Special Interviews With Flight Attendants

"I… I can't hold it. I need to use the bathroom."

The flight attendant in the interview slumps in her chair. Her face is twisted in pure agony.

I've secretly fitted the chair with a vibrator, so the moment I press the switch, it jerks and rattles unpredictably.

As I watch their faces turn red and their bodies tremble uncontrollably, a sense of supreme satisfaction washes over me.

To my astonishment, one of the flight attendants hitches up her uniform skirt and insists I attend to her needs on the spot.

…

My name was Gerald Clinton, and I was an executive at a private airline.

Our airline was unusual. We catered exclusively to the ultra-wealthy, and these clients were notoriously difficult to please. Comfort was only the baseline. They expected special services and attention beyond what most people could imagine.

For this reason, I recruited some young and beautiful flight attendants.

Appearances mattered, but above all, they needed to captivate and impress.

For optimized candidate selection, I discreetly fitted the interview chair with a concealed vibrator.

Although identical in appearance to a standard seat, it produced precise, rhythmic motions when the switch was activated.

This was designed to function as a stress tolerance test. Only candidates who withstood the experience would proceed in the selection process.

The interviews began. After several grueling rounds, only three candidates remained. All of them were stunning, and each had the kind of presence that turned heads the moment they walked in.

However, success was ultimately contingent upon one's ability to withstand the vibrator's relentless motion.

The first candidate walked in. She was a young woman with a tidy bun. She was wearing the standard uniform. Her skirt was neatly pressed, and her legs were clad in sheer hosiery.

She walked up to me respectfully and gave a slight bow.

"Hello, I'm Ivy Winsor. I'm 21 and a top graduate. Here is my resume," she said, handing it over politely.

I glanced at it briefly before setting it aside.

After all, several rigorous rounds of screening had already taken place before I saw her, so there was no doubt her resume was solid.

I coughed lightly and gestured toward the chair. "Please take a seat. Let's begin."

After she took her seat in the chair, she positioned her legs demurely to the side, rested her hands lightly on her knees, and leveled her gaze at me.

She carried herself with elegance and grace, looking every bit like a television host.

"Now, please tell me what you think of our airline and what your plans would be if you joined our team," I said.

She paused only a moment before replying, "I have a very positive view of your airline. It specializes in serving high-end clients, and I hope to contribute by providing exceptional care and professional service."

…

She responded with complete professionalism, but I was curious to see how long she could keep it together. I activated the vibrator under the chair.

The vibrator suddenly jolted violently. Ivy felt the unexpected movement immediately. She hesitated for a moment, and her face flushed bright red.

This interview was crucial, and she refused to give in. She gritted her teeth and fought to stay steady. She continued speaking. "The company's plans…"

Her face flushed crimson, and her body trembled slightly as she sat with her legs tightly crossed.

Her hands were clenched nervously in her lap. She let out a soft moan as she forced out, "I will…"

Her body trembled slightly, and it was striking how different she looked from the calm, poised figure she had been just moments ago.

A dark satisfaction stirred within me, and I found myself curious to see her completely unrestrained.

I sped up the vibrator slightly, silently wondering how much longer she could endure.

The vibrator shuddered uncontrollably, and Ivy could barely keep herself upright.

Her entire body trembled violently, her chest rising and falling with the vibrator's jolts, and her clothes began to shift out of place.

Even her voice trembled, revealing the strain of trying to speak.

Having reached her breaking point, Ivy sprang to her feet with her legs pressed tightly together.

"Mr. Clinton, I can't do this. I need to go to the bathroom," she said through sobs.

I shook my head in disappointment as I looked at her.

"Of course. Take a short break, and remember to call the next candidate," I said.