We were tired, sleepy and satiated the next morning, having spent most of the night making love. Both of us needed plenty of coffee to wake up, and we were still yawning after our first cups.
“Do you have to go to work today? Sure you just don’t want to pop back into bed?” I asked her, as I poured her a second cup of coffee.
She made a face. “Yeah, I have this client who’s pretty demanding. I’ve promised him I’ll walk him through the work we’ve done so far at ten.”
I looked at my watch. “Let’s go then,” I said. She needed to go to her place first to grab a change of clothes. “I’ll give you a ride…”
“No surgery today?” she asked.
I shook my head. “Not till Sunday,” I said.
“I’m jealous,” Lisa said. “All I want right now is a nap.”
I raised an eyebrow. “All you want?” I teased. “Not even a little orgasm first, to take the edge off?”
She threw her head back and laughed, that sexy, sexy sound. “Okay, maybe I want an orgasm first,” she admitted, her eyes bright with lust. “But yeah, I’ve got to run. Charles will get cranky if I’m late.”
“Charles is your demanding client?” I asked.
She nodded, gulping down her coffee. “Give me a couple of seconds to change, and I’ll be ready, okay?”
***
She was wearing the red dress from last night; she made a face at me. “I’m doing the walk of shame,” she commented.
I smiled at her; shook my head. “Don’t,” I said. There was nothing shameful about us; this chemistry, this comfort between us was glorious; unexpected and sweet.
She smiled back at me, perhaps sensing the things I left unsaid. “Shall we?” she asked.
***
I waited for her to grab her stuff, and then drove her to work. I didn’t have anything else to do, and it was nice to just hang out with her in the car. Once I pulled in front of her building, I leaned forward and kissed her.
“You want to grab lunch with me today?” I asked her. I couldn’t get enough of her.
She looked at her phone; checked her calendar. “Yes,” she said. “Charles at 10, and a shopping trip at 3pm. I’ve time for a quick lunch.”
“Good,” I said, kissing her again. “Alright, baby, out you go, I’ve places to be and things to do.” I was teasing; she was the one with the busy schedule today.
She grinned at me. “Yes sir,” she said, smiling sweetly and winking at me as she got out of the car.
I was laughing as I drove away.
Chapter 20
Lisa:
I was humming as I entered the office, glancing at the clock. Nine am. Good. I wasn’t running late yet.
Charles Dobson was a demanding client. I was designing his penthouse condo along the waterfront. A lawyer, he worked hard and played hard, according to the rumour mills. He wasn’t my type; he was too rich, too dominating, too Type-A. He had impeccable taste though, and plenty of money to throw at me. In return, he demanded my best work. Sleepy and yawning weren’t going to cut it.
“Natalie,” I said, yawning, “I’m going to go grab a cup of coffee real quick, you want something?”
She shook her head. “You don’t have a ton of time,” she warned me.
I nodded. “I’ll be quick,” I promised.
I grabbed a large coffee from the coffee shop downstairs; then rushed back to the office. Nine fifteen. I needed to grab my binder for Charles, and run.
Binder. Coffee. Handbag. Jacket. I quickly found everything I needed, juggling everything in my hands, wincing a little as I rushed. I desperately needed the coffee to start working; every bit of my body was sore from last night, and I needed to be on my A-game with Charles.
“Okay, see you right after lunch, Natalie, about 2pm?” I called out as I was leaving.
I didn’t hear her reply, because my heel missed the top stair. I flailed and tried to steady myself, but my hands were full of stuff, and I couldn’t recover my balance. The coffee flew in the air, and I fell, sliding down the rest of the stairs. I hit the front door hard, my left wrist taking the brunt of the fall.
Natalie rushed out at the sound of me falling, and she skipped down the stairs in concern, helping me rise. I winced. I had spilled coffee on my blouse, but that wasn’t what I was worried about; my left wrist was painful, rapidly swelling in size, and tender to the touch.
“Shit,” I swore. “I think it might be broken,” I muttered. Great.
“Lisa, go to the emergency room,” Natalie ordered, taking a look at my face. Her face was white, pinched with worry.
