receptionist wanted

[patrick1]

(for me and TearsAtBedtime)

You'd think it would be easy. In his line of work.

Nip and tuck. Bigger breasts, smaller breasts, less fat, take away the lines on my face....

Of course, there was the professional risk. What if he propositioned one, just one patient – and she reported him? His whole livelihood, his reputation, everything he'd worked for would be....

All he'd have to say would be 'I'm looking for a...'

And everything would be lost.

He stroked the muzzle of his Labrador bitch.

I'm looking for a...

Human bitch.

But then he made the breakthrough. Just because of his line of work, he was looking in the wrong place. The women who came through his door for plastic surgery – they knew what they wanted.

That was the problem.

He wanted a woman who didn't know what she wanted.

Who was ready to be -

Moulded. Transformed.

He went into work on Monday, and sacked the hatchet-faced receptionist, and placed an advertisement in the local newspaper. RECEPTIONIST WANTED. MIGHT SUIT GRAD STUDENT DECIDING WHAT SHE WANTS TO DO WITH HER LIFE.

 

[TearsAtBedtime]

Education was expensive but you're always told at the end of it that opportunities will open up and you'll make it all back in no time. Jess was learning that this wasn't the case.

6 months after graduating from college with a degree in English Literature and no one was hiring. Her boyfriend of 2 years had just moved out as well, leaving her with rent to pay and a distrust of immature men.

She idly circled a few jobs ads in the paper to chase up later, flipping the page she saw an eye catching ad. Receptionist for a cosmetic surgeon, the ad could have been written just for her. She grabbed the phone to call right away.

In her mind she began putting together an interview outfit, something sexy but not slutty. Somewhere like this would be all about appearances. She wondered if she'd have to take out her new tongue stud out. That would be a shame to let it heal up already.

 

[patrick1]

He set the interviews for 5, 5:30 and 6 pm.

5 pm didn't show.

5:30 was a fool who'd given him a fake picture and resume so she was dealt with in five minutes.

How had he even decided on these women?

Good looks, and being over-qualified, yet sounding like they didn't know what they were doing with their lives.

So he had no-one to blame but himself if they were poor prospects as receptionists.

So - he wrote up some notes on this afternoon's collagen cases and waited for 6 pm. What was her name again?

Jess. Nice face.

He could have fitted in a quick boob job in this time slot of course. But there would have a been a nurse to pay, a husband or significant other to mollify, all kinds of hassle...

God I hope I'm not getting jaded here.

Yes madam, you may have to return, over time collagen is completely degraded by the body's natural processes.

No madam, the product is not vegetarian (tricky question of the day) it is derived from...

Thank goodness there were pretty women like Jess to gaze at.

Or at least, their pictures. He hoped she would turn up, and really look like her photograph.

He ran through his new fake roleplay, not at all the proper one that 5:30 had never even got to.

This was a wild gamble, not what he'd been planning at all. But after 5:30 and a large Glendfiidich from the cupboard in the corner – he thought, what the heck. You want to work for Dr McAndrew, so tell me...

How though would she respond if he said the word slave?

Worth the risk man, worth the risk for the right woman.

He read it over. Trying to be charming and English and all that...

'I see that you're a literature graduate, so you probably think, like, that in this day and age the word slave is pretty much a metaphor, Being your slave what shall I do...is that Browning or Shakespeare?' Let her reply, don't correct her if she's wrong, then go on:

'Clearly, we would expect the word to be a metaphor, is what I mean. But here's a real question I was asked last week. Sir, this anxious-sounding woman said to me on the phone: sir, my master requires me to have my, my, my most intimate parts adapted,. Thats how she put it Jess: I daresay her so-called master used something a little franker. And when I demurred at seeing her that very hour she went on: No sir, he said I have to have this attended to today, and I'm his slave so I must obey. So, Jess, how would you deal with this?. Just as a for instance?
'
Ah: there was the buzzer. He would be able to try it out in person then...just as a for instance...

 

[TearsAtBedtime]

Jess stood nervously waiting for her interview, anxiously smoothing her hands over her hips and thighs, correcting imaginary creases in her knee length, black pencil skirt and white blouse. She'd left a few buttons open to show some cleavage and let her dark brown hair fall naturally in loose waves to the middles of her back.

