“Does my sweet sub like that?” I could hear the smile in his voice. He loved it when I obeyed, and knowing this, I tried to do my best for him. But when I whimpered in need, despite my training and my orders, undone by the pleasure he was causing me, I gave him the sweetest satisfaction.
In my own, stubborn way, I knew this and wouldn’t yield easily. But his mouth set every nerve ending it touched ablaze, and I had very little power to resist his slow seduction.
“Yes, Dr. Anderson,” I admitted, a small hint of reluctance in my voice. He laughed at the tiny tidbit of defiance.
He came around to face me, and I parted my lips automatically, hoping to feel his cock in my mouth. His chuckle sent heat running through my face, and his muttered not yet, sweetness, sent fire through my body.
“First,” he said, pulling a ball-gag out of his pocket, “let’s remind you to keep quiet.” I smiled as I opened my mouth obediently for him to gag my mouth, and he smiled back, and then, his hand stroked the side of my face very softly.
“You please me so much, my sweet Lisa,” he said. There was warmth and pleasure in his voice, and the words were a blanket of comfort. My Dominant. I’d given him my trust, and in return, he gave me love and the freedom to explore my darkest of desires.
His fingers pulled the straps holding my gown in place, he helped me out of it, and then, it was thrown across the room. One step closer to loss of control, to the moment when he’d unzip his pants and thrust his dick in my pussy. Or my ass. Or my mouth. I could never predict how he would take me. I only knew that pleasure was guaranteed.
But only one step closer. Loss of control was a long way away.
There was a smile in his eyes, as if he could tell what I was thinking. His fingers ran down my shoulders, his mouth stopping to kiss my neck. They traced a path up my arms and they found my breasts, and his hands closed around their base and squeezed.
Harder, I wanted to beg. I could speak through the gag and warble out the words and the incoherent pleas. But that was not what he desired from me, and I was a true submissive. My path to pleasure lay, not just in the feel of his fingers on my clitoris, but also in the warmth and approval in his eyes when I obeyed him. Difficult though it was to hold back the pleading, I stayed silent.
“Good girl,” he spoke, and his hands tightened on my breasts, the way he knew I liked it, as his thumbs and his forefingers brushed over my nipples at the same time.
In a moment, I knew my breasts would be crushed hard by his hands. Then, he’d slap them and set them swinging. If he was in the mood to embarrass me, he would clamp my nipples with the clamps with bells at their tips, so that the bells would chime as he struck me.
The chiming of the bells was the sound of arousal and shame; my tacit acknowledgement that this rough treatment of my breasts was something I longed for. If he was in a different mood, his fingers would pinch and pull at my nipples, stretch them towards the examination table, hurt them with the sweetest of touches.
The morning after, I always looked battered and bruised. Other people would have seen abuse if they looked at my body. I only saw love.
Chimes today. I heard the bells start to ring. They kept ringing, and the sound got louder and closer, and the room got brighter behind my closed eyelids. Two people talked about traffic delays on the 401.
Fuck. I was jerked out of my dream by my cruel alarm clock, and my heart was racing as I sat up in bed. I looked down at my body, but I already knew what I would find. My nipples were erect and my pussy was wet. In a few moments, I would have orgasmed.
I just stayed in bed for a few minutes, waiting for my body to ease off that cliff. I was so close to climaxing, but something prevented me from reaching between my legs and easing that pressure. The dream. That feeling that I belonged to him; that he needed to give me permission before I could come.
Yesterday, I had stormed away from Patrick after learning that his ex-wife had been his 24/7 submissive. That had to be why I was dreaming that he was my Dominant. It had to be. But I couldn’t explain the sense of peace that had been pervasive through the dream, and I sure as hell couldn’t explain why I had never, ever, not even for one instant, felt my trust in him falter.
Chapter 2
Patrick:
I wanted to run after Lisa. Letting her go was one of the hardest things I had ever done.
But she had a sprained wrist, possibly broken. She needed to get that taken care off. And from the look on her face, my presence would not be helpful.
