Doctor Dom Series Sequence One (Triage | Observation | Diagnosis): A BDSM & Medical Play Series (7 page)

Chapter 7

Lisa:

Despite all my misgivings, I’d never had to work harder to prevent myself from masturbating.

I couldn’t stop thinking about Patrick. I thought of the way I was fed slices of cheese from his fingers when I ate a grilled cheese sandwich for lunch on Sunday. I thought of him shaving my pussy when I showered Sunday night. I thought of him making me breakfast when I walked into the bagel place on my way to work Monday morning. I thought of him a hundred times, and every time I thought of him, my insides clenched with arousal. My pussy was constantly damp; my nipples, constantly hard.

I talked to Patrick once, on Monday afternoon. He called just to check in, to say hi. I grinned for hours after; like a silly teenager who was happy that the boy she had a crush on had noticed her existence.  My assistant Natalie raised an eyebrow at my flushed cheeks; at the way I had grabbed my cell phone and headed into my office, shutting the door, at my silly smile when we finished our conversation.

“New guy?” she asked. Natalie had great guy radar; she always knew when I was seeing someone.

I nodded; reluctant to share any more.

She laughed at me. “He must be quite something, I’ve never seen you blush so much or answer your phone faster…”

I blushed, again. “It’s new…” I mumbled. I didn’t want to jinx it.

***

I had no luck keeping anything from Mandy and Monica. Monday night, I rang Monica’s doorbell and her husband Ethan opened it, and grinned at me. “I’m supposed to ask you about some cute doctor,” he said. “That’s honestly all Monica’s talked about all week, good luck with the inquisition.”

I groaned. I knew I was going to get grilled when Monica called and invited me over, but I still went. Evidently, I was a sucker for pain.

“Spill,” was all Mandy said, as soon as I walked into the living room.

“Hello to you as well,” I replied, finding a beer in the refrigerator, and grabbing a glass from the cabinet. “Where’s Monica?”

“Giving Jimmy a bath,” she said. “Stop changing the subject.”

“Indeed,” I heard Monica’s voice in the doorway; she walked in, carrying her son Jimmy. He was a year old now; he was babbling something cheerfully; his voice a pleasant sing-song. I grinned. Jimmy was adorable.

“Okay, the boys are getting out of your hair,” Ethan wandered in, and grabbed Jimmy. “Lisa, enjoy the third degree…” I grinned, and raised my glass to him. “Going to watch the game?” I asked. Ethan nodded. “At a bar? With a baby?” I laughed. Monica and Ethan were incredibly relaxed parents, and it showed; Jimmy was a good-natured, cheerful baby.

Once the two of them had left, both Mandy and Monica turned towards me. “Spill,” Monica said. “All the details. One minute, I have to talk you into sending a cute guy a drink, and the next minute, you disappear with him. I want gossip.”

I half-laughed, half-groaned. “I didn’t disappear; I gave you his business card, said goodbye, then left,” I pointed out.

“Same difference,” Mandy interjected. “Incidentally, we both googled your guy.”

I held up my hand. “If he’s an axe-murderer, you can tell me, otherwise I don’t want to know.”

They exchanged glances. “He’s not an axe-murderer,” Mandy said. “He’s rich though.”

“I don’t want to know,” I repeated. I really didn’t. Googling him would have suggested an involvement I wasn’t yet prepared to admit.

“Okay, tell us everything. Was it a one-time thing? Are you going to see him again? Is he a good kisser? What was the sex like?” The questions came flying in, fast and furious.

“Whoa. Hold up.” I held up my hand, trying to stem the onslaught. “Okay. He’s an excellent kisser; I don’t fuck and tell, so I’m not answering the next question. I’ve seen him thrice so far; and am seeing him again on Wednesday.”

“Three times?” Mandy repeated, sounding awe-struck. “You’ve seen him three times in a week? The boy’s smitten.”

I blushed. “It’s been more than a week,” I mumbled. “But yeah, things are good.” I couldn’t keep the smile from my face as I said it; and I secretly crossed my fingers as I spoke; afraid to jinx what seemed to be an incredibly good thing.

I answered questions for the next little bit. Mandy and Monica both knew about Nick; he had been Mandy’s boss. Mandy had had ringside seats to both the relationship and the break-up. Both of them had helped me put the pieces of my life back together after the break-up; they both knew the sexual dynamics between Nick and me. I was dreading that question about Patrick, and sure enough, after about fifteen minutes, Mandy asked it.

