looked upset. I kissed her, and told her it would be OK, even as some boys started teasing us. And I could see she felt better to have another naked girl in the room.