Naughty Doctor
An Erotic Novella
Copyright Vashti Valant, second edition 2011
Chapter 1
The man in the black ski mask must have been lurking inside the atrium to Xandra’s apartment for over an hour. He had probably slipped in with one of the previous tenants. She knew he hadn’t come in with her.
Xandra didn’t see him right away. He hid in the shadowed recess beneath the stairwell. The apartment had been converted from an old Victorian tenement, and there abounded ample inconvenient nooks, pointless overhangs and recessed niches. An ornate iron grate, waist high, partitioned the section of the atrium set aside for the mailboxes. Xandra often bruised herself on this monstrosity when she tried to reach her mail in a rush, so she focused on maneuvering around the rail. Her tiny mailbox, as usual, spewed a trash can’s worth of advertisements, fliers, 0% interest rate loan offers (no matter what your credit!), sweepstakes that she may have already won and other junk, as soon as she opened it.
It was as Xandra struggled to sort out the junk from her water and electric bills that the man in black slid, unnoticed, behind her and grabbed her.
She had only the briefest glimpse of a powerfully built man swathed all in black. She had no time to react. He melded a number of acts into one smooth, relentless motion. With one hand, he snapped a gag into her mouth and latched it behind her head, while, simultaneously, his other hand imprisoned both of her wrists in succession and cuffed them behind her back. A second after she had already been bound, she belatedly began to thrash in an effort to escape. The gag turned her scream into an inarticulate gargle. Since her hands had already been incapacitated, her captor felt free to let his own rove. Two large, warm masculine hands slithered under her t-shirt. Without bothering to unfasten her bra, he wrenched down the lacy cups covering her breasts, forcing the globes to spill over the underwire and into his waiting hands. He clenched his fists around the spheres of flesh, causing her to scream into the gag again.
She tried to kick him. But he stood behind her, with the damn iron rail between them—she had no leverage.
“Every time you defy me, you will be punished,” he said. He yanked her pants—jogging sweats—down to her calves, effectively tangling her legs together. Her cotton briefs followed in a tight roll. The t-shirt went next, over her head and down her arms, to re-enforce the handcuffs on her wrists. He unsnapped the bra and tossed it aside with a disdainful gesture.
He had her naked now, or worse than naked, exposed and bound by her own clothes about her arms and legs.
He heaved her up by her tits and tipped her back over the rail. The iron edge bit into her buttocks, but her position lacked the stability of being seated upon the rail. Instead, her whole body acted like a sea-saw on a fulcrum, and her captor controlled her balance. He torqued her breasts as if they were his steering wheel. If she squirmed too much, he lifted her by her nipples until she arched her back and sobbed. She stopped kicking, stopped struggling. He had control.
He waited for her to still, for her to accept her powerlessness. Then he leaned down to whisper in her ear, “You don’t know me, Alexandra, but I know you. I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to fulfill your darkest fantasies.”
God, he had a sexy voice. But what did he know of her darkest fantasies? She shivered. Just because she masturbated to the vision of a stranger in black taking her by force didn’t mean she wanted to live it. If she would even live through this encounter at all. What if he planned to rape her then kill her?
She tried to plead for her life, and once again the gag thwarted her. The tears staining her cheeks would have to speak for her. She tried to convince herself that as long as they remained in a public space, she had a chance that one of the other tenants would happen across them and call the police. That didn’t seem to be what he had in mind, however. Apparently he had no compunction about raping her right here, in the public atrium of the apartment building.
His manipulations of her nipples changed. He sifted the buds between his forefingers and thumbs. The nipples, already sensitive from his tugging torture, hardened further. Xandra could feel heat pool between her legs as well as in her swollen breasts. She almost had to thank the gag. It hid her groan of arousal.
As the pleasure mounted, nothing could hide her squirms of delight. What was he doing to her? How did his fingers manage to combine just the magic amount of pinching and pressure, rubbing and rolling, to make her breasts throb in his hands?
Her captor bent her back over the bar. Xandra’s stomach dropped and she panicked, but his grip on her remained firm. He guided her head down between his legs. Her hair brushed the floor. On the other side of the metal rail, her toes strained to touch as well, for balance.
Black leather pants. She might have guessed.
“I’m going to remove the gag,” he said. “If you try to scream, you’ll find my fingers around your throat.”
The gag disappeared. Xandra sputtered for breath. He cradled her head in his palms. His thumbs rested against her soft throat. She didn’t dare try to scream.
He had no shame. With no care for being caught, he unfastened his pants and pulled out an immense, dark red cock. By pinching her jaw, he forced her mouth agape.
“Lick,” he said.
She tried to turn her head away. His grip, inexorable, forced her open mouth to point back toward the ceiling and his jutting organ.
“Every time you disobey me, you will be punished,” he warned. Using his cock like a whip, he slapped her across the face several times. The fleshy contact didn’t hurt, but it did humiliate.
“Lick it, Alexandra,” he growled. “Or I’ll force it down your throat.”
She had to squeeze her eyes shut before she could bring herself to stick out her tongue. Tiny darts of her tongue found the looming cock. A rumble of pleasure shuddered through him. Strangely, the evidence of her power over him gave Xandra an illicit thrill.
