Doctor's Orders (BDSM / Medical Play)

by Bennet, Ashley K.

  Swallowing back her fears, Clara stared ahead but found herself imagining his features anyway. She couldn’t help it. Whenever Clara or one of the other women spotted him in the office, they felt themselves sort of melt. He had a warm smile, sexy shoulders, and gorgeous brown hair. Although he wore suits and dress shirts, he looked like the kind of guy who worked out. And despite the attention he got from his female colleagues, he never came off as arrogant or conceded.

  If Clara told herself the total truth, she had to admit that she used to have something of a crush on him.

  Of course, that ended the second he found out about her maleficence. On some random day, he sauntered into her office with a folder. He tossed it onto her desk and ordered her to read the contents. One glance at the documents and Clara knew what she held and what he had figured out.

  Pursing her lips, she peeked up at him and asked, “What are you going to do with this?”

  “Ethically, I have two options. You can come to my farm this weekend and work off the debt and the damage you’ve done to this company. After discovering your error, I’ve been able to correct the problem, but it has cost me quite a bit of time and effort. I think you owe me, but if you disagree, I can go to the police. The decision is yours.” Oddly enough, he didn’t make it sound like a threat. Instead, he simply presented her with two choices. “I’ll expect your answer by the end of the day.” With that, he turned around and left Clara alone with her thoughts.

  Work off the debt? At a farm? Clara didn’t know what he meant or what he expected. Ultimately, she went online and researched the penalties. She could go to prison for several years. Fear and shame clouded through her chest, making hard to think and even more difficult to breathe.

  But finally, she made her choice. Clara went to his office, knocked on his door, and heard Eric’s gruff voice order her inside. He glanced up from his desk, and with one look, he seemed to possess her. There was something in his gaze that made her feel small and powerless, as though he could do anything he wished.

  “I’ll do it.”

  “Shut the door.”

  Clara turned around and did as he said. Her face flushed because they were supposed to be equals. They both had the same boss, yet he spoke to her as though she were an underling. Clara couldn’t help but find his tone unsettling and demeaning. But it did something else as well. It triggered a sensation deep down at her core that she didn’t know how to name.

  Eric stood up and approached her slowly even as he exuded nothing but confidence and control. “You messed up. Badly. Now for the sake of the company, I fixed it, but you owe me.” He came even closer and reached up, touching the tip of her chin. This was sexual harassment of every kind, but she couldn’t report him, not with the evidence he had already gathered against her.

  Her mouth parted a quarter inch, and she got how she was supposed to speak, but she felt like prey before a predator. He held her gaze and blanked out her thoughts.

  “I’ll email you directions to my country estate. If you come out, you will be giving me consent to use you as I will.” He leaned in and whispered, “I will take you, and I will make you mine. Your personal preferences and desires will be irrelevant because you will serve me. Do you understand?”

  Clara nodded quickly, then tried to speak. Her voice came out as a scratched little squeak until she tried again, “Yes. Yes, I understand.”

  “Good,” he said, letting his hand drift lower to her breasts. His knuckles grazed her neck, her collarbone, then and her breast. Her nipples both hardened. He glanced down, clearly noticed, and offered up a sardonic smirk. Clara practically shivered with humiliation. She kept waiting for some sense of anger or moral outrage to come. Instead, she couldn’t help but feel aroused.

  True to his word, when Clara got back to her computer, she found an email waiting for her. It contained his address and a short message. Prison or submission. The choice is yours.

  An entire weekend doing whatever her colleague wanted. The thought terrified her in more ways than she expected. Of course, it didn't help that she didn't know exactly what he wanted from her. Clara wished she could have negotiated or asked some serious questions. Somehow, she understood this was not a discussion between equals.

  Before discovering this evidence, Eric might have treated her as a coworker who deserved a modicum of respect. They might have said hello in the hallways or chatted politely about weekend plans in the break room. But now something had changed. He no longer had to wear that particular façade.

  Shoving down her trepidation, Clara typed a quick response and promised she would be there by seven o'clock.

  After work, Clara drove home and got together some clothes. When she got back into her car, programmed her GPS, and started the long drive.

  "You have arrived at your destination," the GPS unit informed her politely. Through the twilight haze, Clara stared through her windshield. As much a she didn't like to admit it, Clara couldn't help but be impressed. Spread before her, there was a large farmhouse, though really it seemed more like a mansion. While the surrounding environs were more like wild rivers and woods, the grounds were well kept. To one side, there was a field of bright green grass. To the other, there were crops like corn and wheat.

  "What have I gotten myself into?" Clara asked no one in particular.

  Opening her car door, Clara wondered how she was supposed to approach this situation. She didn't have his number and couldn't call. Part of her wanted to simply flee even as she realized that wasn't the possibility. Where would she go? What would she do?

  Before she could lose her nerve, the main doors opened and Eric strode outside. In his dark pants, dress shirt, and tie, he looked like a lord of corporate finance, someone used to wielding total authority. When his gaze fell on her, Clara couldn't help but feel nervous. This was a new side to him, one she couldn't entirely explain.

  Rather than approach her car, he motioned for Clara to come to him. Reminding herself how little leverage she had, she took several steps.

