Doctor's Orders: The Exam Page 2

  “I asked you a question.”

  “I don’t have a job.”

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  “My last job was as a receptionist.”

  His hands have traveled around to my lower back, and they reach down to cup my ass. I shiver again, and I try to ignore the pounding in my pussy. I’m suddenly aware of the ridiculousness of the situation. What kind of doctor is this?

  “You receive.” He says.

  “No, I answered phones.”

  The rational, normal part of me is screaming loud enough to be heard now, though it’s a struggle over the pulse of my blood, my desire. I don’t really have any idea what I’ve walked into.

  “You receive, Claire. Your answer was more honest than you intended.”

  And one hand snakes around and grabs hold of my pussy, and pulls me close to him. I gasp, and my eyes fly open before I remember they are supposed to be closed, and I shut them tight with relief, not wanting to have to look at him. He’s just holding me like that, one hand grabbing my ass, the other clutching my pussy, so close I can feel his even breath on my face. I can smell him. Spicy, with a little hint of sweat.

  I can hear my heart beat, can feel it all the way in my finger tips. It takes all of my self control not to rub myself against him like an animal, breasts pressed up against his shirt, pussy in his hand.

  “Did you always want to be a receptionist, Claire?”

  “What?” I can barely choke the word out.

  “When you were a little girl, did you dream that you’d grow up and answer the phone for other people?”

  Why is he doing this? Why is he asking me these questions? Tears spring to my eyes before I even know why I’m sad, and there is a tight little fire building in me that only wants him inside me, fucking me, however and whatever he wants, and between the two warring desires there’s no room for lying, for subterfuge.

  “No.” I sob.

  The truth is I did have dreams. My parents paid lip service to the whole “follow your dreams” crap, but when it came down to it they favored my brother. And when I told them what I wanted, they refused to pay, said they had to save their money for someone with a useful career. Like my brother, who then decided he wanted to be a DJ. I’ve been living with them, paying rent, because I can’t afford to live anywhere else. It’s so lonely there. They don’t really see me. They don’t want to. They want me to be someone else.

  But the Doctor is asking about me. What I really want.

  Suddenly he releases his grip, and I almost cry out, it’s actually painful to feel his sudden absence. I open my eyes as he smoothly pulls the wheeled table out into the center of the room, pushing the chair aside, adjusting the light. He pulls a length of sterile paper over the vinyl cushions, and raises the back, so it’s angled like a recliner.

  “Get on the table, Claire.”

  I look at it dumbly for a moment, eyes wide. He narrows his eyes and I remember our arrangement. Complete submission. I clamber up on top of the table, trying to remain graceful in this graceless position, seated between the stirrups that rise like wings from the sides, my legs dangling over the edge. I cross my ankles again, push out my naked breasts, and wait.

  He stands in front of my crossed legs, and swings the stirrups around.

  “Give me your leg.”

  Tentatively I raised my left leg, and he grasps my ankle, lifting it. He runs his hand, still damp from where he clutched my pussy, up the length of my calf, to the inside of my knee and back. My eyes flutter, and he places my foot securely in the stirrup. My legs are half spread now, and already it’s overwhelming. I have never felt so naked, so vulnerable. So exposed.

  “Now the other.”

  I breathe deep and exhale, my chest fluttering, and give him my other ankle. Quickly he has my foot in the stirrup, and now I’m spread before him. My face and chest burn with embarrassment. But that’s not enough. He angles the light so that it shines fully on my exposed pussy, my naked, naked pussy. Then he pushes the stirrups wider apart, and closer to me, bending my legs towards me. Spreading me even further, my pussy and my ass now totally served up to him.

  My breathing has gotten quick and shallow, and I’m starting to feel hot all over. Not just turned on, though I am more aroused than I can ever remember being. It’s more like I can’t get enough air, and suddenly the room starts to feel small, oppressive, the light glaring. He angles the light down again, still on my pussy but not in my eyes, and watches me.

  Just watches.

  “What’s wrong with me?” I gasp.

  And he puts his hand back on my pussy.

