Recovery (Doctor Dom Volume 5) (A BDSM & Medical Play Novella)

by Tara Crescent

  ***

  All day, I was a nervous wreck. “I don’t care if you get along with my parents,” he finally said mildly. I snapped something terse back at him, and his eyes narrowed.

  “Upstairs,” he said. “Examination room. Now.” His voice was very curt.

  “Patrick, we are due at your parents in two hours,” I started.

  “Now, Lisa.” His tone was implacable. I looked into his eyes, and found the warmth that was always there in his gaze when he looked at me, and I breathed out in relief. He wasn’t angry with me.

  “Yes, Dr. Anderson,” I said meekly, and I went upstairs.

  ***

  I changed into the hospital robe as I entered the examination room, and took a seat on the stool, my heart thumping in my chest. I knew Patrick wasn’t really angry with me. But I had been irritable with him all day, and I could tell punishment was forthcoming.

  He knocked and entered. He hadn’t worn his white coat, as he typically did when we were playing a ‘naughty doctor’ scene. He was still wearing his faded grey t-shirt and jeans.

  “Get naked,” he snapped at me when he entered, and I obeyed silently.

  He walked close to me. “I’m going to be hard on you,” he said. “You’ve been asking for punishment all day.” I nodded silently. “All your safe words still apply,” he told me. The words were meant as reassurance, but we’d been dating for a few months now, and no reassurance was necessary. Patrick would never hurt me beyond my ability to bear. Everything he did in this room to me was shaped to provide pleasure.

  “Get on the table on your hands and knees,” he ordered. I took up the position he had indicated, and shivered as I felt the tails of a flogger run over my ass.

  “You’ve been very bad all day, Lisa,” he said, his voice level. “Bad girls get punished.” Snap. The flogger struck my ass and I winced. Slivers of pain prickled my skin, and I exhaled, letting the pain wash over me. Again, the flogger struck my skin, the noise shattering the quiet of the room. I whimpered as my nerve endings burst aflame from his stroke, and he came around and cupped my jaw harshly.

  “Do I need to tell you to take your punishment in silence?” he asked, his voice dangerous. “I’m not inclined to hear you moan.” His hand tightened over my jaw, but he kissed my cheek gently as he withdrew, and I smiled slightly. Ah, I loved Patrick. I craved the harshness, but I allowed it only because there was an ever-present gentleness underneath.

  He came back with a ball-gag in his hands, and I opened my mouth obediently, and he moved my hair out of the way as he strapped the gag in place. He handed me a small red ball, which I gripped in my right hand. This was our signal when I couldn’t speak my safe word. If I dropped the ball, the games would stop, and we’d only continue if I was okay.

  “Beg to be punished,” he said, and I warbled a plea from behind my ball gag. The flogger struck, three quick strokes at my shoulders, and I bit down hard on the gag as pain radiated through my body.

  So good. I felt the sweet peace of subspace descend on me as the strokes fell. The utter safety of a good D/s session was exactly what I’d needed as stress relief. Patrick knew me well.

  “Get on your back,” he snapped, putting down the flogger. I complied, and he pulled my ass to the very edge of the examination table. My legs were strapped into the stirrups and spread wide open. My pussy was on display, as was my ass.

  He found the slim vibrator he had used on me before, and pushed it in my ass, tricking the smallest bit of lube first so it wouldn’t tear me open. I bit down on the ball gag again, gasping as the vibrator started buzzing deep inside me.

  “Bad girls get fucked hard, Lisa,” he told me. He didn’t bother to undo his pants. He just unzipped them and pulled his hard, erect dick out, shoving it deep into me. I yelped, my scream muffled by the gag. Oh, this was a punishment fuck all right. He was deep in me, and bottoming out, and I felt the sharp scrape of pain that accompanied each stroke.

  My body reacted, as it always did, with copious amounts of lubrication, and I moaned as each spike of pain was accented by a deep swell of pleasure. “Patrick,” I mumbled around the gag.

