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

by L. DuBois

  She nodded, cheeks burning.

  Master Z grabbed her waist and slid her back down into position, her ass nearly hanging off the edge. Her arms stretched above her head, palms up. She could no longer hide her face, though she kept her eyes half closed, looking at him through her lashes. She closed her thighs—or at least tried to until the attempt put weird pressure on her knee joints.

  “Punishment is something you know. Punishment is, for some, the base language of submission. Tell me, does your Master purposefully set you to impossible tasks so he can punish you?”

  “No, Sir.” She pictured her imaginary Master, his face in shadow. “He uses impact play to help me.”

  “Help you feel submissive.”

  “Yes.”

  “And when you are to be really punished? Does he ignore you? Bind you in a stress position?”

  “I have never been really punished,” she said. “Not in the way you mean. If I struggle with something, he helps me.”

  “Ah, so you are, overall, a good match for one another.”

  “Yes, Master Z.”

  “It was not a compliment.” The words cracked through the room, and Cali’s stomach and shoulder muscles tensed.

  “Why is being good together a bad thing?”

  Watching him through her lashes she saw the moment Zidan flinched, when her words yanked him, if only for a second, out of the scene.

  He turned his back to her as he spoke. “Because you do not challenge each other.”

  “Not everything should be a battle.”

  “No? Life is a battle. A war.”

  For him it had been. A war in which he’d lost more than one battle. But that was Zidan, not Master Z.

  Master Z walked away, returning a moment later rolling a small metal stand with a tray top. It, like the exam table, could have come directly out of a doctor’s office. The top was even covered by the blue, papery material common in medical dental offices.

  “He and I are happy. There’s nothing wrong with being happy. Finding happiness,” Cali said.

  Zidan’s head whipped up and he stared at her, a cold, bitter knowledge in his eyes.

  She’d said it to poke at him. It had worked, but instead of satisfied, she just felt sad. Cali turned her head to the side, not meeting his gaze.

  She heard rather than saw him wheel the paper draped tray closer. Curiosity got the better of her and she glanced back.

  Master Z whipped the blue covering off the tray with a suitably dramatic flourish, revealing what was underneath, lying on yet another cloth. Cali raised her head and got a quick glimpse of gleaming stainless steel instruments as well as a few black leather pieces, before he stepped between her and the tray, hiding the details of his tool selection.

  “It’s time for your exam. No more games. No more punishments.”

  “You won’t punish me, no matter what I do?” Cali met his gaze. A challenge.

  Master Z’s lips quirked in that half smile he was famous for, and he looked at her from half-lidded eyes.

  “I suspect that what I’m about to do to you will be invasive enough…” He reached between her legs and casually patted her vulva. “Humiliating enough…” He spread her labia open with his fingers, not even bothering to look at her pussy as he did it. “To serve as its own punishment.”

  Cali whimpered, and it wasn’t in fear. Cool air brushed her clit and inner labia. The touch of air against wet flesh—very wet, she was desperately aroused—made gooseflesh appear on her legs and arms.

  Master Z bent over her, unfastening the bit gag which was still around her neck. “I prefer to start at the top. Open your mouth, slave.”

  With a shiver, Cali sank back into her role, and parted her lips even as he lifted a new metal gag from the tray.

  As Master Z forced the metal circle of the spider gag behind her teeth, Cali wondered if this was part of some “mouth” related checklist item, or if this was part of the medical scene. The spider gag did look vaguely like a dental apparatus.

  The metal ring was about the diameter of a golf ball. Four legs—two on each side of the circle and bent at the mid-point like spider legs, pressed against the cheeks once the ring was in place. Straps connected to each pair of legs allowed the gag to be buckled behind the head, though the reality was that this wasn’t the sort of gag that could be pushed out by the sub’s tongue. It needed hands to help ease it out, so the straps were overkill if the sub’s hands were also bound.

  Master Z ordered her to lift her head, then buckled the straps tightly behind her neck.