“Harder.”
She would have done it even without the command. The harder and longer she made the strokes of her tongue, the longer and harder his cock grew—and the more ragged his breathing. The balance of power had shifted, subtly, and Xandra began to realize that she had him in as vulnerable a position as he had her.
Arching her neck to reach, she sucked his balls into her mouth. She lowered her teeth around them just hard enough for him to feel the threat of a vicious bite.
His whole body tensed. She could feel it.
“If you do, bitch, you’ll pay,” he said. He didn’t sound worried. Excited, rather. “Go ahead. Give me an excuse to punish you, Alexandra, to punish you as you richly deserve.”
Her heartbeat stuttered. Maybe biting him would not be a good idea. She didn’t dare dwell on what else he might mean by punish. She bathed his balls with special care not to involve her teeth. It was probably the most obsequious apology she had ever given, for all that she pleaded for his forgiveness without words. From his self-satisfied growl, he interpreted the message. Apology accepted.
She still planned to escape him. Better, though, she decided, to keep him off guard until she had a real opportunity. She returned to licking the underside of his cock.
“Yes, Alexandra, lick it,” he said, the low words rough with desire. “Ah, Alexandra.”
She hated that he knew her name. She loved how her name sounded rolled across the sandpaper of his deep voice.
“You’re ready now,” he said. “Take it in your mouth.”
“No, please—“
He thrust himself into her pleading mouth. Xandra held no credentials in giving head. She had certainly never attempted it from this angle, upside down and backward. His cock plowed her throat. If she started to gag, he pulled out a bit, but as soon as she reco
vered, the rod drilled back in to her distended mouth.
A peculiar sensation tingled through Xandra. Not arousal in the usual sense. None of her own sexual organs experienced direct titillation from this position. If anything, she felt off balance, awkward, helpless and used. He worked her, brutally, solely for his own pleasure. Yet, exactly the knowledge that he had total control of her body and would exploit her as he saw fit, excited her in some paradoxical way.
She expected him to come in her mouth. He did not. Instead, he withdrew his cock just as she felt the tang of pre-cum on the tip of her tongue.
Xandra felt dizzy from leaning back so far. She hoped he would allow her to sit up, but no such luck. The new game he had in mind brought her no relief from her indelicate position.
The flat of his hand smacked down hard on one of her breasts. She cried out, a puff of heat and air and sound muffled by the tight hole above her.
Another smack followed on the other breast. Xandra realized that since his thighs now clamped her head in place, he could let his hands loose on the rest of her.
“Every time you disobey, you will be punished,” he said, twisting her nipple hard as he spoke. He levitated the first breast by the nipple, cruelly stretching it, and then compounded the strain with another forceful smack against the tender underside of the tit. He subjected the other breast to the same treatment. He kept alternating the twist-yank-smack until her breasts burned in aroused agony.
His hips moved, drawing her head with them. He had her breasts squeezed together in his hands, and this allowed him to force his cock into the cleavage between them. While his cock fucked her breasts, his fingers primped her nipples.
Then one of his hands moved, while the other continued to rein the breasts in place. She felt him grope her mound, crudely at first, but in her heightened state, even that brutish fumble against her labia almost caused her to orgasm. Swiftly, his fingers found their rhythm. Her nether lips parted for the marching digits. The army of fingers stormed her citadel and found her aching clit, which they at once imprisoned and tortured with a rain of jabs and tugs.
Xandra was no virgin, but through ten years of nominally active sex life, which included a high-school sweetheart, a college sweetheart, a roommate with benefits and a summer fling, she had never experienced an orgasm.
The Big O was about to hit her big time.
Her whole body buckled hard against the rail. She was going to come… she was going to come as she had never come in her life…
“Tell me you’ll let me into your apartment now, Alexandra,” said her captor. “Tell me, or tell me to walk away right now.”
She couldn’t speak. How could she speak? There were no words for this.
“Tell me yes, you want me, or tell me no.” He stopped his ministrations…
…And smacked her clit. It exploded with sensation. And when his fingers began to twist and rub it again, oh, God…
“Tell me yes or I stop now and walk away forever!” he said.
“Yes!” she shouted into his butt hole. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”
His fingers doubled their pace, and drove her over the edge, into the realm of mindless bliss she had heard of but never visited. He squeezed his thighs to stifle her scream against his anus, while he continued to plunge her breasts over and over with his cock. As the bliss from her own orgasm ebbed into delightful echoes of shuddersome pleasure, she felt his climax in the bunching of his leg muscles, and the clenching of his fists over her breasts. Then warm lotion spurted across her tummy and tits.
Dizziness bemused her when he first righted her onto her feet.
“Give me the key to your apartment,” he said.
“It’s in my purse.” Why had she told him that? She stood there, still naked and bound, though on her feet, staring at him in wonderment more than fright, while he rummaged through her purse and found the key.
A black turtleneck, black leather pants, and of course, the black ski mask, that’s what he wore. He tucked his retreating cock back into his pants and pierced her with two intense blue eyes, all she could see of his real face.