She needed this job, needed the money and needed to be doing something with her time, a few hours a day where she was told what to do sounded like heaven after months with no direction.

Jess wondered if she looked attractive enough for a place like this. Would she need procedures to meet a standard? Would she mind if she did? At 21, she hardly needed wrinkle treatments but what about fuller lips, bigger boobs or a smaller nose? Jess was prettier than average but no supermodel. Her figure was slim yet curvy, a nice hourglass shape.

After an age the office door opened and she was ushered inside. She shook off her nerves and smiled warmly entering the room.

 

[patrick1]

Thank goodness.

Jess was just what he was looking for. They didn't have to speak for him to know.

He shook hands. He smiled. Spontanesouly, he invited her across to the comfortable leather chairs by the little low table. He wanted to take a closer look at her.

He imagined her naked, but...

But then, he often sat here in this office and imagined a woman naked. He had to see how the woman might look, beneath her clothing; and how she might be transformed.

Thank goodness, though, that in this case, he felt free to relax - and desire her.

And he desired her. 'Jess,' he said. Tell me a little about yourself.'

Pretty but not too perfect. Well turned out but not too fancy.

Thank goodness.

He tried to tune into her words even though they didn't matter. 'Mm,' he said. 'Mm.'

He had to stand up. Distract himself. He went to the cupboard, 'No no, go on, go on,' he said as she seemed to dry up, 'it's just that the sun is over the yardarm, as my dad used to say, so I thought we might have a drink.' He handed her the rather large glass of Glenfiddich. 'Careful if you haven't had malt before. It can hit you rather hard. But don't feel obliged. After a day of - procedures - its a pleasure I allow myself at this time. Now, there was some example of something I was going to ask you...'

He did this with clients too sometimes. Pretended to be confused when everything was prepared. He looked for his notes and drank a little.

'Extraordinary thing happened only this afternoon, thought I'd set it as a little test. I see that you're a literature graduate, so you probably think, well, that in this day and age the word slave is pretty much a metaphor, Being your slave what shall I do...is that Browning or Shakespeare?' He had been going to let her reply, but found himself babbling on:

'Clearly, we would expect the word to be a metaphor, is what I mean. But here's a real question I was asked this very afternoon. Sir, this anxious-sounding woman said to me on the phone: sir, my master requires me to have my, my, my most intimate parts adapted,. Thats how she put it Jess: I daresay her so-called master used something a little franker. And when I demurred at seeing her that very hour she went on: No sir, he said I have to have this attended to today, and I'm his slave so I must obey. So, Jess, how would you deal with this?. Just as a for instance?

Smile. Maintain eye-contact.

Wait.

 

[TearsAtBedtime]

Jess settled into the leather chair and started to talk about herself. Dr McAndrew inspired an openness in her and she spoke easily about her education and previous experience in part time roles. She worked hard to remain polite and friendly and to speak clearly without babbling. As he stood and walked over to a cupboard in his office, Jess faltered, feeling perhaps she was boring him and her voice trailed off whilst explaining about her volunteer work over the summer.

She relaxed as he poured them both a drink, even though it was far more than she'd normally drink she sipped at it politely and felt the drink warm her face and stomach almost immediately.

Jess listened to the scenario her prospective employer laid out and blushed as she realised what he was describing. She took a few moments to consider her response.

'Well, morally surely procedures shouldn't be carried out lightly or without a lot of thought and changing yourself because someone else tells you to might not be the right reason. However we don't know the relationship involved. If she has truly given herself as a slave then perhaps she feels that his decisions are effectively her decisions as she initially decided to give over her control.' Jess flushed at the thought of being so helpless and controlled by another person. This was not the sort of question she was expecting to answer but she could see this job could open up her horizons even more than she'd first expected.

She sipped her drink again and grew bolder.

'Can I ask what the outcome was? Will you see her and what did her master want done to her?'

 

[patrick1]

Sip more, sip more.

Do I mean her, or me?