“Is he dominant?” she asked. There. It was out in the open.

“Yes and no. I don’t know,” I said, looking at my glass instead of their faces. I sighed. “I can’t tell. He’s definitely got some experience with, umm, stuff. But he also seems really nice; laid-back. I don’t know; it’s too soon to tell if it’s going to be a problem.” I sighed again. I didn’t want this to be a problem; I didn’t want to examine why I was obeying his ‘no-masturbation’ command. It would reveal things about me that I would rather stay buried.

Something in my expression made them change the topic; for which I was glad. We chatted about other things for the rest of the night.

Chapter 8

Lisa:

I was a distracted, horny mess. I couldn’t think about Patrick without thinking about the way he had spanked me; the way he had strapped me down to the examination table and thrust his cock down my throat; the way he had pulled me into his body as he handed me coffee Sunday morning. By the time Wednesday evening came around, I would have spontaneously combusted if he so much as looked at my clitoris.

“Miss Preston,” Patrick greeted me at his door. I was dressed casually, since I was aware the clothes weren’t going to stay on for very long; jeans and a t-shirt; a hoodie thrown over it. Even my lingerie underneath was plain; a simple grey cotton bra and panties. Functional clothes; I’d be taking them off shortly.

“Dr. Anderson,” I replied.

“Go on to the examination room please, and change into the robe,” he said. “I’ll be along in a minute.”

“Yes, Doctor,” I said obediently, and made my way upstairs. My hands were shaking; my entire body was tingling in anticipation. Standing in the middle of the examination room, I forced myself to take several deep breaths before I stepped out of my clothing, and into the almost-transparent robe.

He had warned me when we talked on the phone Monday that today would be intense; he had insisted on a
safeword. Red. I kept it simple. He wouldn’t tell me anything else; laughing and refusing to ruin the surprise. I changed into my robe on autopilot while reliving the memory of our conversation Monday, and I realized I was smiling. Fuck. Three dates, a couple of phone calls, and I was seriously hooked. This was trouble.

I sat down on the stool, the metal cold against my bare ass, and I waited for him.

A knock, and he entered. He looked gorgeous; he was wearing his white lab coat, and under it, a blue shirt and grey slacks; I wanted to rip it all from his body; and take his hard length in me; I’d been fantasising about Patrick since Sunday.

“
Safeword?” he asked, searching my eyes for any hint of unease.

“Red,” I replied instantly. I should have been nervous at the need for a
safeword; I hadn’t used one since Nick, twelve long years ago. But instead, I couldn’t wait to get started. There was an ease here; I felt safe with Patrick. He grinned and nodded.

“Miss Preston,” he said, smiling at me, warmth both in his eyes and in his voice. “I see from my notes here that you are still having trouble achieving orgasm?”

I bit back my laugh; that would ruin the scene. But I was laughing inside; yes, indeed, I was having trouble achieving orgasm, given that Patrick had expressly forbidden me to do so. I looked at him in amusement; his lips twitched in response. Then he shook his head slightly. “Play along,” he mouthed silently at me.

“Yes Doctor,” I said meekly, my eyes lowered, getting into the game. My cheeks flushed as I imagined how embarrassing it would be to have this conversation with my gynecologist. How mortified I would be if in fact I couldn’t orgasm, and needed to seek help.

“Well, Miss Preston, so far, we’ve tried all the obvious things; we’ve changed your diet, you’ve started sleeping better, we’ve tried drugs; nothing’s seemed to work. However, I’ve been reading about an experimental procedure from Germany that might help, if you would be willing to give it a try?”

“What does this involve, Doctor?” I asked, as if this were a real conversation we were having.

His eyes were laughing at me. “Well, Miss Preston, the procedure involves getting you close to orgasm, repeatedly, for a period of time, and then letting you orgasm, again repeatedly, for a period of time. Let’s say about 30 minutes of getting you close to orgasm; and about 20 or 30 minutes of orgasms.

I looked at him; my eyes wide; fear intermingled with arousal in my expression. I could feel the stirrings of lust rise in me. He was right; this was going to be very intense.

“Umm, and are there no other procedures that might work, Dr. Anderson?” I asked. I was stalling.

