M is for...: A standalone medical-themed romance (Checklist Book 13)

by L. DuBois

  “Nothing you, or anyone, does, will make me totally obedient,” she said in a quiet, grim voice.

  “Total obedience isn’t my goal.”

  “And what is your goal…Sir?”

  “For you to know your place.”

  Cali swallowed, nerves making her stomach tight, even as her sex pulsed. “My place?”

  “To know that you exist to be used.” Master Z slid his fingers along the inside of her thigh, swirling little patterns until he reached the edge of the latex shorts, which had ridden up towards her crotch when he spread her legs. “To please your master, and yes, occasionally, to be pleasured.”

  “To be used.” She hadn’t meant for the words to be bitter, but they were.

  Master Z turned away for a moment. She regretted the words. She was also harshly satisfied to see they affected him.

  “Never forget you chose.” His words were barely above a whisper.

  Was he talking to Cali, or the slave? The statement worked both ways, though the choice Cali had made had been an impossible one.

  The words she wanted to say would have nothing to do with this scene, or the role she was playing, and everything to do with her past.

  Their past.

  And so Cali made another choice. Or rather, she chose to believe he’d been speaking as the Master to the slave. Chose to participate despite the danger. It was the choice she’d made outside when she’d walked towards him. She’d chosen to accept what was, and to live in the moment.

  “I agreed to come to you for training because I knew it would please my Master,” Cali said, building her character’s backstory with each word.

  In her mind’s eye she pictured the fictional master—tall, blond, deadly. Maybe his name was Ian…

  “I can see why he cherishes you.” Master Z turned to face her. “You’re lovely, clearly submissive, but not without spirit. However, you will benefit from being humbled by this assessment.” He cupped her chin once again, raising her face to his. “Look at me,” he commanded.

  She raised her gaze to his, but could only meet his eyes—brown, nearly black—for a moment before she had to look away or risk falling out of character.

  “This will not be easy for you. I will expect total obedience, and you will be punished for failure.”

  “I will…do my best, Sir.”

  “Some of what I order you to do, and what I will do to you, you might find humiliating.”

  A little moan of fear and need escaped her.

  “Including this medical exam.” He slightly stressed the “m” sound at the beginning of medical.

  Master Z’s hand dropped to the curved neckline of her latex tank. Two fingers slid into her cleavage, and then he pressed out on the material from the inside. She loved latex clothes because of the smooth, high-gloss look. Latex was a second skin, thin and delicate, unlike rubber or leather which could both be tight and glossy, but were thick. She even liked the ritual of putting latex items on—coating her naked, clean body in powder or a dressing aid lubricant. Carefully sliding the clothing on, using a flat hand so she wouldn’t risk tearing it. Then, once it was on, using a soft cloth and a bit of Pjur latex shine to polish the clothing until light reflected off it.

  There was a reason latex had a general “no fingers” rule for getting it on. Master Z’s fingers stretched the fabric past its breaking point, and a small hole appeared. He pushed his fingers through the hole and spread them, ripping the fabric along a vertical line. The upper edge parted, her breasts, which had been lightly compressed, swelling lewdly.

  Master Z grabbed the edges and yanked, splitting the tank top down the center front. The latex squeaked as it curled up along her sides.

  “Lovely breasts.” He grabbed one of her tits casually, lifting and looking at the underside before dropping it.

  Her cheeks felt hot, and Cali started to raise her hands, planning to cover her tits with her palms. The heaviness of the manacles and the clank of the chain stopped her from making a mistake.

  “All the way up.” He patted the bench beside her hip. “Then lie down.”

  Master Z stepped out of the way so she could swing her legs onto the exam table and then slowly lie back. Her shorts squeaked against the vinyl, and if she hadn’t been fairly certain he was going to rip them off, she would have been worried about tearing them. She was too far down—her legs were hanging off the end—but before she could adjust and scoot up, Master Z grabbed her ankles.

