Facets of Love Ch. 09

***

Chapter 9

Robbie Jones

June 2037

I didn't go to college.

My parents and Uncle James did. Both Grandma and Aunt Gloria had PhDs. They were from an era when society thought college was the only route to success. According to Dad, about the time I started kindergarten, people started to realize that "they didn't need to go two hundred thousand dollars in debt for the privilege of listening to a bunch of over educated professors who'd never left a college campus tell you how to make a living.

"I'm not saying you shouldn't take a few classes here and there," Dad said, "but you'll learn most of what you need to know on the job."

Apparently, a good bit of the country agreed with him. By the time I was of college age, most of the big-name schools had shrunk considerably with a majority of high school graduates either going to local trade schools or working part time while taking online courses. Businesses weren't looking for degrees, they were looking for skill sets.

My skill set was running Spencer Manufacturing... or it was going to be when Dad, Mom, and Uncle James got done training me.

My first assignment was apprentice janitor... sweeping floors, cleaning toilets, filling toilet paper dispensers... with a secondary mission of learning the names of everybody who worked in the building. All 350 of them. At least I didn't have to memorize the access codes of the 1,200 robots who intermingled with the flesh covered workers.

That was my day job. I spent my evenings and weekends taking online business and engineering courses. Grandma, Aunt Gloria, and Mom kept me busy at night.

-

Doctor Gloria May Carter

July 2037

In early 2020 I was lured to the Tampa area with promises of continued access to Ryan's cock, Mary's pussy, and a full-time job running a clinic catering exclusively to women. The small clinic slowly grew to a full-blown medical practice. What was once a one doctor operation eventually employed six other people and saw to the health needs of several thousand patients.

I am not a people person. According to both Robert and Mary, I am great in bed but have "the bedside manner of a Gestapo Inquisitor". My professional goal is to fix my patients' physical ailments and let less qualified people (like Martha) tend to their social inadequacies. To counter my less than bubbly personality, I hired friendly, comforting staff... who, unfortunately, usually never lasted more than a couple of years before moving on to a better paying job with a less demanding boss. Yeah, I went through nurses faster than babies went through diapers.

Except for Angela.

I hired her right out of nursing school hoping that, by getting her at a young age, I could mold the neophyte into the type of nurse I needed.

Angela was an instant hit with the patients. She was a pretty little thing - an inch short of five feet tall - with a quick smile and blue eyes that sparkled nearly as bright as her cheerful personality. Children saw her as a cuddly teddy bear, women felt safe in her comforting care, and my reprobate male patients couldn't take their eyes off her bulging bust. More importantly, she did everything I asked of her and was a quick study, never needing to be told something twice.

Nurse Angela was a godsend. The nurse I'd always wanted... until she wasn't.

-

"I'm worried about Angela," I said at one of our Sunday night dinners.

"Your nurse?" Mary asked.

"The one everybody likes?" Robert questioned.

"The short lady with the big tits and round ass?" Robbie added, getting a disapproving look from his mother.

"I thought she was the perfect employee," James said. "The ying to your yang. Your clinic's secret sauce."

"So did I. She's finally got to the point where I no longer have to constantly tell her what to do. She envisions what I want and does it without asking."

"Then why are you worried? Do you think she's going to quit?"

"She's never said anything about quitting... but she's been acting really strange lately."

"Strange? How?" Martha asked. "Give us an example."

"She didn't wear a bra to work last Monday."

"What's wrong with that?"

"I saw ten male patients that day and every damn one of them had elevated blood pressure. A direct result of Nurse Angela rubbing an unrestrained boob against each man's arm."

"That's it?" Mary asked. "Angela lets the ladies swing free for a day and you want to fire her?"

"I don't want to fire her. She's not only the best nurse I've ever had, she's also one of the few people on the planet who I can tolerate for extended periods of time."

"Then tell her to bind up her bosom and move on."

"I did. And she did. The very next day she wore a bra to work but insisted on giving every female patient a free breast exam."

"Are you saying...?"

"Yep. She fondled the boobs of two dozen women in one day... more tits than Robert's had his hands on in forty years. And, after I chastised her for that, she showed up two days later wearing scrubs so tight one of my elderly patients nearly went into cardiac arrest. It's like she's purposely trying to piss me off."