  It was the first time she’d had an open-style gag used on her, and she hated it immediately.

  Cali blinked hard to dispel the tears of embarrassment that were gathering. The gag, like the horrid stirrups, forced a part of her that should be closed, hidden, to be open and vulnerable. Regular gags filled the mouth, hiding the interior rather than exposing it.

  Master Z swiped his thumb over her temple, smearing the lone tear that had escaped.

  She expected him to say something—something reassuring. Maybe praise because she hadn’t fought the insertion of the gag.

  Instead he turned back to the tray and picked up a pen-sized flashlight.

  She squeezed her eyes shut as he flicked it on and bent over her face. He grabbed her jaw with one hand, twisting her face as he shone the light into her mouth.

  “You have good teeth.”

  Cali snarled. She tried to at least. The sound came out garbled and wet and she had to swallow the saliva that had pooled in the back of her mouth.

  “Object to being inspected like you’re a horse for sale?” Master Z stared down at her, a cruel smirk distorting his lips. “I will do things to you that no one would do to a horse.”

  Her pussy clenched and she shivered.

  He picked up the next tool. “Stick out your tongue.”

  Cali eyed what he held—it looked a bit like a pair of scissors. When he twisted his wrists, she could see it better. Forceps. No. She would not have that thing on her tongue.

  She protested, her words escaping as random, wet sounds.

  Zidan looked pointedly at her hands, the cruel smile gone, his expression instead focused and alert. The face of a Dom concentrated on his sub.

  He was checking for her non-verbal “safe word” signal.

  Her fingers spread wide, then curled into her palms in a loose fist, showing that she knew what he’d been looking for and that she wasn’t using her safe word. At least not yet.

  He nodded, and slowly let the smirk return. “This is a sponge-holding forceps. See the hole at the top of the prongs? In surgery this would be used to hold a bit of gauze.” He spread his finger and thumb apart, opening the blunt, rounded tips. “I gave you an order, slave.”

  Cali shook her head very slowly, pleading with her eyes.

  Master Z sneered, then shoved the open forceps through the ring of the gag, into her forcibly opened mouth. She tried to pull her tongue to the back of her mouth, but there was no real way to escape.

  She tasted the cool metal as it brushed her tongue and cried out, trying to turn her head away, but with his hand gripping her face, and the surgical instrument in her mouth, there was no escape.

  The forceps closed on her tongue, biting down viciously.

  Cali shrieked in pain, that cry doubling as he pulled the forceps back, forcing the front of her tongue, held tight by the clamps, out through the gag.

  “Hurts doesn’t it?”

  She whimpered in agreement, not daring to nod.

  “It’s too close to the tip of your tongue. It should be further back. I will release and reposition it, if you’re a good little slave and stick your tongue out.”

  She whined obediently.

  There was a click, the forceps tightened briefly, then released. She had to squeeze her eyes shut and dig her nails into her palms when he repositioned the tips on the center of her tongue and started to squeeze. The pressure built, and she was sure he was being delibera
tely slow just to torment her. With a click the forceps locked, pressing tight on the top and bottom of her tongue.

  He released the handle, letting it rest on her chin. The surgical instrument fell to the side, twisting her tongue.

  “Well done,” Master Z crooned.

  And this was the most dangerous part of all of it. Because, in this moment, pleasure at having pleased him rushed through her and that pleasure was a drug. It blunted the pain of the forceps. It could, would, have her wanting more. More approval. More praise. More pain.

  Have her willing to do anything, endure anything, to please him again.

  “Later, when you’re on your knees we’ll check your gag reflex. But that is more a…” His lips quirked. “Performance and willingness issue than part of a medical examination.”

  Master Z put on a pair of black rubber gloves, then pushed his cuffs up to his elbows, exposing muscled forearms. When he went to the foot of the bed, between her legs, she tensed, but to her surprise there was a whirring, mechanical noise and then the top section of the table started to rise.

