Doctor's Orders (BDSM / Medical Play)

Doctor’s Orders
(Medical Play / BDSM)

Ashley K. Bennet

Warning:
  The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this work is illegal.  Criminal copyright infringement is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. 

Disclaimer:
  This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic, adult language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable which might include: male/male sexual practices, multiple partner sexual practices, strong BDSM themes and elements, erotic elements and fetish play.  This e-book is for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase.  Please do not try any new sexual practice, especially those that might be found in our BDSM/Fetish titles without the guidance of an experience practitioner.  Neither the publisher nor its authors will be responsible for any loss, harm, injury or death resulting from use of the information contained in any of its titles.

Publisher’s Note: 
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places, businesses, and incidents are from the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual places, people, or events is purely coincidental. Any trademarks mentioned herein are not authorized by the trademark owners and do not in any way mean the work is sponsored by or associated with the trademark owners. Any trademarks used are specifically in a descriptive capacity.

First Edition

©2012

Exhaling, I reviewed the document again. Under normal circumstances, convoluted language didn’t bother me. After years of med school and the attendant research, I had gotten pretty used to dense text.

But this?

The legal jargon threw me off at first, at least until I realized exactly what I was holding. A young guy in shorts and a t-shirt had handed these papers to me. He met me right outside the clinic. It didn’t occur to me right away, but he must have been waiting for me. Probably a college kid looking for some extra cash, he grinned, flashed two thumbs up, and slapped the manila envelope against my chest. At first, I figured he was some over energetic messenger. Maybe a little annoying, but not a threat.

I didn’t even bother opening the envelope right away. Rather, I marched through the clinic and met my assistant just outside of my office. Veronica went through my patient load and discussed some of the special research projects we had in play. She had a few questions for me about doctor rotations and some other logistical issues.

Once those small fires had been put out, I went into my office. At first, I seriously considered tossing the envelope into the pile of mail that Veronica would review for me, but something made me want to know what it contained right away. Even my most paranoid business associates didn’t use messengers.

I opened the envelope and pulled out the thick stack of papers. Scanning the document, I tried to skip through the legal mumbo jumbo and get straight to the point. Lawyers really spent way too much time trying to cover their own asses. Sure, I had an army of them to keep me out of the court system, but that was a necessity considering some of the research I conducted on a daily basis.

After about ten seconds, I realized exactly what I was holding.

Divorce papers.

I blinked a couple of times, processing this turn of events.

Exhaling through my nostrils, I let out an exasperated sigh. If someone happened to notice me, that person would've seen me only slightly annoyed. I've always been very good about hiding my emotions.

I leaned back in my office chair, and I considered what I would do. Many men in my position would have exploded with rage. When Melanie and I first got together, I was already very wealthy while she had more debt than cents to her name. More specifically, we had only been married for about two years, so I couldn't help but wonder how much of our relationship had been a ploy to get access to my money.

Oddly enough, rather than let anger make me do something irrational, I smirked as the unbidden thought of what other men would do last before me. One segment of the population would get angry. But another would probably break down crying, especially over a girl like Melanie.

Despite this obvious betrayal, I shut my eyes for a moment and pictured my wife's pretty face. At twenty-five, she had cute, elfin features. A small nose, high cheekbones, and adorable little dimples made her look very sweet and innocent. Although she was very smart, Melanie but most people it used because she looked so young and innocent. Her mousy brown hair always caught the light while her eyes twinkled with amusement.

Shaking my head, I thought back to the previous night. Although I had worked late, I got home, looped my arms around her waist as she had been online, playing some random little game. She giggled and I pulled her up, picked her up, and carried her back to her bed. I dropped her to the sheets and she cringed up with me, faux petulance at along the curves of her pink lips.

I took her on that last night. I peeled her close off of her body and breathed in the scent of her perfume: sweet strawberries. Our lips met as I got hard and ready to take her. She squirmed beneath me, pretending to resist just a tiny bit because she knew how much I enjoyed playing with her.

As I replayed the memory, I came to one solid conclusion.

She had given me absolutely no hint of what she intended. Melanie had hidden her true intentions from me for more than two years. Picking up the divorce papers once again, I scanned for reason and found one very silly phrase.
Irreconcilable differences.

Shaking my head, I couldn't help but laugh aloud. Those two words seemed so stupid. Irreconcilable differences? Really? That meant absolutely nothing. For the last two years, I had been a fairly ideal husband. I never cheated. I never lied. Sure, I occasionally worked strange hours, but I was put Melanie first, especially when she needed me. If she got sick, I had no problem calling into work to let them know that I might miss a few days.

Oh well.

I always had my profession and my studies. There was a tremendous amount of fulfillment to be found in my profession. I owned this clinic. I conducted much of my own research with a few selected and trusted individuals. Knowing that I have their loyalty, I could move on to the next phase of testing.