Fucking Andrea. She had cleverly retreated into the ER, knowing I wouldn’t follow her there and interrupt a doctor-patient conference. For the moment, there was little I could do. But this wouldn’t be the last of it.
***
It was dark when I got back to my home. I’d gone for a drive, passing the hours aimlessly, my mind a total blank. I wasn’t supposed to feel this lost and this anchorless without Lisa.
Should I have told her about Andrea? I would have. But I hadn’t wanted to burden her with too much of my past too soon. And now Andrea had taken the decision away from me.
***
She was there, kneeling, naked on the coffee table in my living room when I returned home. Andrea.
“Master,” she greeted me softly. Her eyes were lowered and her body was an image of perfect submission. But I’d been married to her for eight years, and I knew how tainted and twisted that gift was.
“I’m not your master.” My voice was a snap. I could hear the loathing in it. “Put your clothes on.”
“Yes, master,” she said. She undoubtedly thought she was a paragon of submission, but I knew better. Andrea was spoiled and wilful, and this was just another way she showed it. We both knew that there was nothing between us, hadn’t been for a very long time. Yet today, she’d interfered in my budding relationship with a woman I cared about, then showed up to my house and called me master. It was all about her control, under the guise of submission.
I made a mental note to change my locks as I wandered to the kitchen and poured myself a healthy shot of whiskey. She would eventually follow me when she realized I wasn’t going to play her game.
***
My divorce with Andrea had been amicable; our marriage had been anything but. Eventually though, I had realized she had no interest in reaching any kind of compromise. Her version of submission had involved a complete abdication of herself, a total emptying so that she could have moulded herself into what she thought I wanted.
But I hadn’t known that. I’d fallen in love with the girl she had pretended to be. Someone like me, who had come from a crazy, money-filled world. Someone who found purpose and passion in medical school. It had all been a lie.
To this day, I still have no idea why she had married me, when she had known ahead of time that I had no desire to be her master in all things. For me, the dominance was a spice, something that made everything better. For her, it was closer to air and water.
She’d lied to me at the start of our marriage when she pretended to be something she wasn’t. She’d lied to me in the intervening years when she swore she’d try, even though she had no intention of following through. When I finally asked for a divorce, it was the best thing I’d ever done for the both of us. I set us free so we could both go off and seek what we wanted.
I’d heard from Alison that Andrea had been living with some guy. She had looked disapproving as she’d said it, but I wasn’t interested in knowing anything about it. I was just relieved to turn the page. But here she was, naked in my living room, and once again, she was preventing me from finding any actual happiness.
***
“Aren’t you living with someone?” I asked her when she finally found me in the kitchen. Typical, she’d put on her shirt, but buttoned the minimum necessary number of buttons. The vanity was staggering. I was supposed to be so captivated by her body that I forgot eight years of pain.
“Yes,” she admitted reluctantly. “Liam’s away for the weekend.”
Of course he was. And since there wasn’t someone to anchor onto, Andrea spent her time the second best way, fucking up my life. Yes, I was bitter. I had endured eight years of this.
“What did you tell Lisa?” I asked her. Hoping against hope for a straightforward answer.
I wasn’t going to get it. “Oh, you mean the woman you were with at the AGO with last night?” she asked, her eyes innocent. “I just said hello, that’s all.”
“Really? Just hello?” I didn’t try to keep the anger out of my voice.
“Okay, I made a joke about her broken wrist,” she elaborated, every bit of her displaying reluctance to answer the question. “Something about bondage and submission.”
What the heck? That wouldn’t have set Lisa running. Andrea was still hiding something.
“What were your exact words, Andrea?” I bit off each word. I’d never wanted to hurt her in our marriage, not even at the height of our difficulties. Right now though, I was balling my fists and struggling for control.
“I can’t remember,” she said. Stubborn. “Something about knowing what it felt like to have broken bones, because I’d been your slave.”
