Thanking the Receptionist
Contemporary Erotica
Juniper Bell
It’s her naughty dream job…but are they satisfied with her performance? One receptionist, two bosses, and a very special “thank you.”
“We’ll send a car to pick you up around noon, Dana. The driver will have instructions for you,” Simon said on the phone.
Instructions. I’d never liked that word at Long Island Community College, but as an employee of Cowell & Dirk, I’d warmed up to it. Simon and Ethan’s ‘instructions’ usually resulted in screaming orgasms all around. Why argue with that? “Will I like them?”
He chuckled. “Behave yourself and you’ll be fine. I’ll see you in Salt Lake
‘Sweet.’ The sexiest man in the world called me ‘sweet.’ Could life get any better? Hard to believe that three months ago, I’d been an unemployed slacker living at home dodging empty gin bottles. Gin being my stepmom’s drink of choice. My father went for Scotch. Yet another thing they fought about.
But those days were over. Now I had my own place (about the size of one of those gin bottles, but still, it was mine.) And I had a job. I was the receptionist for the firm of Cowell & Dirk. As such, I answered phones and performed other duties as required by my two bosses, who happened to have some very naughty demands. The job kept me on my toes.
And occasionally on my knees. Or other parts of my anatomy not usually put to use in an office job. But this was no ordinary job, as I’d learned on my first day of work. I still remembered what Simon had me wear, and how he put me up against the window and…
No time for flashbacks. I had to get ready for my first business trip. Ethan Cowell and Simon Dirk were going to Salt Lake City
The next day, a slick black car showed up outside my building, scattering broken glass and homeless guys. It drove Simon crazy that I still lived in such a crappy neighborhood, but I liked it. I didn’t know if I could sleep without police sirens and the occasional gang battle.
“Ms. Arthur?” The driver got out of the car and held the door open for me.
“That’s me.” I sailed into the car like the Queen of England. Make that the Princess of Long Island .
“Mr. Dirk told me to give this to you.” He handed me a white box. I knew those white boxes. Some of my kinkiest outfits came in those boxes.
As soon as we were mobile and the driver’s attention was otherwise occupied, I opened the box. A note lay on top of pink tissue paper. “Please wear these for the rest of the trip. SD.”
Under the tissue I found the softest, filmiest red silk stockings ever seen in Lowlife, Long Island . And an old-style lacy garter belt to hold them up. And nothing else. Oh, that Simon. He wanted me to get on a plane bare-pussied, wearing nothing under my skirt but garters and stockings. Wouldn’t I flash the other passengers every time I crossed my legs?
Just follow instructions. I inched off my panties, hoping the driver didn’t notice me squirming around in the back seat. Pointless, because as soon as I’d put on the stockings and garter, and felt the cool air brush my pussy, he reached his hand over the seat. “Mr. Dirk wants the old ones.”
Talk about mortified. I handed him my panties, which he stuffed into a manila envelope. Not only did this stranger have my panties, he probably knew how exposed I was. Even so, I felt a tingling in my pussy, an itch that made me squirm against the leather seat.
“None of that now,” said the driver. “Mr. Dirk’s orders.”
I froze. WTF? I was about to tell the driver to back the F off, then I remembered that Cowell & Dirk liked to put video cameras everywhere. One might be pointed at me right now. Simon might be watching, or Ethan. Or both. Heat flashed in my pussy, but I sat still and carefully kept my legs apart. I didn’t want them to see me disobeying orders at the start of my first business trip.
By the time I boarded the plane, I was cursing my devilish employers. From the car to the security line to the long walk down the terminal to my gate, every step reminded me I was bare and wet down there. I swear the TSA agents looked at me funny, like they wanted to strip-search me right there on the scanner. The ache in my sex was seriously distracting. I wasn’t scheduled to meet up with Simon and Ethan for another six hours. Would I make it? Maybe I could relieve a little pressure in the privacy of my seat with a discreet wiggle or two.
Lo and behold, I got to fly business class. Which meant my seat was front and center. No getting away with anything there. I sank into the cushy seat and reminded myself that it was pretty freakin’ cool to go business class, especially for someone like me who’d only been on a plane once, for my grandmother’s funeral. I’d gone standby on a discount airline and someone had stolen my carry-on bag from the overhead compartment.
When we were airborne, the flight attendant—they must put the really busty ones in business class—handed out plastic glasses of champagne for those who wanted it. I definitely wanted it. Maybe alcohol would dull the hunger between my legs. After she served everyone, she came back to me.
“Ms. Dana Arthur?” She was blond and strict, like Heidi Klum booting someone off Project Runway. Had she seen what I was wearing, or not wearing, under my skirt? Was I about to get kicked out of business class for inappropriate attire?
“Yes, that’s me.”
“This is from Mr. Cowell.” She handed me a white box.
Holy department store! Had they bought out Long Island ’s entire lingerie supply? I snatched the box from her.
“Mr. Cowell gave me this too.” She showed me a small digital camera. “He’s expecting a photo. He wants to make sure you’re following instructions.”
“I am.”
“Then we have no problem. Come along.” I revised my first impression. They put the bossy ones in business class, not the busty ones. “Wha…where?”
“The restroom. I have specific instructions.”
Of course she did.