He looked at me. There was not a trace of anger in him at my hesitation. His eyes were calm and steady. Every bit of his body breathed reassurance at me. I took a deep breath. This was Patrick. I liked him; I trusted him. He would not throw more at me than I could handle.

He came up to me; took my hands in his. “I strongly recommend this approach, Miss Preston,” he said evenly.

“Okay, Dr. Anderson, I trust you,” I whispered. He grinned at me; kissed me briefly on my forehead.

“Good,” he said crisply, back in role. “Let’s get going then. I think it’s best if you are restrained, Miss Preston; the research suggests that it can get quite intense, and you might move around and hurt yourself.”

“Yes, Dr. Anderson,” I said. “Should I get on the examination table?”

“Please,” he said politely.

I obediently got on the table; Patrick slid me to the end of the table, strapped my legs in the stirrups, spreading them wide open. My gown rode up my hips; my pussy and ass were on display. I could feel his eyes on them.

“You kept it shaved,” he said, looking at me with a smile.

I blushed. I was embarrassed; I’d shaved my pussy for him. I didn’t reply. His smile grew wider; and one hand reached out very gently and stroked my cheek. He didn’t say anything; but I could feel his appreciation, and that made me feel less foolish.

He did something to the table, and the part of the table that was under my head and torso lifted up a little. Patrick helped me up; inclined the table to a half-sitting position. “I want you to watch,” he said simply, when I looked at him inquiringly.

“You’ll need your hands free,” he said to me, “but let’s strap your waist down, at least.” My gown was removed before I could protest, and straps went around my waist, and under my breasts; he tightened them quickly and efficiently; and then wandered over to the closet.

My eyes widened when I saw what he pulled out, and I gulped. “Dr. Anderson,” I said, my voice a little high-pitched from nerves. “What is that?” I knew what it was; but I was waiting for his confirmation.

He grinned at me. “Miss Preston,” he drawled, “have you never seen a fucking machine before? I’ll have to make sure you are watching more porn.”

“I’ve never seen one up close,” I said, still eyeing the machine. It looked threatening and ominous. I looked at Patrick. Now I was starting to wonder why he had a fucking machine lying around his closet.

My disquiet must have been visible on my face. “It’s new,” Patrick said easily.

Whoa. I did know these puppies were expensive. Like hundreds of dollars expensive. I started to say something, and then I stopped myself. This argument could wait until after the examination. In any case, I was distracted as Patrick moved the machine between my legs and attached a large dildo on it.

“Umm, Dr. Anderson,” I mumbled, nervousness in my voice.

He just looked at me. He radiated calm.

“Never mind,” I said. I took a deep breath. He’d gone into a lot of trouble to set this up; we’d slept with each other before; he wasn’t entirely a stranger to what turned me on. This would be fine. I was determined to enjoy it.

“A couple more things,” he said. He went back to the closet; pulled out a large mirror on a stand; wheeled it so that it was positioned behind the fucking machine. I looked; my pussy was visible, and I would be able to see each and every stroke of the dildo going in me. I shuddered; my body tingling as I contemplated this. Hot.

Finally, he opened a drawer, handed me a Hitachi Magic Wand. “Also new,” he said wryly.

“Let’s start by making sure the machine’s set up correctly,” he said, his eyes glinting.

He had a large syringe in his hand; my eyes followed him as he went to lean over the fucking machine; injecting the contents of the syringe into my pussy. “Lube, you are going to need it,” he said in explanation, and I could feel it warm up inside me. I groaned as I felt the heat rise. He coated the dildo in lube as well.

He turned the fucking machine on and made sure the height and depth were adjusted so the dildo was penetrating me. The first time it slid into me, I just groaned aloud; the dildo was not Patrick, but it was the next best thing; the stroke was sure and slow, and it ground deep inside me.

I closed my eyes as the tendrils of hunger coursed through me.

“Keep your eyes open.” His voice was steady.

I obeyed; I looked at the mirror instead; he stood next to me, my free hand holding his; and I saw his reflection in the mirror watching me, watching the dildo thrust in and out of my squishing pussy.

