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| MarcusStrapp |
She picked up the letter from the pile that had dropped through her letterbox onto her hall floor. The usual mix of bills and junk mail but as she shuffled through the stack of letters her heart took a little leap as she came across a stiff white DL envelope bearing her name and address. There were no other markings apart from the stamp and a smudged postmark so she knew this was more likely to be the reply she was waiting for rather than the another bill or junk.
She walked back into the kitchen and slipped the plain white envelope into a gap between the portable radio and the biscuit barrel sitting on top of the fridge. The other letters she dropped onto to the breakfast table. She reached over for her cup of tea and started the morning routine of getting the kids up and ready for school. The white letter she'd save for later when she was alone.
As soon as she heard the front door close, she went to retrieve the letter and sat down at the breakfast table. She placed the crisp white envelope just beyond the table mat in front of her careful to avoid contamination from butter, jam and bread crumbs; the detritus left from morning breakfast with children.
She'd sent off the application at least a month ago and hopes of getting a reply had been fading. Still, this could be that reply. She'd keep her hopes on a close rein though. Of course she wanted the job, but those hopes had to be balanced with the knowledge that there would of course be other applicants. In any case the job she was doing now, suited her well enough and if she didn't get this job it wasn't the end of the world. Life was fine as it was. She did want that job though, it was hard to know exactly why it had become so important.
She took a sip of her tea replaced the mug on the mat and lifted the envelope and stared at the neat sans serif type. There was nothing to hint as to what may lay inside. Caught in the moment she idly compared her situation to the all too hackneyed way game shows drag out revealing the answer to build the tension. Embarrassed by her own introspection she snapped herself out of her reverie and internally scolded herself for behaving like a child. All business like, she opened, the business like envelope.
She fished out and unfolded a single sheet of matte bond paper.
Dear Theresa Morgan, Thank you for application for a employment with Schott and Stein. I take pleasure in informing you that you are invited to an interview 10:30 am Friday 24th July. If for any reason you should be unable to make this appointment, please contact human resources on the number below. Sincerely yours p.p M Schott |
A smile flashed across her lips as she realised that the first hurdle had been overcome. Then the warmth she felt was extinguished as quickly as if a bucket of cold water had been throw over her. She rushed out to the dining room where her laptop was sitting on the dining table and tapped the space bar to bring the machine to life. It couldn't be, it couldn't be! But it was. Today was the 24th!
She reread the simple text of the letter that was still in her hand. Something must be playing tricks on her. they couldn't possibly invite for interview at such ridiculously short notice. She almost ran back to the kitchen to retrieve the envelope and scrutinised the smudged post mark on the envelope for a date. Was that the 22nd? No it looked more like the the 12th. She swore out loud and cursed the incompetency of the Post Office. This was not the first time post had been late or gone astray. Ever since the post codes were changed for the area there had been problems with late deliveries or letters going missing.
She swore and swore and swore under her breath. What should she do? She could call the number on the letter and explain what had happened. And in her mind she saw all the other applicants preparing themselves and turning up on time on the right day. She broke out into something of a sweat and swore some more. She looked at her watch. It was just before half past eight.
Picking up the cordless phone sitting on the kitchen counter she punched the numbers and dialled. It rang four times and then she heard a click and the start of the recorded message. Reception should have been in by now, but they obviously hadn't switched the off the answer machine. That was good. It was somehow easier to lie to a machine.
"It's Terry and can you please pass this message onto James. Tell James I can't make it is this morning, I'm sorry that I'll not be able to make the planning meeting but I've come down to find my kitchen flooded and I'm waiting on an emergency plumber. If all goes well I'll be in this afternoon"
She hung up and looked at her watch again. She really wanted this job. She raced through her options on everything she need to do to be ready in time. Did the calculations in her head for journey times, time for a shower, times to dress, time to apply make up. Did the place have parking? She forced her way through all the stages of preparation. She'd be there on time.