“You were never my slave,” I said flatly. Once upon a time, a statement like that from her would have had me call my therapist immediately and book a session. Once upon a time, I would have been staggered and saddened at the immense disconnect between us. “All I ever wanted was a wife, Andrea.”
She didn’t answer; she was probably lost in her own slave fantasy. How I’d now pull my belt out and beat her as punishment. I didn’t care. I was starting to understand why Lisa had run. The day I’d pulled her over her desk and spanked her till she told me about her ex-Dom, I’d had a sense that she hadn’t told me everything. There was a wound from her past that Andrea’s careless words had reopened.
“Why are you here?” I asked finally. I knew I was going to regret asking, but I asked anyway. Evidently, there was a deep masochism in me that eight years of marriage hadn’t cured.
“I saw you last night,” she said, “and I realized that I miss you, master. Do you ever wish things had been different between us?”
My answer would have always been no. I didn’t wish things were different. Andrea was in the past. We’d both made that choice many years ago. I had moved on. But even if that hadn’t been the case, the one word she used showed that nothing had really changed. She still called me Master. For eight years, I had hoped she’d just call me Patrick. That she’d assert herself, show me something of who she really was, instead of pretending she was whoever I wanted her to be.
I shook my head. “No, I don’t. Go home, Andrea.”
My thoughts were already on Lisa. I needed her to talk to me.
***
A prickle of disquiet ran through me. Something about Andrea. Something was wrong. Andrea was many things, but she’d always been faithful. Coming here would be a huge violation by her standards. She was in a relationship, being naked on my coffee table wasn’t something I would have thought she was capable of. I took another sip of my whiskey as I pondered that. Then, finally, I picked up my phone and dialed a familiar number. Her father. John Matherson.
“John, it’s Patrick,” I identified myself.
“Patrick,” John’s voice boomed on the other end of the line. My lips twitched, despite myself. John was the exact opposite of Andrea – full of life and vigour and personality.
“Do you know who your daughter is dating now?” I asked him.
I could hear him sigh on the other end of the line. “Patrick, you think she tells me anything? Why do you ask?”
“She was here today,” I admitted. “Andrea. Something’s off. Nothing she said really, just an instinct.” Andrea was a nice, tempting target for someone unscrupulous. Her craving for submission weakened her.
He sighed again. “I’ll look into it. Thanks Patrick.”
“No worries, John,” I said easily. Despite my acute annoyance and irritation with Andrea, I didn’t wish her actual harm. John had resources. He would intervene and check it out. And if this Liam guy was trouble, well, John would put a stop to that.
We made plans to grab drinks the following week, and then I hung up. I stared at the phone for a couple of seconds, and this time, I dialed a number that had, in a few short weeks, become extremely important to me. Lisa.
Chapter 3
Lisa:
He had called that night, and the next morning, and that night, and the morning after. I let all the calls go into voicemail. He didn’t leave a message.
I wanted to talk to him. But fear kept me from picking up the phone. I was afraid, not of Patrick, but of myself.
My dream, in which I submitted sweetly to my Dominant? Well, I had lived the dark underbelly of that. I had seen how I had become an object to be used for sex, every element of my personality erased as part of my training. Nick had taught me that lesson well, and I feared that I would wander, unaware, into that slow storm, till I was stranded in the middle with no way out.
Worse than that. I was terrified that, lost in my love for Patrick, I wouldn’t want to find a way out.
Some tiny part of me had hoped that he would hammer at my door, demanding that I talk to him. But that wasn’t who Patrick was. He had no need to force himself on women. He would respect my desire to be left alone.
***
When the alarm rang Monday morning, all I wanted to do was turn it off and go back to bed. I’d dreamed of Patrick again. This time, we had been at a bar, drinking beer and sharing nachos, while watching a Leafs game. It had been a dream of aching normalcy, and the sense of happiness and warmth was seductive. Call him, damn it, Lisa, I scolded myself. But fear held me back.
Natalie was already at work when I got there. “How’s the wrist?” she asked me as soon as she saw me. I’d almost forgotten about my wrist, lost as I was in the other storms in my life.
