David Presents
TMF Poster
- Joined
- Nov 18, 2008
- Messages
- 119
- Points
- 0
Service With A Smile
“I’m late, I’m late!” exclaimed Emmy as she scurried along the busy sidewalk. “Mr. Howardson is going to yell at me for not being to work on time again; I just know he will!”
She wore a long gray and blue poncho, partly to protect her against the autumn cold, but also to cover her work uniform, which consisted of a medium-blue T-shirt with the insignia of a large black raven, orange short shorts, pink sneakers, and ankle socks of an even paler shade of pink. She was scheduled to work the evening shift at Cawer’s, a drinking and dining establishment founded on the premise that its patrons would fail to notice the abysmally poor quality of their food and beverages if served by attractive women wearing appealing costumes.
As she hurried along, though, she kept a sharp eye out for Catherine. Catherine had been seated at her table last night, but when Emmy had brought her order, the dish of spaghetti had slipped out of her hand and right onto Catherine’s expensive leather jacket and cashmere sweater, covering them with tomato sauce and long strands of angel hair pasta!
Now, of course this had not been her fault at all, that happening, because of the shape of the plate and the way the spaghetti had been so carelessly piled on it; no one, she was sure, could have prevented that! But still, she apologized just the same, and even Mr. Howardson came over and apologized as well, and Catherine had said it was quite all right, and that accidents will happen.
But she said it with a shark smile, all teeth, and with icicles in her voice, so Emmy realized, with a sinking heart, that everything was not quite all right, no, not at all, and that Catherine was most certainly going to pay her back. And Emmy had heard some very unpleasant stories about what happened to the damsels Catherine had paid back, and, while she was not clear on the details, she was determined that nothing like that was going to happen to her!
So, as she hurried along, she cast nervous glances over her shoulders, and kept looking off to the side, keeping a sharp eye out for Catherine.
“Emmy! It’s so good to run into you like this!” purred Catherine, catching her completely by surprise as she slipped an arm around one of Emmy’s and held on tight, falling into step with her. She wore a beige trench coat over a smart business suit, blending in perfectly with the numerous professional women who were busily exiting the nearby downtown office buildings in the late afternoon.
“Oh, hi Catherine,” replied Emmy, wondering how she had managed to sneak up on her unawares, but thinking it better not to ask. “I hope your jacket and sweater are going to be okay? You don’t have to worry about the dry-cleaning bill; Mr. Howardson, he’s the manager, you know, said Cawer’s would pay for it!”
“And who’s going to pay for the loss of face I suffered because of that little incident, hmm?” Catherine gave a soft laugh. “Well, I mustn’t be petty, now must I? I’ve just come from the dry cleaners, as a matter of fact, and I’d like you to come back there with me so they can talk to you.”
“They want to talk to me?”
“Yes, it seems they have some questions about the tomato sauce,” explained Catherine, gently yet irresistibly steering Emmy around a corner, out of her path.
“Um, but I don’t know anything about the sauce. Maybe you should have them call and talk to the cook, or Mr. Howardson, maybe… I can give you that phone number….”
“No, no, the nice man at the dry cleaners was very insistent that he had to speak to you, in person,” said Catherine, leading Emmy up to a long, black limousine. The uniformed driver silently opened the door, and Catherine gestured invitingly.
“Um, I don’t think that maybe I’d better do that,” said Emmy.
“Now, Emmy, you did ruin two expensive articles of my clothing,” admonished Catherine; “it only seems fair that you do whatever you can now to make things right.”
“But I need to get to work and I’m already late!”
“It’ll only take a minute,” said Catherine, a hint of impatience in her voice. “And when we’re through I’ll whisk you over to Cawer’s, and if Mr. Howardson gives you any trouble about your not being on time then refer him to me; I’ll handle him!”
“Oh, all right,” agreed Emmy, very unhappy. Now, it should not be supposed for a moment that she believed any of that story about going to the dry cleaners; however, she could not think of any polite way of refusing; there was something of the snake hypnotizing the bird about the whole business, and besides, she realized if she did not go peacefully that Catherine probably had some means of making her come anyhow.
