Childish Choices (Chapter 1) (Patreon)

It hadn’t been quite as stupid as it sounded, not really.  Maria and Dr. Reniston had an understanding about the mandatory on-the-job training sessions.  They were mandatory, sure, but they weren’t strictly necessary for Maria.  So if she’d been watching … non-work-related material on her laptop in the back of the conference room, that was really just another part of their agreement.  It had made sense.

She shouldn’t have been watching … that kind of video, no.  That had definitely not been a very smart choice.  She’d known that paying a workday visit to her favorite after-hours website was risky and foolish, even before she knew about the security camera in the conference room that had apparently captured high-definition video of her laptop screen.  Including the scene that was playing out without sound in the letterboxed window.

But she’d been allowed to be doing other things.  She didn’t need to pay attention; she’d been practically invited to consider the training day as paid time off.  Dr. Reniston had as good as said so.

She was always a little embarrassed when Dr. Reniston hinted at things like that, as though Maria were exceptionally bright – well, maybe she was, but it wouldn’t be right for Maria to think she was too smart for the legally required training.  That wouldn’t be … well, it wouldn’t be nice, or proper, or humble.  And she’d been raised to be humble.  None of the way she lived now was quite in line with the way she’d been brought up – not her scientific job, not her room in the temporary suites for working women, certainly not her visits to that particular website – but the thought of being too proud or, worse, of showing off still filled her with a creeping itch of shame.

Maria came from a conservative background.   College had not been an option for her parents, who believed it was a waste of time for girls; women were meant to get married, after all, and even if their husbands died, women’s work would never really require a degree.  Though Maria had earned scholarships in high school, they were seen not as real chances to pursue higher education, but only as evidence of her mental assets – and their ability to attract a serious, scholarly husband to care for her.

The job offer at this West Coast laboratory had been arranged by a sympathetic science teacher.  Nineteen, fresh from high school, and losing hope, Maria had seized on the escape route and made good on it.

The severely modest clothes in her single suitcase required only a little dressing up to read as serious and professional, and her ability to speak politely to people of any age and situation served her well in the office.  She was a fast typist and had a kitchen-trained head for numbers.  She’d been taught to be meticulous, and in her work of observing slight differences between the super-absorbent compounds this laboratory produced, that skill was utterly essential.  Everyone, even the stern Dr. Reniston, said she’d go far in this career.

And now she might have messed the whole thing up.  The only thing to be grateful about was that her parents didn’t know where she was … so they couldn’t possibly find out why she was probably going to be fired.

Maria was standing in front of the desk in Dr. Reniston’s office, which overlooked a sweeping green park and duck pond.  Just a glimpse of the bricks of an associated lab building were visible past a clump of pine trees.  Apart from the well-clipped lawn, it was a naturalistic, unforced scene totally at odds with the interior of the office, where everything was in its place.  Scientific journals on innovations in materials engineering were carefully lined up on a spotless oak bookshelf, their crisply printed titles echoing the embossed lettering of the degrees on the wall.  Both an ordinary and a standing desk were constructed from the same gleaming oak.  On the desktop, pens were lined up neatly on a cognac-colored leather blotter.  A small, abstract glass sculpture served as both a paperweight and the only touch of personality on the desk.

Dr. Reniston was behind the desk in her leather chair, steel-green eyes fixed on her luckless inferior.  Maria felt out of place and oddly clumsy, her spotless white blouse confining to her shoulders, the material of her charcoal-colored skirt hanging heavily over her full hips below a waistband that suddenly felt restrictive and tight.  She was sure her long, dark waves were escaping from their carefully structured Gibson twist.

“I can’t tell you how sorry I am to have behaved so unprofessionally,” Maria began nervously.  She realized she’d clasped her hands together in front of her – a childish habit of hers – and quickly unclenched them, bringing them down to her sides.

“I’m not very interested in apologies, Maria,” said Dr. Reniston, making Maria wince involuntarily.  “I’m interested in discussing the meaning of your behavior.”