The room went quiet for a few seconds as my extended family considered my situation.

As expected, Martha was the first to break the silence.

"Has something in Angela's life changed in the last few months?" she asked. "Has she recently broken up with her boyfriend? Lost a loved one? Quit taking her medications?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "I make a point of not getting involved with my employees' social lives."

"Well, if you want to keep her on staff, I suggest you start. Because what you're describing is an obvious cry for help."

"You expect me to invite Nurse Angela into my office and ask, 'what the hell is the matter with you'?"

"If you had any people skills, that's exactly what I'd recommend. But since you don't, I suggest you let me do it for you," Martha said.

"There's no way Nurse Angela is going to lay down on your couch and tell you what's troubling her."

"Not if she knows what I do for a living. But give me thirty minutes with her alone, thinking I'm just another one of your patients, and I'll know all her inner secrets."

-

Three days later, Martha came into my office for what was supposedly an annual physical exam. As usual, I had Nurse Angela take the patient's vital signs, fill out her medical history and, when I was "called away for a special phone consultation", I asked my slightly psychotic nurse to "stay with the patient until I return".

That ploy (lie) would supposedly let Martha have a half hour alone with her unofficial client.

Thirty minutes turned into forty-five. And then an hour. I'm not sure how she did it, but Martha kept Nurse Angela talking for an hour and fifteen minutes before texting me that she had "solved the case."

When I returned to the examination room, Nurse Angela's tear-streaked cheeks and puffy eyes were indicative of a woman who had recently bared her soul but, instead of acknowledging it, I continued with Martha's fake checkup as if all was normal.

-

Respecting Nurse Angela's confidentiality, Martha and I didn't discuss what happened in the examination room in front of the rest of our family. But Martha's smug look of success during dinner that night indicated she was proud of her work. The two of us met on the pool deck with glasses of dessert wine while the rest of the household cleaned up inside.

"Did you know that your favorite nurse is a sub?" Martha asked.

"Is that what's bothering her? Does she think she's a substitute employee and I'm only keeping her on until I find a better nurse?"

"Not a substitute you flat chested ninny. She's a submissive. She likes to be told what to do. She has an inherent desire to be dominated. Actually, more than a desire, with her it's a psychological need to be controlled."

"How can that be? She's been my nurse for over four years, and she's never acted like this before."

"Remember when I asked if she recently had any major life events? Well, she did. Three months ago, she broke up with her girlfriend."

"Nurse Angela is a lesbian?"

"Yes. Absolutely. Without a doubt. Your cute little nurse is a card-carrying dyke, just like you were before seducing my son-in-law."

"Shit, that's just wonderful. Some domineering slut breaks Nurse Angela's heart and now I've got an emotionally damaged employee. What should I do?"

"First off, Angela isn't emotionally damaged, and her ex didn't break up with her. Angela purposely left her last mistress because she fell in love with somebody else. Someone who has no idea how Angela feels about her. A woman who is so wrapped up in her work that she ignores the people around her."

"Who is she in love with?"

"You, Gloria. Nurse Angela is madly in love with you."

"Are you sure? Did she specifically come out and say, 'I'm in love with my boss?'"

"She didn't have to. I spent over an hour with the woman and all she wanted to talk about was you.

"Doctor Carter is the best boss I've ever had. She knows more about medicine than all my nursing school professors combined. She has the figure I've always wanted. She's a take charge kind of woman. I could listen to her talk for hours and still want more.

"It took every ounce of my world renown talent to turn the conversation away from you and get her to give me a few tidbits about herself. There is no doubt in my brilliant mind that your nurse is completely infatuated with you and will do anything to please you."

"Okay. If she's so madly in love with me, why didn't she say so, or at least give me a few hints?"

"First off," Martha said, "subs don't pursue. They need to be pursued, hunted down, tied up, and controlled. They don't tell you their feelings, they expect you to tell them what to feel.

"Secondly, for a sub, she couldn't have been more blatant if she tried. Coming to work without a bra, groping your patients, wearing skintight scrubs; those were all cries for help. Pleas for attention.

