Relapse (Doctor Dom Volume 4) (A BDSM & Medical Play Novella)

by Tara Crescent

  Chapter 9

  Lisa:

  I hastily finished my shower, expelled my enema, and used Patrick’s hair dryer on my dripping hair, doing my best to restore it to some of the careful waves it had cascaded in before it got wet. Then, I went into the examination room. The door was open, and Patrick was sitting on the stool.

  “Come on in, Miss Preston,” he said easily. “Let’s see, a full examination today, isn’t it?”

  Was it? “Yes, Dr. Anderson,” I smiled.

  He gestured to the examination table, and I lay down on it, the vinyl cool on my naked ass. I obediently placed my legs in the stirrups without being asked, and Patrick’s lips twitched.

  “I’m going to tie you up,” he said. Straps were quickly buckled around my waist and my thighs, holding me down and open for his pleasure. He came around and took my hands in his, and he cuffed them together, and fastened them above my head. I could wriggle somewhat, maybe arch my hips a little, but there wasn’t much room to move.

  I stayed quiet, letting the anticipation build. I had no idea what he had planned for me, and excitement prickled at the back of my neck. Any moment now, I’d be drowning in a sea of intensity, anchored only by the quiet calm in his voice, by the steady intent of his eyes. Any moment now.

  My nerve endings were tingling. I felt like I was on a roller-coaster, climbing slowly to the top. In a moment, I’d reach the peak, and then the ride would start, and all I would be able to do was hold on, savour each little bit of the journey, and slide towards the finish line. I snorted a little at that last bit. I’d slide towards that finish line if Patrick would let me. I anticipated that there would be a fair amount of begging beforehand.

  Patrick walked towards the closet, and pulled the large mirror out, positioning it in a way that I could see my reflection in the mirror. I had a clear view of my pussy, spread open by the stirrups. I could see my lips glisten with moisture, already ready for him. I wondered what he was going to do to me that he thought I should watch.

  “Now, Lisa,” he said. “What’s your safe word?”

  “Red,” I said quietly. He moved back towards me, and in his hands, he had two things that looked like upside down glasses, with a hose where the bottom of the glass should be. A breast pump. I bit my lip. I’d never had one used on me before, and as I saw the pump in his hands, I discovered that I was shockingly turned-on.

  He stood before me silently, watching the look of arousal rise in my eyes with slight amusement, and I nodded. “Please, Dr. Anderson, please use them on me,” I begged.

  “I was planning to, Lisa,” he responded. He positioned the cups on my breasts, and the rubber at the base formed a snug seal. He had the pump in his hand, and he pumped quickly a couple of times, and I moaned as the pressure increased.

  “How does that feel?” he asked.

  “Like they are being sucked on, but bigger,” I breathed. My pussy was dripping as Patrick pumped steadily.

  “Stop me when it gets too much,” he ordered, and I nodded.

  “Don’t stop,” I begged, and he chuckled. I could see my breasts elongate in the clear plastic cups, and redden slightly as they responded to the pressure. They ached slightly already, with the sweetest kind of pain. Like my skin was being readied for pleasure.

  “Just a little more.” Patrick’s voice was steady, and I watched his hands press the lever a couple times, and the ache on my breasts increased. “Good,” he said in satisfaction, watching the way I writhed in response. He let go of the pressure valve, and eased the cups off my breasts.

  “How does this feel?” he asked, running a finger over my nipples. I whimpered and twisted in response. The pump had made my breasts much more sensitive than usual. Just a light touch, and I was wriggling with pleasure.

  “Okay, let’s up the intensity,” he said calmly. He quickly snapped two thick rubber bands on the base of my breasts, so that they bulged out lewdly. “I’m not going to leave them long; I don’t like the too bruised, purple look,” he clarified. “Just till they get a bit red.”

  I nodded silently. The rubber bands had brought back the soft ache in my breasts, and I could feel them throb gently.

  “One final thing,” he said. Two tweezers-style nipple clamps were attached to my nipples, and Patrick tied a string from each of them, and extended them down my body, and looped the string around my big toes. I looked at him inquiringly. What devious bit of torture did he have planned?