Rising and turning to the standing desk, Dr. Reniston swiveled a large monitor toward Maria, who felt the high color of embarrassment drain from her face, leaving her pale with shock.  Before her on the screen was the very video she’d been watching.

Dr. Reniston hit play, but she didn’t watch.  Her eyes stayed fixed on Maria – but Maria was horribly transfixed, melting into a slump of abject humiliation.  She felt dirty sometimes about her taste in … private entertainment, but nothing compared to seeing her guilty pleasures displayed in her boss’s office.  How could she ever have enjoyed this, even anonymously?  And Dr. Reniston’s speakers were turned on, so the sound of skin on skin, the exaggerated moans of pain and pleasure from the female performer – they made it seem even worse.

The video ended, and Maria let her eyes fall shut as the room spun.  She was nauseated by her own shame.

“Why did you watch to the end?” Dr. Reniston asked, quickly proving that the situation could always get worse.

“I thought I was supposed to,” Maria murmured hoarsely.  

“Ah,” said Dr. Reniston.  Her tone was odd – rather neutral – and it was strange enough that Maria dared to open her eyes and look at her boss.  “It occurs to me, Maria, that given this apparent habit of yours, you might benefit from a little more structure in the workplace – and perhaps outside of it.  Would you agree?”

Maria nodded.  She would have agreed to anything Dr. Reniston said at that moment.  Her lower lip had begun to tremble, and she didn’t trust herself to speak.

“You had your hands clasped in front of you a moment ago.  It was very nice.  Do it again, please.”

Maria was too numb with misery to be more than distantly surprised.  She folded her hands in front of her full breasts, clasping them together in a position of mute appeal.

“Good,” said Dr. Reniston.  “Now, I’ve known for some time that you were not sufficiently challenged in your current role.  I suggest that we should add some more direct product testing to your job duties.”

Surely, Maria thought, that was too much luck.  Was she really going to be able to get out of this without more than a bit of unpaid overtime?  (Well, that and never being able to look Dr. Reniston in the face ever again.)  It was indubitably worth it.  She nodded eagerly, her joined hands rising up nearly to her throat.  

“Very good.  Follow me.  And do keep your hands clasped.”

Dr. Reniston led Maria out of her office and down the hall.  Swaying with mingled humiliation and relief, Maria didn’t even register the oddity of Dr. Reniston’s request, and she kept her hands folded like a little girl excited about her birthday cake, a position at odds with her professional attire.

“As you know,” Dr. Reniston said without looking over her shoulder, “our laboratory produces many compounds, but we pride ourselves on safe, environmentally sound super-absorbent treatments.  Our products are used to treat performance fabrics, undergarments, outdoor carpeting, and industrial machinery that is exposed to moisture.  And you’ll be involved in testing some of the more end consumer-oriented products for which our compounds are used.”

Through a discreet door was a graceful pink-walled ladies’ room with a long vanity counter.  A seating area of chairs upholstered in pearly leatherette clustered around another door.  Dr. Reniston took a key from the pocket of her slacks and unlocked this door, then ushered Maria inside.

Maria stopped, confused.  In front of her was a small room, carpeted and painted a soft dove grey.  On a grey ottoman was a white diaper, patterned with delicate pink blossoms.  On the floor was a large, low rectangular tray filled with cream-colored sand.  The scene was almost minimalist, but …

“In front of you are a diaper and a litter box,” said Dr. Reniston.  “Both the diaper padding and the cat litter have been treated with our absorbent compounds, and they require personal testing.  You have made it clear that you need some rules and structure in your daily life, dear Maria, and I think that the responsibility of testing products is just the thing to give it to you.  I will be your direct supervisor in this role.”

Maria swallowed, her face flooding with heat as she began to realize how she was going to be punished for her weakness, her inappropriateness, her lack of self-control, her dirty desires.

“Now,” said Dr. Reniston, “lower your panties, hand them to me, and make your choice.  Will you use the litter box?  Or put on the diaper?”

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This story was written by Helplesslyregressed
You can find more of her content here : helplesslyregressed.tumblr.com