Your support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)
- Joined
- Feb 7, 2009
(This is a roleplay based in an original setting, and is likely to incorporate a number of extreme fetishes.)
Of course she needed the job. She was the thirteenth person he'd interviewed today, and the thirteenth person to claim it was really, really important that she get this, as if he'd pick someone who wasn't the most qualified out of mercy. The economy was shit right now, yes, he knew that. The doctor was well aware, however that didn't mean he had to sacrifice professionalism because of it - he sacrificed that often enough on his own. If he picked someone mediocre because he felt sorry for her or him that meant he'd end up needing two assistants, not one, and it simply wasn't a big enough practice to require two. Right now it was just him. All he needed was an assistant with a nursing degree who didn't mind doubling as a receptionist, not another person with another sob story.
"Thank you. This all looks very interesting," he stated, sitting behind the desk in the office of his private practice, eyes peering over a clipboard with the woman's lengthy resume at the top. He glanced to her sitting across his desk, then to the clipboard again, then back to her, brandishing a faux smile and slinging mundane pleasantries. This all looks wonderful. I'll be in contact. You can expect to hear from me within the next several days. Go on, get out, I'm late for an appointment with the bottle of aged scotch in my bottom left drawer. He said most of these, perhaps not all, standing and offering a handshake, walking around his desk to see the woman out of his office and back to the waiting room.
Almost done. It was almost empty. About three and a half hours ago he'd started with fourteen people scheduled, resumes in hand, most sitting with a professional look about them, backs straight, chins high, only so many chairs forcing a few others to stand. It had hard not to look out into the room and feel pity, but after awhile that difficulty faded. After awhile he just wanted to be done with this already, and that feeling had reached a peak well over an hour ago now. Now it was just annoying. Every thing. Every little thing. A shot of 'medicine' between interviews was the only thing that had kept him going, had kept him looking forward from one to the tedious next. The last girl smelled the alcohol on his breath, he'd seen it in her face when he greeted her, but she apparently needed this job bad enough that she kept her mouth shut. Good thinking.
After seeing the woman out the doctor glanced to the waiting room to the final applicant waiting, waiting for hour now. Poor thing. He really didn't feel like seeing anyone else right now. Truth is, he'd decided on Thomas Nichols already, the... eighth? Nine fellow to be interviewed? The rest had been continued either from a professionalism or not wanting to deal with telling them all to shove it. And a few of the later applicants had been smart enough to dress for low cleavage, so that helped a little. Glancing out to the woman still waiting she definitely wasn't the bombshell of the bunch, but eh, she wasn't too shabby. He also had high standards, high expectations. And a high desire to kiss his troubles away, alcohol his first love.
With that thought in mind the doctor didn't approach the last woman right away. Instead he left her out in the waiting room for a few minutes while he returned to his office for a relaxing drink. Two drinks, actually, to celebrate being almost done - they were just single shots, so they went down easy enough. So maybe he let her wait more than just a minute or two. He didn't really care, truth be told. Or maybe it amused him, like a bully, seeing how long she would continue to wait patiently for. Five minutes turned to ten. Ten to fifteen. Fifteen to forty minutes.
"You're still here?" he questioned when he finally opened the door between the waiting room and the hallway. The doctor leaned against the doorway, clipboard in an arm, pen cap in his mouth. He stared at the woman from behind thin black glasses, a mixture of boredom and amusement painted on his face - both, somehow simultaneously. "Honestly, I was hoping you'd leave." Alcohol tended to make a man truthful. Plus he was a bit of a son of a bitch even when sober, according to his friends. "...Look, I reeeally don't want to do this. I'm tired. I got all kinds of new sports channels hooked up yesterday. This all took much longer than anticipated, so my fucking dog probably made a mess by now, not used to not getting to go out for so long. And I don't really care about your sob story, lady, 'cause so far eeeeverryyyyone's had on."
That came with a roll of his eyes. Shifting the pen cap to the other side of his lips, he sighed, glancing her over. Then, after a few seconds of pause, the doctor smirked. Then he grinned. Then he paused again in thought, and then he spoke, "I'll tell you what. I hope you put on some nice lingerie today. Women do that sometimes, don't they? I mean just for the hell of it? It makes you feel sexy, so then you have a little oompf to your confidence, right? So I hope you did, but I mean, not because of that. ...Take your clothes off." And there it was. "Not everything, just down to your underwear. You can keep your heels on. Hair the way it is too, I suppose. You're gonna make this interesting for me, or I can just tell you right now that the job's been filled and you can be on your way, hating me for the pervert I am."
And with that he turned, smirking, letting the hallway door close behind him. What could she do? Well, it was up to her. There were too many other people around earlier to really screw with anyone and right about now he didn't care about being professional anymore. She'd either comply and he'd get some fun out of this or he'd get to go home, so it was really win-win. "Oh," he spoke again, stopping a few steps from the door to head back, pushing it open. "And feel free to crawl to my office on your hands and knees. You know," he said with a shrug, "for fun."
Was he for fucking real?
The door swung closed on its hinges as the doctor disappeared back into the hallway behind it, back to his office behind that. He was. He very much was for real. Some day it would come back to bite him in the ass one way or another. And until then he'd have a hell of a time.
