The last thing I remember, I was in the waiting room, in for my yearly physical. My boss had scheduled it. It was just a routine exam--temperature, blood pressure, ear, nose, throat. I had been with the company exactly one year, and the company insurance policy required the checkup.
The company was a wonderful place to work. Great pay, benefits, time off, and a boss who really seemed to understand me. Once I passed my physical, I would also receive a raise.
When I woke up, I was still at the doctor's office, but now I was lying back on an exam table, dressed in a flimsy paper gown.
Groggy, I called out "hello?"
A nurse approached, calling "Doctor, she's awake."
The door opened and a man walked in dressed in green scrubs, latex gloves, and a surgeon's mask and cap. His eyes were piercing blue. His look and demeanor scared me. I squirmed slightly and he motioned to the nurse and nodded slightly.
I was still groggy and felt extremely weak as my arms were lifted over my head and buckled into cuffs at the top of the table. My waist was belted down to the able, and my ankles were lifted into stirrups and buckled in securely.
Now a second nurse entered the room, dressed in a starched white uniform, nurse's cap and a surgical mask. Her eyes were familiar.
"Is this my physical," I asked, dazed and more than a little confused.
"No, dear," the first nurse told me, "it is more like your initiation." All three of them laughed. "We know about you, we read your email, log your online sessions, read your files. That is why we hired you in the first place."
The nurse continued, "We have a very strict hierarchy, which you are going to learn about now. Starting next week, you and your boss will be moving upstairs. And your life is going to change. For the better. We've been watching you, we know what you need."
The doctor took out a pair of shears, and cut the paper gown away from my body. The nurses pulled the shredded gown away and disposed of it. I blushed lying naked and bound before three strangers.
The table was adjusted, so my legs were splayed wider and a large exam light shone directly on my pussy. The second nurse held up a remote control and a row of curtains parted, revealing a gallery of seats. Sitting there were two dozen men and women, all dressed impeccably. I scanned the audience and slowly, I began to recognize faces, remember names. People who had left the firm throughout the year, fired, quit, hired away, they were all there and they were all smiling.
The nurse explained. "I know, you thought they all left. No, they were all promoted. They now work upstairs. The way you get promoted is to hire a secretary, well, like you."
"Like what?" I asked.
"Why don't you tell us?" the nurse asked, "or should I read this?"
"What are you talking about?" I asked, innocently, squirming slightly in my bonds, testing them.
She began reading, "Dear Master, My pussy is still aching from the sandpaper torture. . ." she looked at me, "should I continue?"
"We are all dying to know what the sandpaper torture is, precious. It sounds delightful. But first, do you want to tell us?"
I nodded weakly, feeling a wave of humiliation wash over me, "I am a submissive."