'I am seeing her next week. Jess, one thing to be clear about: One reason we are a little overwhelmed is - I do agree to see anyone who calls. Absolutely anyone. The wildest drug addict to the the most annoying plutocrat. I believe in the policy of the open door.'

And?

And?

Sip more, sip more.

'What her so-called master wanted...as I understand it, without seeing her in person...he wanted to remedy something that alas cannot be remedied.'

The young woman wasn't blushing yet. So he battled on, leaning forward, reaching to touch her arm then holding back, speaking quietly:

'Her clitoris has it seems been damaged by a piercing. No-one should ever pierce the clitoris itself, the nerves are too delicate. But the hood: yes: I gather such a piercing provides intense day by day pleasure to the woman concerned.' Keep looking her in the eyes. 'I have met a client who told me so, in any event. But the clitoris itself – I fear I will not be able to do anything for her. '

Mad mad, don't say it don't say it – smile snile...

'Of course, working for me, a clitoral hood piercing is part of the employment package...!'

 

[TearsAtBedtime]

Jess started at the mention of a clitoral piercing. She'd expected gentle suggestions for procedures to make her more attractive to clients and showcase the skills of the surgeon but something so private, so personal startled her. She pressed her thighs together unconsciously as she asked.

'Is that compulsory?'

She loved her tongue piercing and had previously had her nipples pierced but had taken them out about a year ago. She sipped at the whiskey again, taking a larger mouthful than intended.

Was this something more than a job interview? How quickly had conversation turned from Shakespeare's sonnets to intimate piercings!

Although, said the whiskey softened part of her brain, it might be fun...

 

[patrick1]

'Compulsory? Not at all, Jess.'

Would you like me to compel you to do things? I have a feeling you would.

Don't say it aloud.

Have another sip.

'But when you're working for me - by the way, the job is yours if you want it - any such - procedures - come for free.'

And then quickly, before she could answer:

'Your tongue stud is interesting.' It gleamed in her mouth. It makes him want to kiss her, just to taste the sensation. 'Mind if I take a look?'

And as he asked the question he stood, looming over her, wanting to see how she would react.

 

[TearsAtBedtime]

She hoped that her sigh of relief hadn't been audible. The look in his eyes intrigued her though, was he having a joke at her expense? She could see his brain ticking away on levels he wasn't expressing. An excited shiver ran up her spine.

Jess barely had time to process that he was offering her the job before he was standing before her politely asking to see her tongue stud. Automatically she opened her mouth and presented her tongue to him. Not sticking it out obscenely, just letting the tip past her lips to give a better view of the shiny purple ball on her tongue.

Why did I do that? She thought. He asked and she reacted like it was a command, lifting her face to him as he towered over her.

She felt vaguely threatened. No, not threatened. Safe, but dominated. She blushed.

 

[patrick1]

'Good clean work. The tongue stud.'

He smiled.

He could have touched her but, very close and shadowing her, he didn't.

Strange how there are some moments when not to touch feels sexier than touching.

When he sat down again, there was something different about her posture, in her own seat, the way she angled herself towards him. Or was he imagining it?

He liked her blush. A man used to the ways of women's skin, he enjoyed how something like a blush betrayed her. The intermittent blotches at her throat.

'Well, I'm a liberal of a kind,' he said, opening a file on the little table between them, 'but here at work I have pretty strict rules for myself and others. They're all set out in a file you'll take home if you accept the job. It's not part of the official post, but if you'd like to drive me to and from work, it's a half hour commute I hate, and I could do paperwork – and you could have use of the car, which otherwise sits in my garage, the rest of your evenings and weekends. So – what do you say Jess? To that, and the job itself?'

He smiled.

He waited, and very resolutely didn't take another sip. These are my green eyes, said his look. I will always hold a steady look. You are pretty, and I could learn to believe in you.

 

[TearsAtBedtime]

There was a moment, just a moment, when Jess sat with her mouth open and Dr McAndrew stood over her, that she felt an intensely sexual spark. The air felt heavy and hot but it passed in an instant as the doctor sat back down.

She shook it off and focused on what he was saying.

'Yes, of course. I accept! Thank you very much. If it helps you out, I'm happy to drive you every day.' Jess answered enthusiastically, making a mental note to cancel her other interviews. She noticed his intense gaze and felt awkward returning it. She felt like she was challenging him and cast her dark brown eyes down to the ground.

