Tiffany's Timidities Ch. 01

The guest bathroom had a walk-in shower with one of those removable showerheads on a hose. Once she had rinsed all the sunscreen off and conditioned her hair, she grabbed her pink razor and shaved her legs from ankle to hip. Then she turned her back to the spray and lathered her entire crotch with fresh shaving cream. Carefully she began whisking away the edges of her curly brown bush. After an initial pass, she grabbed the showerhead and aimed it directly at her vulva to rinse away the foam and loose hair.

'Wow,' she thought as the hot water blasted her crotch. 'That's nice!'

Upon closer inspection she realized she did not like the shape of her remaining pubes, so she again lathered herself with shaving cream. This time she was more deliberate, scraping the razor in precise strokes until her outer labia and the soft folds around her clitoris were completely bald. Then she carefully trimmed the remaining hair into a narrow vertical smudge well above her clit.

When she set the razor down and ran her fingertips over the slimy denuded folds of her sex she realized she was seriously aroused. She loved the smooth feel of freshly shaved skin. It was not quite as good as when she got a wax, but since she did not know where to get such a treatment here in town yet shaving would have to suffice.

Tiffany leaned one shoulder against the tile wall and manipulated the big showerhead until hot water was blasting her clit. She held the folds of her outer labia apart with two fingers and closed her eyes as the pleasure hit her.

"Hmm... God that's nice!" she whispered.

Her body had become hypersensitive during the months since she had last had sex, and lately its hunger for release had been startling.

Three months ago all hell had broken loose back home because her parents found out she had used the last of the money in her college loan account as a deposit on a boob job. Her boyfriend, of course, had been the one who convinced her to make that poor decision, but, as her parents had reminded her a million times since then, she was ultimately responsible.

They forbade her to have the procedure, which would have cost thousands more, and the plastic surgeon's office said the deposit was non-refundable. It was a total waste. She would still have to pay back the entire loan on top of all the other debts she had accrued during four years of college.

Her parents were apoplectic, citing not only the deposit but also her choice of boyfriend and, in fact, all her recent friends, as evidence that she lacked judgment and had not learned anything during her four expensive years away at college.

To say the least, it had been a demoralizing few months since then.

Her grandmother's offer to take her in had seemed like a good idea to everyone. Tiffany wanted some time away from her parents, to get her head back on straight and rebuild her self-esteem. Her parents wanted her away from her friends and "that damn lecherous creep" (as they called her ex-boyfriend).

The showerhead peppered her entire vulva with hot water. Tiffany circled her clit with two fingers and reflected that she did not, in fact, miss her ex-boyfriend at all. Her parents were right: he was a creep. He had treated her like a piece of property and the sex had been mediocre at best. He never lasted more than a minute and rarely went down on her. The things she had found attractive about him when they first began dating; his Goth lifestyle and serious tattoos, had worn thin quickly. And his persistent critiques of her body had gotten old. Secretly she still wished her boobs were bigger, but she felt pretty confident about the rest of her figure.

"Hmm! Yesss..." she hissed as her thoughts returned once more to the pleasure emanating from her clit. She was swirling her fingers around and around at exactly the tempo she knew would bring her to orgasm quickly.

Steadily her voice crept above a whisper as her climax became inevitable: "Hoo, ooh, OH, Uh-HUH!"

Her vaginal muscles clenched around nothing. The pink bud of her clit throbbed as she blurred it with her fingers. Steaming water blasted the puffy folds of her vulva, encouraging them to swell with even more bloodflow than normal.

She rode this wave of familiar saccharin pleasure, savoring its sharp concentration around her clit, but she knew it would be over quickly. She kept the showerhead and her fingers working in unison to forestall its fade as long as possible.

But this time was different. "Oh my God!" she whined in surprise as a second orgasm compounded her first almost immediately. Her knees caved and she slid down the slick tile wall, still holding the showerhead to her crotch. Her brow furrowed and her mouth held itself agape in a round "O" of pleasure. She shoved two fingers into her vagina and pumped, slapping her palm wildly against her clit. Her mind went blank with pleasure, like a white-out in a snowstorm. She collapsed backward, thrusting her pelvis involuntarily toward her hand again and again.

An extended, pleadingly high-pitched "Fuuuuuuuck!" escaped her throat.

