How I Lost My Babysitting Job Ch. 02byHandsInTheDark©
There's a room in Dr. K's medical offices. It's got the same kind of door as one of the examination rooms, but it's locked. Inside the room there's a single light bulb, and a kind of metal frame made from parts from exercise machines. The frame has lots of hooks and eye bolts, some padding, and some electric motors. There's a camera on the wall, a cabinet and sink in one corner, the littlest shower stall I've ever seen in another, a video screen, a mirror, a comfy chair, and a few weights and a stationary bike against the far wall.
The bike and weights are there so if anyone somehow stumbles into the room by mistake, they'll think it's a private workout room. You'll hear a lot about this room in the next few months.
So, it's "Alona" again. The really bad nineteen year old girl who is in over her head with this hot guy who is way too old for me.
It's not my fault. He kind of seduced me... I guess I could have tried to resist a little more than I did. I meant to; I swear I meant to. He just... got to me. And now I work for him.
I know, right? And I knew what was up when I took the job, because he was up front about it when he offered. I also know that fucking the boss is the worst move ever. But this is different.
So, am I a whore? Dr K spelled it out for me -- my wage is for receptionist work. It's way better than I made at Hooters but it's not call girl rates. Dr K says he doesn't pay for sex. So I'm not a whore. I know what Missy would say -- not only am I a whore but I'm a stupid, underpaid whore. But she's still a virgin at 21, so she says. What does she know about it?
And it's not like I go in, bend over, get fucked, start my work day, go to lunch, get felt up, get fucked, go back to work... it's not like that. There are rules. Really, really strict rules.
So, girls, have you ever thought about the Perfect Guy? Of course you have. When I was fifteen I knew what he was like. He paid attention to only me, he cared about everything I thought, felt and said... oh and he was royalty, kissed gently, was an expert at fencing and rode horses.
I think a little differently now. The Perfect Guy doesn't pay attention to only me, he's got a lot going on, but he'll let me come along for the ride if I can keep up. Forget the horses -- I want him to ride me. And he's secure enough to tell me to shut up when I'm babbling. He doesn't baby me. He knows how to make me come to him. And when I do... he takes what he likes. He enjoys me without hesitation, completely, no apologies.
Does that sound fucked up? I don't think it is. Every girl wants a guy that will meet her every need, emotionally. And then we get bored. I've seen it in my girlfriends a dozen times. Once a girl calls her guy nice, it's pretty much over. Fuck nice. I'm not saying to date a serial rapist. I am saying that if a relationship is all about keeping the girl in her emotional comfort zone, the relationship is doomed. Make it be about me having to work to keep you happy, and I'll never get away. And make it damn clear that you know it. I'll call you an arrogant prick to my friends, maybe, but I'll eat out of your hand when you've got me alone.
Dr K has me eating out of his hand. Literally. He buys lunch for me and cuts it into small pieces and places each one on the palm of his hand. I can't use my hands to eat. When I'm done -- and he decides when I'm done -- I have to lick his palm clean, and then offer my breast for him to wipe it on.
You can roll your eyes and call it degrading or any fucking thing you want. I don't care. I get wet just writing about it.
Alright, I'm putting it off. Dr K says I have to write about my first day at work. Kind of a way for me to look back, I guess. It's embarrassing but I have to do it. And he wants me to masturbate as I do it, but (as always) I'm not allowed to come. I am so not looking forward to this.
I got in my first day at 8am, figuring I'd want time to figure out the phones and ask questions. Dr K had emailed a ton of material the week before, all about the job. I'd read it all, but hostess at Hooters and doctor's receptionist are not the same thing and even after all the reading there's still a lot I know I don't know. The woman whose job I'm getting, Paula, is staying on for three days to get me up to speed. She's nice, old (at least 40), and not the stunningly gorgeous twenty year old I'd been expecting.
She tells me more of what I need to know in a half hour than Dr K had said in dozens of pages of notes. When she's done, it kind of sinks in that this is a job, a real job with real responsibilities, and I'm not being paid to sit in a short skirt and wait for Dr K to flirt with me.
Not that I'm in a short skirt. It's knee length, and while the blouse is tight, it doesn't show cleavage. I'd spent hours the night before on the clothing question -- wanting to be hot for Dr K, wanting to look professional for his office. By 9am I was wondering if I'd worried too much. I hadn't even seen Dr K yet.