I nodded. My wrist was throbbing now, and I knew I needed to get it looked at. “Natalie, you’ll have to cover Charles’ condo walkthrough. Basically, he just wants to see where we are at; can you handle it?”
She gulped. She’d met Charles once before; he’d been yelling at me. I’d been unfazed by it; she was younger than me though, and a lot less tough. I felt guilty about dropping Charles on her. “I’ll handle it,” she said bravely. “Go to the hospital.”
She gathered binders; gathered the contents of my strewn purse and shoved them back in place. “Come on,” she said, eyeing me with worry. “Let’s call you a cab, I’ll take care of Charles Dobson.”
I laughed a little shakily. “Good luck,” I said. “Sorry about this…” I gestured to my wrist.
She rolled her eyes; shook her head. “I’m assuming you didn’t fall down the stairs on purpose to get out of this meeting,” she said wryly. She bundled me into a cab and told the driver to take me to Toronto General.
***
The emergency room was fairly empty, all things considered. There were fewer than thirty people there. I wandered up to the intake point; gestured to my wrist, gave the woman my Health Card. She nodded at me, making a face at the wrist. “Not too crowded today,” she said. “The wait should be less than an hour.”
I sighed in relief. Emergency room waits could take three hours, if you weren’t seriously injured, and by emergency room standards, my possibly-broken wrist was nothing to worry about. I settled down in a chair, contemplated calling Patrick, but deciding against it. I didn’t want him to feel obligated to come wait with me.
I eyed the time. Ten-fifteen. I told Patrick I’d meet him at noon for lunch; I was pretty sure I’d be back to the office by then. No need to call.
I started reading a book to pass the time. It was an old John Grisham book that I had never got around to reading; I was quickly lost in the book, oblivious to passing time. Finally, I heard my name called by a white-coated doctor.
“Lisa Preston?”
I got up, wincing at my wrist. It was still swollen and throbbing.
He was young, probably just out of residency. He looked at my wrist. “You need to head to X-ray,” he said. “Third floor…”
He filled in a form, gave it to me. “They’ll do one right away, you don’t have to wait in line again,” he said, answering the question I was going to ask. I took his paperwork and looked at my watch. Crap. It was eleven-fifteen. There was no way I was going to make it back to my office in time. I picked up my phone and called Patrick.
He picked up on the first ring.
“Lisa,” he said, a smile in his voice. “What’s up?”
“I might have to take a rain-check on lunch,” I told him. “I fell down the stairs in my office; hurt my wrist. I’m in the ER right now.”
A swift intake of breath. “Which ER?” he asked quickly, concern in his voice.
“Toronto General,” I answered. “I’m fine though.”
“I’m coming over; I’ll be there in thirty minutes.” His voice was firm.
“Patrick, that isn’t really necessary,” I protested weakly. I was lying to myself; I did want him around; I wanted to lean on him and take comfort in his strength.
“It’s necessary for me,” he said. “I’ll call you when I get there.” He hung up.
I was smiling as I hung up; warmth in my heart. He wa
s acting like a boyfriend, concerned, protective and caring and I liked it.
I wandered to the elevator, punched in the button for the third floor. A movement caught my eye; someone reaching for the elevator door. I obligingly held it open.
It was her. The red-haired vision from last night. Patrick’s ex-wife Andrea.
***
She gave me a polite smile, and then she recognised me, and she inclined her head in greeting. “I met you last night, didn’t I?” she asked. “Lisa?”
I nodded, unsure what to say. Her eyes took in my swollen wrist, and she smiled.
“Patrick can be rough, can’t he?” she asked. Her voice was slightly snide; so discreetly malicious that I wasn’t sure if I was imagining things.
“I beg your pardon?” I said.
“You are Patrick’s submissive, aren’t you?” she asked, her head tilted. “It’s okay, I know the signs. After all, I was his 24/7 submissive for eight years. He can be harsh and controlling sometimes, but you’ll get used to it; find you actually like it.”
