*Author's Note: Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.
Disclaimers: This story has been edited by myself, utilizing Microsoft Spell-Check. You have been forewarned.
This story does contain elements of drugging, nonconsent, as well as mild BDSM. Again, you have been forewarned.
-*-
The receptionist smiled and again offered Mercedes Scott coffee, water, or perhaps a soft drink. Mercedes was polite in refusing the coffee and the soda; her church frowned on the consumption of those beverages.
"And if I have water? I just know I'm going need tinkle and I'm already nervous enough," Mercedes confided to the attractive woman.
"Now, what you got be nervous about, Sugar?" the woman smiled.
Before Mercedes could even think of a response, the telephone jangled. The receptionist punched a button.
Walters Security; how may I direct your call?" the woman chirped pleasantly.
The receptionist punched a button, spoke quietly into her mouthpiece, then nodded, as if the person on the other end could see her. She punched another button.
"Ms. Grady? He is on another call right now, but I can let him know you're on hold. Or would you like to call back later?" the woman said.
"Yes ma'am," the receptionist said and typed rapidly on her keyboard.
Mercedes knew she could type eighty five words a minute; Ms. Tripp at Lloyd M. Bensen High School in Sweet Oak, Texas had taught her well. But she was amazed at how fast the receptionist was typing.
"Yes ma'am," the woman said and read back the information she'd been given. "Thank you, Ms. Grady and I'll get this to him right now."
She hit another button, then clacked rapidly on her keyboard. Mercedes smiled when the woman again made eye contact.
"How fast you type?" Mercedes asked.
"Hundred and five words a minute," the woman smiled. "Was faster, but then they gave me this stupid ergonomic one. Kind of slowed me all down."
Mercedes stood and approached the small desk the attractive receptionist sat behind. She peered at the split keyboard, with its beveled top and shook her head. She'd not seen that style of keyboard before.
"Supposed be better for your hands," the woman explained, then suddenly punched a button on her telephone. "Yes sir?"
She smiled up at Mercedes. Mercedes was still examining the woman's keyboard, leaning forward to do so. Her bodice gaped slightly and the receptionist could see the lacy top of Mercedes's bra. She could just make out the tops of Mercedes's pale breasts.
"Mr. Walters will see you now," the woman said, pointing toward the hall. "Conference room one, first one on the left."
"Thank you," Mercedes said and tried to control her breathing. She had her resume, such as it was in a plastic binder and she forced herself to hold the plastic binder by a corner. She forced herself to refrain from clutching the binder to her chest. Whenever she did that, it wrinkled the paper terribly.
The resume was printed on an eggshell colored paper, with demi-gloss finish. It was just a little thicker than standard typing paper, but was not thick enough to be considered card stock. She'd selected the standard Times New Roman font, even though she liked the Sanserif font. But Times New Roman was a professional looking, clean font, especially in twelve point type.
Under 'Education' Mercedes had Lloyd M. Bensen High School, the school's address and phone number and her GPA of 3.98. Under 'Employment' all she could put was her volunteer work with The Church Of Golgotha. She had the name of the church, the church's address and telephone number, and the name and telephone number of Reverend James McCall.
"Come," a deep male voice called out when Mercedes knocked on the door.
Mercedes again struggled to control her breathing and opened the door. A man she vaguely recognized was seated at the long table. His dark eyes looked at Mercedes, an unreadable expression on his face.
"Mr. Walters? Hi. I'm Mercedes Scott," Mercedes said, entering the room.
William Walters gestured toward one of the chairs at the very end of the long conference table. Mercedes closed the door, then sat. She then pushed the plastic binder toward him. He looked at the binder.
"What's this, Ms. Scott?" William asked, looking from the binder to the girl's face.
"My uh, my resume, sir," Mercedes said.
"Your resume?" he asked, picking the binder up.
"Uh, yes sir, I uh, when you called? You said to come in for an interview," the girl said.
William smiled and opened the binder. He looked at the simple resume then looked at the young woman.
Mercedes Theresa Scott was a slightly chubby eighteen year old girl, with pale skin and carrot orange hair. Her pale face had only a few freckles; her mother was likewise a red head and had ingrained in her daughter the importance of slathering on a thick layer of sunblock every day.
Mercedes's face was round, pretty, with intelligent hazel eyes, button nose, and Cupid's bow lips. When she smiled, her teeth were small, even, white teeth.
Mercedes stood at five feet, one inch, and tipped the scales at one thirty one. Much of that weight was in her 32E chest and her bubble butt. Her legs were proportional to her height and weight.
Mercedes was dressed as the Church Of Golgotha dictated a proper young woman should dress; dress that went from throat to ankle, from wrist to wrist. William deduced that the dress was probably Mercedes's best and smiled; she'd been a little naughty, a little daring and had unbuttoned the top button of the dress's bodice. Even in her loose dress, William could see that Mercedes's breasts were substantial mounds of flesh.
"You ah, you may have misunderstood me, Ms. Scott," William said, placing the plastic binder onto the polished table top.
William made sure the binder was placed so that the right side aligned perfectly with the edge of the table that the bottom edge of the binder aligned perfectly with the lip of the table. He then pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and placed it exactly three inches from the lip of the table.
"I uh, I mean, when you called, I did wonder what I'd be doing here?" Mercedes admitted. "I mean, I really don't know nothing about security."
Then she wrinkled her pretty little face. Her eyes looked at William, studying him.
Even sitting down, Mercedes could see that William Walters was a tall man, at least six feet. She could also see the expensive suit jacket bulged with muscles. His brown hair was cut short; she could see a few flecks of gray woven in the brown strands. His eyebrow was a heavy one, over both eyes. His nose was a strong nose, 'Roman' in appearance. His mouth was curled up in a bit of a smile and the smile did reach his deep brown eyes.
His face and his hands were tanned; he spent time outdoors. His hands were well groomed, but not groomed to the point of looking feminine. There were wisps of dark hair on his fingers and the backs of his hands.
Mercedes clamped her legs together; she'd heard someone, some girl say that a man that had hands with hair on their knuckles had hairy chests.
"Church!" Mercedes suddenly said. "You used go to the Church Of Golgotha!"
"Mm-hmm," William agreed. "Until Reverend McCall tried to tell me how much my ten percent should be. You're Yvette's kid."
"Yes sir," Mercedes agreed. "Yvette Scott."
William tapped a key on his cell phone. From behind Mercedes, a projector began projecting images onto a screen. Mercedes looked as the face of Brandon Ellis appeared on the screen directly in front of her.