So, with a sigh, she climbed into the limousine, wondering what was going to happen next.
^**^
“I’m sorry, Catherine,” said Emmy. “If I had known you were going to get so mad about having a plate of food spilled on you then I would have been more careful, honest I would!”
Her poncho, socks, and sneakers had been removed; the poncho hanging neatly a few feet away on the wall, and the footwear on the floor below. Emmy herself was tied to a chair that looked for all the world to her like one of the chairs she had seen many times at the dentist’s office. Her lower arms had been bound with coils of rope to the armrests, her upper arms and torso tied against the back, and her bare feet were very tightly tied together at the ankles, and then tied against the narrow leg rests of the chair – clearly designed for that very purpose – so that while she could move her feet slightly, they stayed firmly in that one spot.
After Catherine had tied her she had then disappeared for a few minutes, to give Emmy a chance to reflect upon her situation, and to give herself a chance to change out of her dress clothes and into a dark pair of capri pants, and a red with gold trim, loose-fitting blouse.
“You always need to be careful when dealing with me,” Catherine informed her. “And I’m going to teach you that.”
“But I’m sorry! I’m really, <i>really</i> sorry!”
Catherine nonchalantly swiveled the chair backwards, so that now Emmy’s calves were more or less even with her head, and locked it into position. “What pretty feet you have!” she exclaimed in delight. She drew up a nearby chair, seated herself, and gently ran her index finger along Emmy’s inside sole. “Delightfully high arches!”
“Please don’t do that!” gasped Emmy. “I’m very ticklish on my feet!”
“Of course you are,” agreed Catherine pleasantly. “Silly little geese always are.”
“I’m not a silly little goose,” retorted Emmy indignantly, and then broke into a spasm of giggles as Catherine, wiggled the fingers of both hands along the bottom of her feet.
“Well, you’re silly and goosey, anyhow,” conceded Catherine, “and you’re very ticklish, too!”
“A-HAHAHAHAHA! Yes, I am!” agreed Emmy. “Do you – HAHA – think that maybe – HAHA – you could stop doing that now?” She wiggled her feet a bit, but there was no escaping Catherine’s busy fingers.
“I’ll decide when we’re finished,” said Catherine, not letting up in the slightest, “and besides, we’ve just barely begun!”
“A-HAHAHAHAHA!”
“You know, many people in my position would use a feather or something like that,” explained Catherine matter-of-factly, “but I prefer the ‘hands on’ approach myself. I find one gets a much better feel for what the ticklee’s response this way. What do you think?”
“A-HAHAHAHAHA! You are – HAHA – certainly very – HAHA skilled at it!”
“Of course I am,” agreed Catherine. “When I set out to do something I always make my best effort. That way there is never any need to apologize afterwards.”
“That’s something – HAHA – I’ll have to – A-HAHAHAHAHA!” Emmy broke off, unable to complete her sentence.
“And you’re ticklish on the top of your feet as well!” observed Catherine in delight.
“A-HAHAHAHAHA! I’m pretty much – HAHA –ticklish everywhere,” admitted Emmy.
“I’m sure you are, but I think we’ll just concentrate on your feet today,” decided Catherine. “We can explore some other part of you next time – assuming, that is, you are foolish enough to create a ‘next time!’”
“A-HAHAHAHAHA! I promise – HAHA – that I’m not!” Emmy wanted to go on to say that she had learned her lesson, she really had, and that she would never spill food on anybody, not ever again, so Catherine could stop tickling her now; only she simply did not have the energy to manage quite so many words.
“You’ve taken good care of your toes, I can see,” observed Catherine, still working on the top of Emmy’s feet. “Professionally pedicured. I like that.”
“A-HAHAHAHAHA! I-I try!” gasped Emmy.
“But you shouldn’t keep them covered up,” continued Catherine, turning with a frown to look at Emmy’s shoes. “You ought to wear open-toed sandals to work. There are some that are designed, too, for someone who is on her feet at work. I’ll tell you what, once this all over, I’ll send you a pair, how about that?”
“A-HAHAHAHAHA! No, really, that’s – HAHAHA – not necessary!”
