“Of course,” his voice was warm. He reached out and took my hand in his. “You’ve had a difficult couple of days with hospitals. It’s perfectly normal that you wouldn’t want to do something that takes you back there.” He looked at me. “Vanilla tonight?”
I shook my head. “I still want to play,” I told him. “Just not in the examination room.”
He looked at me, and there was a gleam in his eyes, a gleam that sent lust shooting through me as I pondered what he had in store for me. “Good,” he said, a smile playing about his lips.
***
When we entered the house, he looked at me. “Come here,” he ordered. I moved in front of him. He quickly removed my shirt and my pants, unhooked my bra and slid my panties down my legs.
He took a step back, just watched me for a few quiet minutes with pleasure in his eyes as I tried my best to meet his gaze and refrain from covering myself. Finally, he looked at me and spoke in his quiet, dominant voice. “Go upstairs,” he said. “To my bedroom, please. Lie on the bed. I’ll join you in a few minutes.”
“Yes, Dr. Anderson,” I said quietly. Whatever he had in store for me, I wanted it.
***
He smiled at me as he entered the room. He had something in his hands, but he kept it out of my line of vision, shaking his head at me as I tried to peek. “You’ll find out soon enough,” he said, setting whatever he had in his hands on his dresser before coming to lie next to me.
“Lie on your stomach, Lisa,” he said, his voice indulgent. “Come, you’ve had a long couple of days, let me take care of you.” His hands roamed over my back, massaging my shoulders, then they slid down my ass, stroking it, cupping the cheeks. He spanked me gently, once, and chuckled at my murmured protest.
“I do like spanking you, baby,” he said, his voice warm. I blushed, my head buried in a pillow. I like being spanked by him. Another spank on the other ass cheek. I turned my head and smiled at him. “But I’ve been a good girl,” I pouted at him.
He chuckled again. “And you are getting the good girl spanking,” he said. “The bad girl spanking hurts more.” I laughed; I could attest to the truth of his words. The thirteen strokes of the belt on Thursday had been a lot harder.
His fingernails scratched a gentle path down the back of my thighs, and I wriggled involuntarily, and parted my legs. He just chuckled again. “Not just yet, baby,” he said. “First, a surprise.”
“A surprise?” I repeated, looking at him. “What kind of surprise?”
“A fun one,” he responded, with a grin. “Keep your eyes closed,” he instructed, and I complied.
His hands continued their slow rub of my shoulders and my back and my ass, and I relaxed and gave into the sensation. “Mmm,” I moaned, as his hands cupped my ass cheeks, and he spanked me again. “Patrick, that feels really good,” I muttered.
“Good,” he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice. “Here,” he said, moving a pillow near me. “Let’s get a couple of pillows under your hips.” I obediently moved my hips up, placing my weight on my right wrist, as he quickly and efficiently slid a couple pillows under me. “Good girl,” he said.
His hands continued to stroke my ass, even strokes that had my pussy clenched with anticipation and wet, even before we’d started.
“Baby,” he said, his voice quiet. “You have the most beautiful ass.” His hands traced a line down the centre of my spine, all the way from my neck to the crack of my ass, kept going until he found my tight little asshole, and his finger wriggled into it. “So pretty… so perfect.” He spanked the cheeks once, twice, one on each cheek. “You mark so easy, baby,” he said, his voice thick with pleasure. I just groaned in response; pushed my ass up towards him. More, I begged silently in my head.
Spank. Spank. Spank. A flurry of spanks hit my ass, each one not very hard, but the combined effect to start a slow, hot fire in me. Again, I raised my ass towards him, begging for more. “So beautiful,” he said, his voice level. “Baby, you are going to be a good girl for me, aren’t you?”
My voice was automatically compliant. “Yes, Dr. Anderson,” I said. I wasn’t in the examination room, but when he spoke to me in that dominant voice, I felt compelled to address him using the honorific. I couldn’t do any less when he controlled every aspect of my pleasure.
“Lisa,” he said, his voice quiet and serious. “You know I won’t hurt you, right?”
“Yes,” I responded instantly, my answer coming from a place deep inside of me. “I know you won’t hurt me.”