My face must have paled; my mind went blank with shock. She had been his fulltime submissive? The words she was using were the words of my worst nightmare. He could be harsh and controlling, but she realized she actually liked it. That could have been Nick and I. Except I got out of that, just in time, before I got in too deep.
She muttered something; I didn’t hear her. The elevator doors opened; she left, leaving me with a throbbing wrist and head, and the slow shattering of my heart.
***
“Lisa,” I heard Patrick’s voice. He strode up to me, concern in his glance. “You okay, baby? Here, let me see,” he took my wrist in his hand, touched it gently to examine it.
My heart was racing in my chest as I looked at him. It all made sense now; the look in his eyes; the ease at which he’d agreed to spank me, the dominance in his voice when he told me to spread my legs.
There was fear in my eyes; I couldn’t hide it. I wasn’t afraid of Patrick. I was afraid of me. I had been that girl; in a submissive relationship that extended beyond the doors of the bedroom, and I’d almost lost my direction and my sense of self. I never wanted to go there again. I had to leave; I had to walk away from Patrick before it all became too late; before I sunk into the quicksand and couldn’t find a way out.
I saw a movement from the corner of my eyes. It was Andrea, walking to the nurses’ station, talking to one of the women there, grabbing a file.
Patrick saw my eyes leave his for a second; he followed my gaze. I heard him suck in a breath.
“What did she tell you?” he asked. He didn’t bother to hide the trepidation in his voice.
“What you should have told me,” I whispered. “I need to leave.”
I spun around and ran, not being able to see where I was going, the tears in my eyes clouding my vision. “Give me strength,” I prayed to myself as I ran. “Give me the strength to stay away from him…”
Volume 3: Diagnosis
Chapter 1
Lisa:
I dreamed of Patrick that night.
I was in his examination room. The one with the medical table, complete with stirrups and straps. Neat shelves contained the supplies to give me an enema, or to open up my pussy or my anus with a speculum, to examine my insides with anal thermometers and probes. There were syringes there to inject me with lube or any other fluid of his devising. There were gags for my mouth; ball-gags that I could drool around, or ring gags that would force my mouth open as he shoved whatever he pleased down my throat.
And then there were the instruments of pain. Whips. Floggers. Crops. So that I would balance at that perfect point between pleasure and pain.
I was in this room, I was wearing a hospital robe, and kneeling on the floor. I was here willingly, and this was the only spot in the world I wanted to be in.
In a moment, my Dominant would come in. And the games would begin.
***
A knock on the door. Always the knock on the door. Was it politeness? Was it immaculate role-play, merely what a doctor would do if a real patient was in the examination room? Or was it something more? A way to warn me that the time to serve him was at hand.
In this room, I would accede to his requests and submit to his desires.
In this room, I was his.
Patrick entered. Outside the room lay the cares of the real world; outside fears and vague unquiet concerns. But inside this room, he was my Doctor and my Dominant. My examination was about to start and nothing else mattered.
“Miss Preston,” he greeted me with a smile. My chart was in his hands. I was wearing the skimpy hospital robe, washed so many times that the fabric had become almost transparent. I was naked underneath, my hair pulled back into a ponytail to keep it from falling in my face and interfering with the Doctor’s examination.
“Dr. Anderson,” I said, my eyes on my hands. My knees were spread apart and the robe had hiked up, almost to my pussy. He moved in a slow, steady, circle around me, evaluating what was at hand. Plotting out today’s adventures.
“Up on the table, Miss Preston.” His voice was now crisp. I hopped up; quick to comply with his orders. I lay flat on my back, staring up into the air, my mind at peace.
He bent towards me. He smiled, the sweetest, warmest smile in the world. “Lisa,” he said, his voice a gentle caress. “What’s your safeword?”
Always the confirmation. I didn’t need a safe word with him; he would stop at any hint of disquiet. My wellbeing was always uppermost in his mind. But I answered him anyway. “Red.” My voice was soft and compliant. I was already inching towards the place where I existed only to obey him.
“I might gag you,” he said. “Here.” He placed a red ball in my hand. “Drop it, and we stop.”
