Tiffany's Timidities Ch. 02

With the shorts now off, she sat up and fixed her dress. Then she faced him with a desperate look.

"Really, sir: please don't make me wear those. I mean, you saw; don't they show, like, everything?! You really want me walking around the office like that?"

He smiled as he re-started the engine and drove back onto the road, ignoring her plea.

"Tell me how often you masturbate," he said.

She recoiled from this fresh shock. "What?"

"How often? I'm curious."

"I... um, I don't know."

"Sure you do, Tiff'. Come on. Every day? Twice a week? What?"

"Sir, I... after everything that's happened today I'd really rather not talk about it."

"Well, just remember to finish tonight, okay?"

She toyed with the choker around her neck, mortified to her core.

He glanced over as they crested a small rise and entered a residential neighborhood, continuing: "You know you're more sensitive on your right, don't you?"

Her head snapped toward him with a look of bewilderment.

"I could tell from your reactions just now. When I pushed your clitoris to the left, exposing its right side and rubbing in there... that's definitely your favorite."

Tiffany's face became so red she worried it might pop. Her eyes blinked and dilated. She hugged herself defensively.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of," he continued. "Most women are sided. It just means you have more nerve-endings there."

"I... I... don't—"

"You didn't know?"

She shut her mouth.

"Tiffany, you should be more mindful when you masturbate. Pay attention to what feels good. You will gain a better understanding of yourself and become a better lover at the same time."

She slouched deeper into her seat, covering the left side of her face with one hand. How, she wondered, could this man already know more about her clitoris than she did? It was horrible.

"Which of these is your grandmother's street again?" he segued nonchalantly.

She had to force herself to stop thinking about the sensations between her legs and instead look out the window to regain her bearings. She felt clammy and unable to breathe.

Ten seconds later she pointed: "That one."

"Alright. Well, say hi to her from all of us down at the clinic."

He pulled into the driveway and stopped his truck. Then he added: "I look forward to seeing you tomorrow."

She tucked her dress under her butt and climbed out of the cab carrying her new tank top and shorts in one hand. The choker was still around her neck. She shut the door without saying goodbye.

Doctor Grisholm smiled and waved, hoping her grandmother was watching from inside.

SCENE 9

"You're wearing a Cross!" her grandmother exclaimed as soon as she walked through the front door. "Oh, I just knew it was a good idea to have you to come stay with me."

Tiffany's startled smile belied her discomfort. She covered the choker with the web of her hand and stammered: "It... it was just a gift."

"Of course it was, dear. A gift of Faith. That comes from on-high!"

After dinner Tiffany cleaned the kitchen and added a few items to the list for their next grocery delivery. She still wore the choker. Her grandmother had become positively exultant about it, devoting half her pre-dinner Grace to thanking the Lord for guiding her granddaughter back onto the one true path. The fact that it had come from one of Tiffany's new bosses only further inflated her grandmother's regard for her job at the clinic.

After tidying the house, Tiffany washed her face, bid her grandma goodnight and shut herself into the guest bedroom.

She closed the blinds and stripped naked.

After showering, she sat on the edge of her bed in a towel and looked at her phone. She wanted to call Annabelle, but wasn't sure what to say. She sighed, realizing it might be too late anyway given the time difference, and tossed the phone aside.

She combed her hands through her damp, neck-length hair.

Part of her still wanted to return to the clinic the next day despite her anxiety about what the doctors might try. She wasn't expected to wear her new outfit until Wednesday, after all, so that meant she could at least control her appearance.

She needed the money... and seeing Doctor Adams again would be a bonus.

"One day at a time," she reassured herself.

She stood and retrieved the shorts and tank top from her bureau, curious to confirm how awful they were. She snipped-off their remaining tags with a pair of scissors and then discarded her towel.

This time she wore no underwear, pulling-on the two stretchy garments directly over her bare skin. Once she had the tiny shorts buttoned, she stood before a long mirror and studied her reflection.

"Oh... my God," she whispered, turning this way and that. "I look like a total bimbo."

The extra-small top was cropped four inches above her navel, revealing everything up to her second rib. The shorts were so tiny and low-waisted that they barely concealed her pubic hair. Their tight cuffs ended abruptly at her crotch. When she turned and looked over her shoulder, she gawped at the way they exposed her ass.

"Jesus Christ," she cursed.

She tugged and pulled the shorts, trying to find a comfortable way to wear them, but the more she wiggled the more deeply they embedded themselves. Their lowest two buttons bracketed her clitoris, translating her movements into a crude form of masturbation.

Lifting her gaze to her neck, she ran a finger around her new choker and thought about Doctor Adams. What would he think, she wondered, if she actually wore this ensemble to work on Wednesday? Would he like it? Would he want to make-out with her again?

A tingle fired through her at this prospect. Her nipples began to punctuate the black top. She ran her hands over the swells of her chest, toying with their bra-less pliancy.

She felt sexy.

Still watching in the mirror, she squeezed her breasts together, creasing the tank top between them. Then she released, delighting in the buoyant way they sprang apart.

Next she slid her hands down her bare stomach and yanked the shorts open, exposing her tiny smudge of brunette trim. The shorts stayed up on their own, of course. She dug one hand into them and cupped her shaved mound. Inside she was a slippery, hot mess.