I'd seen Lauren, though. She was about 25, long dark hair, impressive rack and killer legs, in a shorter skirt than I would have worn. One look at me and the daggers came out in her eyes. I could see exactly how this was going to go. It had never even occurred to me that I was the only girl Dr K had as a playmate, but somehow I wasn't expecting Lauren. She was 5' 11" and freaking intimidating. She was also a Physician's assistant, which, as it turns out, is much closer to doctor than nurse. One look at her made me feel very, very nineteen.
But then the phone started ringing, and life got busy. I find out very quickly that almost all of Dr K's patients are females between twenty and forty... sheesh, does this guy have it made. Why does he even want me around? And it seems like a lot of the women he treats are seeing him for sexually related issues; I'm only the receptionist and I get more details from some patients than I ever really wanted. By 9:30 I've had a call from one woman talking about her frigidity problem with her husband and how she really needs to see Dr K right away; another -- and this freaks me out -- calls to say her medication isn't solving her "condition"; and she's very obviously masturbating as she's talking to me. It's both strangely erotic and utterly horrifying, and I have to keep a level, professional tone as I promise the doctor will get back to her as soon as possible. I'm pink when I hang up, and Paula looks over.
"Patient number 216?"
"Um..." I look at the screen, "Yeah."
"She calls once a day, hoping to get Dr K on the line. You... probably don't want to let her calls through, even if K is available."
"I- ok." Hell, listening to the way she was breathing had gotten me horny; I could imagine what that would do to a guy, and when the guy is Dr K... then I think about letting her through to him every time she calls, and having him... take it out on me...
Paula's looking at me, and I blush red. She clicks her tongue and gets back to sorting through patient records. I turn redder.
And then Dr K comes out of his office, says "Alona, come with me," and walks down the hall. He doesn't look back; he knows I'm going to bolt out of my chair and follow him. I mean, it's so totally arrogant, the way he does this, making me run after him.
And it works. I bolt out of my chair. I'm all butterflies. Just the way he wants me.
He stops at a door, and this is where I have my first experience with that room that I described above.
(Shit. I have to masturbate as I write this. Alright, before I dive in, let me finish breaking the fourth wall and describe how I'm sitting as I write this, because it will give you some feel for where Dr K's got me, mentally.
Dr K has ordered that when I write about my experiences, that I sit on a stool, with the laptop on a desk next to me. He's given me a specific writing pose. One leg is extended to the floor, with only my toes touching it. The other is folded up against my chest, with the ball of my foot on the stool. I turn sideways to type. It's not a pose I can hold for many minutes at a time, so I can get up and walk around, but when I'm on the stool it has to be that pose. I also have to wear the exercise outfit I had on when he and I first got involved; or I can wear less if I want. (It's less, right now.) When I write about anything he did with me, I have to be on the stool and masturbating. Right now the panties are slid down around my ankle and knee, and I'm sitting on a washcloth. My hair has to be loose, so I keep it tossed over a shoulder as I write. It's a sexy, look-at-me pose, and the worst part is that occasionally he makes me pose this way when I'm with him, and then he has his hand between my legs; he fingers me and kisses me, and I'm not allowed to kiss back or make any noise. Just a minute of that, and I'm insane with need. I mentioned the not-kissing-back thing last time I wrote. It's so fucking intense, wanting to kiss him, please him, participate, and not being allowed to. I become a totally wanton fucking whore, every time.
So that pose is my about-to-become-a-totally-wanton-fucking-whore pose, and I'm in it now as I write about what he does to me. I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that's a really obvious little trick, so obvious that it can't really work, it can't really do anything to arouse me. You're wrong. All Dr K's tricks are obvious, and that's why they work. And they work perfectly. I've been given lots of little rules like this -- rules about dressing, eating, writing, masturbating, reading, driving to work, calling him... they are all very simple rules, not at all difficult to do, not time consuming -- and because of them I'm a sexual mess of need for him, all day.
