Rough Play

by Christina Crooks

  Which reminded her of Gail.

  She moved, restless. “I don’t belong in this club any more than Gail did.”

  “How weren’t you and Cory compatible?”

  Charlotte’s gaze whipped up to meet his. He’d gone straight to the heart of the matter.

  Panic fluttered in her chest. What was she doing? Why was she even still there? “It doesn’t matter.”

  “I think it does. I think it matters a lot.”

  “Pushy.” She slid to the edge of the table, stood up. “Are you this annoying with your other patients? You’ll drive business away.” Her heart seemed to be doing acrobatics.

  His voice became brusque, businesslike. Almost like a real doctor’s. “You exhibit no signs of concussion from my visual inspection. I’d like very much to examine you more thoroughly. However, you can go anytime you like,” he repeated.

  When she lingered, he added more sternly, “You left me restrained and unsupervised. That’s a pretty serious breach of safety protocol, not to mention bad manners.”

  “Guess I was raised wrong.” Charlotte felt her energy surge, riding on a crest of fire. “You could’ve helped, you know.”

  “Helped, how?”

  “You wouldn’t tell me where my client is.”

  “Your client.” He spoke. “That woman was your client. Not a friend, a client. You set her up on the date with me.”

  She just looked at him.

  “You must not be a very good matchmaker. She wasn’t my type.” His eyes glittered dangerously. “You are.”

  She felt his proximity and her body’s reaction to it. “I’m quite good, actually. I know very well I’m your type.”

  She felt reckless and lightheaded. She wanted to provoke him into doing something dangerous, to find out if he merited trust. She had the urge to run and see if he chased her. She wanted . . . crazy things.

  He didn’t move, only looked at her with that damned knowing gaze. “What are you afraid of, Charlotte?”

  “You,” she whispered.

  “I won’t hurt you.” He considered. “Much.”

  “Stay away from me.”

  “Okay.”

  She panted where she stood. After a moment, she began to feel foolish. “That’s it? Just ‘okay’?”

  “What did you expect?” He gave her a mocking smile. “I like the way you think, but this is the wrong room for a rape fantasy. All we’ve got here is this examination table.” He patted it. Paper crinkled. “Let me examine you.”

  She felt her mouth twitch, wanting to smile. She didn’t let it. “What happened with Gail?”

  “I don’t know, exactly.”

  Charlotte folded her arms. “What happened with her, inexactly?”

  “We didn’t connect on a meaningful level. Or on any level. Have I mentioned she’s shrill and annoying? She paired off with someone else.”

  “Who?”

  “Ah, that’s where it gets murky. See, I truly do feel an obligation to protect patron privacy. I can tell you she didn’t leave right away, and I can tell you I didn’t actually see her leave. She looked fine when she went with him downstairs to the dungeon play spaces.”

  “With who?”

  “Privacy.”

  “Screw privacy. I want to know.”

  “Why?”

  “Gail called me. An arranged safe call.” Charlotte looked. Martin nodded, encouraging. “Then the phone went dead. She hasn’t answered my calls, and she hasn’t called again. I’m not sure what to think. I wonder if I’m overreacting.”

  Gail often sounded urgent, brusque, ready to pick a fight. Charlotte allowed the bad behavior because she needed Gail as a client. But wasn’t it possible the disconnected call meant nothing at all?

  “So it might be urgent. Or it might not.” His decisive tone and small frown enhanced his appearance as a doctor. “You came here and you’ve looked all over the public places. All three dungeons. The bar, the dance floor. A bathroom. The play spaces.” The ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Having met the woman myself, I’m betting she didn’t hit it off with the dom she ditched me for any better than she did with me. In fact, I’m certain of it. He wouldn’t put up with a woman like her for five minutes. She obviously left. She’s not in Subspace now.” He shrugged. “What more can she expect of you?”