-- oo --
Standing at the entrance on the street she looked at the column of stainless steel buttons for the various offices and found the one for she was looking for. She checked her watch, five minutes early. Having cut things so fine she felt flustered but, close was close enough and allowed her self a deep breath to steady her nerves. She pressed the door bell. A woman's voice came over the intercom and after brief exchange a buzzing sound was heard and went through the large heavy plate glass doors. She was to ascend the sweeping arc of the stairs where should would be met by Mr Schott on the mezzanine floor. The stairs were open and sided by an all glass side and balustrade that left her feeling like she might fall over the edge, she felt a little giddy and little sick.
There were staff passing to and fro when she reached the mezzanine. Men and women in suits, talking and walking in pairs and threes. The place had an up market professional feel. Large pictures and sculptures adorned the open plan area.
She saw a man in dark grey suit walking towards her as she stepped off the last step. With a broad smile he extended a hand.
"Ms Morgan I presume?"
His easy presence did nothing to relax her, she reached out her hand. His hand felt cool and firm and she winced inside and hoped he would not feel her shaking or clammy with nerves.
"So pleased you could come and see us. Erm, lets go over here".
He motioned to a glass coffee table and rich deep brown squat leather sofa, the sort of quiet opulence common for corporate offices.
"There's been a mix up with meeting rooms and so, well we'll conduct the first part of interview here and then we'll take a tour and show you around the office. Is that OK?."
Before she could answer, he went on.
"It's more comfortable and less formal here anyway. Can I get you a cup of coffee or tea perhaps"
Theresa swallowed and declined. With her nerves as they were, balancing a coffee cup on a saucer might be too much for her and she didn't want it rattling away to draw Mr Schott's attention to her state of nerves.
He talked and talked. That broad smile, easy confidence, relaxed body language. She tried to hold on to his words, fearful that she might be quizzed later on what he was telling her but his words seemed to vanish in her brain and could not be recalled.
"Theresa?"
She looked at him blankly, The intonation must have meant that this was a question but she hadn't grasped what the question was. She had missed it altogether.
She stammered out a "Pardon?"
His smile remained, perhaps even broadened a little.
"Theresa, I asked you what it was about this role that attracted you, and what qualities you though you could bring with you?"
"Oh, I knew as soon as I read the advert that this was something I really wanted to do. I think I have always been looking for a position like this"
She felt his scrutiny bore right through her eyes and render her defenceless.
"And Theresa, any, qualities?"
She stared back him, locking up, paralysed. Why was this happening to her. She was never like this.
"Hmm, that's OK. Lets move on"
She started to breath again at having been let off the hook, but also a sense of frustration had having failed to answer somethings so easy.
"Theresa, a company as successful as this works as well as it does because everyone does what is expected of them. Do you understand?"
She nodded her head.
"The role we have you down for is demanding and you requires lots of enthusiasm and the ability be a team member, to deliver on what is expected of you. Do you think you can do that? Do you want to do that? A salary however good, is never enough to really sustain that sort of commitment. You have to believe in what you are doing?
She blurted out "I do want this job, I do!"
The words sounded so stupid to her, sure she could phrase something more eloquent than that!
"Well, that's encouraging to hear. Now, Theresa, what I want to do for the next part of the interview is for you to walk over to the balcony with me and stop in front of the balustrade. It's a little test. Can you do that for me?"
She looked at him, bemused, what a strange request.
"Come on, come on!" he chivvied at her.
She got to her feet and started to cross the mezzanine towards the glass balcony. It was like walking towards the edge of a cliff.
She was aware from the sound of his footsteps on the marble floor he was following close behind her. As she reached the balcony she went to turn her head towards him but his voice startled her and snapped out an order.
"No! Keep looking straight ahead. Do not look round. Now what we both need to find out is whether you really understand what this position entails and whether you really do indeed want the job as much as you say you do"
She kept looking straight ahead, aware of the people climbing the stairs and crossing the floor below her.