“Good,” he replied, his voice slightly amused. He leaned forward and kissed me, just for an instant, the merest brush of lips. I moaned as I felt him near me. “You know, Patrick,” I groaned, “We don’t have to play. We could just have sex right now.”
He chuckled. “Tempting as that sounds… no. Where’s the fun in that?” But there was tension in his voice; I could hear it, and it warmed me through my core. Whatever the games he played, and he played them well, with implacable control, he still wanted me through all of it, as much as I wanted him. I heard that slight unravelling in his voice, and I received that slight lapse in control as the gift that it was; a sign that he was deriving as much pleasure from our play as I was.
“Lisa,” he said, his voice intent, “I’m going to put a butt plug in your ass.”
I nodded. I’d had butt plugs in my ass before. But then, his voice had a definite undercurrent of laughter in it as he continued. “Well…” his voice was a sexy, sexy drawl. “Not a butt plug exactly.”
“What does that mean?” I asked warily.
“Wait and watch,” he said, a finger pushing into my asshole. He pushed something into my ass, something not much wider than his finger, and I clenched automatically as I responded to whatever he inserted in me. “Patrick, this is cold,” I yelped a little, though in a few seconds, the cold didn’t matter anymore, as my ass started burning with a slow heat. His hands traced a slow pathway again, from my neck, all the way down my spine to my ass, and he punctuated the movement with a spank of my ass, and I clenched automatically. A hot burn radiated from whatever he pushed in.
“Patrick,” I said, fighting the urge to reach back with my right hand and pull whatever he’d inserted out, “what is this?”
“Ginger,” he said promptly. “It’ll burn.”
“You don’t say,” I groaned. “I’m assuming it is safe, Dr. Anderson?” I placed heavy, pointed emphasis on the word Doctor, and he just chuckled in response.
“Live a little, Lisa,” he chided. His hands were at my back, stroking me with even, soothing strokes, as I fought to stay still. The ginger created intense, burning heat, and I shifted on the bed, and my hands gripped the covers as I fought to stay still. I moaned as the itching intensified.
“Patrick,” I groaned. His hands stroked my ass gently. “Yes, Lisa?” His voice was thick with lust.
“It really burns, Patrick,” I said, my voice ragged. I took a couple of deep breaths, but they just made it worse, sending the heat and the burning in a tidal wave over my body.
His finger swiped a slow path through my pussy. “You are soaked, baby,” he said, satisfaction in his voice. “I’m guessing you are enjoying this a lot more than you think you are.”
“You try it on your ass, Dr. Anderson,” I retorted, hissing, and he just chuckled in response, and kissed the base of my neck.
“Such a good girl,” he soothed, his voice close to my ear, as he rained tiny little kisses all down my spine, his hands kneading my ass cheeks. For an instant, pleasure filled me, and the fiery burn in my ass was pushed to the back of my mind, as I felt Patrick’s weight over me, straddling me. But then, he moved away, and the burning came back roaring to the foreground, and I whimpered again. “Patrick,” I begged, “Please take it out.”
“No, baby,” he said. “It’ll sting at first, but soon, it’s going to start feeling really, really good.” I wasn’t convinced.
“Ah fuck,” I moaned, as another wave of burning heat swept my b
ody, and I thrashed my head from side to side. “Patrick, this is really intense.”
“I know, sweetness,” he soothed. “Let it flow through you, open up to the intensity.” I groaned and tried to do as he told me. I could feel the sweat bead up on my forehead as my entire body flushed from the effects of the ginger and Patrick’s slow, soothing strokes. Then his hands cupped my ass cheeks, and he spanked me, right at the base of my ass, and I clenched automatically, and hissed as a fresh wave of burning filled me.
“Don’t clench,” he said, slight amusement in his voice. He spanked me again, and I clenched again, involuntarily, and another sharp heat spiralled through me, and I whimpered. “You keep clenching, Lisa,” he said, threat in his voice, a threat that set my pussy dripping copious amounts of juice onto the bed below, “and I’ll put a slice of ginger right on your clitoris, and then I’ll use a flogger on you, understand?”
