The Demotion

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I hope that you enjoy this newest chapter. An anonymous Literotica reader commissioned this story. If you would like to commission a story for your fellow Literotica readers, please reach out to me through Literotica's feedback system.

The following is an erotic work of fiction that may be unsuitable for some readers. Additionally, it may contain trauma cues for sensitive readers. All people and entities are fictional; any similarities with real people or entities are unintentional. Enjoy!

---

The Demotion, Chapter 3

My white, Mary Janes tapped sharply against the tile as Diwa led me by the hand. My form-fitting uniform hugged against my navel, lower back, and chest. And the rubbing sensation on my rear as I walked suggested that my round posterior was putting on a show. At least for the doctors, nurses, and patients who conspicuously turned their heads as Diwa and I passed. In this nurse uniform, I felt like a piece of ass.

This was particularly humiliating because, just a few weeks ago, I was working in Los Angeles as an MD. As 'Dr. Janet Nguyen,' to be exact. But after offending a powerful hospital director, I had been relegated to a small, rural hospital in the Philippines. And as far as my 'colleagues' here were concerned, I was 'Nurse Janet.'

Diwa stopped outside of a pair of wide double doors.

"In you go, Janet," Diwa cooed through her lovely accent.

Diwa put her left hand on the small of my back, opened one of the doors with her right hand, and led me through threshold. That she ran her thumb up and down my lower spine was completely unnecessary. Though, as much as I didn't want to admit it, I didn't want her to stop. Electric signals radiated from my lower back to the rest of my body at her touch.

I stepped through the threshold into a large room. I saw two large cylindrical machines in the back of the room. Rows of plain metal tables lined the room's center. Various white garments were folded neatly on one of the tables. I heard a methodical thumping from one of the machines.

"Wait," I asked, confused, "you said that you were taking me to my first assignment as a nurse? This is a laundry room."

"Think of it this way," Diwa's hand continued caressing my lower spine, making my breath sharp and staccato, "You're like an employee in Mr. Geppetto's toy shop. Mr. Geppetto needs to know he can trust you before you're out-front helping sell toys. You start in the back, assembling the toys."

"B-but that doesn't make sense," it was hard for me to think, much less argue. Something about the way that Diwa methodically rubbed my back sent shivers through my body, paralyzing my thoughts. "I was a literal

doctor

three weeks ago. Hell, I was the youngest trauma care physician at a

prestigious

hospital. I'm not going to fold sheets!"

Diwa stopped her slow caress. As ashamed as I was to admit this--even if only to myself--I felt sad in its absence. She pushed the side of my lower back such that I was facing her. With her arm still around me, her face was inches from mine.

"First," Diwa looked stern, "What did we say about foul language?"

"S-sorry."

"Good girl. Second, this isn't about technical competence. I know that you're a brilliant girl, Janet. This is about understanding the culture and knowing how to interact with people. Do you speak any Tagalog?"

"Well, no. But don't most people speak English here anyway?"

"But not everyone. And not those who need help the most. And patients shouldn't have to recall a second language when they're seeking care."

Diwa turned me toward the back of the room and walked me toward the industrial-sized washing machine that was rhythmically thumping. We passed the tables as Diwa spoke.

"Remember Darling: I'm here for you. I've been where you're at. And trust when I tell you that you're going to miss your days in the laundry room."

When we arrived at the washing machine, Diwa spun me around again to look at her. My back was to the machine, and she was inches from me. She stepped forward, pushing me back until I was leaning against the machine. It's powerful, rhythmic thumping vibrated through my body. She leaned forward and put her eyes level with mine.

"Are you going to be a good girl for me, Janet?"

The powerful vibration of the washing machine reverberated through my body. My mouth opened to speak, but all I could do was sharply exhale. Oh. I realized that I the thumping was sending certain... sensations... through my pelvis.

Diwa grinned. "It's nice, right? Don't tell anyone, but I come down here sometimes after Dr. Ramos scolds me or another nurse. Something about him laying down the law just makes me," she hesitated, looking for the right words, "need relief."

I nodded, mouth still agape, my eyes looking up at her as my head bent forward.

The rhythm of the washing machine suddenly picked up.

"Ah," Diwa grinned, "perfect timing. We just hit the spin cycle."

Diwa stepped forward, pinning my body against the machine with hers. Her hand still wrapped around the small of my back. She leaned forward, placing the side of her face against mine such that her lips brushed against my earlobe.

