I’m flying into my blog to post for this weeks’ Wip it Up. This week, I’m busy editing and other life stuff, which is inescapable and all good, just wish I had more time to spend here and out and about visiting other blogs.
Sharing from my latest spanking romance, due out soon. Megan works as a dental receptionist and she is very keen to meet the new dentist, Jeremy. While she waits, she loses her patience on the phone with a patient.
A shadow looms over me. The front door is still locked, the first patient isn’t due for another twenty minutes. I glance up and leaning over the counter is a man. I swallow hard, a deep gulp of realisation, because he’s dressed in a blue tunic with the practice logo sewn on the front. He frowns and shakes his head slowly. It’s a duplicate image of the face my father pulls when he’s disappointed with me.
Hell’s bells This must be Jeremy and he’s just overheard me being quite abrupt with a client.
“I… I’ll have another look.” I click on my mouse, and select a slot with Jeremy at ten o’clock. “Ten, all right?”
“Yes. I should report you for being rude.” Mrs Pollock slams the phone down and I wince, lowering my handset.
“Megan, isn’t it?” he asks. I sneak a quick glance before ducking behind the counter again. He’s straightened up and folded his arms across his chest. Pauline’s detailed re-imagining of him is accurate – it is a fine broad chest.
“Meg,” I clasp my hands in my lap. He knows, that I know, I’ve screwed up. Etiquette is all part of the receptionist’s role – Polite, courteous and reassuring at all times. People don’t like the dentist, do they? But how would Jeremy know that Mrs Pollock is not typical? I suspect Nigel, deep down, would love somebody to tell her to get lost – a time waster and hypochondriac.
“Meg,” he nods, digesting my correction, then he shakes his head. “Not how we should speak to clients, is it?”
He sounds like my old science teacher. I’d always struggled with science, especially physics and my technique for surviving lessons had been to mess about. “Meg Carter, see me after lessons!” Memories of that booming voice echoes in my head.
“No,” I murmur, hanging my head lower. I want to peek up and give him a closer inspection, to confirm all of Pauline’s salacious descriptions. Instead, I’m a bundle of nerves. Will he tell Nigel about my bad behaviour?
I’m not perfect. Many a man has told me to behave and show respect. Others have said other things – you’re a sweet girl, Meg, but fluttering your eyelashes won’t help you. Yes, I’m a flirter, I flash my long legs, wriggle my arse and all manner of eye-catching gestures, just to feel wanted. It works, for the most part and gets me that attention I seek, but not always in the way I want it. I have to be good to get that kind of attention, otherwise I have to pay a penalty. Nobody at the dental practice knows how I’m treated when I’m naughty, especially how much I love it.
“Please, don’t tell Nigel,” I peer up, offering my best contrite expression. He doesn’t know me, so perhaps it will work. I flutter those mascara laden eyelashes as fast as butterfly wings.