  "You're late," he told her. His eyes darkened, "I don't tolerate tardiness from my chattel. If you fail to follow my orders or if you decide that you can't handle this, you are free to leave at any time. However my previous statement stands and I will go to the police. Tell me understand.”

  Clara licked her lower lip. Her throat and mouth suddenly felt very dry, and she managed to nod and say, "I understand."

  "Follow me," he commanded. Without pause, Eric headed back inside. Clara scampered after him.

  For the next few minutes he showed her around his house. Clara couldn't quite believe it. How could you have a place like this? Assuming it had to have been an inheritance or something along those lines, she tried not to resent him for the obvious wealth and power he had at his disposal. Each room had been adorned with fine art. Sometimes those pieces were small statues of marble or obsidian. At other times, there were paintings of far-off places. Clara couldn't help but feel as though she were in some high-end museum or extraordinarily posh business.

  The rooms flashed by in a dizzying haze. It was hard to concentrate, especially because she still didn't quite know what he wanted her for. As he explained some of the history of the house and a few select items, Clara didn't dare interrupt. So instead she followed him around like some obedient schoolgirl.

  "This is where you'll be spending most of your time," he finally informed her. Eric and Clara stood outside a single door. Unadorned, it looks like it might lead to a linen closet or something else equally innocuous.

  He paused, giving her the chance to finally ask. In spite of her nervousness, Clara Forrester voice to work, "Eric, what am I doing here? What do you want from me exactly?"

  For a moment, expression did not change. He watched her, appraising Clara. She couldn't help but feel like an animal on display, one which was about to be put up for auction. Pushing back that absurd notion, she did her absolute best to hold her ground. Even then, she blinked and glanced down, unable to match the f
erocity and power of the man standing before her.

  "Clara, you did something very wrong. Now I get to do something very wrong as well." When he came closer, so post this could feel his breath on her cheek, she felt that same tightness deep down her core. This wasn't the same man she worked with. He was different. He was allowing her to see an entirely different side of himself, perhaps a truer side. "I'm going to make you into my possession. I'm going to make you please me. I'm going to reshape you into whatever I want."

  Right then, she should have fled. Even if she had to retreat into the arms of the law, Clara should have done it. Virtually every fiber of her being understood this.

  Yet she didn't do it. Clara couldn't do it.

  Clara bowed her head as Eric opened the door, touched his other hand to her but, and nudged her inside. She didn't know what to expect. It certainly wasn't what she found on the other side.

  A medium-sized room, it could've been a small bedroom or maybe a sitting room. It could've been a nice office, though in its current state no one could mistake it for anything but what it was. A dungeon.

  Clara blinked, not sure what to do or say. The improbability of her surroundings gripped her. As she tried to process it all, her brain refused to work. One wall was covered in shelves. Each shelf held different sex toys. There were crops and whips and paddles, muzzles and dildos. A hundred different items waited under the soft lighting, each one ready to inflict a mix of pleasure and pain. That wall almost looked like a candy shop.

  But there was more.

  Clara swept her gaze across the room. Little by little, she took in the big details like the cage set off in one corner. Made with thick, black metal bars, it would have no trouble containing her. And Clara had no doubt who Eric intended to keep caged there.

  Another wall had been covered in shelves. There were bins, each one presumably filled with clothes and costumes. A leather chair, an ottoman, and a grid of metal bars and suspension straps also occupied this space. It was a dungeon, one designed to help facilitate the training and submission of some young woman.

  Her.

  Clara turned around, speechless yet desperate to speak. Eric seemed to read her body language with ease. He seemed to drink in her hesitation and nervousness. But her feelings didn't stop him when he took her by the hand and led her over to the Ottoman.

  Eric sat her down, instructed her to lift her sleeve, and went back to one of the drawers. Clara kept her eyes on the floor because she didn't want to think about what he could do to her the next two days. This kind of thing should've been impossible. How did she get here? Again and again, she considered her situation and each time she came to the exact same conclusion.

  She messed up at work. She deserved this.

  A much smaller voice at the back of her head, one Clara refused to even acknowledge, whispered an entirely different answer. It suggested that maybe, just maybe, this excited her.

  Eric came back with a syringe in hand. "Hold out your arm," he said, clearly unwilling to brook either discussion or debate.

  Submitting to his authority, she did it. She lifted his arm and clamped her eyes shut as he took an antiseptic wipe and cleaned the spot above the vein in her arm. He touched the needle to her skin, pressed down, and depressed the plunger. The needle’s bite stung for a moment, but he did this with expert precision. It didn’t hurt for long.

  Some part of her wondered why she allowed that to happen. Doing her best to ignore her doubts, she asked, "What did you just give me?"

  Eric seemed amused by her question, as though it made him want to smile down at her naïveté. "Just a little something to ensure that your body behaves exactly as I wish."

  "Behaves how?"

  "You'll find out soon enough," he said, his eyes sparkling with mischief. It seemed he had many sides to this personality, not that this information helped her understand what he wanted. "First, we're going to work on your obedience. They give you a little test, and if you fail it I will call the police and our arrangement will come to an end. Get down on your hands and knees and crawl across the room and come back to me.”