"Please, Janet. Just be a good girl for me and your time here will be so much more pleasant."

It became too much for me. I had been in a certain mood ever since Diwa dressed me down and kissed me in the locker room. Now, with the powerful tempo of the machine coursing through my body, wrapped in Diwa's warm embrace, and with the touch of her lips as she whispered in my ear, I shook. My abs and thighs tightened. I leaned forward into Diwa. My mouth widened. My eyes narrowed. I exhaled sharply. Diwa released me and took a step back, covering her hand with her mouth.

"Janet," Diwa giggled, "Did you just..."

I blushed and looked around to make sure that nobody else was in the room. I couldn't respond. Nor could I look her in the eye.

Diwa laughed. "Wow that was," she thought for a moment, "Quick. Like, amazingly fast. Honestly, I'm jealous."

I shrugged and smiled nervously. "W-well, you know, it happens."

"Yeah," Diwa gave me a knowing wink, "It does."

Diwa walked over to the other machine. I would have sworn that she exaggerated the swinging of her ass and hips as she walked. When she opened it, a few white garments fell out.

"I've

introduced

you to the washer," Diwa laughed at her own joke, "This is the dryer. It looks the uniforms inside are clean. The hangers are in a wooden box in the corner. I want you to take these out and hang them up. Some will need to be ironed and pressed--the equipment you'll need is next to the hangers. Do you need me to show you how to do any of that?"

It took me a moment to respond. Diwa, my acting boss, just pinned me against a washing machine during the spin cycle until I had an orgasm. Why was she so nonchalant about handing me my next task? Was this kind of thing normal here?

"Uh," I stuttered, "y-yeah. I mean, n-no. I know what to do."

"Good girl," Diwa seemed pleased with my response. "Also, take this," Diwa retrieved a small MP3 player with wired headphones from the pocket of her uniform. She placed an ear bud in each ear and slid the device into my pocket.

"W-what is this," I was confused. "Is this an

MP3

player? Like, what year is this? This thing looks almost twenty years old!"

"It's how you're going to move up here," Diwa answered, unphased by my sarcasm. "If you're going to do well here, you need to understand the language. These audio lessons will help you learn Tagalog."

"Uh-okay. Sure. Y-yeah I can do that."

"Good girl," Diwa winked as she walked to the door. She still exaggerated the swing of her hips as she walked, putting her shoes in front of the other in a perfectly straight line as if walking on a balance beam. She looked like a model. "I'll come and check on you in a couple of hours. I might have a special treat for you if you've been a diligent girl and finished your work."

---

As I pulled the uniforms from the machine, the audio player rang in my ears. I listened, and then I repeated.

"Gandang upang matugunan ka. Nice to meet you." A young, female voice played in my head.

"Gandang upang matugunan ka." I repeated, tying my hardest to match her cheery, singsong tone and accent.

I retrieved another uniform, laid it across the ironing board, and pressed the iron against the thick fabric. The wrinkles seemed to disappear like magic.

"Paano ko kayo mutulungan. How can I help you?"

"Paano ko kayo mutulungan." I seemed lost in a meditative state as I put the garment on a hanger and pulled another from the machine.

"Narito ako para paglingkuran kayo. I am here to serve you." The voice in lesson seemed slightly pouty.

"Narito ako para paglingkuan kayo." I matched her tone.

"Sabihin mo sa akin kung ano ang gagawin. Tell me what to do." This time, she seemed almost breathless.

"Sabihin mo sa akin kung ano ang gagawin." I absentmindedly repeated in the same breathless tone. Someone overhearing me might have thought I was still leaning against the washer.

"Narito ako para sumunod. I am here to obey." She seemed whiney in this one, as if she was begging.

"Narito ako para sumunod." I matched her pathetic tone.

"Gustung-gusto kong maglingkod. I love to serve."

"Gustung-gusto kong maglingkod." I accented the word 'maglingkod.' That word seemed to come up frequently.

I finished ironing another uniform. I pulled another from the dryer.

"Natutupad ako sa aking gawain. My work fulfills me."

I laughed at the irony of that phrase, given what I was currently doing. Nevertheless, I repeated it. "Natutupad ako sa aking gawain."

---

After about two hours, I hung the last uniform just as Diwa walked through the door.

"What a good girl you were! Mabuting batang babae!" I recognized that phrase as 'Good girl.'

