Relapse (Doctor Dom Volume 4) (A BDSM & Medical Play Novella) (5 page)

Lisa:

I dressed carefully for my date with Patrick. I showered and I primped, and I curled my hair into soft waves. I smoothed on lip gloss and applied a smoky eye-liner. Primping had been neglected when my mom had been ill, and I didn’t want Patrick to think I was taking him for granted.

I wore a recent purchase from Agent Provocateur; a black bra that was more lace than fabric, criss-crossing in straps that artfully evoked bondage without being overly obvious about it. A matching pair of panties completed the look. My goal was to drive Patrick insane with lust.

Over the lingerie, I smoothed on a red knit dress that clung subtly to every curve. I took a look in the mirror, and even though it was the effect I was going for, I was still surprised.  The woman staring back at me looked like she was on her way to get thoroughly fucked. Excellent.

I was dressing for my Dom. The word sent trickles of excitement down my spine.
Patrick was my Dom, and I was his sub.
For a second, I just closed my eyes and let that phrase run through me. I was searching for any hint of disquiet; any sign of unease. I found none. This was truly the right thing to do.

***

I knocked on his door, and I heard him walk towards the entryway and then he opened the door with a smile.

“The purpose of a key is so you can let yourself in, Lisa,” he chided, and then he stopped as he took me in, and a slow smile spread over his face, and heat rose in his eyes. I smirked openly at his reaction.

“Are you going to do all kinds of nasty things to me, or are you going to lecture me instead?” I responded to his statement.

“Oh, I’m going to do all kinds of nasty, depraved things to you,” he promised. “You look amazing. I almost don’t want to tear that dress off,” he said. “Almost.”

I made a face at him. “Please don’t tear it off,” I said. “I don’t think I can replace the dress, the store I bought it from isn’t in business anymore.”

He pulled me into his arms, and kissed me, sweet and passionate kisses on my mouth, my neck and my jaw. I moaned and pushed myself into his body, as if I could burn the memory of his touch onto my skin. For several minutes, we clung to each other and kissed, and when he finally pulled away, my entire body was flushed with need.

He eyed me with a thoughtful smile on his face. “Come into the living room,” he ordered. “I want to talk about rules first.” 

I raised my eyebrows. This was new. I entered and we moved to his living room, and I took a seat on the couch.

“Drink?” he asked politely.

I shook my head. “I’m good. What rules?”

I must have looked a little nervous because he laughed and shook his head. “Relax,” he soothed. “I just want to make sure we are on the same page, that’s all.”

“Because you called me your sub?” I asked him. We had always played with the
implicit understanding that he’d stop if I asked.

“Pretty much,” he replied. “But if you are my sub, things will get a bit more intense when we play.”

I looked at him warily, but his eyes were on my nipples, which had hardened noticeably in excitement under my dress. His mouth curved into a smile, and I flushed when I saw my hardened nubs.

“Intense how?” I asked him. This was a guy who had zippered clothespins down my body and ripped them off as I climaxed. Who had attached a double dildo to a fucking machine, and set it working on
my pussy and ass. Who had put a vibrator on my pussy and insisted I pull it off right before orgasm. I wasn’t actually sure how things could get more intense.

He studied me for a second. “Not necessarily in what we do,” he clarified. “But in the tone of it. We’ve played so far, and we’ve kept it relatively light in tone.” He ran his hands through his hair. “I’m not doing a very good job explaining it. There’s been an element of fantasy about what we’ve done. That it is somehow not real.”

“But now?” I asked.

“We’ll still have plenty of vanilla sex,” he assured me. “I’m not going to go all Dom on you all the time. But when I step into that role, I won’t be messing around.”

I gulped. “Can I take things off the table?”

He looked a little surprised. “In what we do together? Of course you can. I’m really not doing a good job with explaining this…”

“I think I understand,” I said. I really did. “When I dressed today, I was dressing for my Dom. It felt different. More real.”