"You told me that she'd finally got to the point where you no longer needed to tell her what to do. That's a good thing for normal people, but, when dealing with the person she loves, Angela wants to be told. She craves guidance from you and, if she doesn't get it, she'll purposely screw up so you'll show some interest in her. Domination is her love language. And since you've been mostly hands off with her for the last few months, she thinks you don't love her."

"But I don't. Yes, she's an outstanding nurse but I've never said I loved her."

"I'm not asking you to propose to the girl. Just give her a little individual attention now and then. Compliment her when she does well and punish her when she fucks up."

"Punish her? How?"

"A cross look. A verbal reprimand. A swat on the ass. Anything to let her know you aren't pleased. Do some experimentation. It's kind of like raising kids. Sometimes a little tough love is required."

"Sounds like a lot of trouble."

"Then fire her sexy ass and hire another nurse. But I doubt you'll ever find one as good as Angela."

I hated to admit it, but Martha was right. The next time Nurse Angela challenged me, I would call her on it. Sit her butt down and tell her the rules. If the girl needed to be dominated, I was just the woman to do it. A small price to pay for the good of my practice.

-

Three days later, Nurse Angela showed up to work wearing a skirt that mostly coverer her ass, a push up shelf bra that didn't quite hide her nipples, and a blouse cut so low, she was bound to get a chest cold before the day was done. Which, with tits as big as hers, could be fatal.

"Nurse Angela. Go to my office, shut the door, and don't do anything until I get there."

"Am I in trouble?" she asked.

"You will be if you don't do exactly as I say."

I made a quick stop at the supply closet, picked out the items I needed, and then joined Nurse Angela in my office.

"Do you enjoy working in my clinic?" I asked.

"Yes. Very much so."

"Then why did you show up today dressed like a hooker?"

"I... I wanted you to notice me."

"You and I spend eight hours a day, five days a week together. You are the best nurse I've ever had. How could I not notice you?"

"I'm glad you think I'm a good nurse, but I'd like to be something more. More than your employee. I want you to see me as a person."

"You want us to be friends?" I asked.

"Yes, and maybe more."

"Lovers?"

"Maybe. Hopefully. Eventually. But, in the short term, I need somebody to tell me what to do. To praise me when I am good and punish me when I'm not. What I really want is somebody to own me."

Crap. I hate it when Martha is right.

"I don't believe in slavery," I said.

"Neither do I, but it's not slavery if I volunteer."

"Are you?" I asked. "Are you volunteering to be my slave?"

"Yes, for as long as you'll have me."

We'll see about that.

"Remove your blouse," I told her as I closed and locked the door.

"Ma'am?"

"You heard me. Take off that poor excuse for a shirt and don't ever call me ma'am again. I am not an old maid. You will address me as either Doctor Carter or Doctor."

"Yes Ma... I mean Doctor Carter," she said and hurriedly complied with my instructions.

"Stand up straight and put your hands behind your back," I commanded.

Nurse Angela stood perfectly still as I slowly walked around her. I needed time to absorb what she said, but I also took the opportunity to inspect what I saw. Time to look at her as something other than an efficient nurse.

Seeing her nearly naked breasts for the first time I realized that they weren't as large as I first imagined... just slightly bigger than Mary's or Martha's. Her boobs just appeared to be ginormous because they were attached to such a small woman. And, although her nipples were a third the size of my own, they still jutted out like triple sized eraser heads.

Continuing my inspection, I transitioned downward.

While not exactly thin, nobody would call Nurse Angela fat. Despite a hint of blubber around her belly, she still narrowed nicely at the waist before pleasantly spreading out to well-proportioned hips. Undoing two hooks and a zipper, I dropped her short skirt to the floor, revealing two well-rounded globes of ass flesh which just begged to be spanked.

So, I did.

Whack! Her firm bottom felt amazing. Like it was custom made for my open palm

"Ouch! What are you doing?"

"I'm punishing you, just as you requested."

Whack! My second blow was slightly more powerful.

"I do notice you, Nurse Angela. You are an amazing woman with a desirable body. But I am trying to run a medical practice. If you want to keep working for me, you will quit pulling stupid stunts to get my attention."

Whack! I loved the way her ass cheeks rippled in response to my assaults.

