Tiffany's Timidities Ch. 02

Author's note: We are vacationing on the faintest fringes of plausibility here; in the land of the succulent nubile and her four horny bosses. If you haven't already, please read Ch.1 first (which I recently re-edited). Commenters have called it "campy," "fun," "sexy" and a "stroke-story extraordinaire." It also sets up the scenes and characters that continue below, without which you'll be lost. Click on my username (and then the stories tab) to find it.

Although this is in the Reluctance/Non-Consent category, it's at the mild, reluctant/gullible end of that spectrum with a dash of humor thrown in. Tiffany is twenty-two. This is an original work of fiction by me. Please don't steal it.

Enjoy!

*****

SCENE 6

It was nine sixteen in the morning. Tiffany pushed Doctor Adams away, breaking their minute-long kiss.

"Wait," she whispered. "I can't... do this."

The sandy-haired doctor hovered above her face, studying its post-orgasmic blush. With creamy smoothness he said: "Sure, you're prob'ly right."

He stepped back from the desk she was on and sat down.

Tiffany straightened up and wiped her wet mouth. Her mind swam. Everything had gone sideways in such a hurry. Her pale thong dangled from one sandal, her short dress was bunched around her waist and the wetness between her legs felt obscene.

The taste of her own sex had been on that kiss.

"I, I just..." she fumbled as she slid to her feet and stood in front of him, occupying the small space between the desk and his knees. She tried to cover-up, pulling the front of her dress back over her strapless bra in a motion that shuffled her breasts side-to-side. "I think I... I should go, sir. I'm sorry if I -"

"I'm not sorry at all," he drawled, scanning her up and down. "You looked so cute and... turned-on when I first saw you in Jacobsen's office. I couldn't resist. I had to taste you."

Her blue eyes widened. She tucked her chin and peeked furtively at him through displaced forelocks while clinging to her dress as if it were a security blanket. Her derrière still stung from the spanking Doctor Jacobsen had administered earlier.

Adams stood from his swivel chair, becoming so close to her that she could smell his shirt's starch and his suntanned, manly scent beneath.

Tendons in her neck tightened, deepening the hollow at the base of her throat. His desk was against her legs, preventing any retreat. She felt his breath casting warmth upon her forehead. He was millimeters away, back-lit by the lamp and window-shades.

She kept her face down and chewed her lip while alternating her gaze between his hands. They hung at his sides, loose and relaxed. Their careworn creases and half-curled bearing suggested skills and experiences of which she suddenly longed to be less ignorant.

Being held by him, she realized, was exactly what she wanted. A slug of air inflated her soft chest with hope. She looked up.

He stepped sideways, leaving her as abruptly as he had kissed her.

A crestfallen exhalation escaped her as he disappeared toward the door. She kept her back to him and re-wiped her smeared lips in an attempt to clear away this latest humiliation. Then she bent and fished her underwear around her sandals' thin heels and up to her waist.

Adams stopped with one hand on his office door, looking back. He enjoyed the sight of her young hips and ass being bisected by that slender garment.

When at last she turned to face him he shrugged, conceding: "I get it. It's your first day and you need to be able to work here without worrying about me trying to pressure you into anything that's not... you know, mutual."

She smoothed the fabric of her dress deliberately slowly to buy time. Her skin felt aglow; so blushed that her sparse freckles had disappeared. Inside her head nothing seemed to be working correctly. A jumble of un-asked-for sensations and instincts battled for control: desire, panic, embarrassment, anxiety, regret, lust... they were all in there flailing around like nunchuks. She couldn't pin down what she wanted to say, let alone do.

"No, I... um..." she began faintly, balancing on one petite sandal while nervously tilting the other inward. "It's not that—"

"Listen, Tiffany," he interrupted, "It's fine. We'll keep this little thing between us; like it never happened. Would that make you feel better?"

She nodded.

"Alright. No harm done then, see? Just a little fun."

She nodded again, more vigorously, feeling suddenly desperate to exit the room. She had to remind herself to breathe.

Doctor Adams remained in her way, holding the door shut for what seemed like an entire minute as he studied her discomfited posture. When she eventually gathered enough courage to hold his gaze he parted his mouth to speak.

But then he thought better of it.