She wondered what rules she would find in the file he mentioned. She was incredibly grateful for the job and more than a little intrigued by this man.

The image of him taking her over his desk jumped into her mind out of the blue. His presence and manner has aroused her sensual mind. She needed to make her excuses and leave before he noticed a change in her.

 

[patrick1]

'That's lovely.'

Smile.

'You're lovely. I'm sure you'll be a great addition to the team.'

Dangerous, to comment on her looks, but he'd made it this far. Now he decided on no more sipping: just one big gulp of the malt he had left in the glass. Heck: it hit him a little, just when he'd resolved to stand, end the interview, make sure he didn't say something he'd regret. Instead he stayed where he was:

'You'll meet some strange people, I have to tell you,' clearing his throat as the drink sank through, 'I mean I deal with many cancer patients and so forth, but some of the women I see – their main reason for surgery is that someone else dominant in their personal lives wants them to have the procedure. Perhaps you can empathise with that, indeed, I hope you won't think it any disparagement if I say – you'd like to accede to authority – while keeping your personal dignity – I mean, probably right now if I said, Jess, you would benefit from such and such a procedure – you'd be inclined to do it, right?'

Smile. Maybe it was time to loom over her again. No more words. Think about negotiating getting a cab home with the pretty thing. 'Would you?'

 

[TearsAtBedtime]

Jess swallowed hard. Would she submit to someone's suggestion unquestioningly?

'I'd be tempted, sure. Something temporary or reversible I'd almost certainly agree to. I like to think I'd try anything once. That's why I have my tongue pierced and why I used to have my nipples pierced.'

Her hand flew to her mouth as she realised what she'd said. Was it too much? This didn't feel like a job interview anymore but mentioning her breasts didn't seem appropriate.

The truth was she did like dominant men in her love life. She loved a man who could physically throw her around and forcefully take her but she never took it further than that and never let it spill into her professional life.

'Thank you very much for the opportunity, is there anything else I would need to know for the job?'

She tried to change the subject.

 

[patrick1]

'Hey, let's call it a day here. I'll email you tonight with anything else you need to know. For now, thanks a lot.'

This was the time to touch, just as a handshake.

There: he made sure she felt how firm his grip was.

'Just wait for me a moment. I'll come down with you.'

He went into his inner office, counted twenty seconds before reaching for his coat.

Yes, she had waited for him, As they went out, he made sure she felt him close, without touching, a shadow.

Nipples. She used to have her nipples pierced.

Don't think about it.

In the elevator – how small and compact it was, 6 persons max they said but it seemed confined with just two – he mentioned the taxi. 'I'm not going to drive after that drink, if you want to share a taxi on expenses you can find out where I live ready for Monday.'

They emerged at ground level Nipples were still on his mind. 'Up to you,' he said, seeming unconcerned, as they passed the security desk. 'Night Bill,' he said to the guard. 'What do you say Jess?' he said to her.

 

[TearsAtBedtime]

She smiled and stood as he closed the interview. His handshake was firm but not crushing. It was controlled and deliberate and Jess started to suspect that the occasional bluster and disorganisation was an act designed to put clients at ease.

It had worked on her.

He hadn't seemed to notice her mention of nipples and she realised that he probably saw too many on a daily basis for them to matter.

She waited for him and they walked to the elevator. It felt hot and close inside the metal box she tried not to stand too close but also not too distant.

'That sounds like a good idea. Then all I'll need to know is when to pick you up and where the car will be.' She answered wondering if it was a good idea to get into another small space with him so soon. Her body was too warm even in the slight chill of the evening and she found herself loosening her blouse by one more button.

 

[patrick1]

In the taxi he turned away from her at first. The undone button on her blouse was almost too much for him.

But to turn away from her was too much for him. She was a pretty, an attractive woman, and, and, and...

He could almost see her nipples now. It was she who'd drawn attention to them, wasn't it?

He lowered his voice so the driver wouldn't hear. 'Pardon my professional interest. Something went wrong with the,' even more quietly, 'nipple piercing did it? You can't be too careful with these things.' And suddenly more loudly, unnecessarily, to the driver, 'that's right driver, fork right just up ahead!'