  “I don’t want to hear you, do you understand?” His voice was hard. He slapped my breast, hard, and I closed my eyes briefly, then opened them and looked at him, pleading for more. He grinned in amusement at me, and slapped again. “What kind of woman wants her breasts spanked?” he said, gripping my breast hard between his hands.

  Oh, fuck. I couldn’t form words though I wanted to. I wanted to tell him I was his slut. He owned me. I was his to do whatever he wanted. With each thrust of his dick, I whimpered in mingled pain and pleasure. His dick was hitting my g-spot, and I could feel the shudders start deep inside me.

  He pulled out. “Bad girls don’t get to climax,” he said, his eyes hard. “Do you understand?”

  I almost sobbed at the overwhelming intensity with which I craved my denied orgasm. I’d been so close. But I took a deep breath, knowing he wouldn’t relent unless I dropped the ball that I gripped tight in my hand.

  His fingers unbuckled the strap that held the ball gag in place, and he shoved his dick firmly down my throat. “Suck,” he ordered, his hands twisting painfully around my hair. I closed my eyes, and relaxed my throat, and took his entire length. I needed this. I needed the complete calmness I felt when I ceded control to Patrick.

  My nipples were pinched painfully hard between his thumb and forefinger. I moaned around his cock, and I felt him twitch as the vibrations from my moan pushed him over the edge. He pulled out hastily, and exploded all over my face.

  I smiled at him, and licked my lips. His cum was all over my mouth and my chin, dripping onto my chest. “Do bad girls get a faceful of semen?” I asked him.

  He laughed. He scooped some cum from my face and I licked them daintily off his fingers. “Hang on,” he said, and left, returning in a moment with a damp washcloth. He proceeded to wipe my face tenderly, and I grabbed his palm, and pressed it against my cheek.

  “I was going to lick up all your cum,” I protested, and he smiled.

  “Next time,” he promised. His fingers worked my clitoris surely until I arched in climax, screaming his name. He looked at me with a raised eyebrow when I was done. “Calmer now?”

  I got up and stretched. I felt well-fucked, lazy, languid, and oh-so-relaxed. “Much calmer,” I responded. “Thanks.”

  He winked at me. “It’s a full-service clinic,” he joked.

  ***

  His parents were polite and pleasant, and I didn’t belong in their world. Their house was a mansion. They had multiple staff members waiting on them. Everything in their life just screamed of extreme wealth.

  But before it could freak me out, I realized that through his own choices and actions, Patrick didn’t belong in this world either. Rosedale was a nice neighborhood, and the people that lived there were definitely wealthy. But it was neurosurgeon-type wealth, and he had earned his way there.

  In every way he could, Patrick embraced normalcy and distanced himself from the world he had grown up in. He didn’t have staff. He had a cleaning service come in once every two weeks, but I did as well, and so did Mandy and Monica.

  As we chatted over dinner, I watched the energy of the room. Patrick’s relationship with his parents was definitely strained. They were civil to each other, but they were missing that breezy informality that characterized my relationship with my parents. I got the impression that they were all trying to be closer to each other, but yet failing somehow. I asked him about it on the drive back, and he shrugged.

  “Some hurts take longer to get over,” he said. “We are more or less okay. But I’ve never leaned on them, and they’ve never leaned on me. There’s probably always going to be a distance between us. As I get older, I wish things could be different, but wanting something is different from doing the hard work necessary to achieve it.”

  He was right, and in fairness, the work to mend the relationship couldn’t just come from P
atrick either. “They are insanely rich,” I commented. “You mentioned once that you had a funny attitude about money.” I was openly probing. As time went on, Patrick was increasingly open about most things, and his relationship with his parents was the only thing he was slightly reticent about. I had to admit I was curious.

  “Can you blame me?” he asked. “My father used money as a way to try to ensure good behaviour from me, and when I told him to fuck off, I went my own way and did my own thing. We got past it. And while I have a solid understanding and appreciation for the good things money can do, I also know it isn’t the only thing. There’s a lot more to life than money. I backpacked through China and India when I was dirt poor, and I was okay. I survived.” He took a deep breath and looked at me. “I’ve seen money used to control people, and I want no part of that. At the end of the day, you can’t let yourself be dictated by money. You have to remember who you are, with or without it. And honestly, I don’t think my parents really know who they are anymore.”

