EXTRACT FOR
The Receptionist
(Author Unknown)

    Chapter One

     

     Receptionist is not exactly a high-paying or high-status job. On the other hand, it doesn't require an awful lot of experience or education. And while it doesn't pay all that well, it still pays a lot better than working in retail. And you don't have to be on your feet all day. You also deal with a generally higher class of people.

     The problem is that many of those higher-class people are very aware of their own higher status, not to mention wealth and thus importance. So, if you want to be a successful receptionist you have to be able to ignore the many little slights, sniffs, sneers, sexist, and casual paternalistic things they say while still smiling.

     Having no status and requiring very little experience means you can be easily replaced. You can certainly be more easily replaced than one of those 'higher class' types. So, if you get anyone mad at you the company is going to choose them and not you.

     That is to say 'me'. 

     So, I learned to smile and pretend I don't get the little put-downs, double-entendres, and mild insults while doing my best to never offend anyone. That includes all those richer, more important 'higher class' guys who think that their expensive suits and haircuts make them an incredible find for a mere receptionist. And also that the dumb, uneducated receptionist will be easy to seduce.

     I'm not. I know perfectly well these rich asshole stockbrokers and lawyers have zero interest in any sort of relationship with a nineteen-year-old high school graduate other than sexual. They don't want to get to know me. They don't want me as a possible girlfriend. They just want to fuck me and move on.

     Thanks. No thanks.

     I'm far from a prude. But if I'm going to have a one-night stand with someone it's going to be someone a lot sexier than a guy twice my age who happens to have a nice car ??" and also happens to be an asshole. Assholes aren't sexy. Well, mine is, but that's another topic.

     There's maybe ten percent of these guys I would be willing to sleep with if they were nice enough. I mean, given their looks. And yes, the idea of sleeping with an older man in some kind of wild, animal sex at work isn't exactly something I haven't fantasized about. It's boring here, after all, so my mind sometimes wanders.

     But I just let their flirting pass over my head, or smile and say something like "I'm seeing someone". Which is a lie, of course, but they wouldn't know one way or another.

     Because in terms of wealth, importance, skills, and knowledge, they might be way out of my league, but in terms of pure sexual value, I am way over theirs. 

     I'm very proud of my body. I put a lot of effort into keeping it fit and toned. Especially my flat belly. I have a very nice body that I take considerable pleasure in knowing drives men wild. And my face is pretty good too; oval, big brown eyes, and framed by a thick mane of soft, golden blonde hair that spills over my shoulders and falls halfway down my back ??" or sometimes my front depending on how much leaning forward I do.

     I've taken pictures of myself naked. Who hasn't? I've even posted them ??" minus my face ??" on a few web sites just to see what the reaction is of the guys there. It's kind of a kick. It's the ultimate cock-tease. I pose in the sexiest, and sometimes most obscene ways I can imagine, take pictures, and post them anonymously.

     Having no tattoos or birthmarks means no one can identify me anyway. There are probably billions of pictures of naked girls on the internet. I'm just one girl among many, and a faceless one, at that. I don't do it for money but for ego. I mean, I have this great, sexy body and I can hardly show it anywhere!

     So why not show it off on the internet? As long as no one knows it's me.

     I even did a short video of me in nothing but thigh-high white stockings and a white turtleneck sweater. All I did was stand in front of the camera, then slowly roll my hips as I slid the sweater up higher and higher and higher until everything was there to see. Well, everything below the neck anyway.

     It wasn't that slutty! I mean, I wasn't directly facing the camera, but kind of turned a bit to the side. Still, it was very sexy, and my body looked great! So, I posted it to a web site. Boy, did it ever get a lot of enthusiastic responses! Lots and lots of up-votes and guys saying how much they'd love to do nasty things to me! LOL.

     So, would I trade sex for a promotion? That's something I've considered more than a few times. And the answer is 'it depends'. Look, I don't have a whole lot going for me other than my looks and body. They got me this job in the first place. My crummy resume sure didn't do it.

     A fancy office wants a sleek-looking receptionist to sit up front. And I do my best to act the part. I act calm, collected, dignified, and unflappable. And I wear blouses, sweaters, and skirts that accentuate my figure, that make me look sexy without looking slutty.

     It's an office, after all, and an office for important people. They don't want a receptionist that looks like she's some kind of cheap slut. So, I choose my outfits with great care ??" most of them bought at thrift shops.

     I have a pair of sweater dresses, for example. They were sold at two for twenty dollars. One is black and the other is red. They're form-fitting but not too tight. And they cover me from neck to almost the knees. Add a nice gold belt, as well as a gold chain around the neck, and they look very sleek, show off my body, and yet work fine as office wear.