“No, no, I saw just the pair for you over at The Well Heeled Damsel the other day.”
“A-HAHAHAHAHA! Well, thank – HAHA – you very much!”
There was a moment of silence, except, of course, for Emmy’s shrieks of laughter as Catherine, growing tired of the fronts of Emmy’s feet, now amused herself by working on the soles again. Her deft fingers always managed to keep Emmy giggling hysterically, despite her best efforts to try to twist, or to cover one foot with another. And, of course, Catherine had bound Emmy’s ankles much too efficiently for her to be able to get free from the ropes.
Catherine kept her guessing, too. One moment she would work on Emmy’s toes, and then suddenly move down to the balls of her feet, and then it might be long soft brushes against her instep, or wherever Catherine chose; her only rule being that she did not fall into any predictable pattern.
“Lovely fall weather we’re having, isn’t it?” she asked idly.
“A-HAHAHAHAHAHA!”
“I said, ‘Lovely fall weather we’re having, isn’t it?’” There was a decided edge to Catherine’s voice now.
“A-HAHAHAHAHA! Yes, it’s – HAHA – beautiful for – HAHA – this time of year!” agreed Emmy with a sense of unreality at this turn of the conversation.
“Just the sort of weather that makes a person want to wear her nice new leather jacket,” announced Catherine.
“A-HAHAHAHAHA! I under – HAHA – stand what you’re – HAHA saying and I – HAHA – promise nothing – HAHA – like that – HAHA – will ever happen again. A-HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
“See that it doesn’t,” suggested Catherine, withdrawing her hands from Emmy’s feet.
“Whew!” exclaimed Emmy, drawing in a deep breath. “Thank goodness that’s finally – eek! A-HAHAHAHAHA!” she shrieked, erupting into another paroxysm of laughter as Catherine suddenly got busy with her fingers once again.
“By the way, Emmy, there’s really no need to tell anyone about this little episode of ours, now is there?”
“A-HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! No, this’ll be – HAHA – our secret!”
“That’s the sensible attitude,” said Catherine, withdrawing her hands again, this time for good. “Well! We need to get you going, don’t we? I imagine this Mr., um, Howardson, I believe you said his name was?, is simply furious about how late you are for work by now!”
^**^
Luckily for Emmy, Cawer’s was filled with customers but short on help, so Mr. Howardson limited himself to a few choice words, and sent her off to take care of a large gathering which had just been seated.
This turned out to be, as Emmy was astonished to discover, the local chapter of The Legion of Decency, entertaining that famous radio talk-show personality, Dr. Temperance D. Muir! “Well, what a surprise, to see such prim and proper people eating at a place like this,” she wondered to herself, jotting down their orders. “I guess they must really like the food; I can’t imagine they’re here to look at us girls.”
A short while later she passed out their dishes. “Okay, and who had the linguine in clam sauce again?” she asked brightly.
“That’s my order, as any halfway competent waitress would have been able to recall,” Dr. Muir informed her stiffly.
“Here you go then!” announced Emmy, lifting the plate, but it was so awkward, and the kitchen staff had carelessly loaded the pasta entrée on it all wrong, so there was no help for it; the contents slipped right off and onto Dr. Muir’s brand-new dress.
“Oh! I’m so sorry, Temper!” gasped Emmy. “Only, you know, I just couldn’t help it! No one could have possibly prevented that!”
“Emmy! What’s going on?” demanded Mr. Howardson, huffing and puffing his way to the scene of the crime, so to speak. “Dr. Muir! Are you all right?”
“You wretched creature!” screamed that worthy celebrity when she finally found her voice again. “You think you can mishandle my meal, and make me look ridiculous, do you? Well, your punishment is coming, mark my words; it may take time, but I will make my opportunity…”
“But Temper, honest, it was an accident!” pleaded Emmy.
“…and when I punish someone,” continued Dr. Muir, ignoring her, “I’ll tell you one, thing, there’s none of this modern ‘be kind to the offender’ namby-pamby nonsense about it either! No, when I punish someone she <i>knows</i> she’s been punished, good and proper!”
“Oh, this is so unfair!” thought Emmy wildly as she fled back to the kitchen. “Now there’s someone else mad at me over something that’s not even my fault!”
