"Care to introduce yourself?" I said, sitting on the other side of the desk with my boots propped up on the edge.

​The stunning woman sat down opposite me on the worn couch.

​"Do you want my legal name or my performance name?" she asked with great confidence.

​I had only intended to ask for her government name, but it seemed she had two official identities ready to go.

​"You can give me both," I replied.

​She smiled. "My government name is Lisa Rhodes. My performance name... is Dickslayer."

​I wasn't sure whether to be shocked, impressed, or amused. Dickslayer was certainly unique. Most stars used their first name followed by something subtle. This was a statement.

​"So what should I call you—Lisa, or Dickslayer?" I asked, testing her seriousness.

​"When I'm in a professional sex setup, I prefer being called by my sex name," she said with a knowing smile.

​She reached into her pocket and pulled out a cigarette.

​"No smoking in here, ma'am," I said immediately.

​She paused and pouted for a moment. Then she smiled again, looking around the bare room. "I don't see any sign that says I can't smoke."

​"Well, you can't smoke because I say so," I stated firmly. The first step in running a studio was establishing absolute authority.

​"Okay, boss," she conceded, putting the cigarette away. Then she looked around the room, her eyes landing on the camera I had set up earlier, as if noticing it for the first time.

​"Is that camera recording us?" she asked.

​"No, it's off," I said. It was only there for immediate shooting, not for HR interviews.

​"Why is it off? Don't you want to record this interview?" she said, tilting her head.

​"What's there to record?" I asked. This was about logistics and contracts, not content.

​"A lot. You might be surprised what kind of magic would come from turning on that camera," she said, her voice dropping lower.

​I sat there, staring into her eyes. They were shining with naughty encouragement, challenging my business plan entirely.

​"Well, go on..." she encouraged again, daring me to break my own professional process.

​"Fine," I said, finally giving in. This was a high-level recruit; if she saw an opportunity, I needed to explore it. I got up, walked over to the tripod, and turned the camera on, setting it to record. All the while, she watched me, her smile getting wider.

​I came back and sat down at my desk, my boots still on the table.

"So what are you good at?" I said, leaning back. "Why should I hire you over the dozens of other recruits Sasha is bringing in?"

​"I'm good at sex," she said, her voice confident.

​"I mean, what makes you exceptional?" I countered. "Aside from your pretty face and sexy body, of course."

​Her eyes lit up. "I'm good at fucking. I give my clients the best experience of their lives. My best specialty is oral technique. I'm exceptional at deepthroat and focusing on the whole package—the cock, the nuts, the rhythm."

​"Really?" I said, feeling a genuine surge of interest. I wondered if she was even better than Tracey from my old life.

​"I can show you really. Want to give it a try?" she said, already getting up from the couch.

​This girl wasn't shy at all. She was offering to perform oral sex during a job interview. This was exactly why she had made me turn on the camera in the first place. She was using her sexual persuasion to guarantee the job.

​It wasn't a bad idea. With her explicit consent, I could use this footage as her professional verification. I could also immediately upload this as a high-value teaser to the channel.

​"Are you going to perform this service for free?" I asked, keeping my tone strictly transactional.

​"Free of charge, love," she said, walking toward the desk. "You can consider this the first, high-value piece in my portfolio for The BangHouse."

​"Okay, fine," I said, getting up from the desk. She came to me, closing the small distance between us.

​I was about to pull my cock free, the need was pulsing fiercely, but a sudden, icy jolt of caution hit me.

​"Hey, how old are you?" I asked, my voice snapping with unexpected sobriety. "Come to think of it, I haven't seen your identification yet."

​"Really, love?" she replied, the sultry tone dissolving into slight irritation.

​"I wanna see them before we continue," I insisted, the adrenaline of the moment battling with a deep-seated need for certainty. "I'm not taking any chances."

​"Do I look like a minor to you?" she countered, gesturing dismissively at her flawless, oiled body.

​"You might look older but still be a kid," I argued, shaking my head. "With what they're feeding these kids these days, you never know if they are adults or not."

​She let out a dramatic, exasperated sigh. The moment of pure, raw desire momentarily paused. She turned, walked to her purse, and returned with a sleek card, handing me her I.D.

​I scanned it quickly. Lisa Rhoades, age 25. A year older than me. The cold wave of doubt evaporated, replaced by the familiar heat.

​"Satisfied?" she purred, the sultriness immediately returning, her eyes challenging me.

​"Yeah," I confirmed, dismissing the card. I wasted no more time, freeing my cock from my pants. It sprang out, rock-hard and throbbing, standing proudly in the air.

​"Wow, can I touch it?" she asked, her gaze fixed on my erection, a deliciously naughty, predatory smile curving her lips.

​"Go on," I invited, standing tall, allowing her full admiration.

​She moved with an enticing quickness, reaching out with her yellow-lacquered hands. She took me, wrapping her slick fingers around the thick base and squeezing lightly, just enough to elicit a deep groan from me.

​"Gosh, it's so fucking big," she whispered, her eyes wide with a thrilling mix of surprise and hunger. She slid down to her knees and placed her entire forearm in comparison right next to my length.

​"It's almost as big as my arm," she breathed, her lips parting slightly.

​I grinned, my chest swelling with pride. "Do you think it can fit in your mouth?"

​"We'll never know until I give it a try," she murmured, her voice thick with promise.

​She didn't wait for another invitation. Her left hand slid down, cupping my heavy balls gently and reverently, while her free right hand took up the work, jerking me off with a powerful, practiced rhythm.

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