With pride, I remembered the phrased for 'Thank you Ma'am.'

"Salamat sa iyo." I beamed as the words left my mouth. Diwa looked elated!

"Oh my god what a good girl you are! Such excellent work! Magandang trabaho!"

"Well," I blushed, "I don't know what the individual words mean, just some general phrases. And I'm a quick study."

"Of course you are! Such a smart girl! Your pronunciation could use practice. But that will come through immersion." Diwa turned to the hanging uniforms. "And excellent work on these, they look great."

She ran her fingers through the rack of hanging uniforms. I could feel myself perspiring as she inspected each garment. I couldn't put my finger on why, but I was more nervous now that I'd been during my performance evaluations back home.

"Very nice," Diwa admonished, "you could use a little work pressing the edges, but that will improve with time. Now off to your next task!"

Next, she had me typing out of inpatient notes. We walked into a small office space that smelled slightly musty. The furniture was varying gross shades of beige. Nothing in that room--including the computers--looked to be less than fifteen years old. Most looked older than twenty-five. I laughed to myself, considering that I was about to work around equipment that might have been older than its user.

"Here are Dr. Ramos's and Dr. Flores's notes. The person who usually reads these and types them out is sick, so I need you to work through these stacks."

"Wow," I remarked, "a 'nurse' here really is a jack of all trades."

"It's true," she chuckled and shook her head, "these rural hospitals don't bring in much revenue, so we're all expected to pitch in everywhere. I once had to hold a ladder while Dr. Santos fixed a gutter. You haven't met Dr. Santos, but that big fella probably outweighs me three-fold. He still yelled at me afterward for not holding him steady."

The machine I worked at looked no less than twenty-five years old. I had to spell everything out letter by letter and use an online translator to move them over into the notes. But this further helped me pick up on some Tagalog words. Reading the doctors' notes, I couldn't help but critique their diagnoses. I also couldn't help but notice how relaxed the aftercare instructions were. One patient, for example, presented with severe lower back and knee pain. Dr. Flores took no tests, but instructed him to stretch, rest, and take the week off work.

"Back home, that would just be

asking

for a lawsuit," I murmured to myself.

But I also appreciated the wisdom the Dr. Flores's blasé approach. Had I given that patient a test, I would have estimated a 99% chance that it was just a muscle strain. Without a litigious patient base, you can really avoid wasted time and tests.

After about an hour of copying, I could feel my eyes glazing over. I blinked hard, shook my head, and returned to my task. I was surprised by how menial, repetitive tasks could be much more exhausting than my creative, cognitively demanding tasks back home. I worried that after too much time here, I would lose my edge as a doctor when I (hopefully) eventually returned home. The brain is a muscle: you use it or lose it. I worried that I wouldn't be as strong of a doctor after this mindless, menial work.

The door slammed open as Dr. Ramos hurried into the office. He picked up the stack of papers I had just printed and started to shuffle through them. When he eventually found the document he was looking for, he skimmed it and shook his head.

Dr. Ramos shouted, "'Skull' in Tagalog is 'bungo,' not 'bunga.' 'Bunga' means 'fruit.' Had I not reviewed this, I would have faxed my patient's employer a note that he 'fell from a ladder and fractured his fruit.' Go through these documents and fix every instance. Retype and reprint this one first and bring it to me for review please. Also, grab me a coffee from the breakroom on the way. No cream or sugar."

He stopped at the door and turned back toward me. I noticed that, until now, he hadn't looked in my direction. But now he looked at me, then down at my uniform. He gave an approving smile.

"Janet, I'm sorry that I yelled you. It's your first week and I should have been more understanding. By the way, the uniform looks good on you. Stand up and let me see!"

That felt like a weird request coming from my boss. And I was still stunned over being yelled at for a mistranslation. But I was also proud of how I looked in the uniform. I stood up, turned in a circle, and curtsied.

"Good, good, that looks great!" Despite how uncouth it felt for my boss to yell at me, tell me to serve him coffee, compliment my skin-tight uniform, and then order me to stand up and see it, I blushed and smiled. What the hell is wrong with me?

"Also," he continued, "Diwa asked if I could give you a ride and let you stay at my place for a while. That's not a problem at all. You insisted when you got here that this would be temporary. But even if it's not, my wife and I are happy to put you up for however long you need. They work you girls to the bone but pay you next to nothing!"