“I’m late, I’m late!” exclaimed Emmy as she scurried along the busy sidewalk. “Mr. Howardson is going to yell at me for not being to work on time again; I just know he will!”
She wore a long gray and blue poncho, partly to protect her against the autumn cold, but also to cover her work uniform, which consisted of a medium-blue T-shirt with the insignia of a large black raven, orange short shorts, pink sneakers, and ankle socks of an even paler shade of pink. She was scheduled to work the evening shift at Cawer’s, a drinking and dining establishment founded on the premise that its patrons would fail to notice the abysmally poor quality of their food and beverages if served by attractive women wearing appealing costumes.
As she hurried along, though, she kept a sharp eye out for Catherine. Catherine had been seated at her table last night, but when Emmy had brought her order, the dish of spaghetti had slipped out of her hand and right onto Catherine’s expensive leather jacket and cashmere sweater, covering them with tomato sauce and long strands of angel hair pasta!
Now, of course this had not been her fault at all, that happening, because of the shape of the plate and the way the spaghetti had been so carelessly piled on it; no one, she was sure, could have prevented that! But still, she apologized just the same, and even Mr. Howardson came over and apologized as well, and Catherine had said it was quite all right, and that accidents will happen.
But she said it with a shark smile, all teeth, and with icicles in her voice, so Emmy realized, with a sinking heart, that everything was not quite all right, no, not at all, and that Catherine was most certainly going to pay her back. And Emmy had heard some very unpleasant stories about what happened to the damsels Catherine had paid back, and, while she was not clear on the details, she was determined that nothing like that was going to happen to her!
So, as she hurried along, she cast nervous glances over her shoulders, and kept looking off to the side, keeping a sharp eye out for Catherine.
“Emmy! It’s so good to run into you like this!” purred Catherine, catching her completely by surprise as she slipped an arm around one of Emmy’s and held on tight, falling into step with her. She wore a beige trench coat over a smart business suit, blending in perfectly with the numerous professional women who were busily exiting the nearby downtown office buildings in the late afternoon.
“Oh, hi Catherine,” replied Emmy, wondering how she had managed to sneak up on her unawares, but thinking it better not to ask. “I hope your jacket and sweater are going to be okay? You don’t have to worry about the dry-cleaning bill; Mr. Howardson, he’s the manager, you know, said Cawer’s would pay for it!”
“And who’s going to pay for the loss of face I suffered because of that little incident, hmm?” Catherine gave a soft laugh. “Well, I mustn’t be petty, now must I? I’ve just come from the dry cleaners, as a matter of fact, and I’d like you to come back there with me so they can talk to you.”
“They want to talk to me?”
“Yes, it seems they have some questions about the tomato sauce,” explained Catherine, gently yet irresistibly steering Emmy around a corner, out of her path.
“Um, but I don’t know anything about the sauce. Maybe you should have them call and talk to the cook, or Mr. Howardson, maybe… I can give you that phone number….”
“No, no, the nice man at the dry cleaners was very insistent that he had to speak to you, in person,” said Catherine, leading Emmy up to a long, black limousine. The uniformed driver silently opened the door, and Catherine gestured invitingly.
“Um, I don’t think that maybe I’d better do that,” said Emmy.
“Now, Emmy, you did ruin two expensive articles of my clothing,” admonished Catherine; “it only seems fair that you do whatever you can now to make things right.”
“But I need to get to work and I’m already late!”
“It’ll only take a minute,” said Catherine, a hint of impatience in her voice. “And when we’re through I’ll whisk you over to Cawer’s, and if Mr. Howardson gives you any trouble about your not being on time then refer him to me; I’ll handle him!”
“Oh, all right,” agreed Emmy, very unhappy. Now, it should not be supposed for a moment that she believed any of that story about going to the dry cleaners; however, she could not think of any polite way of refusing; there was something of the snake hypnotizing the bird about the whole business, and besides, she realized if she did not go peacefully that Catherine probably had some means of making her come anyhow.
So, with a sigh, she climbed into the limousine, wondering what was going to happen next.