  He spoke with perfect certainty, as though it were impossible for her to question his commands. In some ways, it felt as though she really couldn't.

  Clara berated herself silently, knowing that this was only the first order. There will be others. He was going to take her and use her. She would become his plaything. At some point, she might have fantasized about this. But those images had always remained locked deep down in a place she never discussed, nor thought about outside of her bed.

  She got down on her hands and knees. She followed his command and started to crawl like an animal. She tried to think of herself as feline, graceful and sexy though she had never really done this, not since her childhood.

  At the same time, she could feel his gaze burning into the back of her neck. He was watching her, savoring every second of her degradation. He had taken an independent young woman and reduced her to the status of chattel.

  Clara got to the far wall and she was about to turn around, but his voice interrupted that plan. "There is a drawer to your right. Open it with your teeth. Bring me the contents inside."

  That small, feminist part of her personality urged her to resist in some way. Disregarding that part of herself, Clara knew she had to obey. She had to please Eric; otherwise he would use that information against her. Besides, she had agreed to this. It wasn't like she didn't have a choice.

  "Faster," he ordered.

  As Clara wondered what penalty she might face, she found the drawer, leaned down, wrapped her mouth around the handle, and backed up. At first, she worried that it might be too heavy, but with a little bit of effort, she managed to slide it open. Peering down, she saw a strip of leather with several buckles and what appeared to be batteries.

  Batteries?

  Remembering that she didn't have time to ponder the item, Clara bent down and grabbed it up in her teeth. Spinning around, she hustled back to Eric. Rather than stand up and present the item to them, she remained there on her hands and knees.

  Eric crouched down and patted her cheek. He ran his fingers through her hair, which sent shivers of delight down her back. He was treating her like a pet, yet some part of her almost liked it. Again, she refused to question those feelings, especially when it was so much easier to simply ignore them.

  With his other hand, Eric took the item from her mouth. Only as he held it up, close to her eyes, did she notice another detail. Bells. Rounded bells jangled from the leather.

  “What is this?” he asked.

  Clara had worked diligently to keep herself from naming the item. She swallowed, wishing she didn’t have to answer, but again, his expression made it clear. She had no choice. She had to obey.

  “A collar.”

  “Louder,” he ordered.

  “It’s a collar.”

  “Good. Now beg for it.”

  “What?” Her eyes practically bugged at the suggestion. No, she remembered, it wasn’t a suggestion. Eric wasn’t about to give her any points or ideas. He only issued orders and commands.

  Eric repeated himself, slow and dangerous, “Beg for it.”

  “Please, can I wear the collar?” That wasn’t good enough. Clara realized it as soon as the words dribbled out of her mouth. “Please, collar me. Please, Master, collar me.” She didn’t know where that second word came from, but she didn’t care. “I promised to do whatever you say, and you want to collar me, so I’m asking for it. Okay? I’ll behave myself and do whatever you want.”

  “Why?” The harshness had faded, replaced by that amusement once more.

  Clara might have sighed with relief except his question meant another small test. “Because you own me,” she said, dipping her chin down against her chest.

  “Head up.” Clara complied. She lifted her head and met his stare. He had dark, piercing eyes. It felt as though he could see right through her and read any of her secrets. And when he wrapped the colla
r around her neck and buckled it into place, she wondered if he realized a twinge of nervous pleasure worked its way down to the apex between her legs. This was more than just a fantasy, she thought, more than those moments when she could be alone in the dark.

  She could feel herself getting damp. But it didn’t make sense. Okay, so maybe she fantasized about some powerful man pinning her or occasionally tying her up with his tie, but this was different, more hardcore. And yet she felt her blood simmer in her veins, teasing out a new kind of passion.

  “Now, there’s the matter of punishment.”

  “Punishment?” she squeaked.

  Eric straightened back up and moved over to the Ottoman. He patted the leather. “Here, girl.”

  A touch of red clouded across her cheeks. No one would have talked to her like that. Even in high school when mean girls had surrounded her, Clara never endured this sort of humiliation.

  It only got worse because she had to do it. She crawled along the carpet and pulled herself up onto the furniture.

  “You know what,” he said after a moment. “I think you should be naked for this.”

  “Is that an order?”

  “Defy me and find out.”

  Clara rolled onto her back and started to unbutton her blouse. She shrugged it off after her fingers finished fumbling with the clasps. She moved down to her pants, wondering what Eric would think when he saw her. At the same time, thoughts of punishment ran through her head. What was he going to do?

  She shimmied out of her pants, kicked them off, and then stripped away her socks.

  “Wait.”

  Clara obeyed, remaining there, spread out like a platter for his pleasure. Clara couldn’t meet his gaze, not when he watched her with so much lust. He smiled down at her, “White panties. White bra. Tell me, do you like to think of yourself as a good girl?”

  “Yes,” she said quietly, grateful her voice didn’t crack or break.

  “You’re not just a girl anymore,” he told her. Then, without waiting for any kind of permission, her new Master bent over and worked her bra’s hook. He released the garment and tore it off, dropping it lightly to the side with the rest of her discard clothes.