     You can't wear one of these if you're the least bit overweight. You can wear them if you're skinny and kind of flat. But for the best look, you need a body like mine, which is nicely curvy, with full, high breasts. That's what draws the eyes.

     Do I seem a bit of a narcissist? I am, at least about my looks. I'm very confident about them. Would I trade my 'favors' for a promotion? Again, it depends. Who would I have to sleep with? And what's the promotion? Also, would anyone find out that was how I got it?

     I know what value I hold in terms of sex. Everyone wants me. Everyone has always wanted me. It's something I'm used to. I get looked at everywhere I go, by both men and women. The men are usually wondering what I look like naked and wishing they could have me. The women are usually jealous and resentful, especially the middle-aged ones who used to be like me and no longer are.

     I work on the top floor of a mid-sized building in lower Manhattan. Pretty much everyone here is more important than me, makes more money than me, has more education than me, and is a lot older than me. Some are chatty, friendly, and easygoing. Some are brusque and treat me like garbage. 

     Almost all of them look at my chest when they see me. Most of them do it discreetly, but there's always a few with poor social skills. Or who just don't give a shit because they're so important they know they can do whatever they want and get away with it.

     I just smile my practiced, friendly smile through it all. Granted, sometimes it's warmer than other times. 

     I started here as a junior receptionist. That was on one of the lower floors for less important people. I had been promoted to this position after working here for almost a year. It paid five dollars an hour more, but I had to start on the second shift. 

     The people here work long and varying hours. Some come in at seven-thirty in the morning. Some don't come in till noon, and then work till midnight. The First shift receptionist works from 7 Am to 3 PM. The second shift works from 3 PM to 11 PM.

     It sucks, but if I stay a while, I'll wind up on First Shift. Of course, that has its own downside. Getting here at Seven in the morning means getting up at Five freaking AM! There are nights I'm not even in bed at Five! Or at least, not asleep and alone.

     On the other hand, you can also impress someone and get promoted to being an administrative assistant. That pays even better and looks a lot better on a resume, too. That requires more than smiling and looking good, though. Which is why I've taken some courses in stuff like word processing and spreadsheets.

     Sure, I'm ambitious. Why not? Who wants to stay a receptionist forever? Not me.

     It was a chilly day in February when Fiona Hannigan showed up at the office for the first time. I knew she was coming, of course. Every time a new executive is to be brought in, I'm informed, and one of my jobs is to make sure their office is ready for them. 

     It doesn't take a lot of effort. I check to make sure the previous occupant has moved out, check cupboards, drawers, etc. Then I call the cleaning crew to make sure they give it a good once-over and call tech support to make sure they have an account and their computer is working.

     Not too difficult.

     She was already in by the time I took over from Hannah, the day girl. I didn't see her until after Five when someone buzzed me on the internal system.

     "Reception. Kristen speaking," I said in my practiced suave voice.

     "This Fiona Hannigan in Fifty-Two," an accented female voice. "Can you tell me who I'd call to have something printed up and distributed?"

     "That would be me, Ms. Hannigan," I said. 

     "Good. I'll be right over."

     She hung up and I shrugged and did the same. Nice accent, though. It definitely sounded Irish. 

     My desk faces the entrance on this floor, the little lobby with three elevators in it. I can't see into them but I can see who comes out. There are two main corridors on this floor. The East one and the west one. I'm in front of the West one. The East is on the other side of the elevators but there's a one-way door so you can exit there but can't enter.

     Then there's the cross corridor that runs from the southwest to the northeast. I can't see whoever comes out until they're out. So, she showed up almost out of the blue. She was about my height, with gorgeous auburn hair that was about chin length on her right but tucked in behind her ear on her left, with her hair flung up across the top of her head from left to right in a kind of sophisticated bob. 

     She had about ten years or so on me but she was still very sexy and beautiful in a stylish way I couldn't really manage myself. She had one of those triangular Irish faces with the narrow chins. But she had full lips and soft brown eyes. 

     She was wearing a dark green silk blouse under a grey business suit that did little to disguise a nice figure, and one with a surprisingly short skirt. Then again, she was European.

     "Hello. I'm Fiona," she said with a smile.

     I gave her my practiced smile, with maybe a little more. I loved her accent, and her soft, furry voice. 

     "Hi," I said, brightly. "I'm Kristen. Just ask me for anything you need and if I can't get it I'll know who can."

     "I'd like those boobs for one," she said, grinning as her eyes flicked to my chest briefly.

     "Well, these are mine, I'm afraid. But I believe you can buy imitations in any number of places in the city."

     I didn't take offense. It's not like I hide that I have breasts. Plus, she was a girl. Well, a woman. And she didn't say it in a catty way.