“Not broken,” I said. “Just a bad sprain. I should be able to remove the brace in a week.” I made a face; mundane things like taking a shower and shampooing my hair had been a lot harder to do with one hand. My work crew did most of the heavy lifting, but I was still going to be fairly useless for the next couple of weeks.
“Good,” Natalie said. She seemed subdued somehow. She was usually filled with laughter, impossibly cheerful given her past, which included a violent and abusive ex-husband who was currently serving time for the last beating he’d given her. A beating that had sent her to the hospital with broken ribs, a broken arm, and gashes all through her legs. All when she was pregnant. She had told me her story one day, a few months after I’d hired her. She had been a young mother, twenty-one when she’d had her baby girl Emma, and she’d needed the work desperately when she’d knocked on my door three years ago. Hiring her had been one of the best decisions I’d ever made.
“How did your walkthrough with Charles go?” I asked her. I had meant to call her Friday afternoon. “Did he yell at you?”
“No,” she said. “It was fine.” There was something in her tone, something unidentifiable but important. I looked at her, trying to read what she wasn’t telling me. I’d worked with her for three years; we had bonded over tales of bad dates and inappropriate men.
“Okay,” I said. She’d tell me if she thought I should know.
We got to work. Deliveries needed to be arranged, furniture ordered and invoices paid. I had more clients at the moment than I had ever had. Business was booming. The office phone kept ringing all morning as well; referrals from satisfied clients leading to inquiries and more work. Every time the phone rang, I jumped a little hoping it was Patrick. It wasn’t.
At noon, there was the sound of someone walking up the stairs, then a knock on our office door. I got up to open it. Natalie had a bowl of soup in front of her, engrossed in a magazine.
“Delivery for Lisa Preston,” the UPS guy at the door announced.
Natalie looked up, amused. “Patrick again?” she asked. A pang went through me. Only t
hree days ago, I was the woman getting gifts of sexy lingerie from a guy I liked very much. How quickly things had changed.
I signed for the box, which was much larger this time, and the UPS guy set it down at the edge of the table in the centre of the room. I waited till I heard the sound of his footsteps echoing back down the stairs before I turned back towards the parcel.
“Are we expecting any sample deliveries?” I asked Natalie. She kept track of these things better than I did. She shook her head. “Nothing,” she said.
The box was unmarked. I opened it, and there, nestled in its folds was a beautiful, state-of-the-art espresso machine. Next to it, a pound of coffee beans, and a coffee grinder. I opened the small envelope. Just one sentence.
“Answer your phone, Lisa.”
Damn it, but I missed him. Painfully so. I missed everything about him. The warmth of his body next to mine. The way he smiled at me as he handed me a cup of coffee. His quiet, focused attention on me. And he was observant - he’d only been to my office once, and he’d noticed we didn’t have a coffee machine. Buying one had been on my to-do list since the day I’d signed the lease, but I had never managed to get around to it.
“Patrick?” Natalie sounded amused. “I like Patrick.”
I was close to tears again. I just muttered something incomprehensible, and retreated into my office.
***
My phone rang that evening and once again, I was paralyzed by fear. Every rational part of me was screaming at me to pick up the phone. I reached towards it, but my hands were shaking, clammy, ice-cold.
The next day, a coffee mug arrived; a simple white mug, filled with chocolate. No note this time. And the phone rang again in the evening.
Wednesday, it was a morning delivery; croissants and pastries from a bakery in the neighborhood. Thursday, it was lunch; a sandwich and salad tray from the café next door.
“Okay,” Natalie announced, as she hovered over the sandwiches, trying to decide between egg salad and the hummus. “What did he do? Sleep with someone else?” The dark circles under my eyes hadn’t escaped her notice. Neither had she missed the way I flinched every time the phone rang, nor the way I looked in every delivery from another note from him.
Doctor Dom Series Sequence One (Triage | Observation | Diagnosis): A BDSM & Medical Play Series Page 13