  “Bend your knees.”

  He guided her feet until her heels were nearly touching her ass, soles flat on the padded table.

  “Do you think I want your knees together?” Master Z asked sharply.

  “Would you like me to spread them, Sir?” She couldn’t see him; he was at the foot of the table and her own legs blocked her view.

  “We will not be playing that game.”

  “What game, Sir?”

  “You are smarter than that, Princess.”

  “I’m not a princess. We’ve both acknowledged what I am.”

  Master Z’s hands slid from her ankles up to her knees. She was ready for it when he shoved her legs apart. Her knees butterflied out to the sides. If she hadn’t been in good shape, and limber, it would have pulled on her groin and thigh muscles to be manipulated like this.

  “I want to hear it,” Master Z commanded in a hard voice.

  “I’m a sexual submissive…” She stopped when he ran his hands from her knees down her bare inner thighs towards her pussy, which was protected from him by a thin layer of delicate latex.

  “You’re more than that.” He raised a finger, waiting for her to focus on it, on him, and then lowered the digit to the apex of her thighs. He placed the tip of his finger low over her pussy, closer to her entrance than her clit.

  “What are you, Princess?” He dug his finger in, and the latex made contact with her labia. Her stomach muscles twitched, causing her to jerk as a flash of arousal, of need, ripped through her.

  “I’m a sex slave,” she whispered. “I belong to my master. I’m his to use, abuse, pleasure, punish, fuck…” Her words ran out, and her next inhale was choppy.

  He was pressing harder, enough that the tip of his finger was between her outer labia—which were slightly spread thanks to her position—and touching the inner lips of her pussy. Cali had particularly sensitive pussy lips, and liked having them tugged on. When she was really aroused her labia minora would swell up, visible even when she had her legs closed.

  And Master Z was applying pressure directly on those sensitive folds of flesh.

  Master Z wiggled his finger, adding a bit more pressure, and the latex ripped. Cali shrieked in shock and pleasure as his fingertip poked the sensitive valley of her sex for a second before sliding down and into her vagina. As she was wet and swollen with need, the sudden penetration of his finger was both shocking and sweet. Her pussy clenched down on his finger, the presence inside her wonderful, but also not enough.

  She wanted more.

  Master Z removed his finger from inside her and ripped the latex. It split side to side, opening up along her thighs where a seam would have been on a normal garment. She felt the cold air on her lewdly gaping sex. He grabbed and ripped. What had been latex shorts was now a tattered skirt that left her pussy and ass exposed.

  Master Z walked away, and Cali carefully adjusted the remnants of her clothing so it wasn’t pulling and pinching at her armpits and around her waist.

  She shouldn’t have bothered because when he came back, he held a stiff black bag with a handle. An old-fashioned doctor’s bag. He opened it and took out a pair of orange-handled medical shears. A few snips at her shoulders and stomach and the last of the latex fell away.

  “Lift up, raise your hips.”

  She did a bridge, and he pulled the ruined latex out from under her.

  “Arms above your head.”

  Master Z circled around as she raised her arms, letting the manacles weigh her wrists down in place above he
r head. He grabbed the chain, pulling it off the top edge of the bed. She felt tugs, and heard a click as the chain was connected to something.

  Master Z came to stand at her right hip, looking down at her with one hand casually resting on her bare stomach.

  She was naked, her legs lewdly spread. The bit-style gag was still around her neck, the bar resting on her throat, not painful or restrictive, but also not easy to ignore.

  The way he was looking at her was so intense, so…intimate, that she couldn’t handle the silence.

  “Is it time to play doctor, Sir?”

  Master Z casually pinched the underside of her left breast. A bite of pain enough to make her twitch, but not flinch away.

  “No, we won’t be playing doctor. We won’t be playing at all.” Master Z went to the foot of the exam table, bending to look at something she couldn’t see.