The second orgasm was a long one, and twice as intense as the first. Halfway through she dropped the showerhead and instinctively pinched her breasts and nipples. Her right hand continued slapping her crotch, hooking its fingers deep inside. A string of raspy squeals panted from her mouth.

When the pleasure finally receded and she opened her eyes, she found herself in a fetal ball in the corner of the shower. She was trembling with endorphins.

"Holy cow," she muttered as she slowly climbed to her feet. "Where did THAT come from?"

She shut off the gushing water and held onto the fixtures for balance. Every inch of her skin was dripping.

Amid the new silence she heard her grandmother's voice calling from outside the bathroom door: "Are you okay in there Tiff? I thought I heard you fall!"

She instantly covered her mouth with embarrassment. Her eyes went wide.

"I'm... I'm okay Grandma," she stuttered. "Sorry!"

"Well, it's dinnertime sweetie. Come on out and get dressed!"

"Okay. Thank you! I'll be out in a sec."

SCENE 3

When Tiffany threw one leg over the seat of her grandmother's old bicycle at 7:00AM on Monday morning, she realized her high heels were not going to be a good match for the pedals.

Despite the dry air and burgeoning sunshine, she also felt chilly in her sundress.

She had tried on several outfits the night before in the privacy of her small guest bedroom, and had chosen this dress because she thought it best matched Doctor Mitchell's instructions. It was summer-y and flirtatious, with a halter-top tied off behind her neck and a short length that exposed her legs to mid-thigh. Its lightweight fabric was un-lined and patterned in blue and white which coordinated well with her eyes. The upper half of the dress was snug enough to flatter her petite curves, while the back flaunted her bare shoulders. Below her hips the dress flared out in a breezy way that swayed as she moved.

She had selected a tan pair of strappy sandals to go with it. They had narrow, three-inch heels that were flattering without being too uncomfortable. Beneath her dress she wore her favorite strapless push-up bra. It was cream-colored, so it didn't show through the thin dress too badly, and she liked the way it added a whole cup-size to her boobs. Particularly in this dress, that made her look quite busty. When she had leaned forward in front of the mirror to do her makeup earlier she had been amused to see a crease of cleavage bulging from the dress' V-shaped neckline.

A pair of silver hoop earnings, two inches in diameter, swung between her jawline and bobbed hairstyle. She had painted all twenty nails a soft shade of pink and applied lipstick that matched.

Her only other garment was an off-white thong that matched the bra. It was high-cut on the sides and had cute embroidery accents around the waistband, but in front it dipped so low that it barely covered her remaining pubic hair. Aside from the embroidery, the thong was smooth and sheer. She could barely feel it on.

Still straddling the bicycle seat, she bent double to remove her sandals. It was only a fifteen minute ride to Doctor Mitchell's clinic, so she figured she could make it barefoot. She tossed her shoes one at a time into the plastic flower basket attached to the bike's handlebars, along with her small purse.

The vinyl seat of the bike was wide and well-sprung but still felt risqué against her essentially bare bottom as she pedaled through her grandmother's semi-rural neighborhood. She had to steer the bike with just one hand because she needed the other in her lap to prevent the front of her dress from flying up. What she failed to realize was that the rear of her dress was fluttering in the breeze behind her, occasionally blowing high enough to give the birds and squirrels a glimpse of her ass.

Luckily at that hour the town's human residents rarely travelled the road Tiffany was using, so no traffic accidents were caused by this display.

She trundled her way to work in this fashion, her narrow feet steadily pushing the bike's pedals through their orbits. The last mile was slightly uphill though, and she found herself needing to stand up and apply all 110 pounds of her weight to each stroke in order to maintain momentum. By the time she approached the last intersection she was bent forward over the handlebars, breathing hard and on the verge of perspiring. She put a foot down at the stop sign to catch her breath.

A shiny sedan arrived just after her. She glanced sideways at it, realizing that the driver had probably had a salacious view coming up the hill behind her. She saw a middle-aged man inside. He was smiling.

Just as she was about to push off again, the car's passenger window motored down and the driver called out: "Excuse me, are you Tiffany?"

She pinched the bike's brakes and put her foot back down. Then she ducked her head to see inside the car.

"Um, yeah?" she answered cautiously.

"Well, hi! I'm Doctor Jacobsen. I work at the clinic with Ian -- I mean Doctor Mitchell."

"Oh, okay. Hi!"

"He's been talking about you non-stop since last week, so when I saw the bike I just guessed it was you."