  “The world,” Charlotte muttered. “On a platter. She’s demanding and rude.” She gazed at Martin. “She left you for another dom? What a foolish woman.” She heard the breathy sound of her own voice. Her tongue was thick in her mouth. Her sex felt heavy and warm. She’d never wanted anyone so much.

  “Foolish,” he agreed. “She didn’t belong here.”

  “And I do?”

  “Is that what you’re worried about? Something happened to you.” He cocked his head, examining her without touching. “Something to do with your ex, probably.” He moved, a slow pacing revealing an animal-like stride. It unnerved and excited her. “Something that makes you afraid of this place, of the kinds of people here. Of me. Yet you don’t leave. I can help you. The table’s over here.”

  He grinned, patted it. Paper crinkled again. “I’ll do my best to help what ails you, but I’ll need your cooperation. Your full cooperation.” His gaze took her in from the tip of her head to the tips of her feet. He turned, walked to the door. His heat and scent, the fabric of his white coat brushing lightly against the sleeve of her sweater, made her weak in the knees.

  He faced her and stretched, casually placing his hands up against the doorjamb. Blocking the exit? It certainly showcased his broad shoulders as much as the St. Andrew’s Cross. “Please remove your clothes. There’s a paper gown for your convenience.”

  Her breath caught in her throat. Fear and desire surged in her, making her almost painfully excited.

  “I don’t . . .” She plucked at her clothes. She saw his eyes track the movement. “I’m not sure . . .”

  “I am. Doctor knows best.” His evil grin hardened her nipples. Did he have to be so damn appealing? He made it difficult for her to think straight.

  He would examine her.

  New dirty movies rolled in her head.

  “Turn around,” she said.

  When he did, Charlotte found herself stripping her clothes off, everything but her panties and bra. It was too warm anyway. Probably not the fault of the cozy exam room, she thought as she pulled the paper gown over herself.

  She fingered the ties uncertainly. “Should I . . . that is, am I supposed to . . . ?”

  His calm voice, aimed at the door, carried just the right tone of dispassionate professional. “Do you require assistance? I can call in a nurse, if you prefer.”

  He probably would. A male nurse perhaps? To hold her down for an injection? A big, thick injection? What was she getting herself into? And why did she feel so exhilarated?

  “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she muttered.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’m decent now.” She noticed he didn’t turn around until she’d settled onto the long section of the exam table, her legs swinging freely.

  “What’s up, doc?” she quipped. But when she glanced up at him, the knowing look in his eyes hit her like a shock. The air seemed to ignite between them as he crossed to her. Her awareness of him grew and grew, knowing he’d soon touch her.

  She’d made herself helpless in a flimsy paper gown, and he’d touch her at any moment.

  She looked up at him, schooling her expression to blankness. She needed this, and she didn’t even know exactly why.

  All she knew was his proximity made her jumpy in the most delicious ways. She wanted him hard, and vicious, and dirty. Just the sight of him watching her, taking his time, wakened senses long dormant within her.

  When he let a full minute go by, torturing her just by gazing at her, she bit back a groan.

  She had to speak. She couldn’t help herself. “Martin, I’m not sure this is exactly what—”

  “I have an extensive background
in the treatment of many different types of afflictions, certainly including yours.”

  “Afflictions?” She blinked. He thought something was wrong with her?

  Martin leaned in, let his large hand rest next to her bare knee. The very image of casual authority.

  “I can and I will help you. For the rest of this session, you will refer to me as ‘Doctor.’ You will do anything and everything I say. If you don’t wish to, you’re free to walk out of here now. Is that clear?”

  9

  She considered leaving. For about a second. “Yes, Doctor.”

  “Very good.” He lifted the hand to pat her shoulder warmly, then slid the paper of her gown up her arm. He wrapped a heart rate monitor around her bicep. He punched some buttons into the device’s holder on the wall, and the encircling band tightened. She felt as if the air in her immediate vicinity constricted around her as well.

  “Breathe normally,” he commanded.

  “Easy for you to say.” The beeps began to sound in time with her heart.