  “Your master didn’t send you to me so we could play a game.” His accent deepened, the words even more delicious and terrible because of it. “What I am about to do to you…how I examine and use you, will require utter submission.”

  Cali’s pussy clenched in reaction to his words, and she could feel how wet she was. He’d be able to see, smell, her arousal.

  Master Z pulled two stirrup arms out from the end of the bed, lifting and latching them in place. Gynecological stirrups.

  Shock and embarrassment slapped her. She’d known he would examine her pussy, but she’d thought he’d keep her legs like this. Gyno stirrups…no. Just no.

  Cali slammed her legs together and rolled off the side of the exam table. Landing on her feet, bent at the waist so she didn’t yank on her wrists, Cali managed two quick steps towards the head of the table—she had a vague plan of unlatching the chain so she could get as far from the exam table as possible—before he grabbed her.

  Zidan jerked her against his body, her back to his front. She tried to grab his forearm, but the manacles and chain arrested her arms just short of touching him.

  “Safe words,” Zidan whispered in her ear. “Milk to pause the role play. Macbeth and three fingers for a full safe word stop.”

  She didn’t want the reminder that this was a scene, because that meant thinking about the real word.

  Thinking of him as Zidan instead of Master Z.

  Cali flipped her wrists, grabbing ahold of the chain, and jerked herself away from him.

  She gained a few seconds of freedom, but then he was on her again, this time slamming her facedown over the exam table. She grunted as her cheek made contact with the vinyl, one arm half under her, the manacle digging into her ribs. His bodyweight on her back increased the pressure and made her wince.

  “Very well, if you will not submit to your examination with the obedience and grace expected of a slave, we’ll begin with a punishment.”

  Chapter 3

  Master Z let up enough that she was able to shift, sliding her body to the left so she was no longer lying on the manacle. The chain, still under her, wasn’t exactly comfortable either, but it hurt far less to lie on that than the metal ring.

  She expected the spanking, and held perfectly still for the first four swats. After that it started to actively hurt as the new spanks retreaded spots that had already been abused.

  “You deserve a harsher punishment than a spanking, don’t you?” Master Z’s voice was low and calm. Her nipples hardened in response to that voice, and remembered pleasure tried to intrude. To take her out of this bubbled moment and remind her there was a past, and a future, with this man that needed to be considered.

  “Answer me.” Master Z pinched her ass, hard enough to bruise.

  “No, Master!”

  “No, you don’t deserve a harsher punishment?”

  “I’m sorry. I meant yes. I do.”

  “Ah, so then you weren’t listening.”

  “I’m very sorry.”

  “You will be.” He spoke calmly, tone making the words a fact and not a threat.

  Master Z jerked her upright, hands hooked in her armpits as if she were a child. He reached around and pinched her nipples, a casual cruelty that made her pussy throb.

  “Back up on the table.”

  He stepped back, once more watching her. He was an elegant man, not too tall—average height for a man—but perfectly proportioned. It was easy to imagine him as some sort of professional sex-slave trainer. A wealthy, powerful man, to whom other wealthy powerful men sent their slaves for training or correction. It was a common enough fantasy, though usually Cali imagined a hulking brute of a man as the trainer, someone physically intimidating instead of just emotionally dangerous.

  Zidan had played roles in her fantasies plenty of times before, but she’d never pictured him as the trainer in this particular one.

  Cali glanced at the stirrups. Seeing them had sent her vaulting off the exam table because there was nothing arousing about them. Visits to the gynecologist were things to be endured, not enjoyed. Having her legs up and spread like that would give him a very practical, unsexy view of her vulva, vagina, and ass.

  Cali hoisted herself onto the table with an uneasy mix of arousal and anticipatory embarrassment biting at her. She was very aware of her butt. It had been too long since she’d been spanked, and the stinging warmth was both welcome and surprising in the way it lingered.

  “Lie back,” he commanded.

  This time she had to curl her legs up rather than just swing them thanks to the stirrups sticking out of the end of the table.