"Oh."

"You're getting a nice little workout!"

"Yeah. A little bit. Thanks."

"Well, you've only got half a block to go. I'll see you in the parking lot!"

"Okay. Nice to meet you."

The car smoothly whisked away from the stop sign. A hundred yards later it pulled into the clinic's lot. Tiffany re-mounted the pedals and pumped her way along the same route. When she wheeled into the lot, Doctor Jacobsen was standing outside the front door.

She carefully steered around the concrete parking curbs until she reached a small circular island in the middle of the lot where a pine tree had been planted that was narrow enough to lock the bike to. She dismounted and propped the frame against the slender trunk, then collected the chain from the basket. After locking the bike, she stepped into her sandals and bent over to attach their delicate buckles. When she straightened up she fetched her purse and then spun around.

Doctor Jacobsen was smiling, having clearly enjoyed his view.

"Gosh, I'm sorry! You didn't have to wait for me," she stammered while hurrying toward him, her skinny heels clacking under her.

"Welcome to Colorado!" he said.

He was tall and serious looking, Tiffany appreciated as she covered the distance between them. He looked to be in his late forties. His hand felt strong and dry as it swallowed hers in a lingering handshake. He held her gaze, then pulled the glass entrance of the clinic wide open and gestured for her to precede him.

"Thank you!" she said brightly.

Once they were inside, she felt a tap on her shoulder.

"I believe you meant: 'Thank you, sir' or 'Thank you Doctor Jacobsen.' It's important that we maintain a degree of formality in our respective roles here, Tiffany."

"Oh! Yes. Of course Doctor Jacobsen," she said apologetically. "I totally understand... sir."

"Good. Now, take a look around. You'll see we've already started making some changes here in the lobby for you."

"Yes sir," she said as her eyes scanned the waiting room. "It does look different. Much more modern and um... bright."

"Indeed. We all pitched-in over the weekend. I think it's a big improvement but I'll let Doctor Mitchell explain all that. Now, why don't you skitter along to his office to let him know you made it on time?"

"Okay. Thanks sir."

"After you two have said hello I'd like to have a cup of coffee in my office. Say, about 10 minutes from now?"

"Um... alright."

He raised his eyebrows expectantly and waited.

"I mean, alright sir... or Doctor Jacobsen. Gosh, I'm sorry. I guess I'm not used to that yet. Which do you prefer?"

"All in good time, Tiffany. All in good time. By the way, the coffee machine is behind your new desk there... I take mine with milk but no sugar."

"Right, sir. Milk and no sugar. I'll be there in 10 minutes."

"Good. And um... one more thing:"

"Yes sir?"

"I noticed you were barefoot on your bike. The pedals will have made your feet dirty. Please wash them before you come to my office."

Tiffany glanced down at her feet and then back up at Doctor Jacobsen. "Um... okay. I'll do that sir."

"You must keep yourself very, very clean at all times. Is that clear?"

"Yes, of course... Doctor Jacobsen."

With that he shooed her toward the office hallway and, as she turned away, gave her butt an open-handed swat.

Tiffany jumped and let out a startled yip, but when she glanced back he was already on his way to the mail drop to retrieve his morning newspaper.

She was surprised by his crisp formality and weird insistence about washing her feet, but downright shocked by the blatant way he had just swatted her bottom. Did he not realize, she wondered while walking down the hallway toward the private offices, how old-fashioned that was?

"Tiffany! There you are!" Ian greeted her as soon as she entered his office. He put down his paperwork and approached her warmly, arms outstretched in request of a hug.

"Hi Doctor Mitchell," Tiffany smiled. She had only a moment to prepare before being embraced in a bear hug so tight that it lifted her feet off the floor. "Eeehk," she wheezed as the air was forced from her lungs.

"You just made it," he continued, still holding her aloft. "I was worried you might be late on your first day."

"No... no, sir," she squeaked, "I wouldn't want to do that."

"Of course not" he said, setting her down on her narrow sandals. "Girls who are late get spanked."

Tiffany grinned broadly and shook her head, assuming this was another of his little icebreaker jokes.

"One spank for every minute... that's the rule!" he continued, moving past her and casually shutting the office door.

Her grin faded. Then her face slackened in disbelief.

"Oh."

"I assume you noticed the redecorating on your way in?"

"Yes sir, um... it looks nice," she managed to respond. Her brain was still recoiling from the idea that her new boss expected to spank her if she were ever late to work. It seemed positively medieval.

