Private Hospital Pt. 01

If first impressions were anything indication the lime tree-lined drive through landscaped gardens to the Georgian house was a promising start. Even the name on the signboard, 'Welcome to the Fardo Clinic', oozed class. Not Hospital, Clinic - very exclusive, thought Amy Jones; gosh, she really hoped she got offered this nursing post.

Inside her favourable assessment was confirmed: marble floors, oak panels; understatedly tasteful. The antithesis of the flashy footballers and soap stars who were among the establishment's best clients. Patients included 'exhausted' minor royalty, 'tired and emotional' management executives and actors with 'personal issues'. Amy so wanted to work in these fragrant, sunlit halls, instead of the scuffed, reeking public hospital corridors where she so far been employed.

A likeable personality Amy was clever at handling patients, yet decidedly non-academic, often seeming slightly disconnected and naïvely suggestible. Some colleagues unkindly termed her an airhead, conversely her nursing college lecturers - predictably all male - found Amy beguiling. Blonde, shapely with an enviably proportioned rear end this may have explained how she scraped through her exams.

Vacancies at the Fardo Clinic were never advertised, recruitment being by discreet personal recommendation only. Ideally, mused Dr Gooding, nurses should be competent, but too clever. Malleable, open to instruction and correction, above all - given the, ahem, preferences of the private hospital's wealthy patients - easy on the eye. Gooding was both clinical director and, thanks to a mix of financial alchemy and blatant social climbing, the major shareholder. He took upon himself the onerous duty of interviewing every prospective employee, and found this potential new recruit immediately impressive.

Amy had been met by a beautiful young Asian girl, her all white uniform contrasting with dark skin and raven hair. "I'm Maria, the director's PA," she explained, ushering her into his palatial office.

"Discretion is everything to us, Ms Jones," Gooding opined, lounging in a large leather chair and trying, without being too obvious, to sneak a glimpse up Amy's skirt. Swiftly detecting the direction of his gaze, Amy infuriatingly crossed her legs; it wouldn't hurt to keep him wanting more.

"We include household names among our clients," the practitioner continued, "not to mention an almost endless succession of B-list TV celebs. It's absolutely vital their 'difficulties' are not exposed to a prurient public."

"I quite understand," said Amy, who didn't.

"Many of our patients suffer from stress: The temptations of a jet-set lifestyle, relationship problems, disruptive social behaviours and substance abuse. A few are referred from conventional medical establishments unable to meet their demands, sorry, needs. Others are sent by their banks, football clubs, and film companies."

"What sort of treatments do you offer?" enquired Amy. "Usually rest, supervision, exercise, a good diet, and counselling." Essentially keeping punters off the bottle and away from nose candy while indulging their inane, self-obsessed whining, thought Gooding privately.

"Any surgery?" asked Amy.

"Very little, aside from our renowned body re-profiling procedures," answered Gooding, proudly.

"Body re-profiling?"

"What was once termed plastic surgery; breast enhancements, tummy tucks, nose jobs... not that you require any of those," he concluded heartily. 'Now, before you start, a few pointers on uniform and discipline."

Amy had apparently been hired! "We're sticklers for uniform and manners here," Gooding explained enthusiastically, "a bit old-fashioned I know, but none the worse for it. You'll share a room with Maria, my PA, who'll fill you in on the finer points"

Later that evening Amy sat in comfortable staff quarters with her roommate. On her bed lay a uniform and a slender volume of rules and instructions. Amy had been amazed to be offered the job on the spot, even more so by the generous wages. Wow, she thought, struggling to concentrate on what Maria was saying, nearly twice her old salary; whatever might they expect for that?

"So, on top it simple: blue cotton dress, starched white apron and cap," Maria said, her English a little idiomatic. "Underneath very traditional - be sure to get this right, because Matron will check - bra, knickers, stockings and suspenders, all white, and black shoes."

"High heels?" gasped Amy. "For nursing?"

"Weird, I know," Maria shrugged, "but they give girl good posture, no?" she twirled and pushed out her delectable bum in illustration. "And not much lifting and carrying, is easy, I think."

"Well yes," Amy conceded, covertly admiring her colleague's comely chassis, "but what happened to tights?"