“You’re well on your way to becoming my sex slave,” he said matter-of-factly. “But you did defy me at first, and several times again when I gave you a direct order. You must be punished for that.”
Fear returned. Sex slave? Was he insane? What a question—of course he was insane, he was a masked stalker! But she was even more insane, to be begging him for release, to offer him the key to her apartment.
He advanced, she retreated. He caught her easily and forced her back over the damned iron rail. This time, however, her stomach rested on the rail, and he bent her fully double, so that her hands met her feet. Her fanny faced the foyer and the staircase; her head draped the side of the rail nearest the mailboxes. He unlocked the handcuffs, but in their place he procured black silk scarves, which he used to bind her hands to the iron posts on the rail. With a kick, he spread her legs as far as they would go, considering her jogging sweats and panties still pooled around her ankles, and he tied her calves with black silk scarves to the posts as well. A final black scarf covered her eyes, blinding her. And he replaced the gag.
In theory, Xandra thought that the scarves should have been easier to break than the handcuffs, but in practice, the more she tried to yank her limbs free, the tighter the silk knotted.
“And still you defy me,” her captor said sadly. “That will add another three strokes to your punishment.”
Three strokes? Of what? She trembled. Blind, bound and gagged, what could she do to protect herself? Three strokes added to what?
Whatever it was, it hurt.
She screamed into the gag. The next blow followed on the first: a sting, a narrow sting, as if from a whip or a crop, though even in her shock she could tell it did not draw blood. He counted as he whipped her.
“…Three…four…five…for defying me at the first,” he said. “Five more for your disobedience during our session…”
He counted out those strikes too. Her buttocks wagged helplessly back and forth under the blows.
“And three added on to the total for resisting your just punishment.”
Snap.
She sobbed for mercy. No one, not even her tormentor, could hear her.
Snap.
She could not bear it. She would die.
Snap.
Please, oh, please let that be the last.
It was. And then—oh, what a strange and unexpected tenderness—he soothed her flaming buttocks with some kind of cool, cool cream. He bent over her and kissed the base of her spine.
“You will meet me again,” he said. “And service me again. Slave.”
Still blind, she could not see what he did next, although she heard him patter about the atrium, fiddling with equipment of some kind. A paper rustled. Then a breeze from an opening door fanned her aching butt cheeks and tickled her exposed pussy. The door clicked shut. He was gone.
Chapter 2
He was gone, but Xandra remained tied up. She couldn’t believe her captor had left her bound to the rail in the public atrium of her own apartment. Whoever found her would see her in this humiliating position, with her pants down around her knees, and her sex and pink butt cheeks thrust upward for everyone entering the building to gawk at.
She would almost rather not be found.
The door to the atrium opened. A rush of cold air brushed her bare parts, telling her that late afternoon sunshine had indeed given way to early evening chill. She couldn’t see who had entered. Xandra fumed with mortification. But her humiliation was not complete until she heard an all too familiar voice.
“Xandra! My god!” A man with a sure stride hurried to her. Of all the people to see her like this, why did it have to be Chris? And yet, at the same time, she had never been happier to hear his voice in her life. He made no sly remarks at her expense; he did not take advantage of her abasement; and he wasted no time in applying a Swiss army knife to the black silk scarves that impris
oned her. “Are you okay?”
She fell into his arms, weeping. “Oh, jesus, Chris, thank God you’re here.”
* * * * *
Upstairs, in the safety of her apartment, Xandra told Chris everything the man in black had done to her. She was too embarrassed to confess how she had reacted to his domination with a secret thrill.
Chris pulled her into a hug against his broad chest. There was nothing sexual about his touch. That was the great thing about Chris Jacobs. Despite his Christopher Reeve-as-Superman good looks, he was the least sex-crazed guy Xandra knew. Maybe he didn’t even have a sex drive. He must have been part teddy bear, she often reflected. Sweet, always there for you, a girl’s best friend, a man who put no pressure on you to put out, Dr. Chris Jacobs was the consummate gentleman and the kind of man her mother had always hoped Xandra would marry.
Xandra had to admit that Chris would make perfect husband material. When it came to material factors, he swept the Oscars. He had a marvelous job—not merely an MD, Chris worked as a highly respected research doctor for the CDC—a superb credit rating, and a beautiful house in a classy neighborhood. Even more importantly, he had a good heart. He loved children and dogs. He kept his promises. He was active in his church. He cooked his mom a five course brunch every Mother’s Day, for God’s sake. Chris would have been the kind of husband who never forgot to bring you flowers on your anniversary.
Unfortunately, the same thing that qualified him to be a perfect best friend disqualified him as a soul mate, as far a Xandra was concerned. She felt no passion for him. Maybe Chris was not to blame. Xandra was the one who hankered for bad boys. A man willing to rough her up in the bedroom, just enough to add spice, but not to the point of abuse, that kind of man she craved. Unfortunately, in her past pursuit of such men, she had discovered that it was hard to find a man who understood the difference between dominating her in the bedroom and trying to control her whole life, including her career, her friendships and her dreams.
Naughty Doctor Page 1
