Ok. This is a British story set in a British hospital. So, here is a translation note for my American friends. Stocking = hose. That is, hosiery with separate legs. They are held up with a suspender belt which in the US is a garter belt and 'tights' are panty hose, those disgusting things consisting of pants with two legs all sewn together. But I'm quite sure you all knew that ;-)
Court shoes are called, I believe, 'pumps' in the US. I have never understood why this is, but when I was at school the horrible black rubberised-cloth sports shoes we did 'Physical Education' in were called 'pumps'. This was before the invention of trainers. Some people in Britain still refer to light trainers and tennis shoes as 'pumps', but never women's shoes or anything with a heel...
Shoe sizes are different, too, so don't go thinking she had abnormal feet!
Like every one of my stories it is has quite a bit of truth in it.
I had a girlfriend called Susan with exactly this life story and name dilemma and she probably would have loved the attention and played along, but it was a different girlfriend who was the nurse who I used to meet in the hospital... They both liked 'interesting' outdoor games, although I never went quite this far with either of them (I would have been too chicken, but I'm not sure how far they might have gone!)
The clip clop of her heels on the concrete steps echoed around the brick stairwell. It smelled of urine and damp. Reaching the third floor, slightly out of breath, she paused for a few moments. It was very nearly pitch black and eerily silent. She looked at the metal door; it was painted battleship grey and had rust streaks running from the hinges. This used to be the nurses hostel. Difficult to believe people actually lived in these buildings. Now they were administrative offices, although they seemed even less suited to the purpose. This room was used by the department that booked medical records into long term storage. Most of the other rooms were full of manila folders in dusty filing cabinets. This room would be the only one on this floor to contain a person, the head of hospital administration, no less. Pulling her nurses cape aside she flipped up the watch on her breast. Six thirty, it was time. She knocked.
She walked into the room. It looked very awkward, being formally an apartment. The room was sparse and cold with a thermoplastic tiled floor and a large, ugly metal desk opposite the door. Behind this was the entrance to the other rooms, but the desk barred the way. A tall wiry man, maybe in his fifties, sat behind it. He peered over his spectacles at her.
"Susan" he said. "On time, I see. Lock the door and give me the key." She did so. The clunk of the lock sounded so very loud in the hard, empty room. Her heart started to beat a little faster as she handed him the key and watched it slip into his pocket. It always did at this point. She knew what was coming next, but it too always gave her a tingle inside as he said it. "Take off your clothes."
She slipped off her cape and placed it on his desk. He sat back and steepled his fingers, peering over the top of them. It was obvious he enjoyed this immensely. She unbuttoned her nurse's dress and stepped out of it before folding it carefully and placing it on top of her cape.
"Turn around," he said, "slowly".
He was pleased to see she was wearing matching lingerie. She was wearing stockings in the regulation hospital blue, but they were much more translucent than the woolly tights most of the nurses wore. Her panties, bra and suspender belt were a sort of translucent purple, but trimmed with a blue which matched her stockings. She must have given that some thought, he was pleased to note.
"Turn around." He commanded. Oh yes, her panties where just a thong, riding high over her cheeks. She turned back to face him. "Place your hands behind your head," he said, "and this time, turn around much more slowly."
She always found it a little strange that he preferred her to remove her pants before her bra. This seemed... wrong, to her, but if it was a peculiarity of his, then it was a small one compared with some of his other requirements.
She removed each shoe in turn before rolling off her stockings and then replacing her shoes. Eventually, completely naked, she again posed for him with her hands clasped behind her head, the way he liked. She did another slow turn at his request.
There was a mirror on the door, a remainder from when this was still an apartment. She caught a glimpse of herself in it as she turned round. She hated the bristly stubble under her armpits and the thicker stubble of her pubic triangle. The first time he saw her naked he was horrified by her landing strip trim. He said he preferred no hair at all, which would have suited her too, but insisted she grow it back first. Unfortunately that included her armpits, too. As soon as the landing strip merged into the rest he would shave her himself, he'd said. She hoped that would be soon, she really hated armpit hair, but wasn't too sure if she wanted any man putting a razor between her legs.
He picked up her pile of clothes and placed them in a draw of his filing cabinet. He slammed it shut, for dramatic effect, and locked it. Being naked and losing access to her clothes in this way was another of her heart surging moments as the banging of the draw echoed around the room. He pocketed the key.
"Those shoes are not very high," he complained. High heels were frowned on upon on the wards, she explained. "You are a size five?" She nodded. He opened the filing cabinet and took out a shoe box. Removing the lid he took out a shoe, wrapped in pink tissue and handed it to her. She pulled the wrapping free. It was a classic black court shoe with a heel that must have been nearly five inches.
"I don't know if I can walk in these!" she gasped.
He looked a little hurt. "Try them on," he said. Slipping them on her feet she felt very tall and a little off balance.