  “We need to give you a safe word, don’t we. How about ‘red,’ for stop? Say it.”

  “Red.”

  “Yes. Notice how I stop touching you, step back, and check in with you. That’s what saying ‘red’ accomplishes. Would you like me to continue this examination?”

  She looked at him, knowing her mouth was hanging open. She shut it. “You mean, you’ll stop. Just like that. If I say so.”

  “Yes, Charlotte.” He gazed at her, his eyes penetrating and wise. He nodded. “I see.” His lips tightened and his gaze sharpened further. She could tell from the intensity of his stare he was selecting and discarding different comments. He clearly debated what to say next. He finally shrugged. “You can’t tell me what to do, of course. Doctor knows best. But you have the power to stop me with the word ‘red’ unless we negotiate otherwise. I think your treatment is proceeding well so far, don’t you?”

  He’d stop. He actually meant it. Unlike Cory. She honestly believed she could make Martin stop anytime she liked.

  It changed everything.

  “Yes, Doctor.” This time her response was heartfelt. The beeps of the machine came faster.

  He raised an eyebrow. “Very, very good. But I see we have a problem.”

  A problem? She cast a quick glance down at herself, at the band which gripped her so tightly. It all looked normal to her. She still felt giddy about having control over any part of this, control over making him stop. She didn’t have a slave heart. Cory was wrong. “What’s the problem, Doctor?” She could get into this.

  “I asked you to remove your clothes. But you’re still wearing your bra and panties. I’m afraid I don’t tolerate difficult patients in my office. We’ll have to punish you.” His hand came off her shoulder, landed again on the tissue-covered padded table next to her with a loud whap that made her jump.

  Punish?

  The beeps raced.

  Then ceased as he ripped the band off her arm. “Normal,” he said as if bored. “Are you a hypochondriac, Charlotte? Do you pretend to be ignorant, weak, and fearful? Or is there a deeper problem here? You crave a man to give you what your body and your mind demand. Don’t bother to protest. You need someone stronger than you, and that’s not easy to find, is it, Charlotte?”

  She stared at him.

  “That’s what I thought. On your belly. Now.”

  The static of fear in her mind rose to a shriek, freezing her for a moment. It seemed to shout at her to go, to get out while she still had any sense of control. Cory had abused his power. Martin might, too.

  All she had to say was “red.”

  But her body throbbed and yearned toward what he offered.

  Her voice trembled, that of a stranger. “Yes, Doctor.” She turned herself over, knowing she was giving herself into his hands. It felt as exhilarating as she imagined paragliding off a cliff would be: a leap, then simple hope and faith that what followed wouldn’t be a disaster.

  She felt his hand on her lower back, firm and impersonal. It drew all her attention.

  His voice sounded distracted, a jaded doctor instructing his patient. “This may smart a bit, but I want you to hold still for it. Hold very still. Do you understand?” He waited for her to nod.

  He pushed aside her paper gown, then pulled down her panties with the same smooth, firm movement.

  Smack!

  His hand landed with more noise than force on her bare rump. He left it there, pressing firmly. She gasped at the insult to her more than the mild pain. The sharp heat radiating out mesmerized her with its intensity, and the surge of humiliation changed swiftly into something else, something deeper. Something familiar.

  The sensation of willing helplessness was a homecoming.

  She squirmed with delight.

  “I told you to hold still. If I have to restrain you, I assure you, it will be done.” He landed another blow, this one landing in the crease where her buttocks met upper thigh. He let it stay for a moment. And another, harder.

  She thought, briefly, of her safe word.

  Red.

  The word danced in her mind in opposition to the delicious craving for more of Martin’s stern manhandling. Then it disintegrated, blown away by sensation as he spanked her hard once more.

  Where his hand met her ass a delicious heat spiraled inward, making her clench pleasurably. It was as if there was a direct connection between the sweet spot where his hand made contact and her aching pussy. Her need forced soft moans from her. A languor rose, steady and strong in response to his firm spanks. He could do anything he wanted to her, anything at all.