^**^
“I’m sorry, Catherine,” said Emmy. “If I had known you were going to get so mad about having a plate of food spilled on you then I would have been more careful, honest I would!”
Her poncho, socks, and sneakers had been removed; the poncho hanging neatly a few feet away on the wall, and the footwear on the floor below. Emmy herself was tied to a chair that looked for all the world to her like one of the chairs she had seen many times at the dentist’s office. Her lower arms had been bound with coils of rope to the armrests, her upper arms and torso tied against the back, and her bare feet were very tightly tied together at the ankles, and then tied against the narrow leg rests of the chair – clearly designed for that very purpose – so that while she could move her feet slightly, they stayed firmly in that one spot.
After Catherine had tied her she had then disappeared for a few minutes, to give Emmy a chance to reflect upon her situation, and to give herself a chance to change out of her dress clothes and into a dark pair of capri pants, and a red with gold trim, loose-fitting blouse.
“You always need to be careful when dealing with me,” Catherine informed her. “And I’m going to teach you that.”
“But I’m sorry! I’m really, <i>really</i> sorry!”
Catherine nonchalantly swiveled the chair backwards, so that now Emmy’s calves were more or less even with her head, and locked it into position. “What pretty feet you have!” she exclaimed in delight. She drew up a nearby chair, seated herself, and gently ran her index finger along Emmy’s inside sole. “Delightfully high arches!”
“Please don’t do that!” gasped Emmy. “I’m very ticklish on my feet!”
“Of course you are,” agreed Catherine pleasantly. “Silly little geese always are.”
“I’m not a silly little goose,” retorted Emmy indignantly, and then broke into a spasm of giggles as Catherine, wiggled the fingers of both hands along the bottom of her feet.
“Well, you’re silly and goosey, anyhow,” conceded Catherine, “and you’re very ticklish, too!”
“A-HAHAHAHAHA! Yes, I am!” agreed Emmy. “Do you – HAHA – think that maybe – HAHA – you could stop doing that now?” She wiggled her feet a bit, but there was no escaping Catherine’s busy fingers.
“I’ll decide when we’re finished,” said Catherine, not letting up in the slightest, “and besides, we’ve just barely begun!”
“A-HAHAHAHAHA!”
“You know, many people in my position would use a feather or something like that,” explained Catherine matter-of-factly, “but I prefer the ‘hands on’ approach myself. I find one gets a much better feel for what the ticklee’s response this way. What do you think?”
“A-HAHAHAHAHA! You are – HAHA – certainly very – HAHA skilled at it!”
“Of course I am,” agreed Catherine. “When I set out to do something I always make my best effort. That way there is never any need to apologize afterwards.”
“That’s something – HAHA – I’ll have to – A-HAHAHAHAHA!” Emmy broke off, unable to complete her sentence.
“And you’re ticklish on the top of your feet as well!” observed Catherine in delight.
“A-HAHAHAHAHA! I’m pretty much – HAHA –ticklish everywhere,” admitted Emmy.
“I’m sure you are, but I think we’ll just concentrate on your feet today,” decided Catherine. “We can explore some other part of you next time – assuming, that is, you are foolish enough to create a ‘next time!’”
“A-HAHAHAHAHA! I promise – HAHA – that I’m not!” Emmy wanted to go on to say that she had learned her lesson, she really had, and that she would never spill food on anybody, not ever again, so Catherine could stop tickling her now; only she simply did not have the energy to manage quite so many words.
“You’ve taken good care of your toes, I can see,” observed Catherine, still working on the top of Emmy’s feet. “Professionally pedicured. I like that.”
“A-HAHAHAHAHA! I-I try!” gasped Emmy.
“But you shouldn’t keep them covered up,” continued Catherine, turning with a frown to look at Emmy’s shoes. “You ought to wear open-toed sandals to work. There are some that are designed, too, for someone who is on her feet at work. I’ll tell you what, once this all over, I’ll send you a pair, how about that?”
“A-HAHAHAHAHA! No, really, that’s – HAHAHA – not necessary!”
“No, no, I saw just the pair for you over at The Well Heeled Damsel the other day.”
