A/N: This is a jetsy fic, eventually. I don't know how long it'll take to get there, and this is sort of my "break" fic when I get stuck writing something else. It's the result of a possibly inappropriate conversation with someone via text, a borderline crack fic. Thanks for reading, and anyone please feel free to comment on it. I'd love to hear what you think.
Betsy Putch was a good girl. She prayed before every meal, brushed her teeth after, and never left the dishes in the sink. Her family often described her as 'The Golden Child,' her father chuckling fondly whenever anyone asked about sweet little Bets. He just knew his little girl was making the world a better place.
The first time she ever kissed a boy her lips had been closed, the seam unyielding as Jimmy Anderson's tongue fought to breach the barrier. The moment his hand had swept up under her sweater had been the end of a long and incredibly boring courtship.
She'd been the stereotypical small town girl when she'd moved to the city, eyes wide with wonder at the bright lights and loud noises. She'd lived in a little bubble at first, walking the short distance between her rented bedroom and Shulman and Associates, the only detour being the coffee shop two blocks over.
The office itself had been a revelation to her, watching all manner of women traipsing in and out, some attended by their adoring husbands or boyfriends (even a few with their wives) others proudly alone. Young and old, every race and creed eventually crossed the threshold of Shulman and Associates.
Her interaction with men back in her hometown had been relegated to church picnics and brief conversations standing in line at the pharmacy, but here in New York it was different. The men who approached her here didn't know her parents, or care that she attended church three times a week (Wednesday and twice on Sunday). They had easy smiles to cast in her direction, toothy grins that were filled with the promise of something more than a quiet handholding session while walking in the park.
And much to Betsy's surprise (and quite frankly much to her consternation as well) the new attention sparked something strange within her, a little heat pooling in the pit of her stomach as a blush crept up her neck. She never knew what to say, ducking her head down, a curtain of her hair falling forward to hide her face.
One man in particular seemed to have the power to set the strange feeling into motion with more frequency than anyone else. It was unfortunate, because she was fairly certain that this particular person was only vaguely aware of her presence. Sometimes she felt like a rather boring piece of furniture when they were in the same room, her tongue getting tied as his eyes passed over her, however briefly.
The day her life changed actually started like any other day, Dr. Jeremy Reed stopping by her desk to pick up his mail, fingers brushing lightly against her own as he collected the the correspondence. Suddenly she knew exactly what the tingling sensation zipping through her meant, and she knew with stunning clarity what she wanted to do about it too. The thought sent a flaming blush across her face, reddening the skin all the way to her hairline.
Of course, Dr. Reed didn't notice the shift in atmosphere, he couldn't hear the keening noise of Betsy's inner voice. He merely tapped his mail on the desk, thanking her in the phony "professional" voice he affected when talking to patients, utterly unaware of the longing coursing through Betsy's delicate frame.
And that was it, the unintentional brush off that made her want to go home and sob into her pillow. It took her less than five minutes to collect her belongings and head out the door, sending Dr. Lahiri a quick text faking an unexpected illness. That was one thing about working in a gynecology clinic. Expectant mothers did not want a sickly receptionist taking down their insurance information.
Milling along the sidewalk, humanity slipping around her as if she were invisible. Normally the feeling grounded her, a reminder that there were much larger things to worry about than her trivial insecurities, but today it only served to point out how little she mattered. Was this really her life? What she'd seemed content to accept before, now looked like such a lonely existence.
The move to the big city was supposed to have been the catalyst that changed her life, the moment everyone she knew stopped viewing her as a little girl and started viewing her as a woman, but she'd just shifted into another family, full of the same big personalities and condescending attitudes. Sure, they were protective, and loving a lot of the time, but they still considered her a child.
She blinked, staring at her reflection in the window in front of her. She'd been standing here, stock still, for God knew how long, looking at the morose expression pulling down at her mouth. It was only when she blinked out of her trance that she noticed exactly what kind of shop she was standing in front of.
Her mouth dropped open, curiosity and revulsion seesawing inside of her as she stared at the display. It was a sex shop, all manner of toys and gadgets laid out elegantly on a field of silk, lit by gently glowing lights recessed into the counter. She was pulled to it, her forehead bumping up against the glass as she moved closer, palms up.