"I want you to raise your skirt to waist height"
"She heard what he said, but her brain was failing to make sense of it all" She grasped and clamoured looking for ways to make the words make a different sense, a sense appropriate to an interview taking place in the lobby of a corporate office. No further instructions were forthcoming and and the moments drew out into leaden interminable slice of time. She knew she could not stand there for ever, but what the hell was she supposed to do? Was he expecting her to spin on her heals and challenge him? Was this some bizarre test of initiative? Still the moments dragged on and on. All the activity around her just seemed to magnify the passing of time and underscore her inactivity. Her eyes started to well up. Why did he not say anything? He had been quick to let her of the hook before. Was he even still there? Should she she look round? The stinging, welling up of her eyes was becoming unbearable.
Her hands, palms open at her side curled and her slim fingers gripped into the material of her grey office skirt. the index finger of each hand minutely extended and dug back into the material and curled to draw up her hem line by just a millimetre or two. A tear rolled out and wetted her cheek. Her fore fingers repeated the action extending out beyond the reach of her retracted index finger and pulled another couple of millimetre of grey skirt to bunch up on her thighs. Minute by minute, millimetre by millimetre, tear by tear, she worked her way until her hem was bunched into her hand.
"Good girl, now keep going"
There was both a tragic sense of relief that he was still there and also abject horror as to what was happening. With her hem in her hands she was not still not indecently exposed and she could probably walk away now without anyone but her and Mr Schott knowing a thing. But now she knew he was intending her to take the order literally. She felt her face redden and she closed her eyes for a few seconds. She willed the muscles in her arms to contract a little and raise her hands a little higher.
And the minutes ticked by and by.
A portly distinguished looking man with grey haired in a navy suit climbing the stairs glanced towards her and smiled and then returned to looking at the papers in his hands.
How could he see this and just smile and look away? Did he see what was going on?
She froze for a while, waiting on more instruction, more reassurance. But none was forthcoming. She could hear the footfall of people crossing the mezzanine behind her.
Every moment, was a moment torn in two, a thousand consecutive decisions between fight or flight.
After fifteen minutes her hem line must have raised a good three inches. If you had stopped to look, it would have been clear something was going on, but perhaps, if you were lost in your own thoughts you could have well passed by a noticed nothing at all.
"Theresa, perhaps you are nor really cut out for this line of work and this sort of company. It's OK, not everyone is."
His words sounded genuinely concerned, or was that just her desperation to find kindness in this cruelty.
But she wanted this job, she wanted this job more and more and with each hatred filled and fuelled moment the obsession to have this job and work for Mr Schott just grew and grew and became all she could see. She screwed up her face, she would not be beaten. She would not fail this. She brought her clenched hands higher and higher. The tears rolled off her cheeks and splashed onto the floor. her skirt was now half way over her buttocks. The humiliating site of her uncovered arse for all too see. She kept her eyes closed. Still no words of encouragement. Mr Schott had said to waist height. There was no dignity to be salvaged now so she might as well get it over with. With act equal in measure of defiance and submission, she raised her skirt the rest of the way.
Still silence for a good moment. Her tight fitting pencil skirt securely raised over the subtle swell of her thighs.
"Place your hands on the balustrade and lean forward"
What did it matter now? Everyone around her must be aware of this.
She did as she was told. She saw her tears fall over the edge of the balcony and plummet towards the floor below.
"I want you ask your self how much you want to work for me." He added quickly "Don't answer me yet! I want you think about the question, I want you to really ask yourself is this what you want. Is this what you want for yourself, is this what you want for you boss. You'll answer me in a minute when I give you the signal."
With her head over the edge of the glass balcony she could see her own feet in her high heeled shoes and her legs back through the glass balcony. She felt giddy and sick. But somehow, as if under a spell, caught in a maddening addiction she possessed no will to be anywhere else. This felt so wrong and yet, there was no will to move away from it.