"Patients don't like," Maria said dismissively, "Matron and Dr Gooding also. You must listen, Amy, when I tell you these things. Matron's word is law," she lowered her voice conspiratorially. "Matron also Mrs Gooding, he Mr Nice Guy, she Mrs Nasty Woman. She report you for discipline, he deal with matter very strict."

"Discipline?" Amy looked puzzled.

"Amy," Maria was good humoured but exasperated, "you must read staff handbook. Get in trouble then you punished," her hand slapped Amy's rump playfully, "like this."

"What?' Amy was incredulous. "You surely don't mean a smacked bottom?"

"Hospital very clear; no appeal, no written warning, you do wrong your bum is smacked, then is all forgotten."

"Yes but, I mean, have you...?"

"Of course," said Maria simply, "but for me perhaps not so bad, in Philippines this normal, you Western girls spoilt."

"Cheeky thing." Amy playfully tossed a pillow at her companion. What the hell, Amy hadn't yet encountered a situation she couldn't charm her way out of, not with men, anyway.

A week later Amy was summoned to Matron's office for 'induction training'. She arrived promptly, nervously recalling unpleasant memories of her education at a private girl's school.

"Ah, Amy, and in good time too, come in,'' called an authoritative voice. Amy anxiously entered the austere room where, to her surprise she discovered Maria, standing tight-lipped in the corner.

"Right, Amy," commenced Matron without preamble, "you've had ample time to read the rules. Should you think them fanciful I'll now demonstrate unambiguously that's not the case." Amy's mouth opened but she could think of nothing to say.

"Maria has erred," Matron continued sternly. "It's not the first time she's visited this room, so she knows what to expect. I shall deal with her myself." Matron turned, eyes illuminated with excitement, "corporally punish her."

"But..." Amy began.

"But nothing, this isn't a debate, kindly sit and observe." Having delivered this rebuke, Matron turned her attention to the pretty Filipino.

"Maria, sit on the desk."

"But, ma'am, what have I done?" the petite girl enquired pathetically.

"I haven't decided yet," Matron replied caustically, "do as you're told, unless of course you wish me to double the number of strokes?"

With considerable dignity given the circumstances

Maria walked slowly to the desk, turned and perched upon it, feet dangling above the floor. At a glance from Matron she carefully lowered her torso back along the polished surface, simultaneously raising her slender legs into the air, clasping a hand behind each knee to keep them upright.

Matron grunted her approval as Maria's uniform skirt fell back to reveal stocking-clad legs and the curves of her delectable bottom. Wordlessly she tugged down Maria's skimpy white knickers, exposing her mocha-hued rear in all its perfection.

Watching in mute amazement Amy was disturbed to experience a familiar tingling between her legs. Satisfied with Maria's awkward position, Matron opened a cupboard and contemplated the contents carefully. No one spoke; a falling pin would have been audible. Eventually, the older woman selected a tawse and, clearly enjoying the element of theatre, swished the supple leather through the air to land with a ringing crack on the desktop.

"Six," intoned Matron sadistically, "watch silently, Amy, any nonsense and you'll be taking her place."

Amy looked on aghast as she proceeded with the punishment. Three strokes from the left side, three from the right, delivered with the full strength of her forearm across the unfortunate girl's rear.

Maria yelped and squirmed on the table, cute bum seared with unforgivingly heat. Somehow she managed to keep in position until Matron, flushed and panting, surveyed the end result with unseemly pleasure.

"Maria's sore rump should leave you in no doubt about who's in charge around here, Amy; I'll leave you to attend to her," she said, obviously anxious to depart.

Appalled, yet secretly fascinated, Amy helped her tearful friend from the chair. Hardly knowing what she was doing, Amy took the diminutive Asian nurse in her arms, whispering emollient words as she stared in horror at the marks on the girl's burning bottom. Tentatively her hands joined Maria's, already massaging the target area. The skin felt hot to the touch, her efforts at comfort clearly appreciated. Maria gave a long, sensuous sigh, grinding her body against her; Amy looked down, Maria gazed up, their lips met in a lingering kiss.

That night they shared a bed; Amy's first Sapphic encounter but - judging from her enthusiasm and expertise - not Maria's. With busy tongues and fingers both enjoyed a succession of orgasms.

"But I'm not gay," gasped Amy, in confusion.

"Me neither," responded Maria enigmatically.