"I don't give a shit what you do on your own time, but when you're in my clinic, you'll behave like the perfect nurse I know you can be. Follow my rules and you'll have a job for as long as you want. Disobey me and suffer the consequences."

Whack! That one left a pink handprint.

"What about after hours?" she asked, bending over to make her ass more assessable.

Whack! Whack! Oh my God. This is getting addictive.

"That is entirely up to you. But, if you truly want me to own you, then I decide who gets to see your tits. I control who fondles your ass. I choose who has access to your pussy. It's decision time. You follow my rules or find another boss."

"Yes," she said. "To all of it."

A discrete knock brought our counseling session to an abrupt end.

"Doctor Carter," my receptionist said through the closed door. "Your first patient is in the waiting room."

"Give us a few minutes and we'll be right out," I said.

Despite me applying a generous dose of soothing salve to her recently abused bottom, Nurse Angela wouldn't be sitting down anytime soon.

Not wanting a repeat of last week's spate of high blood pressure amongst my male patients, I placed two large band aides across each of her protruding nipples and then replaced her low-cut blouse with a slightly large, utilitarian scrub top. An equally baggy pair of scrub pants ensured none of my patients would get a view of her pink, "going-on-red", ass cheeks.

By the time I unlocked my office door, and we went back to work, I detected a slight odor... the hint of a woman in heat. I wasn't sure whose pussy it came from. Maybe Nurse Angela's, possibly mine, perhaps both.

-

Robbie Jones

September 2037

After finishing my stint with the janitorial staff, Dad introduced me to a tall, thin black man with graying hair and an island accent.

"I know you've been emptying his trash can and sweeping his floor every day for the last couple of months," Dad said, "but it's high time I formally introduced you to the most important man in the company.

"Robbie, this is Mr. William Tucker. He's our chief of maintenance, the man who keeps everything working. Your Grandpa Frank hired him years before your momma was born and he's been working here ever since.

"Bill, meet your new lackey. You've got him for six months. Start him out changing light bulbs and, if he doesn't screw that up, give him something more challenging to do."

"You got anything specific in mind?" Mr. Tucker asked.

"No, not really. Use him as you see fit. Just make sure he comes home tired and dirty at the end of the day."

The two men gave each other a knowing smile and then had a short conversation about a "misaligned creaser" (whatever the hell that was) before Dad left me in Mr. Tucker's experienced hands.

"You are an extremely fortunate young man," Mr. Tucker told me once Dad left.

"Yes sir. I realize I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth-"

"No, no, no," he interrupted. "I'm not talking about your financial situation. Lots of folks have rich parents but, rich or poor, very few young men have what you got."

"What's that?" I asked.

"Good parents."

"Huh?"

"You're Frank Spencer's grandson. Mr. Robert's only boy. It's no secret that you're the heir apparent. Some day you'll be running Spencer Manufacturing. If you had rich parents, they'd send you off to some Ivy League school, let you fool around in Europe for a few years, and then set you up in a cushy desk job until it was time to take over the factory.

"But you don't have rich parents. You've got good parents. Folks who are bringing you up right. Making you learn the trade by doing all the shit jobs before you move up to the big office. When your time comes, you'll be ready.

"You don't know them," he continued, "but both my kids work here."

"I know Brian," I said. "He works on the line but, unless I'm forgetting somebody, you two are the only Tuckers in the company."

"Have you met Janelle?" he asked.

"Janelle Watson from marketing?"

"She's my daughter."

"Married to Mark Watson in receiving?"

"You see, that's what I'm talking about. Young men who were raised by rich parents don't know the names of their future employees. You do. And that gives me comfort. When Mr. Robert retires and you take over, I know my kids will still have jobs. Because this is a family company and family takes care of each other.

"That's why I'm going to do exactly what your daddy told me. I'm going to work your ass off for the next six months, so you'll know what it's like to work in a factory."

True to his word, Mr. Tucker gave me a key to the supply building, and I spent the rest of the day replacing burned-out light bulbs, dirty air conditioning filters, and out of date smoke detector batteries. By 5:00 I was tired, dirty, and ready to go home when Mr. Tucker gave me one last task.