During this silence Tiffany allowed herself to scan him lengthwise once, searching for any sign of his intentions. Amidst his athletic frame she perceived an incongruous bulge beneath his trousers. She immediately returned her scrutiny to his face, whereupon his good looks struck her all over again. In that moment he became incredibly handsome to her, especially because his kiss still buzzed on her lips. She had to force herself not to look down at his pants again. The warmth of her face made her worry that her thoughts were already too obvious.

He twisted the doorknob and pulled it aside.

She took a few steps forward and then wavered, inexplicably needing confirmation that he really wanted her to go. She was at sea, unsure whether her own feelings were real yet desperate to know if he might reciprocate them. When he gestured with an open hand toward the hallway she scurried by as quickly as her heels allowed.

His door shut behind her with a metallic snap.

"Shit," she whispered, clacking down the shiny linoleum hallway toward the clinic's lobby.

She would have made it all the way if the second-to-last door on the right had not been wide open.

"There you are!" Ian called out as she walked by. "What took you so long?"

She stopped mid-stride just beyond his office. A big part of her wanted to keep going; to run from the building, burst into tears and pedal her way back to Grandma's house. She knew the lurid sensations burning inside her were completely incompatible with work, but she did not want to quit. Not after that connection with Doctor Adams.

She teetered in the hallway, frozen with indecision.

"I still have to show you how to use the scheduling software and the phones!" Ian continued, emerging from his office energetically waving both hands. His face was alive with concern. "There's almost no time left before we open. Come on!"

Months and years later Tiffany would still reflect upon this moment in the hallway as a turning point. She could have continued her flight; run away and never seen the four doctors again. If she had her life might have returned to normal fairly quickly. No one would have blamed her, considering what she had just been through. Yet she didn't. No - instead she took a breath, straightened her posture and smiled at Doctor Mitchell as if nothing was wrong. In so doing she took a path less travelled and that, as they say, made all the difference.

Within an hour the clinic's lobby was occupied by waiting patients and she was perched atop her receptionist's stool in the middle of the room behind a transparent touchscreen podium full of appointments to manage. She wore a wireless headset over one ear and a fresh coat of lipstick. All four doctors were seeing patients that morning, which Doctor Mitchell said was unusual. It was her job to greet each visitor as they arrived, sign them in, offer them refreshments and then, in the most efficient sequence possible, escort them to the appropriate examination rooms.

Veteran patients reacted with mild wonder upon seeing the redecorated lobby. The re-painted walls and white, central reception dais were shockingly modern in contrast to Marge's old wooden desk. When their eyes alighted on young Tiffany perched on display behind the clear Plexiglas podium in her short sundress and push-up bra, they universally caught their breath with delight.

She could only smile back and attempt to greet them professionally.

Doctor Mitchell's strap-hiding modifications meant her boobs were always on the verge of spilling out, and the tall stool meant that no matter how tightly she crossed her legs she was constantly at risk of flashing the room. Nonetheless she became so occupied by the pace and novelty of her work that her brain soon suppressed these indignities.

Doctor Mitchell's tutorial on how to use the computer software had been effective despite its hurried brevity and as the morning wore-on she began to feel almost competent in her new role. A steady stream of people came and went without too many gaffes.

Perhaps because of her prior restaurant jobs she remained reflexively cheerful and upbeat in her interactions with the clinic's patients. They were mostly elderly and uniformly polite. The old women took particular interest in her as their town's newest arrival. They all wanted to hear the details of her move from Boston and asked neighborly questions about her grandmother's health.

The male patients were fewer in number and far less talkative (no surprise there), but Tiffany did catch a few of them eavesdropping and staring as she moved about the room. The way her dress and bra collaborated to showcase her athletic legs and medium-sized breasts seemed to keep the men in high spirits despite occasional delays caused by her novice scheduling mistakes. In any case their ogling remained subtle enough as to seem almost quaint compared to her bosses' earlier molestations and Tiffany found herself mildly flattered by it.

The only moments that truly abused her modesty were when she dismounted the stool. Its fabric cushion was so grippy that it pulled the rear of her dress well clear each time she slid to her feet. No matter how quickly she smoothed it down she felt sure the patients, if they looked at just the right moment, were catching glimpses of uppermost thighs and bare flanks.