He smiled at me, warmth in his eyes. “That’s exactly it.
Just to clarify again, this is still just about sex. I’m not looking to control anything else in your life.”

I nodded. “I know. I wouldn’t have called you my Dom if that hadn’t finally clicked on some level in me.”

“I appreciate that,” he said quietly. “If I’m doing something that seems to straddle that line for you, I’m assuming you’ll call me on it.”

I grinned. “You can count on it,” I assured him. 

“What do you want to take off the table?” he asked me.

“Blood and needles,” I said promptly. Given our medical play, it was worth drawing a line at how far I wanted to go with it. The Internet was a scary place. I’d seen needles stuck in more places than I wanted to remember.

He laughed. “Not a problem. Oddly, that would make me uncomfortable, it just seems too much like work.”

I laughed as well. “Fair enough. I don’t want to be caned either. Or electricity.”

“Again, not a problem. Caning is a skill I just don’t have, and I don’t understand enough about how the electricity stuff works to mess around with it too much. Also, apart from your safe word, I’d like you to add a word that indicates something is getting to be too much. Some indication for me to slow down.”

“Yellow?” I asked him.

“Good. Now, unless I get your explicit, upfront consent, we always play alone, and any Dom/sub dynamic takes place when it’s just the two of us. Okay?”

I nodded. My throat was dry. I’d had plenty of se
x with Patrick. Tied-up sex, D/s sex, vanilla sex. But this discussion was something we hadn’t had, and it was both nerve-racking and also a massive turn-on. In a few minutes, I was going to be the object of his focused, intent attention. I couldn’t wait.

He was sitting on the couch next to me, and he got up. He lowered all the blinds in the room, and turned on a soft lamp. The overhead light was switched off, and he walked away for an instant. When he came back, he had a glass of white wine in his hand, and he took a seat on the couch.

“We’ll go up to the exam room soon enough,” he promised. “But first, that’s a lovely dress. Take it off.”

Patrick had ordered me to undress plenty of times. In exactly the same, level tone. It was different today. Today, he was my Dom.

I gulped and got up off the couch. I kept my eyes lowered, and my hands were shaking slightly as I reached for the hem of the dress to pull it over my head. I took it off quickly, not even trying to be sexy about it, and then I stood there quietly in front of him as his eyes ran over my body and my very skimpy underwear.

“Very nice,” he said, taking a sip of his wine. “Please make eye contact.”

“Yes, Dr. Anderson,” I whispered, and looked at him. There was open, naked heat in his eyes as he contemplated me standing there.

“That is very pretty lingerie, Lisa,” he said. His voice had deepened, and I could hear the rough edge
to it. My eyes lowered for an instant to his pants, where his erection was clearly visible. He followed my gaze, and his lips twitched. He quickly unbuckled his belt, drawing it from the belt loops smoothly, and setting it down next to him on the couch. He unzipped his pants, and pulled his cock out, lazily running his hand up and down his hard length a couple of times.

“Please, Patrick,” I begged him. “Can I suck you off?”

He looked at me, disapproval in his eyes. “Did I give you permission to speak, Lisa?” he asked. Oh fuck. Yup. It was immediately obvious what he meant when he said he would was more intense.

I shook my head silently.

“Words, Lisa,” he snapped. “Use them.”

“No, Dr. Anderson,” I breathed softly, “you did not give me permission to speak.” I bit my lip as I spoke. Every nerve ending on my body was tingling.

He smiled at me, perfectly relaxed. I held his gaze and waited.

“Are you wet, Lisa?”

“Soaking,” I replied instantly.

He laughed. “Show me. Stick two fingers in your pussy.”

I obeyed silently, and pulled them out and held them towards Patrick. I could see them glisten. My sticky wetness had coated them thoroughly.

His right hand pumped his dick again, while he took a sip of wine. I held my hand outstretched.