There was sound behind her and she struggled to interpret it, but when that sound became the swish of leather being drawn through material, she knew exactly what it was. This could not be happening.
"Now Theresa, when I give you the signal, I want you to express, in your own words why, you think I should employ you".
Through the upside down view through the glass balcony she could see Mr Schott position himself behind her.
She knew he was going to thrash her with his belt and despite not believing this could be happening, she was powerless to move. Minutes passed. At least in this position she did not have to see the faces of anyone around her.
He coiled three turns of the soft leather broad belt around his fist. two feet of it falling loose. The first blow hit her backside with a satisfying crack and she yelped and the sounds filled the atrium. The searing sting and the hot searing burn lingered.
She expected another blow to follow but there was none. She waited, and waited. She started to panic inside. Started to search for something. Then it dawned her, that was the signal.
"I need to be a plaything"
Her words burbled out on a whisper too fast. Did he hear her? Did he hear her?
She went to repeat herself but before she could, the belt bit into her backside once again. Mixed with the feeling of the pain was the joyous relief at having understood the rules. She understood! She understood the rules! She was filled with dumb elation She knew what was expected of her and she could do this!
"I need to be a plaything" the words came out fast but they were more vocal than a whisper and immediately she followed again with "I need to be your plaything" her voice rising with urgency on the word "your".
Crack
"Please employ me! I will do as I am told".
Crack
"Please employ me! I am so eager to please you".
The involuntary cries, sobs and yelps were there but the words now were louder and carried in them a tone of determination.
Crack
"I can please you if you give me the chance".
Crack
"I'll follow your orders, you can ask me to do anything".
Mr Schott paused, put the belt down and removed his jacket. He took up his position once again. This time the force was double. It knocked the air out of her and she let our a scream followed by a sobbing and then with a fiery determination half way to a shout.
"I. Am. Your. Plaything"
There was a pause and she was vaguely aware of some sounds. Was it cheering, was it clapping?
She felt an arm around her shoulders lift her up from leaning over the edge of the balcony. It tenderly turned her tear stained face towards him.
"Welcome aboard Theresa. I'd like to offer you off the position."
She smiled though her tears. Nothing made sense, but it didn't seem to matter.
She became aware of a group of people standing around watching, smiling at her.
"Well done!"
"Welcome"
This was so surreal.
"Theresa, so can I take it you would like to accept my offer?"
She was nodding and she felt her own smile must have been ridiculously broad and ear to ear. Her eyes widened like those of a child's first sight of presents beneath the Christmas tree. Through a sniffle all she could say was "Yes, yes, yes!"
"Well plaything, that's just wonderful" He reached for his jacket that was resting over the balustrade, and flicked it over his shoulder. Let's take that tour of the office and introduce you to everyone.
She beamed at him and went to straighten down her skirt.
"Oh no no no! There is a strict dress code for playthings."
He placed a hand on her shoulder and led her towards some frosted double glass doors into the rest of the office. He swiped his keyfob against the panel and ushered her through. Heels, skirt around her waist, tears stained cheeks, shy, and completely employed in the job of her dreams.
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It's all just silly fiction. but applications can be submitted by comment or memo 
Edited Sun 18 Jul 10, 8:22 PM by MarcusStrapp
| 18 Jul 10, 1:09 PM FluffySub UK(NN), 6 yrs      |
Welcome back, I've missed your po.....erm.... fiction  “I do not want to be the leader. I refuse to be the leader. I want to live darkly and richly in my femaleness. I want a man lying over me, always over me. His will, his pleasure, his desire, his life, his work, his sexuality the touchstone, the command, my pivot.” Anais Nin |
| 3 Aug 10, 9:21 PM EtaCarinae CA, 5 yrs  |
Really loved the story, could not stop reading it, palpitating. Well done Marcus S! Si chientes chiaveron aches culpaveron cullus |