  Cali settled herself, arms above her head, knees bent, feet flat, ankles together.

  Master Z waited until she was done wiggling and shifting, and then leaned down over her, his cheek brushing hers as he spoke directly into her ear.

  “You don’t want to be spread open for me?”

  “It’s…embarrassing, Sir.” Humiliating was probably more accurate. It was one thing to spread her legs so a man could tongue her clit or slide his hips between them. To spread her legs or have them spread for a Dom. But being open and exposed like this…

  He tsked. “You don’t get privacy, slave. Every part of you belongs to your Master, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “And that means as long as you’re with me, your body also belongs to me.” He straightened and once more forced her knees apart, spreading her, though with her feet still together it wasn’t as extreme as what she knew he would do to her. “You don’t get to hide anything from me. No part of your body. None of what you’re feeling, and thinking. That belongs to me too.”

  No. Her thoughts and feelings were her own. But she could pretend. This was just a part she was playing after all.

  “I’m sorry, Sir. I was…surprised.”

  “I liked the honesty of your reaction. That’s one of the reasons you got my hand and not a brush or paddle.”

  Should she thank him again? It was tiresome, the constant “yes, Sir,” “no, Sir.”

  If she was thinking and feeling that way, she risked some of that emotion coming through in her tone, so she opted for silence.

  Master Z waited only a moment longer, and then hooked his hands around her thighs and pulled her down towards the end of the table. Her feet fell off the edge and her arms stretched long. For a moment she lay awkwardly—her back bowed because of the weight of her legs hanging off the end.

  Then he stooped, grabbed her left ankle, and hauled her leg up and into place, settling her heel into the cup of the stirrup.

  Cali cringed, turning her face into her arm as he grabbed her other leg, setting that foot in place.

  Air touched skin that hadn’t yet been exposed, and she knew her ass and pussy were both on lewd display. Straps crossed over her ankles, binding them to the stirrups.

  “This isn’t sexy,” she whispered.

  “What was that, slave?”

  “Nothing, Sir.”

  She had her eyes closed. She didn’t see the crop.

  When it struck the arch of her foot just above the stirrup, she s
creamed in pain and surprise, trying, in vain, to pull her leg away.

  Master Z raised the simple leather crop, showing it to her.

  “You said this isn’t sexy,” he drawled.

  “If you heard me, then why did you ask?” Cali snapped. It was driven by pain and embarrassment. Or maybe the pain of embarrassment.

  “Watch your tone, slave.”

  “Fuck you,” she snarled back.

  What are you doing? This is such a bad idea!

  That voice was drowned out by her emotional need to retake some control. That same need had her wiggling up the exam table, scooting her ass away from the edge so that though her legs were still bound she wasn’t quite so spread open.

  Master Z folded his arms and merely watched her, his face a patient mask.

  Cali kept going until she couldn’t scoot any further up. Until the leather bonds at her ankles dug into her skin. There was now enough slack in the chain connected to the manacles that she could put one hand over her eyes. She wished she could bury her face in both her hands. Hide from him. From this.

  Her spark of anger ran out of steam, and the heat of defiance burned down and snuffed out. A cringing feeling of awkward embarrassment and tight dread took its place.

  There was no mercy in Master Z, because he made her wait. She listened to the sound of his breathing, tried to match her own to it as a way to keep herself from taking panicky too-rapid breaths.

  “Is this little rebellion done?”

  The sound of his voice after the prolonged silence was both welcome and terrifying.

  “Answer me.” The crop struck the sole of her other foot.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Later I may give you the opportunity to…convince…me not to tell your Master about this behavior.”

  Utterly perverse creature that she was, Cali’s nipples hardened at the implication.

  “I’m sorry, Master Z. I have never had a…by a…” She couldn’t quite make herself use the words.

  “You have never had a gynecological medical exam by a Dom rather than a doctor?”