“Taste yourself,” he ordered. I sucked my fingers, and he growled as he saw the heat in my eyes. Under the bands of lace that were supposedly a bra, my nipples were hard pebbles of excitement. I could feel the crotch of my panties cling to me, completely soaked through. Goosebumps rose on my skin, and I shivered slightly.

“Cold?” he asked instantly.

I shook my head silently.

“Come sit on my lap,” he ordered. An order I was only too happy to obey. I might have licked my lips openly as I moved towards him.

He positioned me so I was facing away from him, and my legs were on the outside of his. I sat there, held open by his strong thighs, and I groaned and leaned back into him and ground into his dick a little.

“No, no, no,” he chided. “Do only as you are told.” A couple of hard smacks on my breasts accompanied his rebuke, and I bit my lips and fought not to moan. My pussy gushed again as my breasts jiggled.  

His fingers reached around and traced lazy circles on my clitoris, through the panties. It was slow and delicious and infuriating. I whimpered my protest, and a stinging slap on my thighs resulted.

“Do you get to tell me how fast to go, Lisa?” His voice was very, very even.

“No, Dr. Anderson, I’m sorry,” I begged.

He took his fingers off my panties, and I almost sobbed in frustration. He moved his hands to my bra strap, and unclasped it. “I better remove it before I get tempted to tear it,” he commented wryly. He knew I really liked my lingerie, and I spent insane amounts of money on it. I shrugged off my bra, and tossed it on the couch, and his fingers traced the lace ribbons of the panties before he growled, “
take these off as well,” and I quickly stood up and complied.

He stood as well, and he extended his glass of wine towards me. I took a sip, and then yelped as he pressed the glass against a nipple. It was cold. He moved the glass to the other breast, and teased it as well, and I whimpered and arched and tried not to move away. Then he looked at me and grinned, and lowered a finger into the glass of wine, trailing it in a circle around my nipple, before sucking it into his mouth.

I groaned aloud, wanting desperately to press myself against him, but knowing I needed to keep still. He slowly did the same thing to my other breast, teasing my nipple till it stood swollen and erect.

“Ready for your examination?” he asked me with a satisfied smirk.

Lust was a haze in my brain. It took a few seconds for his question to even permeate, and then, I didn’t think myself capable of forming words. I just nodded.

“Go upstairs, but head to the guest bathroom,” he ordered.

I looked at him, startled. This was different. What did he have planned?

“I really don’t like repeating myself, Lisa,” he said, with an edge to his voice. I mumbled my apologies and started climbing the stairs.

***

“Pause for a bit. How are you doing?” he asked, following me into the bathroom. I noticed he didn’t have his wine glass in his hands anymore, but instead, he had a glass of water.

“Great,” I replied. I wasn’t lying. This was fantastic. From the place of trust we were in, the harder Patrick pushed me, the more aroused I got. It was like walking on a tightrope. It was exhilarating and terrifying, and I very badly wanted to please him.

“Okay,” he said. “Get in the bathtub. Get on your hands and knees.”

I flushed. “Can I hit pause for a bit as well?” I asked him.

“Of course.” His tone softened instantly. “What do you need?”

“I know I said I was okay with you calling me a slut and a bitch and a whore, but I’m not okay with you humiliating me.”

He nodded. “I was going to unscrew the showerhead, lube up your ass, and use the hose as an enema dispenser. I was going to give you privacy to expel it, of course. Is that too much?”

“The pressure of the water won’t be too much?” I worried.

He gave me a look. “I am a doctor,” he pointed out. “I don’t actually just play one in the examination room. I’ll make sure I adjust the pressure.”

Right then. “Sorry to kill the mood,” I said. My voice sounded a bit meek.

He shook his head. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to sound snide. Please, always stop me if you are nervous about something, and ask all the questions you need to. I can’t play with you if I don’t trust you, and I’m sure you can’t play with me if you don’t trust me.”