"T-thanks," I stuttered, "Just for a few days?"

"Sure, Janet," Dr. Ramos smirked, but the curve of his smile didn't quite reach the corners of his mouth. He looked as if he knew something I didn't. "As you keep insisting, you're not going to be in this country for long, right?"

---

The rest of the day passed quickly. Diwa gave me various menial tasks, which I would complete while listening to language lessons. Eventually, the clock struck six o'clock, and the day shift ended.

When I arrived at the locker room, I saw a handful of girls whose shifts had just ended. As they stripped down, I found myself uncharacteristically fascinated by their bodies. Each of them had a smooth, hourglass curve with a round ass. Most had obvious breast implants. Were these girls hired based on their looks? They looked as if someone had hired them straight off a South Florida beach. Or as if the hospital mandated boob jobs for its nurses. I wondered whether a doctor here performed them all. I also wondered whether they expected me to get one as well.

I heard a familiar voice behind me. "Janet, it's time to dress down!" I turned around to see Diwa approaching me, her hips swinging seductively.

She approached me confidently and wrapped her arm around my waist. I felt like a piece of arm candy as she spun me around to face the girls in the locker room.

"Girls," Diwa announced, holding me firmly by the hip, "I hope you've all had a chance to say 'hi' to our new nurse! Everyone, say 'hi' to Janet!"

"Hi, Janet!" A chorus of singsong voices erupted in the room. Each of them smiled at me with identical, serene expressions. Diwa's angelic smile can often look uncanny. Seeing a roomful of (mostly naked) women giving me the same smile was downright spooky. I felt wildly uncomfortable.

With her arm still wrapped around the small of my back and her hand locked firmly on my opposite hip, Diwa led me to my locker. Strangely, I felt like a dog being pulled on a leash. Or a cat being picked up and moved into a pet carrier. I had no agency in this posture, I was simply along for the ride.

"It's time to undress, Love," Diwa whispered in my ear, as if I had forgot my lines in a play and she was giving me a cue.

"O-oh, right." I obeyed and started to unbutton.

I looked over at myself at one of the wall mirrors. Back in the states, I had never considered myself much of a bombshell. But I could see why everyone like the way I looked in this uniform. The way that the lower back sinched in complimented my wide hips. The snug fit of the hem complimented my thighs. Even the white hat--as basic as it was--drew out my hair's dark undertones. In the light of the locker room, I could have sworn my hair looked more like a deep purple than black. Surprisingly, even my feet looked small and cute in the little white Mary Janes. For a moment, I didn't want to take the outfit off.

SLAP!

My mouth opened in shock, and I gave a little chirp as someone had slapped me on the ass. I turned around to see Diwa inches from my face.

"Ay, Lyka! Get a move on! We don't want to keep Dr. Ramos waiting."

Why did she call me 'Lyka'?

As difficult as I found pushing the plush little buttons through their holes, getting them back out was much worse. I looked over at Diwa, who was having a much easier time of it. She was watching me like a hawk, but made no efforts come and help me. Within less than a minute, Diwa completely disrobed. She hung up her uniform, hat, and shoes, walked over to me. Her bare feet tapped softly against the tile.

I couldn't help but look her up and down. She had been naked under her uniform apart from a (very thin) white thong panty. Her breasts were

magnificent

. They were at least a DD cup, with her nipples faced at that perfect, slightly upward angle. They looked as if they were pointing at me, jiggling with every step. As she swung her hips, I could see that her ass and thighs gave a subtler jiggle.

She placed her palm against the side of my face. Despite myself, I leaned my face into her palm. I wanted her to touch me. I wanted her to hold me.

"You're forgetting what I taught you this morning, Lyka. You're trying too hard. The trick is to accept your own lack of agency here. Accept that you don't have power. If you try to push the buttons through, they won't go. If you softly push them to the side--almost like you're asking permission to disrobe--they'll come out."

She was right. Once I stopped applying as much pressure, the buttons came off easily. Though it still took me two full minutes to get the thing off. And Diwa watched me the entire time. Eventually, I was down to my white bra and panties.

"Smart move," one of the girls behind me said, pointing at my bra, "any other color is visible through the uniform." She had gorgeous olive-toned skin. She looked to be Malaysian. She leaned against a locker, chatting with another girl. Both were naked apart from matching white thongs. The fabric on the front was slightly sheer, allowing their rich skin tone to show through.