I nodded my agreement. He leaned forward, kissed me, running his tongue at the seam of my lips, till I groaned and parted my lips for him to push in and claim me. He sucked my lower lip into his mouth, kissed me, soft, sweet kisses. Our tongues intertwined and our souls connected as I pulled his waist into my body so that his weight was pressed down on me, his chest crushing my breasts. I was drowning in delirious pleasure.
You can fuck someone, and be fucked. They can take your pussy and your mouth and your ass. They can set a fucking machine thrusting into your vagina. They can control your orgasms with a look. They can make you beg them for pleasure. They can beat you and crop you and have you plead for it.
But kissing? Kissing is intimacy. And I am lost in the intimacy of the moment.
Finally, he straightened. I watched his eyes as the lust there was veiled, and the iron control took over.
“Hands and knees, Miss Preston,” he instructed. I got on my hands and knees on the table, trying to be graceful and failing miserably.
I could feel the weight of my breasts hanging down, and moisture coalesced between my legs. The hospital gown swung open and the fabric hung away from me. I could feel the cool air on my ass and my pussy, and it left me feeling more exposed than if I was actually naked. I could imagine the image in front of him, a bare ass and pussy, framed by a hospital gown of faded cotton that concealed nothing. My nipples hardened at the thought and a familiar trickle of arousal ran through me.
I heard a drawer open, and he walked towards me with a red suede flogger in his hands. My eyes widened, but I kept my head up; I would comply with my Dominant’s wishes. In his pleasure, I would find my own.
The first few strokes warmed me up as they struck me across my ass. Soft tendrils of heat ran through my body, starting at the point where the tails struck me, and flooding through my body. I could feel my pussy gush, the juices trickling down my thigh. I could smell my arousal in the air. I shivered in shame, but I could not deny this reaction. Instant lust flooded through my body when the strands of the flogger kissed my skin.
The flogger stopped its strokes for a moment. Patrick’s fingers scooped up the moisture from my thighs, and I could hear him suck his fingers clean. My muscles cl
enched. More juice trickled down at the sheer eroticism of him licking my pussy juice from my thighs. As if he read my mind, I felt his tongue snake a path up my thighs, licking me clean and then biting me softly to mark his presence.
“Patrick,” I groaned. I had no power to hold my position without moving in the face of such pleasure.
“Keep still, Miss Preston,” he snapped. I could hear the smile in his voice, always there, layered in with the crisp orders.
“Yes, Doctor Anderson,” I groaned. I couldn’t take his torture without moving, without pushing towards him and begging for his cock in my body. But the rules of the game were that I was forbidden to move, I was forbidden to speak unless I was spoken to, and above all, I was forbidden to orgasm without his express permission.
Today, I didn’t think that permission would be granted anytime soon.
The flogger resumed its warm march up and down my body, striking my ass and my thighs and my pussy. It took all the training I had and my fervent desire to please him to hold still and to keep quiet. Soft whimpers I was allowed, and I whimpered and moaned, not in pain, but in pleasure. The fire was slowly lit in my body. Each stroke caused it to blaze up more and more, until a searing heat took over, and I couldn’t keep from bursting into flames.
Fire. Ice. Always the contrasts.
I flinched as the cube of ice was rubbed slowly across my reddened ass, and earned myself a sharp spank for the movement. “Keep your head up,” he snapped. I obeyed instantly. Patrick didn’t want meekness in me. He wanted strength.
“Do you like the ice, sweetness?” His voice was gentle.
“Yes, Doctor Anderson,” I whispered. I liked everything he did to me. When I gave him control over my body, I felt freer than I thought possible.
The ice melted and dripped down, the cool beads trickling down my ass and my pussy, till I thought I would combust with lust and longing. His hot tongue followed the water, lapping it up, and tasting me with it. I gripped the red ball he had placed in my hand as I struggled to stay still. Small whimpers filled the room, the sounds of sex.
Doctor Dom Series Sequence One (Triage | Observation | Diagnosis): A BDSM & Medical Play Series Page 12