  Martin suddenly stopped. “The patient has to want to be helped. I can see you’re making some progress, so I hope we can continue without further delays. Strip. Everything but the gown.” He fiddled with something under the table, then turned his back on her to give her privacy.

  “Everything?”

  “Of course.”

  She struggled onto her side, then to sit up. Her ass tingled with warmth. She checked to see his back was still turned. She quickly wriggled out of her bra and panties.

  Even with his back to her, his deep voice easily came to her. “When you’re finished, place your feet in the stirrups.”

  “In the . . . ?”

  “Will that be a problem?”

  “I don’t think I can.”

  “You’ll have to trust me to determine your tolerances, Charlotte. Unless you have a certain word to say . . . ?”

  She swallowed. “No. Of course not. Doctor.”

  “Then stop wasting my time.”

  She toyed with the edge of her gown. “But I can’t just—”

  That was all she got out before he whirled on her. He took two steps, then lifted her easily by the waist onto the table. “Enough.” He positioned her at the table’s end. His hands moved past her, pulling up two matching wide, white winch-strap style restraints. His hands moved firmly on her, encircling her thighs with the wraps. He tightened them with practiced ease.

  He’d positioned her legs open enough she could feel every stray breeze on the moistness between. Heat rose to her face.

  “This isn’t necessary,” she pleaded, horribly embarrassed. Yet her breath came faster. She tested the bonds. She shifted in a vain attempt to hide her exposed flesh.

  He tightened one strap further, then patted her leg dispassionately.

  Her only warning for his next action was a wicked grin.

  Three long strides, and he was at the door. Opening it wide.

  Everyone could see her!

  He ignored her cry of protest and the crackle of tissue as she jackknifed forward to try to hide herself, then try to undo the tight straps. When both failed, she placed her hands over herself.

  She looked up. She recognized the man standing in the doorway. “Ratty.” As she said his club name, her face heated further with embarrassment.

  “You’re getting into the swing of things,” Ratty observed. The brighter light
in the exam room illuminated every curve and shading of the rat tattoos on his head.

  She realized with mortification she was equally illuminated. “Okay, if you tell anyone at Burger Town about this, I won’t leave you any balls left for Amethyst to pierce.”

  He finally averted his gaze from between her legs. “Excellent.”

  Martin watched with amusement. “Ratty’s been waiting to find out how you are. He was concerned about you.”

  “Ratty can speak for himself,” Ratty said, brushing imaginary specks of dust from his coat. “I was waiting to find out how you are. I was concerned about you.” He spoke to the bare white wall beyond her. “I apologize for my inexcusable behavior earlier. I think I hit you . . . ?”

  She’d forgotten. Her hands started to her face automatically before she remembered what they were covering. She kept her hands in place. Her jaw felt only slightly sore when she spoke. “Not very hard.”

  Ratty’s own jaw worked, clenching and unclenching. Finally he spoke. “I don’t know what came over me. I’m so sorry. It’s utterly unacceptable. Amethyst made me lose it tonight, and then it was like people kept flinging her in my face. She makes me question . . . well, never mind. I should just stay away from Amethyst.”

  “Probably,” Charlotte agreed. “I would. She’ll hurt you. I suppose you like it, though.” Was he ever going to leave?

  Ratty’s shoulders slumped. “I know. Your visions. Just let me know when I can ever make it up to you . . . ?” He looked at her, noticed her expression. “Yeah. Okay. I should—” Ratty waved his hand in the air in the direction of the club.

  When he’d left, Martin closed the door again. Charlotte kept her hands in place. “You had him standing outside the door this whole time?” She looked at Martin accusingly. “You could have covered me, you know.”

  “I chose not to.” Before she could process that, Martin added, “Ratty waited to apologize to you.”

  “He should apologize. He was out of control.”

  “Would you like me to ban him from Subspace? I could, if it would satisfy you. But I’d prefer not to.”