"I'll take you out there in just a minute to show you how everything works, but first let's have a look at your outfit. Can you do a little turn for me?"

Tiffany snapped out of her reverie in time to realize she was obediently twirling for him, stutter-stepping her heels in a tight circle. The lower hem of her dress whirled outward, revealing far more thigh than she had ever intended to show at work.

Ian harrumphed quietly and then caught her wrist to stop her.

"Okay, that's enough," he said. "Is this really one of your best outfits? I was hoping you'd try to shine on your first day."

"You... you don't like it?" she asked in a defeated voice, smoothing the thin blue and white fabric down across her hips. She sucked in her already-flat stomach in deference to his gaze. "I was hoping this would be good."

"Well, it's not bad; just not as playful as I was hoping. It would be better if it was shorter and didn't have those straps. Can't you tuck those in or something?"

"What, you mean these?" she asked, running her hands down the front of the halter-top to her boobs.

"Yes, why don't you untie those and tuck them in?"

"Oh, no sir, I think it would just fall off me."

"Nonsense, Tiffany. The dress will stay up on its own. Besides, you're wearing a bra. It's not like you'd be showing anything."

"Sir, I don't --"

"Here, let me help you," he said, abruptly closing the distance between them and reaching for the little bow behind her neck.

Before Tiffany could think of anything to say, her halter top was unfastened and Doctor Mitchell's big hands were stuffing the loose ends of it down her front. He held her dress away from her bra used his other hand to shove the straps in between.

"Wait, wait!" she squawked, hyperaware that her boss' hands were going where they shouldn't. "Lemme do it."

"Okay," he said in a relaxed tone. "Be my guest."

Tiffany spun away from him, trying to preserve some semblance of dignity, but he came up close behind her and peered over her shoulder to watch the show she was putting on. His hands surrounded her waist at its narrowest point and she felt his warmth against her backside.

"Hang on, sir," she said quietly while stuffing the long straps down the front of her dress. "I don't think this is going to stay up on me this way."

"Oh, I think it will. It looks better already."

Tiffany could feel his breath on her bare shoulder. She knew he was looking straight down into her cleavage and she cursed herself for wearing such an aggressively-padded bra. It made her boobs look positively slutty from this angle.

Once she got the last bit of strap material hidden, Doctor Mitchell turned her around and made a show of checking to see if the dress would stay up. He tugged and pulled on the thin fabric, in the process running his hands all over her boobs.

Tiffany twisted and squirmed, trying her best to keep the dress on while indignation turned her face pink.

"That's much better I think," he said before spinning her around to face away from him again. He held her close from behind once more, this time deliberately cupping his hands under her breasts and squeezing them tightly together.

This forced her boobs into such an aggressive display of cleavage that they nearly burst from her bra.

"Ow!" she squealed.

"Yes, that really is better; much more flirtatious."

"Sir, you're hurting me."

"Oh, nonsense," he demurred, releasing her suddenly. "A little squeeze never hurt anyone."

Tiffany staggered away. Her boobs were exposed almost all way down to the nipple. They bulged out over the top of her dress like twin flesh-domes, each displaying a narrow vertical tan line.

"Oh sir, look at me! I can't wear it like this!"

"I insist. It's all part of the strategic plan. And I want you to try a little harder tomorrow so we don't have to make all these adjustments, okay?"

Tiffany stomped her feet in protest and tried unsuccessfully to pull her dress higher. These efforts merely served to bounce her half-exposed breasts up and down.

"But I'm falling out, sir. My... my—"

"That's enough, please. You're fine. Now, let's head out to your new desk so I can get you oriented."

Tiffany maintained a sulky pout as Doctor Mitchell led her by the hand down the hallway back to the lobby. He took long strides, pulling her along behind him at a pace that set her boobs a-jiggle. They made it to the lobby without her dress falling down, but Tiffany realized maintaining any sort of decency was going to be an all-day struggle.

Marge's old wooden desk was gone. The two-dozen padded chairs that made up the waiting area had been rearranged around the perimeter, all facing inward. In the middle of the room a six-inch high dais had been built. It was painted white. Atop the dais stood a see-through Plexiglas podium with a touch-screen computer monitor set into its top surface along with a charging cradle for a wireless headset. Behind the podium was a tall stool with four chrome legs and a padded fabric seat.