I followed her to the bathroom at the front of the plane. She closed the curtain behind us. “You first,” she told me. “Go in, pull your skirt up and bend over the sink.”
“Bend over? It’s not exactly a penthouse suite in there.” A flash shut me up. Heidi Klum had just snapped a picture of me mouthing off.
“Rebellious, are you? I’m afraid Mr. Cowell will have to hear about this.”
Oh, hell. I bit my lip to keep any more cheeky attitude to myself. That’s what always got me in trouble. Meekly I stepped into the cramped little restroom and maneuvered myself against the sink. I lifted my skirt to expose my rear end and bent over as far as I could. I heard another click of the camera then felt a quick touch of fingers in my wet folds. It was an impersonal touch, not meant to arouse, but to test. Confirm or deny my arousal. If I hadn’t already been on fire, those cool, quick fingers would have done it. I hated that my body responded like that. But Ethan and Simon always seemed to know how to get me revved up. Even when they were thousands of miles away.
“Lovely. Mr. Cowell will be pleased,” she murmured. She tweaked my clit and my hips jerked. The throbbing in my sex went to double-time. “You can stand up now.”
I stood up, too embarrassed to meet her eyes. She handed me the white box. “Mr. Cowell wants you to wear this for the rest of the trip.”
Please let it be a burlap sack or nursing home scrubs, anything to get my mind off the pulsing heat between my legs. Yeah, right. That wouldn’t happen until Simon and Ethan checked into the Motel Six Feet Under. I waited for Hellacious Heidi to leave, but she stayed where she was. “Mr. Cowell said you might need my help.”
My throat tightened. When I drew out the item from its tissue paper, my eyes got big as Heidi’s boobs. A hot pink corset with red leather laces. Oh, damn. The thing was tiny. They wanted me to wear that? It looked like it belonged on a doll. A pornographic, sex-shop kind of doll.
“There’s no way…” I remembered the camera, “…I can put this on by myself.” I handed it to her. Her smug look irritated me. Wanting to get it over with as quickly as possible, I stripped off my jacket, camisole and bra.
“I’ll take that.” Heidi snatched the bra from my hand and stuffed it in her pocket. Great, now I was scattering underwear across the continent. “Face the mirror.”
In the mirror, my nipples stared back at me, mocking me with their swollen erectness.
She made me watch as she settled the corset around my torso, then yanked the lace tight at the waist. I yelped. She smiled. An angel face hiding a devil inside. She pulled the rest of the laces tight, one by one, enclosing my ribcage in hot pink satin. I felt like Scarlett O’Hara getting ready for a barbecue. Except I’m pretty sure Scarlett’s nipples were hidden under lace. Not mine, oh no. The corset went right up to the underside of my breasts, pushed them up and out, and displayed my nipples like two maraschino cherries on an ice cream sundae.
My waist looked unbelievably tiny. The corset did wonders for my posture, too. No matter how I tried, slouching was not an option. Or slumping or hiding. It was weirdly relaxing. The structure of the corset took charge. All I had to do was let go and not mind my nipples protruding in such a provocative way. The thought that I was only a couple hours away from Simon and Ethan definitely helped. They’d love this look. I could already feel Simon’s tongue on my nipple, Ethan’s hand on my ass…
Another camera click brought me back to myself. Heidi was going for the full frontal shot. She fluffed my hair around my head and told me to lick my lips. I channeled my inner porn star and gave my reflection a pouty air kiss. I posed and preened, loving the way I looked in the corset, like someone from a Wild West whorehouse. Heidi took photo after photo. She must have thought I was pretty sexy too, because her voice got husky.
“If Mr. Cowell hadn’t left such specific instructions, I’d be all over you,” she breathed in my ear. “I’d get those nipples so juicy, he’d come at the sight of you. I’d press you down and put my hand up your pussy and fuck you blind. But I’m not supposed to get you off, and I can tell right now you’re ready to explode. Get your clothes on and get back to your seat. Now, before I change my mind.” She slapped me on the ass and handed me my camisole.
Seriously, I don’t know what’s going on with airline security these days. I stopped caring when I felt silk against my sensitized nipples. Then the weight of the jacket settling on top, the buttons closing me in. It was like mainlining sexual heat straight through my nipples. In a hot haze, I made my way back to my seat. I hoped I wouldn’t spontaneously combust before we landed in Salt Lake
The rest of the flight passed like a dream. The sun set, the moon rose. All I thought about was getting to Simon and Ethan. Simon, master of my heart, and Ethan, master of us both.
Another driver picked me up at the airport, but this one seemed to be out of the loop. He didn’t ask for my underwear. Good thing, because I had none left to sacrifice. He took me straight to the Salt Lake City Hilton. I’m not exactly the Hilton type, so I got all googly-eyed at the glass elevator and the bellboys dressed up like toy soldiers in a parade. My bright red stockings got some attention from the other hotel guests. Or maybe it was the heat in my cheeks and the way my breath kept speeding up. Every step I took aroused my enflamed nipples even further. But every step took me closer to Simon and Ethan.
Return tomorrow for the second half of Juniper Bell's "Thanking the Receptionist".
“Training the Receptionist,” from Samhain Publishing. “Restraining the Receptionist” will be released on June 14.
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