  Instantly I feel calmer, a warming glow spreading out through my limbs. His eyes lock with mine as his fingers start to explore my folds, slipping between them, running his fingertips up and down, up and down. I struggle for breath, but somehow I know it’s important not to lose focus when he’s holding my gaze like this. I know I need to pay attention for him.

  “What did you want to be, Claire?”

  “I don’t know.” I rasp.

  “Yes you do.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” I don’t know if I’m lying to him, or to myself, but as soon as I say it I know it’s not true.

  His fingers pry apart my lips and toy with the borders of my opening. I can feel my wetness drenching his hand, leaking down my crease, smearing all over my inner thighs. The air is cool where I’m wet, but still his fingers don’t stop. I think I might go insane.

  “You are closed very tight, Claire.”

  “I know.”

  My fluttering eyes pop wide open as he stops for a moment, and I see his cold blue eyes staring into me.

  “That is not how the treatment works, Claire.” He says, and thrusts two fingers into me, deep. I gasp at the sudden intrusion. Even though I’ve needed him to fuck me, the sensation is so quick, so powerful, and I’m not ready for it. I am closed tight, and he is forcing me open. It’s so overwhelming that I want to run from it, like the first time I masturbated, frightened by what I felt just before orgasm. But I can’t run from him. He puts a hand on my chest, between my breasts, keeping me down, and pushes another finger into me, spreading me out and opening me wide.

  “What are you?” He demands.

  His fingers are fucking me hard, and the tight coil of tension I held within me is unfurling in a flourish of pleasure, of heat and life, that’s spreading through out my body. He still looks directly at me. No one has ever seen me like this.

  “Art. I wanted to go to art school.” I choke on the feeling building in my core, tears coming to my eyes. “I wanted to be an artist.”

  His fingers curl inside of me, pressing on my g-spot, twisting against the sensitive nerves around my entrance. I moan, I just can’t hold it in any longer, and with his free hand he grabs me by the chin and forces me to look directly at him, directly into those blue eyes that see everything. All I want is for him to fuck me until I come all over him, again and again. I didn’t know I could feel things like this, but in his hands I am just this animal, this driving need to be fucked, to come.

  “Please,” I whisper, just as I feel his thumb on the hood of my clit, pressing down. After that I can’t talk. I try to shut my eyes, but he squeezes my cheeks, reminding me of my obligation. I must look at him. Let him look at me. His thumb rubs in little circles on the hood of my clit, the pressure and the friction from the flesh sliding over the hard little nub pushing me into tiny little convulsions, jack-knifing against him, while his fingers press inside me.

  The charge is building inside of me, in a hard little ball around my pussy, in a way that I haven’t ever felt before. I’m almost afraid of what will happen when it explodes, and I think I’ll die if it doesn’t. I can feel the walls of my passage close down on his hand and then bloom open, trying to suck him in as far as he’ll go. I’m so close, so close, I reach out and grab his arm, my fingers digging into his flesh...

  “Please!” I shout.

  And he pulls his hand a
way.

  For a moment I grab at him desperately, not capable of words, panting like a beast, but he calmly untangles himself and walks to the other side of the room. He doesn’t even look at me. I’m left sitting, naked, humiliated, frustrated, soaked in my own juices. The sterile paper beneath me is soggy, and has torn a bit with my writhing.

  My writhing. God, I am completely humiliated.

  I stupidly cover myself while I try to catch my breath, to come down in an orderly way. He’s not even looking at me. He’s messing with some contraption on the other side of the room, totally disinterested.

  Suddenly I’m filled with rage. True rage. I don’t know when the last time I allowed myself to feel this angry, it’s totally alien to me, and I don’t know how to deal with it at all. I don’t know how to find the words. It’s like a roiling fog of anger in my brain, preventing me from thinking, from acting. I can only seethe.

  “Come here, Claire.” He says, not even looking up from the straps he holds in his hands.

  “What the hell was that?” I explode.

  He turns to look at me, amused.