Of course she needed the job. She was the thirteenth person he'd interviewed today, and the thirteenth person to claim it was really, really important that she get this, as if he'd pick someone who wasn't the most qualified out of mercy. The economy was shit right now, yes, he knew that. The doctor was well aware, however that didn't mean he had to sacrifice professionalism because of it - he sacrificed that often enough on his own. If he picked someone mediocre because he felt sorry for her or him that meant he'd end up needing two assistants, not one, and it simply wasn't a big enough practice to require two. Right now it was just him. All he needed was an assistant with a nursing degree who didn't mind doubling as a receptionist, not another person with another sob story.
"Thank you. This all looks very interesting," he stated, sitting behind the desk in the office of his private practice, eyes peering over a clipboard with the woman's lengthy resume at the top. He glanced to her sitting across his desk, then to the clipboard again, then back to her, brandishing a faux smile and slinging mundane pleasantries. This all looks wonderful. I'll be in contact. You can expect to hear from me within the next several days. Go on, get out, I'm late for an appointment with the bottle of aged scotch in my bottom left drawer. He said most of these, perhaps not all, standing and offering a handshake, walking around his desk to see the woman out of his office and back to the waiting room.
Almost done. It was almost empty. About three and a half hours ago he'd started with fourteen people scheduled, resumes in hand, most sitting with a professional look about them, backs straight, chins high, only so many chairs forcing a few others to stand. It had hard not to look out into the room and feel pity, but after awhile that difficulty faded. After awhile he just wanted to be done with this already, and that feeling had reached a peak well over an hour ago now. Now it was just annoying. Every thing. Every little thing. A shot of 'medicine' between interviews was the only thing that had kept him going, had kept him looking forward from one to the tedious next. The last girl smelled the alcohol on his breath, he'd seen it in her face when he greeted her, but she apparently needed this job bad enough that she kept her mouth shut. Good thinking.
After seeing the woman out the doctor glanced to the waiting room to the final applicant waiting, waiting for hour now. Poor thing. He really didn't feel like seeing anyone else right now. Truth is, he'd decided on Thomas Nichols already, the... eighth? Nine fellow to be interviewed? The rest had been continued either from a professionalism or not wanting to deal with telling them all to shove it. And a few of the later applicants had been smart enough to dress for low cleavage, so that helped a little. Glancing out to the woman still waiting she definitely wasn't the bombshell of the bunch, but eh, she wasn't too shabby. He also had high standards, high expectations. And a high desire to kiss his troubles away, alcohol his first love.
With that thought in mind the doctor didn't approach the last woman right away. Instead he left her out in the waiting room for a few minutes while he returned to his office for a relaxing drink. Two drinks, actually, to celebrate being almost done - they were just single shots, so they went down easy enough. So maybe he let her wait more than just a minute or two. He didn't really care, truth be told. Or maybe it amused him, like a bully, seeing how long she would continue to wait patiently for. Five minutes turned to ten. Ten to fifteen. Fifteen to forty minutes.
"You're still here?" he questioned when he finally opened the door between the waiting room and the hallway. The doctor leaned against the doorway, clipboard in an arm, pen cap in his mouth. He stared at the woman from behind thin black glasses, a mixture of boredom and amusement painted on his face - both, somehow simultaneously. "Honestly, I was hoping you'd leave." Alcohol tended to make a man truthful. Plus he was a bit of a son of a bitch even when sober, according to his friends. "...Look, I reeeally don't want to do this. I'm tired. I got all kinds of new sports channels hooked up yesterday. This all took much longer than anticipated, so my fucking dog probably made a mess by now, not used to not getting to go out for so long. And I don't really care about your sob story, lady, 'cause so far eeeeverryyyyone's had on."
That came with a roll of his eyes. Shifting the pen cap to the other side of his lips, he sighed, glancing her over. Then, after a few seconds of pause, the doctor smirked. Then he grinned. Then he paused again in thought, and then he spoke, "I'll tell you what. I hope you put on some nice lingerie today. Women do that sometimes, don't they? I mean just for the hell of it? It makes you feel sexy, so then you have a little oompf to your confidence, right? So I hope you did, but I mean, not because of that. ...Take your clothes off." And there it was. "Not everything, just down to your underwear. You can keep your heels on. Hair the way it is too, I suppose. You're gonna make this interesting for me, or I can just tell you right now that the job's been filled and you can be on your way, hating me for the pervert I am."
And with that he turned, smirking, letting the hallway door close behind him. What could she do? Well, it was up to her. There were too many other people around earlier to really screw with anyone and right about now he didn't care about being professional anymore. She'd either comply and he'd get some fun out of this or he'd get to go home, so it was really win-win. "Oh," he spoke again, stopping a few steps from the door to head back, pushing it open. "And feel free to crawl to my office on your hands and knees. You know," he said with a shrug, "for fun."
Was he for fucking real?
The door swung closed on its hinges as the doctor disappeared back into the hallway behind it, back to his office behind that. He was. He very much was for real. Some day it would come back to bite him in the ass one way or another. And until then he'd have a hell of a time.