  Since she was scooted so far down, only her arms, shoulders, and head actually moved as the top part of the bed tilted up. Her neck felt like it was breaking with the odd, uncomfortable angle, at least until he slid one arm under her back. Gently and with great care, he wedged several rolled towels behind her so she was lying back comfortably, reclined with her lower back supported.

  She had a very good view of her spread legs and vulva. Now that she was partially sitting up, the instrument clamped on her tongue was dangling against her clavicle. Drool poured out of her mouth and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

  Master Z swiped his thumb through the trails of saliva, then rubbed his fingers together, looking at her.

  Cali felt a flush of embarrassment not only on her cheeks but her chest. She was drooling everywhere. It was disgusting.

  Master Z leaned against the table and cupped her breasts, one in each hand. He swiped his thumbs across her nipples, his right hand leaving a damp path across her left breast. That nipple tightened in response, and she sighed in need.

  “You have lovely breasts, Princess. Good size. More than a handful. Enough to give your master options.”

  Master Z studied her breasts, bouncing them on his palms. “Real, which is always preferable for rough play.”

  She swallowed, the sound of her throat working audible thanks to her open mouth and obscenely protruding tongue.

  “Has anyone ever pierced these nipples?”

  “No, Sir.” At least that’s what she tried to say. All that came out was garbled sounds, and more drool slid over her lip and chin.

  He swiped her nipples with his thumbs, the rubbery feeling of the gloves keeping this from feeling like a caress. Gloved hands, medical professionals’ hands, were meant to be impersonal. They didn’t fondle breasts, they palpated them to check for lumps.

  Yet, he was touching her breasts with distant professionalism. Nor did this feel intimate as it would between lovers. Lovers touched their partner in ways meant to please both giver and recipient.

  Master Z didn’t appear to be getting enjoyment from touching her, and certainly wasn’t stroking or playing with her in ways meant to please her. He handled her idly, almost thoughtlessly. As if she were a toy. Her breasts his to caress or abuse based only on his whim, not on her need.

  “Your breasts are fuller on the underside, so your nipples are nicely tipped up. You’d look good with a ring through each of these.” He pinched her nipples. “And not delicate little rings.” He tightened his fingers, the pinch turning painful. “Heavy gold circles. Soldered closed so you could never take them off.”

  Cali squeezed her eyes shut as his fingers brutally compressed her sensitive nipples. There was no way to mask the whimpers of pain that burbled up in her throat.

  Master Z abruptly released her nipples. For a moment there was relief, and then a fresh wave of sharp heat in the tips of her breasts as blood returned. She looked down—causing yet more drool to leak from her open mouth—to see her nipples changing from bloodless white to red.

  “Hmm,” he said, “good.”

  Cali leaned her head back, grimacing at the weight of the forceps pulling on her.

  Master Z struck her foot lightly with the crop, and she jerked her head up, wide eyed.

  “Pay attention, Princess. It’s time to test your breasts’ sensitivity.”

  Chapter 4

  Cali shifted a little, adjusting her position. The forceps pulled painfully on her tongue, and banged against her collarbone. She winced, and when she opened her eyes, he was looking at her with a Dom’s focused intensity. He smiled softly, intimately. Almost a secret smile. Her heart lurched in her chest.

  Then his expression hardened, and he was once more Master Z, trainer and tester of willing sexual submissives.

  “I want to hear you, so we’ll remove this.” He reached out and grabbed the handle of the forceps. “For now.”

  The tips tightened momentarily, then released. Cali hissed and arched her back as her tongue started to throb with pain. Even with her eyes screwed closed she could feel Master Z’s cool, assessing gaze.

  She ran her freed tongue over her stretched lips and the dry roof of her mouth. It was easier to swallow now, but she would be glad when he took the spider gag out too, which she expected him to do momentarily.

  She wasn’t expecting him to grab her left breast, squeezing the base, so the top formed a taut rounded mound.

  Then needles pricked the soft flesh on the underside of her breast and she screamed in shock more than pain. Instinctively she wrenched her upper body to the side, trying to get away.

