Doctor's Orders: A Steamy Medical Romance

by Carolyn Faulkner

  That was probably exactly what the doctor had planned from the beginning.

  Of course, this was far from Darcy's first view of another female's genitalia. And in her professional judgment, Angine was surprisingly small in both places that counted in this situation. She had always portrayed herself as a party girl, but it appeared that just the opposite was true—more than likely, she was a cock-tease who got unfortunate men at bars all riled up, then refused to cooperate, because she looked as tight as a virgin.

  And Darcy knew that was going to make the next couple of hours just that much harder on her, and she had to suppress a bit of a grin.

  When she selected a dildo, she thought she probably had gotten the one that the doctor had first used on her—and not only was she was much more open than Angine appeared to be, she was also much wetter.

  So, a lube of some sort would have to be used. It took her a bit to find what she wanted—it was hidden in the back. Darcy didn't know if that was on purpose, or what, but she decided she didn't care. She wanted to give Angine a taste of her own medicine—whether or not the doctor agreed. He could hardly claim that she wasn't being firm enough on her. Darcy could argue that from firsthand experience.

  She noisily donned a pair of gloves, not wanting to risk her own skin in this endeavor. And before she dealt with the dildo in her hand, she grabbed two generous fingers full of Tiger Balm and covered the entirety of Angine's clit with it, very much as had been done to her, only once she'd slathered it there, rubbing some in but leaving a mound of it to melt into those delicate, slowly searing tissues, she leaned forward to blow on it, as if she was blowing on the embers of a fire in order to coax a flame to life, and that wasn't too far off from her intent.

  She wanted Angine to feel like there was going to be nothing but a pile of ashes left where her clit once was, and, from the severity of her reaction, she was easily meeting—and probably exceeding—her goal.

  Darcy was surprised at just how easy it was to ignore her attempts at screams. Perhaps if they hadn't been muffled, it might have been harder, but somehow, she doubted it. She was methodically concentrated on what she wanted to do—the reactions they elicited were peripheral, although they were also alarmingly exciting.

  Since Angine couldn't see what was happening, she didn't try to be coy about applying it to the long, relatively thick length of rigid plastic. And then, without any further preparation, she lodged it at the entrance to Angine's cunt and shoved it up inside her with one tremendous push.

  The poor young woman positively howled with discomfort and embarrassment as Darcy didn't stop there but proceeded to fuck her with it, using hard, unforgiving strokes as the straps and cuffs held Angine completely immobile; not that she ceased trying to escape, of course. She tried just that much harder to avoid each degrading stroke, to prevent that thing from being thrust up inside her, but there was nothing she could do to prevent it.

  Finally, having determined by the relative ease with which her body accepted it that that dildo was entirely too small, Darcy decided to remove it and put it into the bag that Nurse Carson quickly offered, returning to the tray to select one that was easily twice as big.

  This one was given the same generous coating of irritant, and Darcy knew she'd found the one she wanted when she tried to lodge it deep within the other woman and her body naturally tried to prevent her from doing so.

  Not that Darcy let that deter her. She wasn't about to give up and forced poor Angine to stretch to a point that was obviously well beyond her usual capacity. The doctor held out a brace that would keep the stiff instrument in place, but before she relinquished that area, she wanted to do something that had been done to her so many times that there was no way she could count them. She removed the dildo momentarily and leaned forward to place her fingertips into Angine's trembling quim, raising them triumphantly at the crowd when they returned baptized in her copious juices.

  "I think someone protests entirely too much, and I intend to rectify that situation."

  The doctor and the highly sensitive microphone he was wearing were close enough to her to pick up what she'd said. The gallery erupted at her statement, and she could hear bets being placed about how long it would be before Angine fainted.

  They all knew—including Angine herself—that if she did faint, that would not bring an end to her torture. She would simply be revived and they would carry on as if nothing had happened.

  After rudely reseating the dildo, Darcy accepted the doctor's assistance, applying the brace to the bottom of the dildo and locking it into position so that it could not be expelled.

  Next, she turned her attention to points south, decorating Angine's bottom hole in much the same manner as she had her clit, working it into the surrounding tissues with ruthless attention, then returning to the jar and gathering another several fingers full and poising them at the tight sphincter that was the entrance to her bowels.

  Even knowing that she looked relatively untried back there, Darcy acted unmercifully, which was exactly as Angine had acted towards her. It wasn't one finger that she left there waiting, or even two. It was her index, middle and ring fingers pinched together into a cone that she began immediately working up through Angine's very reluctant opening.

  Ah, now those were the muted protestations that she actually heard. Darcy didn't know why it was those in particular that got to her—and she wasn't much interested in analyzing her reaction, either—but they definitely did. She could also hear the murmurings of the audience above them on either side, who seemed to be at least as titillated as she was by what she was doing.

  Titillated? Darcy considered the idea, wanting to reject it outright. But she knew the truth of it, too. No, there was no mistaking the dampness between her thighs, nor the fact that she had already resolved within herself to see this task through. She was very glad that there wasn't anyone who was going to be testing just how wet she was!