  “I thought you were embarrassed by me,” I confessed. “I thought that’s why you were avoiding taking me to meet your parents.”

  He gave me a sidelong look. “I just didn’t want you to think that their world was mine. And besides,” he added, “I don’t have the same relationship with my parents as you do with yours. It isn’t as important to me that you get along with them. That’s really all it is.”

  Sometimes, that’s really all it was. Things were sometimes no more complicated than they appeared.

  “Silly kitten,” he added fondly. “You do like to jump to conclusions.”

  Chapter 18

  Lisa:

  There are markers for a relationship. Three dates. One month. Three months. Six months.

  At the one month mark, my mom had been in hospital. At the three month mark, Liam had happened and we were getting over it. But it was now six months, and I wanted to do something to mark it. It might not have been a big deal to Patrick – he had, after all, been married for eight years.

  But with Nick, on our six-month anniversary, we had had a huge fight. I’d done something that had displeased him. I couldn’t remember what – it had been trivial and petty, but he was insistent that I adhere to his rules.

  At the six month mark with Nick, I’d been afraid for myself. Everything was so different with Patrick. He was every bit as dominant as Nick was in bed. Probably more so. But I knew he respected me. He valued my opinions, and he leaned on me for comfort, and I leaned on him. It wasn’t that we couldn’t live without each other – because we could. Perhaps that was why I loved him so much. Because I didn’t lose my sense of self around him.

  I had told him I wanted to hang out, and he had offered to cook dinner. I jumped at the offer – Patrick was a far, far better cook than I would ever be.

  “Hey,” I called out as I let myself in.

  “I’m in the kitchen,” he said, and I made my way there.

  He was stirring something on the stove, but he stopped what he was doing when I entered, and came over and kissed me. Long and lingeringly.

  “Can dinner keep?” I asked hopefully when he pulled away. That had been one heck of a kiss, and I wanted more. Much, much more.

  He laughed. “Happy six months, Lisa,” he smiled.

  “You kept track?” I asked him. I was a little surprised. He hadn’t mentioned it, or indicated in any way that he knew why I’d wanted to hang out with him tonight.

  He chuckled. “You’ve dropped a few hints,” he said. “But I did remember.”

  “Am I being silly?” I asked ruefully. Okay. I was in my mid-thirties. Celebrating six-month anniversaries seemed a bit juvenile.

  “Only a little,” he said, smiling. I pouted slightly, and his fingers reached out and traced the curve of my lips. “I think it’s adorable,” he added. “I actually love that you wanted to celebrate the six-month mark.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugged, and answered my question with his own question. “Why did you want to celebrate?” he asked me.

  “I’m really happy in this relationship,” I told him. “I thought that needed celebration.” He grinned at me, looking pleased at my words. “Okay, I got you a present,” I added sheepishly.

  His eyes lit up. “A present, really?” I handed him the carefully wrapped box. “I hope you aren’t one of those people who won’t read anything except a paper book,” I added as he unwrapped my gift, revealing the Kindle Paperwhite I got him.

  He pulled me in towards him and kissed me. “I’m not,” he assured me. “Thank you. This is very thoughtful.”

  “Turn it on,” I said. I sounded a bit gleeful. I’d looked at his bookshelf, and loaded all his favorite books onto it.

  “Wow,” he said, looking at the screen filled with all the books he loved. “I’m not sure what to say.”

  “Happy six months,” I said.

  He looked up. “The best six months of my life,” he said seriously.

  “Even the Liam bit?” I asked.

  He made a face. “I could have done without Liam Henderson in my life at all,” he said. “The day he was here?” he shuddered. “I was so afraid I’d lose you. I was doing a damn good job losing you anyway through my fears, but that day, I realized that wasn’t the only way I could lose you.”

  “Do you want to see your present?” he asked me, banishing the grim memories with visible effort. “It isn’t as thoughtful though.”