  Master Z held tight to her tit, his other hand spanking her breast, right on the nipple. “Hold still.”

  Cali grunted and mumbled at him, and in a way she was lucky because the gag prevented her from saying something unwise to the man who was currently her Master.

  He held up his free hand, showing her the thing he’d dropped to slap her. Not needles, but a Wartenberg pinwheel. The tips of the studs were narrow, but not so small or sharp that they could pierce skin. When she hadn’t known, hadn’t seen what he held, she’d been sure it was needles.

  Slowly, Master Z adjusted his grip on her breast, plumping the flesh. The wheel pricked along the sensitive underside, the soft pale flesh that was so rarely touched.

  This time, knowing what it was, she didn’t scream, though the sensation was still acute. It felt like what it was: tiny pins pressing into her vulnerable breast. He ran the wheel back and forth, back and forth, her body tensing with each pass.

  Then he lifted it and pressed the pinwheel down onto her nipple.

  Two of the pointed tips stabbed directly into her nipple itself, the others digging into her areola, and she arched her back. That drove her breast up harder into the unforgiving metal.

  But that’s what she’d wanted. Needed.

  She was panting. Wet with need. Spread as she was, her body’s natural lubricant was sliding from her plump, aching pussy over her taint and ass. Her anus clenched as a stray breeze from the HVAC system hit the exposed wet flesh.

  “No,” Master Z barked. He lifted the wheel away and slapped her breasts, each one several times in turn. Her abused left breast throbbed and she braced her heels on the stirrups, lifting her hips momentarily, her body moving without checking in with her brain about exactly how wanton she would seem.

  “Lie still,” he commanded. “As appealing as it is to see a slave who is also a needy slut, you lack obedience.”

  She blinked, embarrassed tears spilling down her cheeks. Humiliation made her throat tight and she hated that she couldn’t close her mouth. Her jaw ached with the need to bite down, and though she tried to stop herself, she bit down, the ring of the spider gag pressing painfully into the roof of her mouth.

  Master Z circled around to the other side, once more casually leaning a hip against the exam table. He matter-of-fa
ctly grabbed her right breast and applied the pinwheel tool to it.

  Each press of the sharp metal points into her soft, helpless skin was shocking with the precision of the sensation. And as he ran it over her breasts—the underside, the areola, the tip, and finally directly over the nipple—her sex clenched, her body heavy and hot with arousal.

  “Very sensitive breasts.” Zidan’s voice was a little deeper than it had been.

  He wasn’t unaffected by this, by her. Some of her humiliation eased, and she slitted open her eyes enough to look at him through her lashes.

  Master Z ran the wheel very gently along her stretched lower lip. Then it kept going, down her chin, along the underside of her jaw. That made her swallow hard as he hit pressure points along her neck, the wheel continuing its slow, sharp path south. Between her breasts, over her stomach and belly which, thanks to her bent body position, boasted a little skin roll.

  The wheel pricked its way to her vulva and stopped. She watched Master Z, who was looking at her sex, at the medical tool posed at the plump top of her pussy.

  He pressed down, the tips of the pins depressing her skin and sending little shocks of pain through her sex.

  “Enough foreplay,” Master Z said in a low, rough growl. “Time to examine your pussy.”

  Zidan glanced at her out of the corner of his eye as he let the Wartenberg wheel drop onto the tray. The piece of papery blue medical cloth on top of the rolling tray didn’t do much to mute the shocking sounds of metal striking metal.

  Cali jumped, her eyes briefly going wide and darting to him before she lowered her lashes.

  She looked utterly unlike the composed, self-assured woman he knew her to be. She was a woman of many faces, but he’d never seen her like this. She looked embarrassed, unkempt, and awkward. Her eye makeup was smudged and her chin and upper chest wet with drool.

  But this wasn’t about Zidan Ghaffari and Calista Leonard. This was a scene.

  One without a script, without a crew watching, a director there to call cut. And though they were role playing, these parts were only a thin veneer blurring rather than masking their true feelings and needs.