The male visitors' enjoyment of this show inflated steadily throughout the morning. They began smirking at one another across the room and colluding to have her dismount the stool as often as possible. They also noticed how the low mini-fridge under the credenza forced her to bend far over, so they all started asking for ice in their refills and fresh milk for their coffee. Each time she reached inside the little refrigerator a veritable mile of youthful leg revealed itself to the room. The geriatric men coughed into their fists and the middle-aged ones had to adjust their pants.

Notwithstanding these antics, Tiffany could not escape the overriding notion that her sexualized interactions with Doctors Mitchell, Jacobsen and Adams had been a dangerous beginning to her first day on the job. She decided she needed to talk to someone about all that, to get an outside perspective and hopefully some sort of advice. She glanced at the wall-clock whenever she could, counting down the hours remaining until her lunch-break at one o'clock.

During these hours the four doctors behaved vastly more professionally. Doctor Jacobsen lived up to his self-avowed coffee addiction, needing three more mugs delivered to his office. Each time she knocked on his door her stomach tickled with anxiety and her gluteal muscles tightened with the recollection of his spanking. But he never once alluded to anything out of the ordinary and Doctors Mitchell, Adams and Grisholm likewise remained well-behaved. For the balance of the morning they all appeared genuinely focused on their patients.

At one o'clock, after the morning's last patient departed, Ian locked the front door.

"You did alright for your first shift," he said with a pleasant smile. "Feel free to ride into town or whatever... just please be back before two. We have fewer appointments this afternoon, so it should be easier. And if it gets too quiet I have a little project you can work on at your podium between patients, okay?"

"Okay," Tiffany replied as calmly as she could. "Thanks Doctor Mitchell."

She was desperate to escape and call Anabelle, her best friend back home in Boston whom she trusted more than anyone else. She slid down off her stool and headed outside into the bright sunlight, pulling her little purse over her shoulder as the glass front door squeaked shut behind her.

When she reached the tree in the middle of the parking lot where her grandmother's bike was locked, she heard the clinic door squeak once more. She glanced back and saw Doctor Adams climbing into the cab of an early Toyota Land Cruiser that appeared to have been recently restored. Once the engine started, he drove from the lot without looking at her.

Her brows furrowed with an instinctive suspicion that he had avoided her intentionally. But she forced herself to push that idea away, wholly unprepared for what it might reveal about her own feelings.

Instead she stooped to unlock her bike.

Unbeknownst to her, the remaining three doctors stood just inside the door, watching as she bent over. They chatted conspiratorially.

Tiffany stepped over the bike's low-slung middle bar after placing the cable lock into its plastic flower basket that hung from the handlebars. She then untucked and re-tied her halter top, backing her butt onto the nose of the seat to keep the bike upright as she did so. Immediately the sun-scalded vinyl warmed her crotch through the thin dress. Hurrying, she finished a bow behind her neck, grabbed the handlebars and shoved off, keeping her sandals on in deference to Doctor Jacobsen's predilection for clean feet and standing on the pedals to keep her privates from being singed.

Memories of the morning's events had her shaking her head in disbelief as she pedaled to the end of the block. From there, she coasted down the long gentle hill that led toward the old part of town.

Gliding along on tiptoe, speed fluttered her short hair and dress, intermittently flashing her thong-bisected rump.

She grew more and more abashed as her recollections congealed around a single, unifying theme.

"Bunch of perverts," she whispered. "And the worst part is they made me enjoy it!"

Eventually she slowed the bike to a halt outside a country market several blocks beyond the bottom of the hill. Faux Old-West stenciling on the store windows advertised: 'Deli, ice cream, coffee, groceries, ATM.' Outside were two wooden picnic tables. A trio of school-age boys in baseball uniforms sat at one of them, eating candy and jostling over a handheld video game.

Tiffany leaned her bike against the side of the store and went in. A few minutes later she was back out carrying a bottle of water and a chicken-salad sandwich on a paper plate. The three boys were gone, so she lowered her bottom gingerly onto the splintery bench at the shaded end of one table and got out her phone.

The air held a lingering haze of diesel soot from a coal-rolling pickup that had just departed.

Anabelle answered on the second ring with an excited: "Hi! Aren't you supposed to be at your new job?"

"Hey," Tiffany said. "Yeah, I'm just on my lunch break. How're you?"

"Meh... SO bored. Everyone misses you and it's disgustingly humid. I can barely BREATHE."