  His lips twitched as he saw my look of open curiosity. “You’ll find out soon enough,” he said, and walked away. When he returned, he had another pump in his hand. This time, for my pussy.

  “Fuck, Patrick,” I groaned, as a shocking pulse of lust swept through my body. I could feel my pussy clench in anticipation of what he was going to do to me.

  “Now, Lisa,” he said, his voice very dangerous. “You are absolutely not allowed to come.”

  I closed my eyes for a helpless second. I didn’t understand how I could pull myself back from that ledge. Not when my breasts were aching, and Patrick was about to set my pussy hurting the same sweet way.

  “Lisa.” His voice was a snap.

  I bit my lip. My Dom wanted me to hold my pleasure back until he gave me permission. I would obey. “Yes, Dr. Anderson, I know I’m not allowed to come,” I said softly.

  He leaned forward and kissed my forehead, his hand tightening around a breast, squeezing it. “Good girl,’ he said, and as always, his approval warmed me deep inside my core.

  “Now,” he said, moving to the space between my spread legs, and carefully lubing up the edge of the pussy pump that would rest on my vagina, “I’m not going for the seriously red, seriously swollen porn look here. But a few minutes of the pump will increase sensitivity.”

  “My pussy’s pretty damn sensitive already,” I retorted snidely, and winced as his palm made stinging contact with my vagina.

  “You know, Lisa,” he said evenly, “if you can’t keep quiet, I will gag you.”

  I shook my head silently. “I’m sorry,” I said meekly. He winked at me in response, and placed the pump over my vagina. A couple quick strokes on the lever, and I felt a weird but pleasurable suction, almost as if a massive mouth was on my pussy lips, sucking them with determination.

  “Watch,” he ordered, but I had already been looking at the reflection of my pussy in the mirror with fascination. “Now, tell me when it gets too much,” he ordered, pumping a few more times.

  The pressure increased to a point that was almost painful, and I gasped yellow, as my fingers curved into a fist. Patrick immediately eased off the pressure. “Do you want it removed?” he asked calmly.

  “No,” I replied, shaking my head. “I just need you to go a little slower.”

  He smiled at me, and ran his fingers over my reddening breasts. “Let me know when you want me to pump again,” he said. “In the meanwhile…” He walked away, and when he returned, it was with the vibrator.

  I eyed him suspiciously, as he smiled innocently at me. The pump was over my pussy; what was he planning to do with the vibrator?

  His left hand took a hold of my foot, and he grinned at me. “Let’s see if you can keep still, Lisa,” he laughed, as he flicked the vibrator on, and held it against the arch of my foot.

  I wasn’t hugely ticklish, but the vibrator was such a strange feeling against me. I twisted as much as my bindings allowed, and the sharp pain on my nipple reminded me that there was a string tied from the nipple clamp to my toe.

  “I would keep still, Lisa,” he counselled, amusement threading his voice. He moved to my other foot, and repeated the action, and I whimpered. It was such a peculiar feeling, feeling the vibrator buzz against a part of my body that wasn’t typically used to such sensation.

  Every time I moved, there would be a tug on the nipple clamp that would remind me of the ache in my breasts. I could feel my pussy engorge under the pump, and I ached to feel that pinching suction again. “Can you pump it?” I asked him, and he smiled
and nodded, and I arched my hips in response to that feeling. It was all too much; I was like a twig being tossed in a sea of sensation, unaware of what lay ahead.

  What lay ahead was a quick removal of the pussy pump, and Patrick’s fingers running through my swollen lips. “How’s it feel?” he asked me.

  I groaned. Everything was heightened. Every nerve ending in my body was throbbing with pleasure. A slow fire was building inside of me, and Patrick stoked it by the slow, lazy rub of his fingers against my slit.

  “I need to be fucked, Patrick,” I begged him.

  He laughed at me. “In a doctor’s office?” he asked, mock-shock running through his voice. “What kind of service do you think we offer here, Ms. Preston?”

  “The good kind,” I said, a mute plea for his dick in my eyes.

