Stressed

Text by Susan Strict.  Artwork by Rodzo.

"Come in," she said.

He pushed open the door and looked around the apparently empty office. It was a huge room. Rows of filing cabinets stuck out at right angles from the walls, with dozens of desks down the centre. On the far wall there was a clock, showing that he was exactly on time for his interview.

Then he saw her. She sat at the desk directly under the clock, tapping a pen impatiently on her computer keyboard.

He walked towards her, feeling slightly uncomfortable as he passed the empty desks and the blank computer screens.

"Sit down," she said. "You’re late."

He looked up at the clock. It was 6:31. His appointment had been for 6:30. It had taken one minute to walk from the door to her desk.

"Sorry," he said apologetically. He needed this job.

"This is a busy office," she said sternly, "If you want to work here you’ll have to learn that punctuality is essential. There’s far too much stress here already, without you making it worse."

"Sorry," he said again.

She looked at him over the top of her spectacles. "Is that all you’ve got to say for yourself? Aren’t you going to tell me why I should give you this job?"

"I put most of it on the application form," he told her hesitantly. "The advertisement didn’t say much, but I’ve worked in busy offices before and I’m sure I could cope. I work well under pressure."

She raised her eyebrows. "Really? You like a bit of pressure, do you?"

"I can work under pressure. I like to be busy."

"You do realise," she told him, "You’ll be the only man in this office? "

"That’s OK," he said, trying not to sound too enthusiastic. "But I don’t really understand that the job is, I mean what would my position be?"

"I’ll show you." She stood up. He followed her as she walked round the office, trying very hard not to stare at her long, suntanned legs. Her red dress was very short, and he needed to keep his mind on making sure he was selected for this job he so badly needed.

"Here," she pointed out, "We keep all the files for the whole corporation. It’s all on computer, of course, but we need to have hard copies of all the documents so that we can refer back to them and in case anyone makes any mistakes when they’re entered onto the system. Our job here is to make sure it’s all kept in order and to dig it out when someone needs it."

She led him through the rows of cabinets, explaining how the filing system worked and where particular documents could be found.

"Any questions?" she asked.

"No, I don’t think so," he replied. "It all sounds quit straightforward. Um...what’s that for?"

He pointed at four metal brackets set into the floor between two rows of filing cabinets.

"It’s for restraining men who don’t behave," she said.

Had he heard her correctly?

"Pardon?"

"It’s for restraining men who don’t behave," she repeated. "Do you have a hearing problem?"

"No," he stammered, quite convinced he was still mis-hearing her. "You mean... ?"

"I mean when a man misbehaves we restrain him with those," she snapped, as if exasperated by his lack of comprehension. "What don’t you understand?"

"You actually.... I mean... What... ?"

"For goodness sakes, isn’t it obvious?" she shouted at him. "Look. I’ll show you. Lie down there."

He stared down at the metal brackets in disbelief.

"Well? Do you want this job or not?"

"I... I... yes I want the job. But... but... but this is my best suit and the floor’s not too clean."

"Take your jacket off. And your shirt, so you don’t crease it. Then do what you’re told."

He stared at her. She was completely serious.

"Your jacket," she repeated, "And your shirt. Off now. Or you can walk right out that door and forget about the rest of this interview."

Reluctantly he removed his jacket and shirt.

"Lie down," she ordered. "On your back, arms out."

He lay down. She knelt next to him and closed the metal brackets over his wrists, pressing them down so that they clicked and locked shut.

"Right," she said, seeming much happier. "Now you see what those are for."

"Yes, I see," he said, not really seeing anything except that it was possible to restrain someone on the floor. He could no imagine why on earth anyone would need or want to do it in any office. "Can I get up now?"

"I don’t think you can," she replied, with the remotest suggestion of a smile playing round the corners of her mouth. "Try."

"I meant.... "

"I know exactly what you meant," she said sharply, "And you’ll find it completely impossible until someone unlocks you. They clip shut just by pushing, but you need the key to release them. We keep it in the safe."

He chose his words carefully this time. "Would you please fetch the key and unlock me so I can get up."

"Of course," she said. "No problem at all. Except... the safe is on a time lock. I can’t open it between six in the evening and seven in the morning. So I’m sorry to say it rather looks as though you’re stuck there for a while. I suppose I should have thought of that before locking them. Never mind. We have plenty of time for a nice long interview, and you’re really not too uncomfortable, are you?"

"You’re joking," he said in alarm. "You’re telling me I’m stuck here all night?!"

She shrugged. "I’m sorry," she said, "But it will give you the chance to see what the job’s really all about."

"How can I find out what the job’s all about when I’m stuck down here?" he was becoming angry.

"I’ll show you," she said.

He had closed his eyes. He felt her hands on the belt of his trousers, undoing it.

"Hey!"

"Shut up," she said. "I’m going to show you what your job is really all about. Maybe we’ll find out if you’re the right man to do it."

She removed his trousers and fastened the clasps of the other two brackets over his ankles. He was naked, arms and legs stretched out, and held inescapably to the floor by the rigid metal clasps. She stood over him, her feet either side of his chest. He looked up at her, uncomfortably aware that her short dress now obscured nothing and realising that she wore nothing at all underneath it.

She looked behind her briefly. "Ah," she commented, "That’s a good sign."

For a moment he had no idea what she meant, then he realised she had been looking towards his groin. He groaned with embarrassment, knowing now that his arousal was obvious to her.

"I think," she said, "If your head was raised a little, it might be better."

She took two books from nearby shelves and put them under his head, then she sat down onto his chest with her knees either side of his head.

"I hope you’re good at this," she told him as she slid herself forward so that his face was pressed right up between her legs. "Lick."

"You see," she said, looking straight ahead as though he was not there underneath her, "It’s all about stress."

He stopped licking. "I should bloody well think it is about stress if you trap people like this," his muffled voice complained.

"No... no. Really." She looked down at him. "I need to know.... how do you like this? I mean... you know. Doing this to a woman like this. If you think you could manage it several times a day, there might well be a position for you here. This position, actually." She giggled. "The position in this office, I mean. The job. I need to keep the girls from getting stressed out, you see, and... er... myself as well, of course."

He had not answered, and it seemed she had not been expecting an answer. "Lick," she commanded again, this time more forcefully. When he did not respond, she lifted herself slightly, slid forward, and settled down firmly over his mouth and nose.

"Lick," she told him in a voice that made it clear she would not put up with any argument. "Lick. And if you’re very good, I’ll release you in the morning before all the girls come in to work. Then we can discuss your permanent position and your salary. Until then, lick. Or you’ll really regret it."