  “You spoil me,” I said, opening the large square box he handed me, and pulling out a black silk and lace slip and short kimono. Agent Provocateur’s finest, and it was lovely.

  He laughed. “Every time I buy you lingerie, I feel a little guilty, because it’s so much more a present for me than you,” he quipped. “Try it on.”

  “After dinner,” I replied. “Else we’ll never eat.”

  “I thought you wanted to delay dinner,” he responded. “Okay, let’s eat.”

  He plated the food, and we sat at his kitchen table, and dug in, comfortable in our shared silence.

  “I really love the work you did here,” Patrick said, his voice filled with pleasure. He was looking around at his kitchen with complete satisfaction, and my heart thrilled at the look in his eyes. I’d probably done the best work of my career for him. Every single piece had been chosen with thought and care. The room managed to look warm and welcoming, but at the same time, airy and uncluttered. It was a difficult balancing act, and I’d succeeded beyond my wildest dreams.

  Patrick had expressed his admiration many times for the entire house, but if there was a room that was his favourite, it was the kitchen. The room was east-facing, and the sun streamed in in the mornings. Several days, I’d woken up to see him seated at the kitchen table, reading a book, a look of utter contentment on his face, sipping a cup of coffee, enjoying the serenity of the morning before the day got underway.

  It filled me with great joy that I was able to make this happen for him. He’d done so much for me. Been there for me in so many ways. Every single day, I couldn’t believe how lucky I was. How fortunate that we’d found each other, and we’d been able to work through every single problem thrown at us.

  Automatically, I crossed my fingers and my toes at that thought, as if to ward off any misfortune.

  “Penny for your thoughts, baby,” Patrick teased me, and I smiled at him.

  “You really like this room,” I replied.

  He nodded. “I like to cook,” he said. “And this space is both beautiful and functional.” He kissed my lips briefly. “Kind of like you.”

  I laughed aloud, though I couldn’t disguise the pleasure that ran through me at his compliment. “I’m functional? You make me sound like a horse or something.”

  He winked at me. “A horse? Secret pony girl fantasies?”

  “Hmm, let me think about that,” I teased him. Then I shook my head. “No, not really. Why, do you want to see me in full pony-girl gear?”

  His eyes darkened briefly, and then he smi
led back at me. “Maybe,” he said. “Not if you aren’t interested though. It’d be a fun change, no?”

  I dragged my mind out of the pony girl fantasy it had plummeted in, and back to our earlier conversation. “I’m glad you like the space,” I said neutrally. He laughed at my avoidance of the topic, and he squeezed my hand. “I don’t want to brag, but I love this room,” I continued.

  “How much?” he asked me. “Enough to move in?”

  I looked at him. “Are you asking me?” It wasn’t a question entirely out of the blue. We were adults. We had talked about marriage, and we had established that we had similar expectations about our relationship. But this was a step forward. A large step.

  His fingers laced in mine, and he nodded. “Every time you have to leave, I hate it,” he said. “Our schedules are so crazy, and it seems so complicated to coordinate calendars… Life would be so much simpler if we lived together.” He paused, took a deep breath and laughed slightly shakily. “That’s the most unromantic way of asking, isn’t it?” he asked me ruefully. “I’m saying this all wrong. I love you. I want to wake up every morning next to you. I want to watch you stagger downstairs every single day, with your eyes half-closed, reaching for coffee. I want to hear you laugh at something on TV in the evening. I want to hear you cheer futilely for the Bills. I want to spend as much time with you as I possibly can.”

  “I want that too,” I said softly. I wanted it so much that it ached. And honestly, when I decorated his space, I had done it hoping we’d eventually move in together. Hoping he’d ask.

  “Is that a yes?” he asked me.

  “I’ll have to sell my condo,” I said thoughtfully. “Or rent it out, I guess.” I could feel myself smile, a wide happy smile that had been threatening to break out since the start of this conversation, and could not be contained any longer. “That’s a yes,” I said, throwing my arms around him and pulling him close. I leaned my head on his chest, breathing in the pure, clean smell of him, and his arms tightened around me.