  “That is not how this works.” He says, and calmly turns back to the tangled mess in his hands. “Unless, of course, you wish to use your word, and terminate your treatment. Do you wish to leave here now, forever?”

  I stare at him, open mouthed. I am still a mess of conflicting emotions, but one thing rises clearly to the top: I don’t want to leave. Somehow, I don’t want to leave. I can’t bear the thought of walking out, of never knowing what would happen. Of never learning what he sees in me, what he’s going to bring out of me.

  I swallow what remains of my pride.

  “No.”

  “Then come here, and put this on.” He raises what looks like a harness in his hands, attached to various cords. It looks complicated.

  Gingerly, I hop down from the table, and walk over to him. I haven’t quite gotten used to being naked like this, and I can feel myself blush again, but I ignore it. He still looks slightly amused.

  “Good. The next time you behave like that, Claire, you will be punished.”

  “How?” I sneer, shocking myself. I’ve never been the rebellious type, and I have no idea where it comes from now. I don’t even have time to apologize before he’s grabbed me roughly by the wrist and dragged me back to that chair. Quickly he sits down and yanks on my arm, pulling me over his lap.

  In a flash I’m splayed across his legs, naked ass in the air, legs kicking, totally off balance. I struggle a little, but he holds me by the neck and legs, and in a second my conscious brain kicks in, and I remember that I want to see this through. I cease struggling.

  “Good girl.” He says. He slips his hand between my legs and slides it up my thighs, coming to rest cupping my pussy from behind. His other hand still holds me by the neck. “Count the strokes, Claire, or we will start from the beginning.”

  I don’t have time to ask him what he means before he withdraws his hand and spanks me on my left cheek, open palmed. He leaves his hand there, waiting. The feeling is such a shock that I don’t speak.

  “I said count the strokes, Claire.” His voice has gone hard. I wriggle my bottom, feel my tits press into his leg. My pussy is getting wet again, and all I want is to feel him inside me.

  His hand disappears from my ass momentarily, and then he spanks me harder, on the other cheek, a little closer to my cunt.

  “One!” I say. It comes out as a squeak.

  He hits me again, even harder this time. The slapping sound echoes off the stone walls, and I raise my ass towards him.

  “Two!” I cry out.

  He picks up the tempo, alternating cheeks, hitting me harder and harder, until the pain starts to heighten my pleasure. I feel dizzy as I cry out the numbers.

  “Five! Six! Seven! Eight!”

  Suddenly he grabs me by the pussy again, and shifts me with his legs, angling my ass higher in the air so my soft lips are exposed. He pries my legs further apart, and then he spanks my exposed cunt. I scream, and my whole body shudders with a heady mix of pleasure and pain.

  “Count!”

  “Nine! Ten! Eleven!” I’m screaming now, and bucking into his hand, wanting it to hurt. The sting of each stroke flows through me like a tide, pleasure rising in its wake. On what would have been the twelfth strike he penetrates me with his fingers, swirling them around and stretching me out. I contract and cream on his hand, and for a brief moment I think he’ll fuck me like this, and I’m delirious with joy. But then he’s gone again, and suddenly he stands up, pushing me off of his lap.

  I fall to my knees at his feet, too shocked to complain, missing his hand desperately. My brain is ceasing to function, see-sawed back and forth like this. For a brief moment I become blank, not thinking, only feeling. You’d think that would be scary, but it isn’t. It’s the closest thing to bliss I’ve ever felt. Before I can speak or even orient myself he drags me up by my wrist, and leads me back to where he’d let the harness fall to the ground.

  “Pick it up.” He orders.

  I do, fumbling with shaking fingers, my ass and pussy burning red. My shame and pleasure color my cheeks, my throat, by breasts a bright pink. I try to ignore it, and study the object in my hands. It looks like a rock climbing harness. There are two holes for my legs, a strap for my waist, and cords connecting it to pulleys on the ceiling. I look at him nervously.

  “Put it on.”

  I hesitate for just a moment. I’m not yet used to obeying his orders automatically, though I can already tell that eventually I’ll do it without thinking. There are so many things telling me not to do this, that I should stop it now, while I can, that it’s too weird, too dark. But part of me wonders if it’s also who I am.