I turned to look at him, lust in my eyes. “I’m not sure if that’s a threat or a promise,” I muttered, and he laughed appreciatively.
“You are so perfect, baby,” he said, affection in his tone, and he bent and kissed me gently. “I love playing with you, you are so responsive. So open, so honest. Perfect.”
“Patrick,” I whimpered. “You can’t say these things to me when I have a piece of ginger stuck up my ass, and I’m not thinking straight.”
He laughed and kissed me again. His hands slid down my back, and his fingers pushed the ginger in me deeper, wriggling it around to make further contact with my anal passage. Heat swept through me again, and I groaned. “Patrick,” I muttered. “Please…”
The feeling slowly changed. There was still burning in my ass, but now, it sent still further arousal cascading to me, the initial discomfort kindling for a fire that now blazed bright. “Ah, Patrick,” I groaned, as the warmth took over my entire body, “Please touch me.”
“Touch you where, Lisa?”
“Touch my pussy,” I begged. I could hear the smile in his voice, as he positioned himself so that his mouth was between my legs. For the love of god. He was going to go down on me, and I was going to fall apart.
“Sweetness, no coming without permission,” he said, an edge in his voice.
I wanted to whine and moan and protest, but I’d made the decision to give him control, and I was going to respect it. “Yes, Dr. Anderson,” I whispered into my pillowcase, and whimpered again, as his mouth descended on my pussy, and then, I just shut up and concentrated on not coming.
Ah, I could write poems about the way Patrick went down on me. His tongue explored my folds, and soothed them with sweetness, his fingers pushed into my wet pussy, and he curved them and used them to pull me further and deeper into his mouth, and he did this with an abandon that was such a marked contrast to his usual, calm control. Guttural sounds of pleasure emerged from his throat, and hearing these sounds, understanding that I gave him the same pleasure he gave me; well, it was a miracle that I didn’t orgasm right at that moment.
The ginger was a faint heat now that shimmered on the surface of my skin, and warmed me deep inside, but at the moment, everything in my world had narrowed to his fingers and his mouth and his tongue, and the pleasure he was bringing me.
I closed my eyes, and chanted his name. “Please,” I begged incoherently, as his tongue circled my clitoris before he sucked that erect nub between his lips. “Fuck,” I moaned, as his tongue lapped a leisurely path down my entire slit, making sounds of pleasure at my seeping wetness. Finally, I couldn’t form words, I just moaned and whimpered, and I held in my head only one thought. I was not to come without permission.
His fingers reached out for the piece of ginger, and he pounded it in and out of my ass a few times, and I screamed as a fresh renewal of burning filled me. But his mouth was soothing, and I was soon moaning his name.
Finally, he flicked my clitoris in a steady rhythm; one that was designed to push me towards orgasm. “Patrick,” I begged. “Please. Please. Please let me come.”
“Come for me, sweetness,” he said, lifting his head up for an instant, and kissing my thighs with infinite tenderness. And with his permission, I arched my body, and flailed and shuddered as my climax roiled through me.
Chapter 16
Lisa:
I was going to do my best to trust him. No. I was going to do my best to trust myself. This thing with Patrick, it was a good thing. Everything in my body and my mind and my heart and my soul told me this.
In the last month, I’d smiled and laughed more than I had for twelve years with any guy. He had made me find that submissive place inside of me, but when I was submissive to Patrick, it didn’t feel like weakness. It felt like strength.
And outside of the bedroom, we’d teased each other, and enjoyed each other. I was able to joke with him and smile with him without worrying that I was doing something wrong. This thing with Patrick – it was hot, but it was also easy and relaxed. It felt fun and playful, but it also felt right and it felt real.
I was falling in love with this guy. In fact, if I was being perfectly honest with myself, I was already in love with this guy, but wouldn’t let myself admit it.
There’d never been anyone that I had met in the last twelve years that had made me want to surmount the baggage that I carried from those eight months with Nick O’Malley. Until Patrick.
Fuck. I was in love with him. Now, I could only hope he felt the same way.
***
My dad had some errands to run during the day, so I’d cleared my work calendar, and got to the hospital Thursday morning. I was still ridiculously, deliciously happy from last night, from remembering the heat of the ginger, and the sweet way we had made love after.
