"Miss Adams, thank you for being punctual," I began, immediately starting the professional vetting process. "I'm looking for long-term, high-volume talent. Tell me why The BangHouse should hire Yolanda Adams."

​Yolanda didn't waste any time. Her voice was steady and professional, but with an underlying heat. "Mr. Hart, I've been working independently for five years. I'm not a rookie who needs guidance in how to please a man or a camera. I am a self-managing professional. My specialty is the mature, dominant female role. I appeal to a very specific, high-spending demographic that is often ignored by the younger studios."

​She gestured to her impressive, full figure. "I can perform in mature women categories, roles like 'Step Mom,' 'Horny MILF,' or 'Desperate Aunt'... whatever these young boys' fantasies are. Most men fantasize about being with older women; that's where I come in."

​"I like your pitch," I admitted. She was selling stability and a distinct niche. "You certainly have curves that will pull in a lot of men, and women too..."

​I leaned back, assessing her. "Can you please do a three-sixty for me?"

​She smiled, a knowing, predatory expression, and got off the couch. She began to turn slowly, her movement calculated to display the full, heavy swing of her assets. She ran her hands deliberately over her body, starting at her impressive cleavage and gliding down over the tight fabric of the red dress that emphasized her wide, round hips and her perfectly shaped rear. The way she moved, the entire room seemed to rotate around her powerful figure.

​"Damn, that's a nice package you got there, baby," I said, rising from my chair, my professional mask slipping. "Can I touch it?"

​She smiled, walking towards the desk. "Is that part of the interview?"

​"Of course, yes," I said playfully. "I need to feel your assets, to find out if they're as soft as they look. And to verify if they're real or not..."

​Yolanda rolled her eyes, a sign of both impatience and high confidence. "If I let you touch them, will you give me the job?"

​"It will give you a seventy-five percent chance of getting the job," I said, taking a step closer.

​"Can you make it clap?" I challenged her, pushing the limits of the professional setting.

​"Okay," she said. She turned around fully, facing the wall, and slightly bent her knees.

Then, slowly, she began to shake and roll her hips. The motion was smooth, yet powerful. Her wide, round buttocks, tightly packaged in the red fabric, began to move and oscillate with mesmerizing control. It was not just shaking; it was a rhythmic, calculated movement designed to maximize visual impact. She moved with the skill of a woman who had spent years perfecting her sexual skills..

I moved even closer, drawn by the mesmerizing display of control. I pressed my body against hers, letting the full, powerful curve of her buttocks mold against my front. My cock, which was already hard and heavy from the intensity of the interview, immediately found the soft, yielding cushion of her rear.

​She didn't push me away. Instead, Yolanda intensified the movement. She tilted her hips slightly, grinding the lower part of her ass against the aching head of my erection. The friction through the fine fabric of our clothes was electric, a deep, hot pressure that made my breath catch. She was giving me a private, physical guarantee of the scene work she could deliver.

​She shifted her weight, allowing the rhythmic shaking to now pull and push my hardness with incredible intimacy, generating a low, resonant thump with every perfect roll of her hips. Her professional scent—a mix of expensive perfume and rising body heat—filled the small space. It was a clear, confident challenge: I know what you want, and I can give it to you whenever I choose.

I moved my hands to her back, then traced them down to her waist, the fabric of the dress rough under my palms.

​"Go on," she encouraged, her voice a low murmur, her hips still pressing that irresistible rhythm against my front. "You said you wanted to touch my ass."

​I slid my hands down her waist, gripping the generous, firm curve of her hips, then spreading my fingers to cup the solid, round mass of her buttocks. The flesh was shockingly firm and warm beneath the thin, stretched red fabric.

I squeezed and kneaded the full, powerful muscle, verifying its natural density and perfect shape. Her hips responded instantly, tilting back and pressing harder against my groin, maximizing the intimate, clothes-on friction.

The scent of her perfume and the powerful heat of her body were intoxicating, completely dominating the small, dusty office.

​"Can I test if your ass is fuckable or not?" I asked, my voice strained, no longer able to contain the throbbing urgency of my desire.

​She giggled, a low, throaty sound of wicked amusement. "You are really taking advantage of me, aren't you, Mr. Hart?"

​"You already have the job," I insisted, my hips shifting against hers. "Now think of this as an advanced physical rehearsal for the crew. We need to verify stability."

​Then, I delivered a sharp, loud smack to the apex of her right cheek. It rang through the small room, the powerful flesh trembling under the impact, a wave of sensation that confirmed the density and resilience of her form. The sound of it shaking was intoxicating.

​"Okay, but be quick, Sir," she breathed, her voice suddenly submissive, acknowledging the shift in power. She moved away from me and immediately adopted a pose by the corner of the desk, bracing her hands on the wood.

​Her stance was practiced perfection: she lowered her torso until her spine was almost parallel to the floor, creating a deep, enticing arch in her lower back. Her wide hips were cocked high and perfectly presented. The tight red dress was pulled taut over her spectacular ass, hiking up enough to show the lace edge of her stockings just beneath. She held her head slightly down, allowing her long, dark hair to cascade over her shoulders, framing the picture of total submission. Her body was a perfectly framed invitation, waiting for my entrance.

​I didn't need any more encouragement. I quickly tore down my zipper and adjusted my clothes, preparing to take her right there.

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