"God you're naughty!" she scolded her reflection.

Her knees knocked together as a jangle of nerves echoed in approval.

She toyed with herself for another minute, watching her body's eroticism bloom in the mirror. Soon the tank top was hooked above the shelf of her tits and her puffy nipples jutted out like large pencil-erasers. She wetted them with her fingers and pulled.

A high-pitched groan escaped her, loud enough that she glanced at the door to be sure it was shut.

Then her fingers went back to her crotch, teasing her slippery clit. Goosebumps rose on her limbs. She spread her labia and tugged the shorts higher, trying to hump their main seam.

"Hoo..." she breathed. "Oh my God."

She was close, she knew, but wanted to stop. Doctor Grisholm's insistence that she 'finish' deserved to be spited and, furthermore, she needed to exercise some self-control for once.

She turned away from the mirror and peeled off both undersized garments, replacing them with a loose, completely unpretentious cotton sleep-shirt. Then she turned off the lights and crawled into bed.

She intended to fall asleep without masturbating but it wasn't easy. Every time she shut her eyelids scenes from her day replayed; not only her own experiences but all those porn scenes too. Beyond those lay her fertile anticipations about the days to come.

"Ugh!" she moaned into her pillow an hour later, still awake.

Her libido remained keen. She lay on her stomach to combat the urges to touch herself.

Eventually she managed to doze but it was not a restful night. Dreams of involving the four doctors wrinkled her brow and animated her jaw. Never once did her nipples soften. Never once did her vulva feel un-aroused.

At five o'clock in the morning a particularly vivid ideation disturbed her sleep. Her night shirt was up around her ribs and a pillow was between her thighs. Her hands were mechanically pulling the pillowcase upward, snugging its thin edge against her naked crotch. Her neck was twisted to one side, which tightened the choker. Her carotids bulged against it.

In her mind, rather than a pillowcase it was Doctor Adams touching her clit and rather than a necklace it was his kisses cutting her breath short.

"Nih! Nn!" she moaned, visualizing herself being spooned by him while his hands worked their way into her little shorts. She felt his mouth everywhere all at once, kissing her ears, her neck, her chest, the middle of her back, her inner thighs, her chest, and of course that other place too; where she'd already felt his attentions for real. She imagined grabbing his hair and cumming. It was bliss. Then everything shifted, as dreams do, and she was eye-level with his pants. She was trying to pull down his zipper. His erection was obvious but she couldn't get to it. Her fingers felt too uncoordinated. Then the dream's color began to fade and her arms were passing through him like a ghost. He became nearly transparent. Suddenly he was gone and she could no longer breathe.

Outside, the grey light of dawn had only just begun.

"K-Uhh!" she spat loudly, lurching upright. She coughed and gasped, running her fingers under the choker to loosen it. Her skin was slick with sweat.

She looked around, blinking, and pulled the pillow from between her legs. Then she unbuckled the choker and set it on the nightstand before collapsing back into the tangled covers.

"Fuck," she whispered half a minute later, rolling onto her back to stare at the ceiling. She brushed back her hair with both hands. "What have I become?"

Before she had a chance to fall asleep again, the room's old clock-radio sounded.

She slapped the snooze bar and dragged the sheets up to her chin.

Her naked clit throbbed in frustration. She shut her eyes in vain. The words of Doctor Grisholm flickered in her mind, about being sided.

It was no use. She slid her hands down to her crotch and, using only one finger, gingerly approached her clitoris from the right.

It stood out like a half-chewed gumball, stiff and wet. She was almost afraid to move it. She kept her eyes closed, clenched her teeth and carefully stretched it leftward, feeling pleasure radiate her groin. She was immediately close. Anticipation narrowed her focus to a pin-hole. She took a shallow breath and then slowly, with her right index finger, touched the exposed side, down near its base.

She pressed inward and wiggled.

Stars exploded behind her eyelids.

"FAH!" she cried, curling reflexively into a fetal ball with both hands clamped tight to her vulva as she pole-vaulted over the threshold of no-return. Her pelvis jerked. Her mind blanked. Her vagina squirmed in ecstasy.

"Oh my GOD!"

Unable to reverse course, she rubbed and rubbed. A bright climax unleashed itself, blasting happiness to her extremities.

Rolling her face deep into the pillow she wailed. Fluid gushed from her, soaking her bottom. Her hands kept working, beyond any conscious control, forcing her orgasm higher.

Soon all the air was gone from her lungs. Still her arousal hung there, sky-high and fully-lit.

Within her mind a panicky voice cried 'Stop!' but her body was far too corrupted. It kept going, rubbing and tugging its new endorphin-source like a crazed addict.

An entire breathless minute elapsed. It was the longest orgasm she'd ever had.

When she finally regained lucidity she inhaled a chest-full of air and jerked her hands out of her crotch. She sprawled across the bed, panting, while her body basked in an ocean of unexpected relief.

Hair shrouded her face and clung to her lips. She brushed it aside and blinked, needing all her concentration simply to breathe.

Eventually, gradually, her heartbeat decelerated.

"Fuck," she whispered. "I am so screwed."

The clock-radio started again. It was time to begin Day Two.

*