  This little bit of torture, she took her time with, advancing slowly and never relenting, never allowing her adversary a moment's respite from the burning pressure she knew she was feeling, forced to open very wide like this with no preparation whatsoever, her skin burning even more so when it was stretched and the fiery oils seeped into every crack and crevasse and wrinkle.

  When she'd gotten up to the second knuckle of each finger, she withdrew, wanting to save the hardest challenge for the plug she knew she was going to select. It was heavy, made of polished steel, and probably two and a half inches around. Because it was so smooth, she didn't use any kind of lube on it at all, not wanting to make it too easy on her victim.

  And this time, she advanced it inside that ring of flesh very quickly, since she had already been loosened, although Angine let her know that it had not been nearly enough to help her deal with what was being done to her, through groans and squeals and whimpers that Darcy's consciousness acknowledged but she ignored with troubling ease as she slid the thing home, watching Angine's bottom hole spread grossly apart around the widest point of the plug and, slowing so that she would have to endure the discomfort just that much longer, only to shrink, eventually, back down as she finally allowed her to settle around the not too much thinner flange.

  The spectators were surprised to hear Angine croaking loudly and straining against her bonds as that happened, surprised that she would so vehemently protest what should have been a tiny bit of ease, but then the doctor turned to them and said, "What you probably didn't see was that Nurse Hanson applied quite a layer of Tiger Balm around the neck of the plug, hence Angine's vocal protestations."

  The audience sat back in their chairs, glad to know what they'd missed.

  Darcy stood then, startling the doctor and Nurse Carson a bit, and going over to one of the mirrored wall cupboards and returning with the several things she'd gathered to begin applying them to the hapless, helpless Angine. The first was a set of alligator clips on short chains with sticky round pads at the end. She applied the clips to the other woman's o
uter lips then used the chains to pull them apart, securing them to the skin of her thighs with the pads to expose the poor girl even more so than she had been.

  Then she used a soft white brush to apply the balm she had been using to every inch of the rest of Angine's privates almost gently, in direct contrast to the sounds that were being issued from the head of the table that were distinctly frantic; not that anyone paid much attention to them. Darcy was surprised to notice—and not a little nervous—that her rapt audience had increased by two—the doctor and Nurse Carson were watching her with at least as much interest as everyone else, especially when she stood and produced something that she hadn't displayed blatantly before and that she thought no one had probably seen until just then.

  It was an almost—but not quite—soft leather tawse, but it was much smaller than most of the doctor's inventory. It had the usual split at the end, and there, the leather had been doubled over and was much less malleable, designed to deliver maximum sting at those particular points.

  "Is there a way to put a microphone near Angine's mouth?" Darcy asked, not looking anywhere but at Angine.

  Delighted by the unexpected in a way that he usually wasn't, the doctor quickly did her bidding, applying his own tiny rock star headset to the girl and securing it with a thick layer of bandage that he was careful didn't interfere with the sound. That was surprisingly easy to judge because the girl never stopped moaning—not that she didn't have more than enough cause to do so.

  "Thank you."

  Without another word, Darcy stood between Angine's spread nethers, extended her arm fully up over her head and brought the evil tawse down on that defenseless flesh, striking a surprisingly swollen button that was still thickly clotted with peppery balm.

  Everyone who was listening was amazed to hear just how close to an actual scream the miscreant was able to get, even though her mouth was full of noise absorbing material, and her suppressed shrieks reverberated around the room as Darcy found a natural rhythm that quickly became the bane of the girl's existence. The leather danced around her secret spots, landing exactly where Darcy wanted it to and not leaving so much as a millimeter of her skin unscathed while they were all bathed in the sounds of Angine's agony.

  Darcy found herself in a zone she'd never been in before and would be happy never visiting again, where those distressed cries only fed the fuel of her rhythm, making her bring the leather down that much harder and faster rather than inspiring her to go softer on the girl. When she finally stopped, the tawse fell out of her limp hand and onto the floor with barely a sound for such a vicious implement, and she tried to run away, startling everyone, especially the doctor and Nurse Carson.

  Not that she got very far at all. It was the nurse who caught her a few steps away and returned her to stand in front of the doctor, who had to admit he admired her technique and innovation. He should have known that someone with the depth of Darcy's responses would be able to switch hit without breaking stride.

  He had procured another headset for himself, she noticed. "Where do you think you're going? You're not done, unless you'd like to join her." He raised an eyebrow as if he was actually asking.

  What could she possibly say in response to that? "No, sir."

  "She's on the same program as you are—no orgasms for quite a while, but I want you to pleasure her, nonetheless. It would be quite a coup if you could get her to come back to arousal after that."

  Darcy swallowed hard. She wasn't at all sure she could do it—intellectually, she didn't want to. Revenge was one thing—as much as she didn't like to admit it, she felt that this was a kind of an "eye for an eye" situation. But could she be responsible for stoking Angine's fires the way she knew the doctor wanted her to? And, more importantly, how would she feel about herself if she did it? Was she really, then, any better than those who had tormented her?