She only had the vaguest ideas about the delicate merchandise spread before her curious gaze, and was concentrating so hard on trying to figure out the use and purpose of each item, that she didn't hear the bell tinkle as the door opened.
"See anything you like?"
The woman's voice was like velvet wrapped steel, the faintest hint of smoke riding along the edges of the words. Betsy jumped back from the window as if it were red hot, an immensely guilty look across her face. "Uh.. no… I don't… um…"
She turned, taking a few steps in the opposite direction, every cell in her body sending an involuntary command to run to her brain, but something stopped her. A little voice in her head, whispering 'you're invisible' as she retreated, hooked it's claws into her.
Turning back, she took a moment to really look at the elegantly dressed woman. Wrapped in black head to toe, pale skin and ice blonde hair accented by ruby red lips. She cast a stunningly beautiful image. But it wasn't her beauty that drew Betsy along, pulling her like a magnet. It was the woman's presence, the power she exuded from every pore.
She was everything Betsy wanted to be in her darkest moments, and she found herself taking tentative steps toward the woman, watching her red lips curl up into a pleased smile. "I'm Lady Analise. Come, dear, let's chat."
Her words were hypnotic, an unplaceable eastern european accent just under the raspy tone of her voice. Betsy's eyelids drooped down low as the woman gently tugged her into the shop.
It wasn't a sex toy shop exactly, Betsy had been wrong. No one could have blamed her for assuming such a thing, her inexperienced eye immediately equating the black lacy lingerie and shiny instruments in the window with the few lurid fantasies she'd had.
The further she was dragged into the dim space, the more it began to dawn on her that these things were not the paraphernalia she'd seen at the few bridal showers she'd been to. Her cousin Alice certainly hadn't gotten any latex body suits in the pastel packages she'd ripped into the days before her wedding, and Betsy couldn't even begin to understand the purpose of the small silver knobs lined up in ascending sizes.
Her eyes were wide, pupils dilated completely as she strained to see the things around her. She shivered, the finely manicured point of Lady Analise's index finger trailing up the back of her neck.
"I'll ask again. See anything you like? Anything that speaks to you on a… primal level?"
Betsy shook her head in denial, clamping her lips shut against the possible word vomit creeping up.
"Don't fight it, darling. Go with the flow. Surely there's a reason you ended up here."
There was something that caught her eye, something recognizable from her childhood. It struck her as strange that it was nestled in between the various chains and braided whips on the farthest table. She took a tentative step toward it, hand outstretched.
The braided handle felt good against her palm, the genuine leather like butter underneath her thumb as she picked it up off the table. Flexing her grip, she hefted it. It was well balanced, the familiar weight triggering the instinct to flick her wrist.
A loud smack brought her out of her reverie, the leather tongue of the riding crop slapping down on the counter violently. She turned to Lady Analise, lips parted, an unspoken question dying on her vocal chords.
"Are you really so innocent?"
Betsy's eyebrows furrowed, glancing back and forth between the crop and her companion. "I don't…"
The crop left her hands, Lady Analise plucking it from Betsy's loose grasp. In the flash of an eye one end of the crop went flying through the air, slapping with a stinging ferocity against the receptionist's cheek.
Betsy's hand flew to the faint mark, eyes wide with shock and more than a little anger. "How dare you?"
Understanding lit in the older woman's eyes. "Ah, I see. I'm afraid I've misunderstood you my dear."
The smoked honey sound soothed Betsy, wicking away the outrage she'd been flooded with, replacing it was a low frequency desire to step in closer. "You did?"
Lady Analise shut her eyes, tilting her head to the side as she concentrated. "Little Miss Putch, so tired of being powerless, so tired of being ignored. If only they knew the fire that ran through your veins, how powerful you once felt astride a majestic beast, riding crop flying through the air as you urged it on. When's the last time you felt that power, Betsy?"
"How did you…?"
"It's really not important."
Lady Analise pressed the instrument back into Betsy's hands. "Consider it a gift my dear, and I implore you, come back here again, after business hours, so you can learn to find that power again."
Betsy nodded, swallowing a lump of fear, finding a note of anticipation in it. "I will."