Tiffany's Timidities Ch. 01

Author's Note (v2): Nothing new here thematically; just a sweet girl dealing with the usual workplace nuisances. You know: spankings, cunnilingus, outfit modifications and incessant groping.

Not that you're into that sort of thing... Gosh no! Not you.

You're here to read the part where she bicycles to work barefoot in a very short dress. And masturbates in the shower.

It's okay. I gotcha covered either way.

Enjoy!

*

SCENE 1

Halfway through the interview, Doctor Ian Mitchell knew his luck was back.

Fidgeting nervously in a wooden chair opposite him was a petite blue-eyed brunette with freckles across her nose. Her name was Tiffany Topper. Judging by her resume she was in her early twenties but Ian thought she looked even younger. Her dark hair was straight and cut short. It framed her face like a pair of parentheses. Her eyelashes were lush and long, accentuated by mascara that set-off the size and intensity of her indigo irises. She had a habit of rubbing her lips together as though she had just applied Chap Stick.

Ian figured that was because she was nervous. He was being hard on her.

"So, you're work history isn't really applicable," he continued, "and it's all on the East Coast. What makes you think you'd be a good receptionist out here in a Colorado mountain town?"

Tiffany re-crossed her legs for the tenth time in as many minutes. She couldn't stop playing with her hands either. Doctor Mitchell looked friendly enough, but he was certainly difficult to impress. She had hoped to charm her way into this job, but that plan was clearly not working.

"Um... Well," she answered tentatively, "I know from being a waitress how to be nice to just about anyone... and how to keep track of what they want. And my last boss said I was a really good worker. I realize I don't have any office experience yet, but I'm sure I could learn really fast."

"Folks out here are different than you're accustomed to back in Boston, Tiffany. We don't put up with entitled attitudes and general fakery. The patients who come to this clinic expect honest, straightforward help."

"Of course."

"Some of them are older folks. Others, for a variety of reasons, may look and act differently from what you'd expect. But they all deserve our utmost attention and respect."

"I understand sir. I would never—"

"Take Marge for example. You met her on the way in. She's been the receptionist at this clinic for twenty three years; since long before my partners and I took it over. Folks 'round here know her like family. At her retirement party last week, over a hundred people came. That's a lot for this little town. You understand? I want to know if you can bring that sort of commitment to this."

"Well, sir, I..." Tiffany stumbled. She wanted to avoid the subject of how long she planned stay in Rifle, Colorado. She took a deep breath that puffed out her chest and tried to dodge the question: "First, please just let me say how sorry I am that you're losing such a good employee. You and your partners must be very sad and I realize I could never replace Marge, but... if you give me a chance I'll do a good job... I promise."

"But for how long?"

"Ugh," Tiffany sighed, "I knew you would ask me that, sir. And like I said earlier, I just moved here so I realize nobody in town knows me yet. But the truth is I'm staying with my grandma. My parents sent me here because they wanted to separate me from the group of friends I was hanging out with. So, I don't know how long—."

"Why'd they do that? Are you in some sort of trouble?"

"Well, no, not like... with the police or anything. I just made a bad decision. And they didn't like my boyfriend."

"So they sent you away to grandma's for a while to straighten you out?"

"Yeah—I mean, yes sir. That's pretty much it."

"And you plan to skedaddle back to Boston as soon as they'll allow it. Is that the shape of it?"

Tiffany re-crossed her legs the other way, wishing she had dressed more professionally. Doctor Mitchell looked so polished in his dress shirt and jacket. His clean-shaven face was handsome and his dark hair shone under the overhead lights. She, in contrast, had intentionally worn her tightest jeans and a bright yellow, scoop-necked top. Doctor Mitchell did not seem at all interested in her curves however, so she felt more foolish than sexy.

"I don't know, sir, and that's the honest truth. I quit my job before I moved, and since I've already graduated I don't have a firm date to go back to school or anything, but... I suppose I'll move back at some point."

"Well, Ms. Topper, that's a problem for me."

Doctor Mitchell was lying of course. He had already convinced himself to hire Tiffany regardless of how briefly she planned to stay. He did not want to miss this opportunity to directly supervise such a hottie. It would be more fun than he'd had in ages.