Wow, I'm all over the place today. Part of it is, I don't want to admit to all this, even anonymously. Part of it is the masturbation. My clit is already swollen and the washcloth is already damp and I haven't even written anything yet. I can't think, and posed like this, I keep imagining someone, maybe Dr K, maybe someone totally different, is going to come up behind me and shove me over the desk... Fuck! I wasn't like this when all this started. I wasn't a hot-for-it slut. But right now I just want cock. I want to be bent over the desk, wrists held behind my back and gripped hard, just the way Dr K does it, and I don't want to have any choice about what happens next... he's made me watch videos of myself as he takes me that way. He makes me masturbate to the sight and sound of my own orgasms, and his. At first it was just embarrassing, but it didn't take long before watching myself come made me want to come.
Damnit. Alright. No more distractions. I'm not this blonde, I swear, I'm just horny out of my mind.)
So. I'm with Dr K at 10am and he's unlocking a door to a room I don't know anything about. Lauren passes us in the hall, and her face is hateful. That tells me Dr K has plans for me and she has some idea what they are... I shift from butterflies to shivering. And then we're in the room, and it's locked again.
It's nothing like what you'd expect to find in a doctor's office. It's the same size as an examination room, but dimly lit and with the gear all over... I stare around.
"Blouse off, now."
Just like that. And I do it. Now I'm in a sexy bra and a knee length dress. He takes the blouse and examines the tag. "Now the bra."
I take it off, and hand it to him. Shivering hard. Just taking it off made my nipples harden. I mean I knew what would happen when I took the job, but he's so... I mean he's got me and he knows it.
He doesn't look at the bra. "Skirt and panties."
And now I'm in high heels and a bright blush. He examines the skirt and panties, briefly, and then hands everything back. "Get dressed."
"That- that's it?"
"Are you asking for more?"
"I- I just-"
"There will be clothing here for you tomorrow. You'll change into it when you get here, and change back out when you leave."
"I -- yes sir." He's going to dress me up. Like a doll. A posable, fuckable doll. Oh gods. What will he choose for me? Am I going to be the sexy slut, or the ultra professional woman who gets her panties hauled down? I'm going to spend the whole day wondering. I reach for the panties, and suddenly his hand is in my hair and my mouth is forced against his.
I don't have the right words for this. He's clothed. I'm naked. This is... the first word I think of is unfair, but it's something else. It's like he has the right to wear clothing, and I don't. It's unequal. And that's... I never understood sexuality in these terms before. My hands touch only cloth; his hands touch me.
(Shit, I'm dying here. One more rub and it's over. Ten minute break.)
Like I'd said, when I was fifteen, my Imaginary Perfect Guy was royalty. He had authority, though I'd never stopped to think about over what, but he'd treated me as an equal. That's the way it's supposed to be, right? Equality is good. But Dr K and I... we're not equal in any of the ways that matter right now. He's older, smarter, stronger, he controls my paycheck, and he just commanded me out of my clothing. The only thing that comes to mind that's anything like this is a sultan and a harem girl. That analogy hits me hard, and I'm suddenly shy and trembling and it's not because of sexual need. I have somehow (how did this happen?) become obedient to a Power, an Authority, and I'm naked because he decided I should be. I now understand that I am becoming his slave and his plaything, and oh, gods, it turns me inside out.
Then the kiss ends, and he's dragging me towards that mass of bars, and I'm stumbling after him, panting, knees weak, lips still parted from his rough kiss. Bondage. He tied me up once before and I came so hard I thought I'd pass out.
Velcro straps, sudden movement... I'm bound to a tilted bench, leaned back against it, not all the way horizontal, with my legs parted and on either side of the bench. A heavy metal chain, tight across my belly, makes it impossible to shift back and forth. I swallow. I'm a slavegirl in chains now.
He puts one hand over my eyes, pinning my head back to the bench. His other strokes my bare thighs... slowly. My legs tense and quiver immediately. I'm bright pink, because I'm so obviously aroused. My nipples are hard. I can feel my pulse pounding in my lips, wrists and clit.
I've been wet all morning. I was wet last night. The thought of coming here, knowing that he wanted me, and then having to struggle over the clothing question... I spent the evening fighting down fantasies, fighting down the butterflies, both thinking and not thinking about his hands on me, the way his cock had felt that first time, pushing into me. Of course I'm wet. It took everything I had not to masturbate last night. I haven't come for two weeks, which is forever for me.