     "Who wants copies," she said, drawing her shoulders back with a smirk to show that she really had no need for more up top. "Wait! I do! Only not those. Where can I have copies made of a document?"

     "Right here. We do them when we're not busy, and the late shift receptionist usually isn't very busy."

     "No? Perhaps I'll find other things to occupy your evenings," she said with a wink that set off an alarm bell in my head.

     I don't mean the kind of alarm that makes you run away. This one was the "Oh, wow! Is she really hinting at something!?" That kind of alarm bell.

     I'm used to flirting from the men, but not from the women. Plus, she didn't look gay at all.

     "It's all company time," I said with a careful smile.

     I wasn't sure how to react to this.

     Then the elevator pinged and a man got out. He was good-looking, tall, broad-shouldered, and wore a very expensive three-piece suit. He came up to my desk as Fiona was showing me the document and explaining what she wanted done.

     "Now this is a great ass," he said, looking down and then reaching in to, apparently, run his hand over her ass.

     She turned and gave him a kind of exasperated look, then turned to me.

     "This is James, my barely housebroken husband."

     "I'm blessed by God and the church," he said. "I can do anything to you now and it's all good."

     "Not at work, dear."

     She turned back to me, and I promised to have the documents copied and distributed before going home, then the two of them left together. And his hand was still on her ass!

     Well, I guessed my sudden alarm bell had been wrong. But that was sure pretty blatant behavior at the office! There were rumors of who might be sleeping with whom but nobody did anything in public! Of course, he didn't work here so he could get away with just about anything. But I would have thought she'd have told him off or something for doing it so obviously.

     Instead, she'd just taken it as a given that he'd paw her out in the open. Maybe they were newlyweds. I didn't think couples that had been together for a long time would likely act like that.

     The rest of the shift was uneventful. I did a lot of photocopies in the room just behind my desk, with a careful eye on the lobby so I could still watch for people coming in. The elevators pinged louder in the evening for just that purpose.

     At Eleven I changed out of the nice boots I wore at work to the Ugg boots I wore outside on the sidewalk and in the subway. I pulled on an ankle-length winter coat that looked like suede on the outside but was actually polyester. Then I put my work boots into my bag and headed for the lobby.

     There was a concierge there who doubled as security. His name was Adam and was a large, muscular-looking black man in a suit.

     "I'm off for the night, Adam," I said.

     "I'll put the top floor into Secure mode then," he said. "Any idea how many are still in?"

     "Just two. They'll probably be leaving soon." 

     Once the security system is in Secure mode you can't get off on our floor unless you have a keycard coded for it. I didn't actually have far to go. I needed some movement and there's an all-night gym just up the block.

     Movement! I spend half the day sitting, and the other half in the copy room basically standing there or moving from one table to another gathering and shuffling papers. It's better than just sitting in a cubicle your whole shift, I guess, but it's not exactly healthy.

     The building access here is also by keycard. I used it to get into the lobby, then into the elevator, which took me downstairs. I used the card to let me into the gym and then smiled at the woman at the desk before going past her to the locker rooms.

     You bring your own lock, which I did. Virtually all the lockers are available at this time of night and I quickly shrugged off my coat and slipped off the boots, then undid my belt and put it in the locker before peeling my dress up my body and over my head like any other sweater.

     I'm proud of my body and always wear matching lingerie. If a bra goes and I can't replace it with a similar one I don't wear the thong either. Tonight, I was wearing a dark blue bra and matching thong. The bra was sexy and flowery and lacy and completely inappropriate for a lot of movement, so it went into the locker too, replaced by an athletic bra.

     I wasn't trying to look sexy here. I put on shorts and a tank top, locked everything else up, and headed for the running track. I did some bends and stretches as I entered, then started to walk before shifting to a jog for a few times around the track. Then I went all out on my final circuit.

     That would get me a lot of frowns and stares if there were others present, but I was all alone and took advantage of it.

     There were various pieces of exercise gear in the middle of the circuit. They weren't the expensive machines found on the other side of the lobby. These were inert benches and bars. Things to do pull-ups or upside-down crunches on. I use them myself on occasion. Especially the lower bars that I can hang by my legs from and then do crunches.

     There happened to be a woman on them right then, and I didn't recognize her at first as I walked off the track because she too was upside down doing crunches. I decided that the only two women in the place doing upside-down crunches was not a thing so I did more stretches and then did some pull-ups on a higher bar.

     It was only when she pulled herself upright that I noticed her looking at me out of the corner of my eye and turned my head aside.

     "Kristen, the blonde receptionist!" she exclaimed in amusement.

     "Uhm, hi," I said, dropping back to the floor.

     Out of the business suit she was bigger up top than I'd thought. She was wearing a tight, short tank top and skintight leotard.