“A-HAHAHAHAHA! Well, thank – HAHA – you very much!”
There was a moment of silence, except, of course, for Emmy’s shrieks of laughter as Catherine, growing tired of the fronts of Emmy’s feet, now amused herself by working on the soles again. Her deft fingers always managed to keep Emmy giggling hysterically, despite her best efforts to try to twist, or to cover one foot with another. And, of course, Catherine had bound Emmy’s ankles much too efficiently for her to be able to get free from the ropes.
Catherine kept her guessing, too. One moment she would work on Emmy’s toes, and then suddenly move down to the balls of her feet, and then it might be long soft brushes against her instep, or wherever Catherine chose; her only rule being that she did not fall into any predictable pattern.
“Lovely fall weather we’re having, isn’t it?” she asked idly.
“A-HAHAHAHAHAHA!”
“I said, ‘Lovely fall weather we’re having, isn’t it?’” There was a decided edge to Catherine’s voice now.
“A-HAHAHAHAHA! Yes, it’s – HAHA – beautiful for – HAHA – this time of year!” agreed Emmy with a sense of unreality at this turn of the conversation.
“Just the sort of weather that makes a person want to wear her nice new leather jacket,” announced Catherine.
“A-HAHAHAHAHA! I under – HAHA – stand what you’re – HAHA saying and I – HAHA – promise nothing – HAHA – like that – HAHA – will ever happen again. A-HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
“See that it doesn’t,” suggested Catherine, withdrawing her hands from Emmy’s feet.
“Whew!” exclaimed Emmy, drawing in a deep breath. “Thank goodness that’s finally – eek! A-HAHAHAHAHA!” she shrieked, erupting into another paroxysm of laughter as Catherine suddenly got busy with her fingers once again.
“By the way, Emmy, there’s really no need to tell anyone about this little episode of ours, now is there?”
“A-HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! No, this’ll be – HAHA – our secret!”
“That’s the sensible attitude,” said Catherine, withdrawing her hands again, this time for good. “Well! We need to get you going, don’t we? I imagine this Mr., um, Howardson, I believe you said his name was?, is simply furious about how late you are for work by now!”
^**^
Luckily for Emmy, Cawer’s was filled with customers but short on help, so Mr. Howardson limited himself to a few choice words, and sent her off to take care of a large gathering which had just been seated.
This turned out to be, as Emmy was astonished to discover, the local chapter of The Legion of Decency, entertaining that famous radio talk-show personality, Dr. Temperance D. Muir! “Well, what a surprise, to see such prim and proper people eating at a place like this,” she wondered to herself, jotting down their orders. “I guess they must really like the food; I can’t imagine they’re here to look at us girls.”
A short while later she passed out their dishes. “Okay, and who had the linguine in clam sauce again?” she asked brightly.
“That’s my order, as any halfway competent waitress would have been able to recall,” Dr. Muir informed her stiffly.
“Here you go then!” announced Emmy, lifting the plate, but it was so awkward, and the kitchen staff had carelessly loaded the pasta entrée on it all wrong, so there was no help for it; the contents slipped right off and onto Dr. Muir’s brand-new dress.
“Oh! I’m so sorry, Temper!” gasped Emmy. “Only, you know, I just couldn’t help it! No one could have possibly prevented that!”
“Emmy! What’s going on?” demanded Mr. Howardson, huffing and puffing his way to the scene of the crime, so to speak. “Dr. Muir! Are you all right?”
“You wretched creature!” screamed that worthy celebrity when she finally found her voice again. “You think you can mishandle my meal, and make me look ridiculous, do you? Well, your punishment is coming, mark my words; it may take time, but I will make my opportunity…”
“But Temper, honest, it was an accident!” pleaded Emmy.
“…and when I punish someone,” continued Dr. Muir, ignoring her, “I’ll tell you one, thing, there’s none of this modern ‘be kind to the offender’ namby-pamby nonsense about it either! No, when I punish someone she <i>knows</i> she’s been punished, good and proper!”
“Oh, this is so unfair!” thought Emmy wildly as she fled back to the kitchen. “Now there’s someone else mad at me over something that’s not even my fault!”