  He smiled at me. “Hold on, I’m not going to make you wait too much longer,” he assured me calmly. “Here…”

  A butt plug was pushed into my ass, and then Patrick rolled a condom on, and swiftly entered me in one deep stroke. It felt amazing. My lips were swollen around him, and everything felt more intense. I could feel his hard erection raking through every millimeter of my pussy, and my clitoris throbbed, a pulsing mass of need.

  Patrick did something, and the butt plug started to vibrate deep inside my ass, and I whimpered as he increased the pace of his pounding, pulling out and slamming back into me with guttural groans that just spiked my arousal even higher.

  I could hear my voice, moaning and keening. My breasts were throbbing in rhythm with his strokes in and out of my pussy. My legs jerked, and my nipples ached, and I craved every bit of this. Every kiss of pain; every shudder of pleasure. It all blended into one intense, overwhelming ball of sensation, and when I came, I came convulsing, with a wail and a full-body shiver.

  “Patrick,” I whimpered as I tried to twist away from him, though I was tied up firmly to the examination table, but he was having none of it. Two hard, stinging slaps on my inner thighs, and I stopped moving, and his fingers resumed their work on my clitoris, as he kept up his steady pistoning in and out of me.

  Again, I arched into climax. Again, I tried to writhe away. Again, he would not permit me to.

  Finally, as I came, struggling and flailing the third time, he slammed into me, hard and fast and furious, and as I edged over into orgasm, the flutters of my pussy pushed him over the edge as well, and he groaned as his cock jerked inside of me. “Lisa,” he groaned, and warmth again blossomed in my heart, hearing the pleasure I brought him; the same pleasure he brought me.

  Chapter 10

  Lisa:

  Patrick turned to me in bed. “So,” he said, lacing his fingers in mine. “Talk to me about the bathtub.”

  “Ah.” I was embarrassed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to freak out.”

  “No, no. I’m just trying to understand. Tell me about the humiliation. I’ve done plenty that embarrasses you. What was it about that bit that made you nervous?”

  I thought about it. “I don’t know. I think it was mostly that I didn’t know what you were going to do. In the bathtub, ahead of an enema, that could be a lot of places I really don’t want to go.”

  “Like watching you expel the enema?” he probed. “I told you, I don’t have any interest in that. That’s just too extreme for me. But how do you feel about a certain amount of play that could embarrass you?”

  “What’s the difference between embarrassing me and humiliating me?” I asked.

  “That’s a matter of perspective,” he replied thoughtfully. “From my standpoint, keeping you slightly at edge is desirable. But my intention isn’t to make you feel any less valued or cherished.”

  I really liked having this discussion with Patrick after we were done. In session, there could be potential for hurt. Now, curled up next to him, discussing what worked for me and what didn’t – I felt like we both had the same goal – to ensure that we had the most amazing sex. It felt collaborative. With Nick, any discussion had always felt adversarial. Like a difficult negotiation, not a calm conversation.

  “You made me lick my juice off the examination room stool once,” I mused. “That was really hot.”

  Patrick smirked at me, before composing his expression into seriousness. “Why was it hot and not humiliating?”

  “It was hot because you were so turned-on by it, I guess? And your arousal acted as a catalyst for mine?”

  “I’m going to try something when we play next,” he said. “I’m going to rely on you to tell me if it crosses a line.”

  I nodded, ignoring the little prickle of guilt. Every time he said something that implied he trusted me, I felt guilty. Yet again, I pushed the guilt aside, and replied to his comment. “Yes, Dr. Anderson,” I said. “This play session, is there a date I need to block off in my calendar?”

  He winked at me. “Sometime next week,” he said. “Let me check my calendar; see what work looks like. I’ll text you. Now, if you wouldn’t mind sharing some of this blanket that you’ve managed to steal completely, we can fall asleep.”

  “Get your own blanket,” I grumbled, but I moved over and he drew me into his arms. I smiled. “I am having such a good time,” I said softly.

  He ran a finger over my lower lip, and bent to kiss my neck. “Me too, baby. Me too.”

  I started to fall asleep, but then remembered something. “Hey, Patrick?”

  “Mmm?” His voice was sleepy.

  “I’m rehearsing Friday night with Mandy,” I said. “Do you want to hang out tomorrow instead of Friday?”