Watching Patrick watch me added another layer of heat to an already fevered room; the dildo slid into me and out again; the squishing noises from my pussy juice and the lube audible in the silent room. I flushed as I heard that sound, but then I saw Patrick’s obvious erection; the heat in his eyes, and I relaxed a little, let the feelings from the dildo sweep through me. Firm, unyielding; it just pushed slowly in me, and strapped down, I wasn’t able to move away, not that I wanted to. The pace was maddeningly slow; I lifted my hips a little, tried to grind against the head as it pushed into me. But the straps and the stirrups held me in place, and I had to lie there and let the machine fuck me. My right hand clenched the vibrator; my other hand gripped Patrick’s hand so hard I was convinced I would leave bruises. I moaned, helpless, as the dildo moved steadily in and out of me.

And then it stopped. I groaned in protest, and Patrick’s lips twitched.

“Ok, Miss Preston, here’s how this is going to work,” he said, his eyes intent on mine. “I’m going to turn the machine on again; you have the vibrator in your hand. You need to get yourself extremely close to orgasm; then pull the vibrator away, do you understand? You cannot orgasm unless I allow it.”

I whimpered. I was going to fail this test the first possible instant; how could I not? All this week, I’d been forbidden from masturbating; and I was hot and ready for Patrick.

Patrick took up a clipboard in his hand; he was looking at his watch. “Let’s get going, Miss Preston,” he said, his voice encouraging. Warmth flooded through me. 

The dildo started moving again;
pistoning in and out of me.

“Can I turn the wand on, Dr. Anderson?” I asked. My voice was soft; submissive.

He nodded permission. I turned the wand on, moved it to my clitoris. The vibrations started running through me, and it felt like a million tongues were on my clitoris, rubbing and licking, alternately soft and hard, till I was helpless to resist. My world narrowed to my pussy, everything else was a haze. I wanted to move the vibrator away from my clitoris, and yet I wanted to press it closer and harder into me; I gripped Patrick’s hand harder and harder as I moved towards the edge, moaning near constantly as the sensations threatened to overwhelm me.

“You cannot orgasm, Miss Preston,” he said, his voice low and calm. I groaned helplessly, but the reminder came just in time; I moved the vibrator away from my clitoris; Patrick clicked a button on a remote near him, and the dildo stopped moving; but remained buried in me.

I shuddered as I slowly came off the ledge. “2 minutes, 35 seconds,” he said. “Get going again when you are ready. Remember though, you cannot orgasm.”

I glared at him. I needed to orgasm. He just laughed at me. 

I took a few deep breaths; tried to think of something boring to dampen the lust. Invoicing. Sample orders. Anything to calm me down. When I was ready, I nodded to Patrick, and he pressed the button on the remote control; turning the fucking machine on again. I turned the vibrator on; pressed it to my clitoris as the dildo eased into my pussy. Patrick clicked another button, and the dildo sped up, a little. Sweat beaded on my brow as I felt the pounding pick up speed; as I ground the vibrator into my clitoris; I could feel the waves of arousal; I was about to drown in them, to reach sweet oblivion, when I felt his hand graze my cheek. I groaned, remembering his order, and pulled back. Patrick pressed a button and the dildo stopped moving.

“1 minute, 57 seconds,” he said calmly.

I looked at his face in the mirror. He was not as calm as he sounded; his eyes were hot with desire, he was holding on to control by a tenuous string that could snap at any minute. I wanted it to snap; I wanted him to push the fucking machine out of the way, grab my thighs and push into me, hard, fast and strong; I wanted him to erupt into me.

I took several steadying breaths, then I nodded. The dildo came on, its rhythm harder and faster than before, and I could hear a keening moan in the room; my moan, primal and uncontrolled. I held the vibrator against me, tried frantically to buck into it, to push back into the dildo.

I pulled the vibrator back, just in time, panting, sweat dripping everywhere. The dildo stopped moving.

“54 seconds.” His voice was low; his hand was clenched around the clipboard; I could see his eyes in the mirror, and they were fevered.

I tried to steady myself; do multiplication tables in my head. All I could feel was my pussy, swollen and heavy and soaked; my clitoris was engorged and visible in the mirror, and I was captivated by this image. I was my pussy; I was this sweat-drenched, fevered, moaning creature in the mirror, and I had never felt freer. I had no control; yet I had all the control in the world; I was an expression of Patrick’s imagination; but I brought something unique to his scene; I brought myself; my true expression of submission; my honest, unfiltered lust.