"Huh."

"Anyway, tell me: What's it like? Is it cool?"

"Um... well... no, actually. Not really."

"Uh-oh. What's up?"

"Nothing, it's just... "

"I can hear it in your voice. Are you okay?"

"Well, I need your advice, okay? But you have to promise not to tell anyone."

Through a giggle, Anabelle asked: "N'kay, what'd you do?"

"Come on, I'm being serious!"

"Sure, I won't tell. Now dish."

"No I mean it. I just need you to be real for a sec, okay? Please."

"Alright, alright. I promise."

"Okay, so..." Tiffany began, swiveling her head in a precautionary scan for eavesdroppers. "You remember how I told you there are four docs at this place, right?"

"Uh-huh."

"Well... I think - no, it turns out at least three of them are total pervs."

"Seriously? What, like, d'they hit on you or something?"

"Yeah. Majorly."

"Oh my God, I love it. Tell me everything! What did they do?"

"It's not funny."

"Okay, okay. Sorry. Are you alright?"

"Yeah."

"Well? What happened?"

"So, um... it's way too weird to even explain but... there was definitely some... some like, major touching."

"Ew! Gross. Are you gonna report it?"

"That's why I'm calling. I mean, what should I do?"

"Well, Jesus. So... obviously you should quit. What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing, but there're no other jobs here. None. And as you know I'm broke."

"Okay, um... what about the fourth guy? Didn't you say it was only three of them?"

"Yeah. The other guy didn't do anything weird yet but I only met him for like, two seconds. I think they're all classmates from medical school or something. I doubt he'll listen to me over his buddies."

"God! That sucks. I'm sorry Tiff'!"

"Yeah. Thanks."

"Do you need me to call the cops or something?"

"No."

"Or your parents? Ooh, do you think they'd let you come home?!"

"Hell no. I don't wanna talk to them anyway. Especially about this."

"Okay so... um. Well, I mean... what are you gonna do? You hafta quit, right?"

"Yeah, maybe. The thing is..." Tiffany paused to take a sip of water, unsure if she wanted to continue.

"What?"

"Well... one of them is... kinda cute."

"Oh, get out! You can't be serious right now."

"I know, I know."

"Please! You are NOT that desperate. They must all be like, what? Over forty or something?"

"Yeah but I'm telling you, he's hot."

"No way. You cannot go there. And don't you EVEN tell me he's married."

"He's not... No, look... it's not like that."

"Then what? Details."

Tiffany twisted around, scanning her surroundings. She shielded her eyes in a mannerism any poker player would recognize as a 'tell' that she was about to lie.

"It's just... um, like... it was more than friends but not, you know, not totally awful."

"Not awful? Are you high?! Oh wait - holy shit. You kissed him didn't you?"

"No! It's... ugh. Okay... maybe, but I was totally just a passenger!"

"Oh-em-gee, and you enjoyed it!"

"I pushed him off me. I left the room!"

"It's your first day! You can't go around kissing your boss!"

"I didn't!"

"Yes you did. And now you like him, don't you?"

There was a long silence before Tiffany spoke again: "You know who he looks like? Robert Redford. Remember that movie... um, God, now I can't remember the title. Anyway, like in the eighties. He looks like that."

"Way too old for you. So, SO old! You know that stupid skeleton from Tales of the Crypt? He's younger!"

"Shut... up!" she laughed. "Nothing's gonna happen anyway. I just need to know whether I can keep working there or not. I mean, if they're already being all sketchy with me... it's only going to get worse, right?"

"For sure."

"So I should quit."

"Totally."

Another segment of silence ensued. Tiffany took a bite of her sandwich.

In a suburban bedroom Northwest of Boston, Anabelle lay stomach-down across her duvet, propped on her elbows and staring at her laptop. Her bare feet sliced the air above her butt. To combat the heat, loose cotton short-shorts and a sporty athletic bra were the entirety of her outfit. Her long ponytail was clipped to the top of her head in a wobbly loop. She accidently moused-over a pop-up ad and sighed.

Tiffany finished chewing, swallowed and said: "What if I stay one more day?"

"Why?"

"I dunno. Just in case it gets better? I could really use the money 'Bella, and this morning after the patients starting arriving everyone was really nice. It was only like, earlier, before the place opened that they were so crazy with me."