  “Okay,” he replied sleepily. “I’ll call you in the afternoon, when I know better what time I’ll be out of work. Now, Lisa, it’s bed-time. No more talking, please.”

  “Good-night, Patrick,” I said sweetly, inwardly laughing at his sleepy grouchiness.

  “Mmm,” he grunted. I took that to mean that he wished me a good night too. Giggling slightly, I went to sleep.

  ***

  Thursday night, yet again, I dressed carefully for my date with Patrick. This time, a bright pink bra and panties, with orange polka dots. It was among the silliest, most cheerful pieces of lingerie I owned, and every time I saw myself in the mirror, the bright colour and pattern made me giggle. Over those pieces of confectionary, I wore a sober black t-shirt and jeans, pulling on a black sweater over it. It was almost November, and there was a definite chill in the air.

  At seven, my phone rang. It was Patrick. “I’m downstairs,” he said. “Are you ready, or should I park?”

  “I’m coming down,” I replied.

  He smiled when he saw me, and leaned forward to kiss me. “It’s among your most endearing qualities,” he said.

  “What is?” I asked him.

  “Being on time,” he replied. “You don’t keep me waiting around. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”

  I grinned at him. “Well, I have to make up somehow for never waking up in time to put on the first pot of coffee…” I said. I was inwardly quite touched at his compliment, because it wasn’t an easy compliment about the way I looked. Rather, it was something about me that he’d taken the time to notice and appreciate, and it warmed me that he had done so.

  He laughed. “There is that,” he said. “Any thoughts on where you want to go for dinner?”

  “How about that bar that we went to on our first date? The one that only served curry? I’ve been craving that butter chicken.”

  He smiled. “Sure thing,” he said easily.

  ***

  Food orders placed, beers in hand, we settled in a secluded corner.

  “Tell me about the time you went travelling,” I ordered.

  He raised an eyebrow at my tone. “Bossy, aren’t you?” His lips twitched. “Which time? When I was nineteen?”

  I nodded.

  “What do you want to know?” he asked me.

  “Everything. Tell me how it came about, where you went, what you did.”

  He laughed at me. “Okay. I told you I had a f
ight with my parents?” He took a sip of his beer. “My parents and I have a difficult relationship. It’s better now, but it was pretty strained when I was younger.”

  “Why?”

  He looked at me. “Sure you want to hear it?” he asked me. “I don’t want to scare you away.”

  I gave him a disbelieving look. “I’m not sure it’s possible to scare me away,” I told him. “You are stuck with me.”

  He flashed me a smile. “Okay, where do I start? My father is a lot older than my mother. She was working for him, they had an affair. My mother became pregnant. I don’t think she ever really wanted to have a child, but my father insisted. They got married. I was born a few months later.”

  I reached over and threaded my fingers in his. I stayed silent and let him tell his story.

  “The thing is, my dad was very invested in doing the right thing. But he was less interested in actually having a child. And to my mother, I was the object that had trapped her in marriage to a rich and powerful man.”

  His voice was an even monotone as he told this story. My heart ached for him, for the neglected little boy. Some of what I felt must have shown on my face, because he smiled.

  “I don’t want you to feel too sorry for me,” he said. “I had a nanny who took very good care of me. I had every material advantage. I went to the best schools. Had the best tutors. The best education money could buy.”

  “As I got older, my father started paying more attention to me. I was to be groomed to be his heir. To run the company his father had founded. For a few years, I tried. I went to the office after school for two years to learn about his work.”

  He took another sip of his beer. “It bored me to tears.” His voice was flat. “It was all so pointless to me. I wanted to do something I was passionate about. I didn’t know what it was, but it wasn’t my father’s company. I told him that when I was nineteen. After freshman year in college. I’ve never seen him so angry.” He laughed at the memory.

  I looked at him. When I was nineteen, I had just started at university. I’d known I was interested in interior design my entire life. My parents were supportive. We weren’t rich, but they helped as much as they were able, and helped me look for grants and scholarships to fill the shortfall. I worked part-time jobs where I could. I had really enjoyed my university years, in large part due to their unstinting support. I couldn’t imagine how hard it must have been to do without.