 

[TearsAtBedtime]

Trying to keep an eye on the direction they were travelling so that she would remember the route on Monday, Jess barely noticed the question, let alone his furtive glances to her gaping neckline.

'Oh, yes I suppose. After about 6 months they became really uncomfortable and it felt like they were being pulled constantly so I took them out. I'm pretty sure they've healed up now.' She answered without considering the context but, really, he's a professional. She's just imagining the heat.

 

[patrick1]

'That's right. Here, driver. Then the young lady will be going to her home. I have an account with your company. Here.'

He passed his credit card forward and turned to Jess.

She was flushed. He wanted....

He couldn't put his finger quite on what he wanted. So he retreated to business:

'Be here 6:30 sharp on Monday. Use this cab service, have him wait while you ring my condo: 321. I'll settle up and explain about the car.' He looked up and out. Once he'd thought of this building, soaring into the sky, neatly managed and alarmed and everything, as a blesssed refuge. Now he saw it as something else: a place where the independent and divorced go, to be lonely.

'I'll email you in the meantime. Any questions, just let me know.'

Card retrieved, he was up and out. He wanted to say something else but it didn't seem possible. There would be time, now she was in his charge. As it were. So he just shut the door and sniled and walked away.

 

[TearsAtBedtime]

She smiled and lifted her hand in a half wave. As the car door closed Jess let out a deep breath. She couldn't shake the feeling that they were never more than one word or action away from becoming completely inappropriate and her state of mind wasn't helping.

She took a card from the driver and arranged a pick up for the Monday morning to get her to his building in plenty of time.

Once she was home Jess opened a bottle of wine to celebrate the job and smooth her worries about the unorthodox interview. She had a long bath and released her frustations during her soak.

By the time she was dried off and wrapped in her bathrobe she still didn't have the email from her new employer and started to wonder what sort of rules he could possibly wish to enforce.

 

[patrick1]

He left it for a day then, from his own email account, sent his cut-and-paste piece about the job: the description and everything

From an email address someone made up in the dark of the night, she received a different kind of email:

'Hey pretty cunt. Shake your nipples for me. Mmm.'

plasticsurgeon@plasticsurgeon.com

 

[TearsAtBedtime]

That night she dreamed of him, bent between her legs in a clinically white room. The dream unsettled her but was brief.

Jess had read the email detailing the job description, benefits and expectations. It was pretty standard fare and didn't worry her. The salary was enough to make ends meet, an average holiday allowance and warnings about lateness, sick days and inappropriate conduct. She was happy with all of that and went through her wardrobe to check she had enough clothes to last a working week.

The laptop beeped again with a new email.

'Hey pretty cunt. Shake your nipples for me. Mmm.'

What the hell was this? The email address couldn't be a coincidence. Maybe she hadn't imagined the atmosphere of the interview?

'How would you like me to do that for you?'

The instruction had been vague but she was more intrigued than offended and wanted to show that she was game.

 

[patrick1]

And then the package came, 10:32 am, UPS. She wasn't expecting anything.

It was nothing fancy inside the brown parcel.

Just a pair of grey steel handcuffs, open.

No keys.

A little card read: 'From the plastic surgeon. Call me if you have any trouble opening them'.

 

[TearsAtBedtime]

Now she knew there was no coincidence.

The handcuffs sat heavily in her lap as she considered her next move. Part of her wanted to follow any instruction she was given but the other part knew what a dangerous situation she could walk into.

She stripped into just her underwear and sent an email to the plastic surgeon.

'Oh dear, I appear to be stuck'

She fastened one cuff to her bed post and the other around her wrist, this one she did not close. Her door was on the latch and if she heard him enter then she would snap it closed, not before.

 

[patrick1]

Her phone is on speaker. How does he know how to make that happen remotely?

He does.

'There are some bad people I know.

I did one of them a big favour, way back when, in remedying something that had happened to the man's body. The legality of what we did together was, hey, questionable.

I could send that man round, with a few others, to begin with you.

Would you like that? Or would you like me to visit on my own?'