"They look much better!" he beamed. The shoes certainly made her legs seem much longer, her bum shapelier and it tipped her hips forward, arching her back a little and making her breasts more prominent. She liked the effect, although she felt like she was going to fall on her face when she tried to move.
"Try walking around the room," he suggested. She took a few careful steps. "You look a little uncomfortable," he said. "I know you can walk more sexily than that" She knew what he meant, what he wanted, but found it difficult.
"Susan, come on, do it for me." She took a deep breath and turned to face him before striding towards him with her best cat walk strut. He beamed, delighted. In many ways he seemed so much like a naughty adolescent, she thought, like a mischievous schoolboy peeking into the girls changing rooms.
"Can you walk in them ok?"
"I'll get my coat," he said, betraying his excitement.
He pulled on his overcoat and slipped his scarf around his neck "It is cold out, I think." This comment, too, was part of his ritual. He had made it quite clear that each of their walks would take place regardless of the weather conditions. He would wrap up against the cold. If it rained he would carry an umbrella. If it snowed he would wear his boots, maybe a hooded waterproof. She would always be quite naked, except for her shoes.
And now for the next, and biggest, adrenalin surge. He took her firmly by the hand and, unlocking the door, opened it wide. She felt the cold blast of air hit her body as he tugged firmly on her tightly gripped hand. He closed the door behind her and locked it. "After you," he said, allowing her to tiptoe carefully down the concrete steps. She was glad he still kept a tight grip on her hand, even though she had to twist her arm behind her as he followed her down the steps. He would keep hold on her hand constantly until they returned to the room. This was part of his ritual and she found it bizarre, although strangely reassuring.
Bizarre because, rather than let her suffer the indignity and humiliation of being naked in public alone, whilst he watched from a safe distance, he was always by her side. As he said, if she was to be arrested, he would be arrested too. If they met someone they knew, he would handle the situation. If she was approached or abused, he would be there with her. Reassuring, she thought, like having your Dad hold your hand when you went to the dentist. She wasn't sure if she could have walked around naked by herself. This way she felt she wasn't walking naked, maybe, she was being led. She had no choice but to follow.
They reached the bottom of the steps and walked out of the shelter of the brick entrance. Her heart was pounding in her chest and she was breathing rapidly. It was a clear chill evening, now quite dark, cold enough for her to see water vapour on his breath as he exhaled. He pulled the collar of his coat up around his neck with his free hand. She knew he was trying to emphasise her vulnerability, but she was too exited to feel the cold, at least at the moment. She wondered where their walk would take them tonight. He tugged firmly on her hand and they were off.
Crossing the deserted street he led her out of the hospital ground via a path which led into an adjacent park. They had walked this way on their three previous walks. It was very quiet in the evenings and poorly lit. No on had seen them at this point before. Arriving at the other side they emerged through the gate onto a lit street. It was a quiet road with houses on the opposite side to the park. Unlike last time, when he had made a circuit back around the park towards the hospital, he turned to his left. Since she was grasped in his right hand, she was in full view of the houses, should anyone look out of the windows. If they did, they kept quiet about it. After a hundred yards or so she heard a car approaching. Fighting the urge to run for cover, she kept on walking, guided along by his insistent grip. As the car passed her the driver blasted the horn, loudly. She jumped, but the car carried on and so did they. At the end of the street they joined a busier road.
Turning right this time, moving further away from the hospital, his office, her clothes, they walked towards some shops. Most were closed, but she knew there was a chip shop and an off license. Both would be open and both could be busy. He must have felt her apprehension and he squeezed her hand tighter than ever and pulled her firmly onwards.
Trying not to panic she tried to make herself think of something else.
She thought of their first meeting a few weeks ago. She had received an internal memo asking her to report to the medical records archive office. Being new to the hospital she had no idea where this was, but neither had her colleagues so she rang the extension number on the memo. That would have been the first time she heard his voice. He sounded professional, officious even, but also a little agitated or nervous. He explained to her where to find the old nurses block and asked if she could come right away. When she asked what it was about he said it was an 'administrative problem with her qualifications'. She realised now that this was supposed to have shook her a little, but she genuinely didn't know what the problem could be.
She eventually found his office. Actually, he explained, it wasn't his usual office at all, just a room where staff trying to sort out the huge store of records could find a desk to work at when they where working in the block. He was sitting behind the rather uncomfortable and out of place looking desk. He had piercing dark eyes and seemed to be a pretty weird character, very intense; a little scary, maybe. His conversation seemed a bit stiff and stilted whilst trying to be so very proper and formal about everything. She was a bit confused by all this. And why invite her to a poky little used office in a file store?
She was shocked and surprised by what he had to say, but not in the way he thought she was, perhaps.