  But most importantly, I think that maybe, finally, he’ll fuck me if I do what he says.

  I slip into the harness, and he tightens it around my thighs and waist. It’s made of soft leather, for which my sore ass is grateful, and the metal rings only bite into my flesh a little. Once I’m hooked in, he pulls on the cords, and I can feel it pulling upwards on my bottom.

  “Sit into it.”

  Carefully, not quite trusting the suspension mechanism, I do. It works perfectly. He hoists me a little higher, so I’m suspended in the air, sitting naked in my harness. This could be fun. I look at him and grin wickedly, delighted at my new found daring, but he’s already got two leather bracelets in hand, attached to two new cords anchored on the far wall.

  “Put these on your wrists.”

  I do, gladly. The anticipation is driving me insane. I’ve never wanted anyone as much as I want the Doctor.

  He hoists on these new cords, and the result is that they pull me forward by the arms. He keeps pulling until I can’t keep my feet on the ground, and then I’m just swinging slightly, suspended in the air, my legs kicking a little instinctively. My humiliation rushes back – there’s no way this is graceful, or sexy.

  “Stop kicking.” He says, and walks around behind me. I feel another rush of arousal as he fastens more bracelets and cords to my ankles. If I thought I was exposed and vulnerable before, I didn’t know anything. He pulls on this latest set of cords, which must be attached to the opposite corners of the room, because they lift and spread my legs. I’m suspended in mid-air, helpless and spread eagled, my breasts swaying below me. The rush is incredible. I can almost feel his hands on me, can feel his cock pushing into my tight cunt, filling me while I swing helplessly. The anticipation is making me dizzy, and I don’t think I can bear another second when he walks around in front of me.

  I strain to look up at him, and I see him flash a grin as he palms my breasts, giving each a squeeze before tweaking my nipples playfully.

  I’m excited, wondering what he’ll do next, but my excitement fades into apprehension as he turns and walks away, not even looking at me. He walks all the way to his desk, and settles himself in his chair, leaning back into it. When he’s comfortable, he looks up at me, his blue eyes glitter
ing again.

  He’s seated right at my height, so I have nowhere to look but into his face. I can’t even comfortably turn my head.

  He’s so far away, and all I want is for him to be inside me. I silently plead with him, remembering that I’m not to speak unless spoken to. He only smiles.

  “Do you know what has to happen before you can even think about surrendering to me? Before you can be truly open?” He asks.

  I shake my head, biting my lower lip. This is almost unbearable.

  “You have to trust me.” He says.

  “I do!” I speak out of turn, unable to control myself. Immediately I hear how ridiculous this is: I only just met him.

  “Do you?” He asks, and then there’s that smile again.

  Suddenly I begin to wonder about what he’s got planned. But I nod enthusiastically, after only a moment’s hesitation. The momentum makes me swing gently in my harness, and I’m reminded of my utter helplessness. I am completely at his mercy.

  “We’ll see.” He says, and reaches out to press a button on his desk. “You are to maintain eye contact with me at all times, Claire. And remember, you always have your word.”

  And he leans back with a curious expression, tenting his hands together in front of him.

  Suddenly I’m incredibly nervous. And angry. And turned on. I don’t think he’s getting up from that desk, he’s just going to leave me hanging, again, literally this time, and I think I’ll go out of my mind if I don’t get to come, if I don’t get fucked...

  I’m about to speak when I hear the door open behind me. Startled, I jerk my head around, and only set myself in motion again: I can’t see a thing.

  “Eye contact at all times, Claire.” Warns the Doctor. I whip my head back around, neck taut with apprehension. I hear the door close again, and then footsteps behind me. I have no idea who’s there. Whoever it is has a full view of my exposed pussy.

  The Doctor inclines his head.

  “Trust.” He reminds me.

  Suddenly there’s a hand on my ass. A large hand, rough, male, the thumb rubbing the skin near my pussy. It squeezes me, getting a feel for me, toying with me lazily. There is no sound.