His thumb slides over my cheek, and parts my lips wider. His other hands shifts... a finger traces up my slit, parting it as well.
"Were you good about not masturbating?"
"Y-yes." Now I'm redder. He pounced on that.
"Good but maybe not perfect?"
"I didn't come. I touched a little."
Oh gods, in the mood I was in, if he just... tapped, and tapped... and then didn't let me come... but he wouldn't do that. I'd be a wreck, and he needed me to be his receptionist. Patients would be showing up for appointments soon.
"I... just few minutes three nights ago. After that email you sent, the one where you told me what you wanted to do with me-"
"Do you like sucking cock, Alona?"
"I-" I'm bright red again.
"Do you like it better when you don't have a choice?"
I moaned, desperately trying to keep it quiet. I didn't want Lauren to hear.
"I- I don't know-"
Tap. Lingering, rubbing for just a moment. And then his hand slid away, and there was a zipping noise. I shuddered. I don't know how to suck cock. He knows that.
He turned my head sideways, his hands still over my eyes. His thumb again parted my lips; then his cock pushed against it, suddenly. Oh gods. He thrust in.
It closed the back of my throat, and stayed there.
He pulled back. I gasped for air, shuddering.
"I told you not to touch yourself. I meant it. Are you going to obey me?"
He pushed it in again. I couldn't breathe.
He pinched my clit lightly, as he pulled out of my mouth. I gasp, and then moan, helplessly. Fuck Lauren hearing. My body's going insane.
"Lick my cock."
I did, frantically. Slave girl. Fuck toy. Oh gods. He was still rubbing. And then finger slid inside me, curling, pressing upwards. He shifted, making me lick his huge balls. The weight of them against my tongue... it's impossible not to think about him cum, spurting out, and I find myself trying to remember every porn video I'd ever peeked at, so I can please him better with my mouth. Maybe he liked it, because he fingered me faster, and I clenched down helplessly. Oh gods, if he came on me right now, and made me rub it into my skin, if he...
He stepped back, uncovered my eyes, and unstrapped me.
"Now, get dressed. You have work to do. So do I."
"Oh... oh gods," I whispered, dazed. "You want me to work?" My eyes went to that massive, erect cock, as he forced it back into his pants and zipped up around the bulge, with difficulty.
"Get dressed, Alona."
I did. The tone of his voice turned me inside out. I've never dressed so fast in my life. "But... I can still taste... I mean-"
"You'll taste that all day. Lock the door behind you."
He exited, a tiny smile on his face.
By noon, I was a basket case. It was bad enough being horny. It was worse, tasting cock on my lips, though after an hour I couldn't tell if it was still there or I was imagining it. What was much worse was that I think he took Lauren into that room, but if he did it was only for a few minutes, and I couldn't be sure because I couldn't go back there while I was admitting patients. But the worst of all was the patients themselves. They were almost all youngish female women, and they were pretty much all smiling as they were escorted to their examination rooms. Where they'd be alone with Dr K for either fifteen or thirty minutes. Some of them came out with entirely different smiles.
Let me just say it -- I'm not in love with Dr K. There's nothing like that here. It was all, one hundred percent, sexual fascination. So when I talk about jealousy, it's not the usual thing. But I can tell you there is nothing as excruciating as being totally, tinglingly turned on, humming with need, crossing and uncrossing your legs because oh, that feels good... and then watching the only guy in sight lock himself in rooms with other women. I could not shut off my imagination and I hated every second of what I imagined. And all the while I had to focus on being polite and professional with these women. Smile, Alona, smile!
By eleven thirty I hated all of womankind. What good were they? They didn't have cocks. Oh fuck, a cock... if I could just sit on one, and masturbate every ten minutes, then maybe my head would clear.
(Shit! I just pictured sitting in Dr K's lap, his cock inside me, and he's making me masturbate as I read this aloud to him. Oh fuck it hurts so bad, the way I need to come. My hands are actually shaking. I want to call Dr K, but... he's made it clear than if I do, then things happen that I'm just not ready for.)
At noon, the flow of patients stopped, and Lauren appeared next to me.
"Lunchtime," she suggested. I met her look and there were still daggers in it.