  "You'll have to walk a fine line, you know, Darcy," he warned, disrupting Darcy's process because she was thinking entirely too much about it, "because you're going be made to deeply regret it if you make her come."

  She knew he hadn't said the same thing to Angine about her, because he hadn't known that she was molesting her, supposedly. That was what this was all about.

  And how could she really be blamed for someone else's lack of control?

  The answer was everywhere around here. This was the doctor's little kingdom, and what he said, went. What was right or fair had nothing to do with it. What was important was what piqued the doctor's interests, and unfortunately for her, she had, doubly so, now.

  Dr. Brackett looked pointedly at the stool, then back at Darcy, and she knew he wasn't going to wait much longer for her to decide to obey him. She sank slowly down onto the seat, resuming her place, and leaving all of the apparatus in place except the dildo, which she very slowly removed.

  Donning a new pair of gloves, Darcy pressed three fingers up inside Angine, wiggled them vigorously, then removed them almost triumphantly.

  They were unmistakably covered in the evidence of the other girl's desire, and Darcy's announcement to that effect for everyone to hear had her trying to howl more loudly than anything Darcy had done to her yet this evening, about which she almost sympathized, because she, too, knew the depths of that shame—the shame where one's body breaks away from the logic of one's mind and begins to crave the most degrading treatment—and the more humiliating or painful, the better.

  It wasn't the same dildo that Darcy returned to the very sensitized cunny of the woman who had been her sadistic supervisor. Instead, she chose one that was two times larger, relentlessly driving it up inside her, despite the other woman's loud, continual protestations, and locking it in there so that it could not be removed except by someone else's hand other than Angine's.

  Then she picked up a smaller, soft, gentle brush than the one she had used to apply more balm, holding it in her right hand and reaching for the flange of the plug that was seated between Angine's butt cheeks with her other hand. Her touch on Angine's clit was deliberately delicate and teasing. She figured that she'd had enough harsh stimulation, and that the contrast might just spark her to new heights.

  But with the good, there had to be an uncomfortable, bad balance—Darcy knew, from her own experience, that kind of thing only made women like the two of them hotter—so with her other hand, she kept the widest point of that plug to one side or the other of Angine's sphincter, keeping it as open as she could, not allowing her the relative ease of feeling herself close around the smaller neck, but keeping her at that horrible, painful point where she knew the other woman didn't think she could possibly stretch any more, and as soon as the instrument popped either into or out of her, the uncomfortable, embarrassing dance began again.

  Angine's keening, unintelligible protestations died surprisingly quickly to be replaced by what everyone in that room knew was a softer to rapidly louder chant of "no, no, no, no, no!" and "please, please, please, please, please!" that quickly became overwhelmed by moans and groans of what was obviously pure pleasure. Her skin suffused an even brighter red, signaling that her complete humiliation was, indeed, as much a part of her arousal as everything else that had been done to her.

  Darcy seemed to have an affinity for this, too, much to her horror. She kept Angine riding that edge better than anyone the doctor or Nurse Carson had ever been privy to. They could see the evidence of Angine's arousal in the way her fluids were leaking around the dildo, as well as by how distended her clit had grown under Darcy's ministrations. But she never climaxed, and that was entirely due to Darcy's skill in knowing when to back off, when to accentuate the uncomfortable rather than the pleasurably sensual. It was a magnificent show that ended when Darcy thought she had probably gone about as far as she could with the other woman; that she was on a hair trigger that could be set off at any moment, and she damn sure didn't want to be the one who caused that.

  At that point, Nurse Carson left and returned with a small piece of ice that had an indentation in it, whic
h she applied to Angine's clit, holding it there despite the woman's best—yet feeble—attempts to dislodge it, as well as her hoarse cries.

  The doctor actually shook Darcy's hand and patted her on the shoulder as the rest of his employees were allowed to leave the building, filing loudly out of the gallery as they excitedly discussed what they had just witnessed.

  But before she could leave, the doctor said, "You did a very good job tonight, Darcy. But there were a few instances of hesitation when I told you to do something that you should have done immediately, but you paused, to say nothing of the fact that, at one point, you out and out tried to run away. That's not acceptable. Meet me in my office tomorrow and we'll discuss it."

  Darcy mulled over everything that had happened that evening as she drove home and long after that into the night. It bothered her enormously that she had gotten at least as wet from doing what she had done to Angine as she had when it was Angine who had been doing much the same thing to her. What kind of pervert was she? It was bad enough when her body delighted in the kinky, degrading things that were done to her. She did not want to be one of those people who delighted in another person's agony.

  And yet that was obviously exactly what she was.

  And, despite how stellar her performance was—with even rare praise from Doctor Brackett—she was still going to end up getting her butt blistered—or worse—tomorrow when she went to see him. And that was only if Nurse Carson didn't get to her first at some point during the day, which was about as probable as the sun not rising in the east tomorrow.

  Despite her inner turmoil, she managed to sleep like a baby that night, although she certainly wasn't looking forward to the next day.