He and his partners were sick of Marge Olson and her scowling, curmudgeonly ways. She scared all their young and healthy patients away. For Doctor Mitchell's chosen line of work that was especially problematic. His expertise was in reproductive health, and for the past four years he had been trying to establish a roster of marketable sperm donors. With a local male patient-population averaging older than forty five, who generally looked askance at the idea of sperm donation, this was hardly a flourishing aspect of his business. What he needed was a tool to entice the younger local men, who had the healthy sperm women wanted, to become his regular donors.

Tiffany could be that tool, he imagined. His own libido had reacted immediately when she walked into the office, and the longer he interviewed her the more certain he became that she was the answer to his prayers. She was smart enough to do the job but seemed supremely empathetic and malleable. He got the impression she would agree to just about anything so long as it was properly presented. And to top it all, she was cuter than any girl this town had seen in living memory. The local boys would be star struck.

As the minutes clicked by, he eventually ran out of legitimate questions. Purely out of desire to see her walk around in those tight jeans again, he suggested that he needed to test her eyesight.

Tiffany thought this request was a little strange but guessed that perhaps it was common for an office receptionist to need good eyesight, so she agreed.

He came around his desk and offered her a hand as she rose from her chair. Then he gestured toward the hallway and told her to head to the second exam room on the left. As Tiffany made her way through his office door and then down the brightly-lit hallway, he followed a few paces behind and let his eyes wander her backside.

Tiffany was conscious of his ogling, but blamed herself for choosing such form-fitting clothes. After all, the very reason she had worn this outfit was to leverage her natural assets into a new job. But now she scolded herself silently. It had been disrespectful to assume that someone like Doctor Mitchell might be so easily manipulated. He seemed far more serious than the doofus managers she had reported to in the past.

Still, she kept her shoulders square and concentrated on walking gracefully. She did not want him to think she was unattractive.

That worry was needless of course. Doctor Mitchell's face was pursed in lustful focus as he trailed behind her, eyes mesmerized by the rhythmic flex and release of her denim-clad derrière. She had the nicest little butt he could remember seeing in a long while.

When they reached the exam room, he flicked on the lights and tried to assert a professional demeanor. He asked Tiffany to stand in front of the eye chart. As a quick test of her compliance, he walked up behind her and placed his hands around her ribcage just below the line of her bra.

"Just back up a little more," he said, pulling her gently away from the chart on the wall.

When she made no objection to this touch he slid his hands down to her waist, relishing its remarkable slimness. He adjusted her position a little more, feigning concern that she needed to be exactly the right distance from the wall.

Tiffany had to stifle a giggle. His fingertips tickled and felt a bit naughty. She did not want to appear immature, however, so she tried not to squirm or make any noise.

"Good," he said finally, giving her a quick pat on both shoulders before moving off to one side.

Tiffany sensed that Doctor Mitchell was appraising more than just her eyesight but this did not bother her. In her prior food-service jobs her co-workers had always been flirting, patting and groping each other. She was accustomed to it. She straightened her posture and sucked in a lungful of air, trying to boost the profile of her medium-sized boobs.

"Okay," Ian began, standing to the side and looking her up and down. "Please cover your left eye and read the last three letters in the 4th row."

"E, H, Y," Tiffany recited, finishing with a pearl-white grin.

"Good. Now cover just your right eye, please. Read the first four letters in the 5th row."

"Z, I think, and then A, P -- or that could be a D, then Q."

"That's fine. Now, cover both eyes please, and tell me...."

Ian smirked as Tiffany dutifully covered both eyes and waited for him to finish his sentence. Despite himself he let out a mirthful chuckle.

"Tiffany, that's a joke," he said.

"Oh my god," she suddenly laughed, yanking her hands down and swiveling to face him. "I'm such a moron. I can't believe I did that!"

"Sorry. It's just an ice-breaker we use with patients sometimes. It gets a laugh even when they don't fall for it."

Tiffany's face warmed to a pink flush with embarrassment. She quickly averted her gaze downward, hooked her thumbs into her jeans' back pockets and began twisting the toe of one shoe into the floor.