The first person I saw as I entered the hospital was the red-haired vision. Patrick’s ex-wife. Andrea. But this time, my heart was insulated by Patrick’s warmth last night, and I smiled at her politely.
She smiled back, just as politely. We were both so utterly fake. “How’s the wrist?” she asked, her voice carrying the slightest snide undertone. Bitch.
“Good,” I said, as civilly as I was able to. I loved Patrick. We were in a happy and healthy place. Andrea didn’t have the power to hurt us.
“Did you fall?” I asked her. I gestured to a bruise on her face that was mostly hidden under a thick coat of make-up.
She didn’t reply. She just glared at me, radiating icy Greek goddess perfection, and walked away.
Bitch, I muttered under my breath, and went to find my mother.
***
“Are you sure she’s okay? That she’s safe to go home?” Friday afternoon, Dr. Janokovic had decreed my mother was well enough to go home. My dad and I were at her bedside, and both of us looked nervous.
My voice was anxious. I was fretting like a mother hen. Funny, the role-reversal. All my life, my mother was my comfort and my rock, and now, I was eyeing her worriedly, wondering if it was okay for her to go home.
“Lisa, quit your fussing,” my mother spoke from her hospital bed. Her voice was still weak, and she still looked tired, but the doctors had sworn that she had turned a corner. “I can’t wait to go home. No offense, young man,” she added. I swivelled around. Patrick was leaning against the doorway watching us.
“Hello Mrs. Preston,” he said easily, coming in and kissing her on the cheek. Since when did these two become such good friends? “Your doctors told me that today was your discharge date, so I just thought I’d come along and see if I could do anything to help.”
I glared at him as my mother beamed. “Patrick,” she said fondly, touching him on the cheek, “you are a sweetheart, you know that? And if I were twenty years younger, I’d be ditching my husband and chasing you.”
My dad grinned at that. No jealousy between my parents; the love they shared was rock-solid. “No dear, you’ve already done too much, and I’m afraid I’ve been too much of a bother.”
“You aren’t a bother, Mrs. Preston,” he said, smiling, “and you know it.”
&n
bsp; My mom laughed, her colour a little brighter. Damn it, Patrick, I thought to myself. Stop charming the pants off my family.
“Now Patrick, you are joining us for Sunday lunch next week, aren’t you?”
Sunday lunch was our family tradition. As far as I could remember, the three of us would eat lunch together. When I was a child, we would go out to a restaurant sometimes, which was always a big treat. As an adult, my parents and I took turns hosting Sunday lunch, but irrespective of who cooked or what the menu was, the ritual was unchanged. It was a gathering of family, and for all my living memory, it had been a gathering of the three of us.
“You invited Patrick to Sunday lunch?”
“Of course, dear,” my mother said. “Lisa will bring you, Patrick, else I will email you our address when I get in front of a computer.”
“No computer for you,” he scolded her gently. “Lots of rest. I heard what your doctors said.”
“You are bossy.” She smiled at Patrick fondly, robbing the words of any sting. I snorted, and turned it into a cough. If only she knew.
“I’ll see you all next Sunday then,” Patrick said smoothly. “Lisa, I’ll give you a call later.”
“Yes, Dr. Anderson,” I said dryly. Our private joke. He flashed a grin at me, and he left.
***
I spent Friday evening hovering at my mother’s side and I spent Friday night in my childhood bedroom. I flatly refused to listen as they suggested I go out with Patrick.
“You have to be kidding me,” was all I said. But Saturday afternoon, my parents kicked me out of the house.
“You’ve spent most of the day here,” my mother said. Her voice was frail but firm. “Go, find that boyfriend of yours, and hang out with him.”
I knew that tone in my mother’s voice. When my mother’s mind was made up, there was no persuading her. I headed to my apartment, showered, changed, and called Patrick.
As always, he picked up on the first ring. “I was just going to call you,” he said. “Are you doing anything this afternoon? Can you meet me by the waterfront?” He gave me an address, but wouldn’t answer any further questions.
Doctor Dom Series Sequence One (Triage | Observation | Diagnosis): A BDSM & Medical Play Series Page 19