In my desk drawer, I found a small, sealed container. Housed in white plastic, this was my greatest achievement so far. It required the work of dozens of engineers and called upon years of research. Some of those discoveries were mine, others purchased from eager grad students and PhD candidates from across the country.

Closing my eyes once again, I pictured my investors what I would tell them. We would be in the big conference room, and I would stand at the head of the table. Projected onto the screen behind me, there are be technical readouts, schematics, and a flowing set of data. Statistics and manufacturing costs would stream by as I talked about how it worked. This chip, once implanted within the human body could do spectacular things, at least in theory. At this point, all I needed was a guinea pig, someone to test this device.

I would start by greeting my investors. That I would describe what it could do. "This chip will change the field of behavioral modification. Instead of having to rely on potentially dangerous drugs with erratic results, this chip is far more specific and offers standardized results. If you have a subject requires punishment, is capable of stimulating the pain centers of the brain. If you wish to reward the subject, it can do the same with the pleasure centers. Ultimately, chip is all about conditioning. Once it has been implanted, you will have perfect control over the subject. You will be in the ideal position to train your target for any behavior."

Then I would have her brought out to do a few tricks.

Grinning, I couldn't wait to get started.

Melanie Brent

Packing would be a nightmare. Adrian and I had several apartments together, each one filled with expensive items. My extensive wardrobe was obvious. I would take that. But what else did I want exactly?

More importantly, what would I claim to want in order to get a better deal out of my husband? I stepped over to the far window, crossed my arms over my chest and grinned at my reflection. This was it.

When I first met Doctor Adrian Brent, I thought he was charming and charismatic, but instantly I knew I would never love this man. In spite of his intelligence and the way he could talk to people, put them at ease, I saw him as a means to an end. The world wasn't particularly fair, so when I finished school I had tons of debt. The chances of me ever climbing out of it were basically zero, and that made me so angry.

There were whole nights where I would just toss and turn thinking about all of that student debt, how I couldn't even declare bankruptcy to get rid of it. It felt like four years of college and working hard had somehow ruined my entire life. I picked a major that wasn't profitable. Instead, I studied how to help people, how to make the world better place.

And it didn't matter.

So when I met Adrian, I saw an opportunity. Of course, it didn't start out that way, not exactly, not entirely. When we first dated, I tried to convince myself that I really wanted to be with him forever. Fairly early on, I could tell he wanted me. I'm kind of lucky that we. Men look at me and see the girl next door, the one they want to be with forever.

They call me sweet. They call me innocent.

And for the most part, I try to live up to those expectations. I never wanted to be a gold digger or worse. But what choice did I have?

So after about a year of dating, we moved in together.
A few more months and Adrian asked me to marry him.

As we sat there in that extraordinarily expensive restaurant, I could have guessed it was coming. But when he got down on one knee and asked me to be with him forever, I bobbed my head and started to cry. I must've looked so very sincere. And why not? All around us, rich people enjoying their meals smiled or giggled at us. They whispered about young love and how adorable we must've looked.

"Yes, yes, as many times as you want to hear it, yes!" I said and cupped his cheeks between my palms as we kissed.

I did my best. I really did. I kept thinking that if I gave our relationship a little more time that I would follow love with him. On some level, I had to wonder if I wasn't insane already. Seriously, Dr. Adrian Brent was an incredible catch. Handsome, smart, considerate. He was the man that all of my friends complained about never being able to find. Then, of course, they liked to tease me about how lucky I was.

So for two years, I faked it.

I pretended to be really happy, something that wasn't terribly difficult considering how I didn't have to work. I spend most my time on charities and volunteer work, none of which was strictly necessary. Sometimes, I like to think that those hours helping the poor meant I wasn't entirely terrible person.

Pulling myself back to the apartment, I reminded myself that I had work to do. In all honesty, I did not think that Adrian would give me a hard time about the divorce. Frankly, he was too honest for those sorts of games.

Staring out through the window, I marveled at how unfair the universe could be. In our city, the lights twinkled across this vast landscape. There were hundreds of buildings, a few skyscrapers, mostly apartment buildings and medium-sized office complexes. Yet for all that wealth, so many people had to struggle unfairly.

My thoughts about inequity broke apart when someone opened the front door. I spun around, my heart pounding because only one other person at the key.

Adrian stepped into the room a few seconds later. He still had on his white lab coat over his dark slacks and collared dress shirt. For a second, a wistful smile touched my lips because he was wearing an outfit that I helped him pick out.

His expression darkened when he saw me standing there in front of the window, but after a moment's consideration, he nodded politely as though we were nothing more than colleagues. Even though I hadn't expected him to throw a tantrum or shout or scream, it was a relief to see that he could maintain his normal composure even under these circumstances.

"Hi," I said, nervous even though I knew this was a right thing to do. Remaining in a sham marriage just wasn't fair to either of us. Besides, we had been married long enough that I could collect a portion of his earnings.