Ian looked her up and down again, relishing her youthful skin and lithe shape. Her top's elastic fabric hugged her boobs perfectly. Its low neckline revealed a hint of cleavage that rose and fell with each breath.

'Goddamn,' he thought to himself before leading her back to his private office.

Once there, he shut the door and motioned for her to drop into a small leather roll-arm couch that was in the opposite corner from his desk. Then he sat down in a matching chair nearby.

"Tiffany," he announced, leaning forward to appear both intimate and professional at the same time. "I think you're going to be a good fit here."

"Really?!" she gushed, clasping her hands to her open collar. "Are you serious?"

"Yes, I'm serious. Despite my reservations about your experience and your potential longevity, I'm willing to take a risk on you."

"Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you! You have no idea how great this is. You're like, the only one hiring besides the drillers!"

"Well, hear me out first. I have some conditions."

"Okay -- Sorry, I'm just so excited!"

"You'll be a probationary employee during the first ninety days. That means any infraction of your employment agreement may be grounds for termination. I'll email that to you so you have a chance to read it before signing."

"Alright."

"You'll start on Monday, at 7:30 sharp. The clinic doesn't open until 10:00, but there is always work to do beforehand. Sometimes we stay open late too, so I'll expect you to be flexible in the evenings. Your pay rate for any overtime will accrue at time-and-a-half."

"Great."

"Do you have a cell phone?"

"Uh-huh."

"Good. I'll need your number before you leave. My three partners and I will expect you to be always on-call in case we need you."

"Um, okay."

"Aside from those details, the main thing we need to talk about is your role here. I realize you may think of this as just a temporary job in some backwater town, but we have big plans for this clinic. My colleagues and I are close friends. The four of us have known each other since med-school. After residency we all got jobs in different cities, but when the rural medicine initiative came out a few years ago, we decided it was too good to pass up. So we found this place where we could all work together again. We plan to build something special here. It's taken longer than we expected, but we remain undeterred. I want you to become an integral part of our team and for starters, while you're still learning, I want you to bring some youthful energy and playfulness to the office. To cheer everyone up."

"Yes sir. I'm sure I can do that..."

"My partners and I have stressful careers that don't allow the sort of work-life balance most people enjoy. We've each had to endure real losses in our personal lives."

"Gosh, I'm so sorry. I—"

"Any time we're feeling down, we can't provide the best patient care. So, keeping the four of us happy and relaxed will be just as important for you as welcoming our patients."

"Yes, I understand."

"Good. And lastly, let's talk about your clothes. What you're wearing today is not professional enough."

"Oh, I know and I'm sorry! I won't ever be this casual again. I mean, as soon as I walked in today, I thought I'd already blown it! I'll make sure I look more professional from now on. I really appreciate you taking a chance on me."

"Well, that's fine, but looking professional isn't the only goal. I'm not a jacket-and-tie sort of guy, really. Plus, it's warm this time of year so... your attire should be seasonally-appropriate and it should reflect your age too. How old are you, anyway?"

"Twenty-two."

"Right. So, you need to strike a balance. I'll leave that up to you."

"Well, okay but... now I'm confused. I have, like, casual clothes and I have some stuff I used to wear to my last job, but..."

"Well, to be clear, office attire means high heels, obviously. But I'm not so formal as to require stockings, especially at this time of year. You should wear skirts and dresses. Pant-suits are too old for you. And try to look approachable and flirty. Our patients are often nervous when they first arrive. It'll be your job to put them at ease. Understand?"

"Sure. Yes. I think so."

"Good."

Tiffany was doing a mental inventory of her clothes, and quickly realized that Doctor Mitchell's guidance was a bit of a blessing. Given this job's low hourly wage, and especially in the absence of any tips, there was no way she could afford to buy a whole bunch of office clothes. Now it seemed she could piece together outfits similar to what she had worn on dates with her ex-boyfriend before her parents had split them up.

"When you arrive on Monday morning, I'll introduce you to the rest of the team. In the meanwhile, just enjoy your time off. And I'll email you those employment papers to sign."

"Thanks Doctor Mitchell," Tiffany beamed as they both stood up. "I will."