He explained that he had the task of checking up on her qualifications, as she was newly appointed, and he was unable to find a Suzanne Haig-Whyte listed as a registered nurse. He had therefore checked with the college she had listed on her application, and they had no record of any Suzanne Haig-Whyte ever attending. Similarly the secondary school she had listed had no record of her. Still curious about his unusual approach, she kept quiet. He made an obviously pre-rehearsed speech about the severity of falsifying her application, of the legal implications of obtaining employment that allowed her to administer to patients. He demanded to know what she had to say for herself. She didn't answer but kept staring at the floor, curious as to where this was leading. "Do you in fact have any nursing training?" He demanded.
"Oh yes," she managed, "I worked at The Royal for two years before I started here." Well, at least no one had died there so she couldn't be totally incompetent, he suggested, just not as qualified as she claimed.
"I should report this," he said, trying to sound as solemn and serious as he could. She nearly giggled.
She was too intrigued to spoil things, though, and kept quiet. 'Should' was a very interesting word to choose...
Well, it took an agonisingly look time for him to put his cards on the table but eventually he offered to cover up the fraud for now, provided that she turned up to discuss it with him the following evening. He didn't say exactly what he wanted in return, but she guessed it would probably be sexual. Well, maybe that wasn't the end of the world. She was between guys at the moment, indeed, between two big phases in her life as she moved to a new job and a new area. Thing was, she was strangely attracted to this strange, wiry older guy. Old and perverted, she thought. Maybe she hoped. She was fascinated to know what he would demand, anyway.
'And here it comes,' she thought to herself, as he asked her what she was wearing under her dress.
As they drew towards the shops she heard a shout. Two guys, adolescents, really, came out of the chip shop. They both let fly a string of profanities and stared, open-mouthed.
He pulled her tightly to him and, crossing his left arm across his body and gripping her left wrist tightly, placed his arm around her shoulders and hugged her tightly to him. He marched her firmly away, back towards the hospital and, whilst they whistled and shouted, no one followed. The rest of their walk was less eventful, crossing back through the park they re-entered the grounds and returned to the stores. If anyone saw, they kept quite. The whole way back he kept her held tightly against him. She liked this. She felt safe, protected somehow, even though he was responsible for putting her in this predicament in the first place. Outside the locked door he would probably tease her by refusing to open it until she pleaded with him, until she negotiated a price. Last time she agreed to fellate him whilst they were hiding in the shadows at the top of the stairwell. Afterwards, when they had gone inside and she had told him how cold she was he wrapped his coat tightly around her like a cloak and held her close to warm her up.
She supposed he was a father figure. It didn't need a psychologist to work this one out. A big embarrassment to her wealthy family, she had been given up for adoption by her unmarried mother as a baby and raised by a working class couple. Her adopted father turned out to be less than ideal so she had never really felt like she had a Dad. She resented carrying his name, too, so when she learned at the age of eighteen that the name on her Birth certificate was the rather elite-sounding 'Suzanna Haig-Whyte' she decided to start using it, quite legally, after she left home and moved to the hospital. She didn't want to upset her elderly Mother, though, so hadn't changed any of her legal documents from her mundane sounding 'Susan Jones', yet.
...Or her qualifications.
She could, of course, stop this any time she liked. She didn't really know why she hadn't just told him when he confronted her the first time. She was a bit embarrassed about her new adopted name in case he thought she was being pretentious. She also wondered why he hadn't worked this out himself. Lots of nurses had different surnames because they had got married. Surely he must realise that people can change names for other reasons? Maybe his confusion over her first name made his mind up. Or maybe he just believed what he wanted to believe?
She could, of course, stop this any time she liked. She really should have stopped it the first time he accused her of falsifying her application, but, she was curious as to what he was leading up to...
She could, of course, stop this any time she liked. She really should have stopped it the first time he asked her to strip, but he was so forceful and in control. She would have had to admit that she had a good explanation all along, so why hadn't she said before? Now that he had made an obscene suggestion, it would have been so...awkward. Having chosen to go along with it, it was hard to back out. She found herself doing as she was told, it just didn't seem right to suddenly change her story...
She could, of course, stop this any time she liked. She certainly should have stopped it when she realised he wanted her to parade around naked outdoors! Surely this was going too far?! She should have, but it would have been just so embarrassing to confront him and point out it was all a mistake. Then what would she say? How could she explain why she hadn't said earlier? Well, it was that or step outside naked. Well, if there was nobody around to see her that first time then it didn't seem so very different to him seeing her inside the room, did it? So, she had walked around outside naked, close to the building, in the shadows. No one saw. Then, later, he just wanted her to go a little further...
It seemed really foolish, now, but to keep going along with it just a bit further seemed the easiest option at the time. Or so she kept telling herself.
She could, of course, stop this any time she liked. But, trouble was, if she hadn't done anything wrong and couldn't be blackmailed, then how would she explain why she had gone along with what she had done already?
She could, of course, stop this any time she liked. Any time at all. Any time she wanted to, she kept telling herself, if he takes things too far. Yes, if he takes things too far. But maybe not today...