"The weather is supposed to stay nice through the weekend," he offered, trying to sound casual as he extended his hand toward her. "You should try to get a tan."

"Oh?" Tiffany said with a smile as her hand was enveloped by his. "That's an idea. Maybe I will."

Ian forced himself to shut-up at that point, not wanting to freak her out with any other suggestive comments. Together they walked toward the front door of the clinic, passing through the lobby where a scowling Marge sat waiting for the clock to run down on her final week of employment.

Ian pushed the glass door wide open and waved goodbye as Tiffany strode out into the sunshine. When the door shut between them he stood there, watching the side-to-side flick of her young hips recede across the parking lot.

A wide grin split his face when she climbed onto a bicycle.

"I sure hope you didn't hire that one," Marge croaked loudly from behind the reception desk. "She looked like a real floozy."

Ian turned and slowly walked back toward his office. Along the way he sighed in Marge's direction and simply said: "Yep."

SCENE 2

Tiffany wasted much of the following two days online; surfing Facebook and her favorite shopping websites, watching viral videos and texting with her friends in Boston. She did not think there was much else to do in Rifle, Colorado.

Her grandmother was in her eighties, but still mobile and independent enough that she did not need much help. In fact she kept the small garden around the house flourishing and cooked three meals a day. Tiffany took it upon herself to do the housework and the grocery shopping though. She loved her grandma and did not want to be a burden.

As the weekend approached, Doctor Mitchell's instructions about her new job kept creeping into her thoughts. He had mentioned she should look 'approachable and flirty' and wear either skirts or dresses. She also remembered his suggestion about getting a tan, which made her think that perhaps he found her skin unattractively pale. She was, after all, from Boston. Perhaps a suntan would do her good.

On Saturday morning, as the sun crept toward noon, Tiffany shut down her laptop, put on a string bikini and went outside to the rear yard. She brought a large towel with her and arranged it in the center of the lawn. Her grandmother was inside baking something for lunch, and the backyard was completely fenced off from neighbors, so she felt she had some privacy.

She sat down and pushed her short hair back with a plastic headband. Then she squirted a big glob of SPF15 into her hand and began smearing it all over. She lay on her back and began carefully narrowing the triangles of her bikini to cover as little as possible, rubbing the sunscreen into every inch of exposed skin. In so doing she noticed that her pubic hair had grown-out during the month since her last waxing. She made a mental note to shave it before Monday. Once satisfied that her suit was as small as possible, she relaxed and shut her eyes against the bright mountain sunlight.

Half an hour later she flipped over and repeated this process; first smearing sunscreen all over her backside, then narrowing the seat of her bikini into little more than a thong. She also untied the back of her top completely. As she lay there in the sun she thought about the tan-lines the side strings of her bikini bottoms would create around her hips. She pulled them up higher, almost to her waist, hoping to minimize the lines while keeping the rear triangle of coverage as narrow as possible.

She closed her eyes and eventually dozed off. Her grandmother woke her an hour later for lunch. As she stood, re-tied her bikini top and pulled its bottoms out of her butt crack, she noticed that her skin felt warm to the touch.

After lunch Tiffany cleaned the kitchen. Then she stood before a mirror in the guest bathroom and checked on the progress of her tan. So far so good, she thought. But her front definitely had some catching up to do. She returned to the garden and lay on her back, applying a fresh coat of sunscreen to all her exposed skin.

By three o'clock in the afternoon she felt a bit fried, so she retreated to the cool shade of the house and took a shower. A thick coat of moisturizer soothed her skin.

On Sunday she repeated this ritual, the only difference being that her grandmother was away with her church group so she had the entire house to herself. She brought her iPod and headphones out to the garden and took the liberty of completely removing her top. Having her boobs exposed to the sun was a novel thrill for her. She noticed that rubbing her nipples with suntan lotion felt good, and the sun's warm radiation felt oddly healthy. She narrowed her bikini bottoms even more than the day before, wanting to minimize her tan lines but lacking the courage to go fully nude.

By late Sunday afternoon she had established a solid base tan. It reminded her of being on summer vacation. She could not help smiling at her naked reflection in bathroom mirror as she prepared to shower before dinner.