Doctor's Orders: The Complete Series Read online

  The trucker mauls my naked breast, crushing it against my chest, rolling the naked flesh in his hand. I moan, finally some release from contact, finally, finally, and it puts him into a frenzy. He leans into me, pressing me to the wall, pressing his hard on, held tight in his jeans, into my leg, and his hands claw at the hem of my dress until it’s bunched around my waist, leaving me naked below.

  “Fuck,” he says, looking down at my naked, shaved pussy. Shaved the way the Doctor instructed, dripping the way he wants it, quivering on the constant edge of orgasm from the vibrations in my ass. If this idiot doesn’t quit looking at me and fuck me soon I think I’ll die.

  “Fuck me,” I plead, and the trucker’s expression changes. He goes from looking like a guy who won the lottery and isn’t sure what to do with all that money to a guy who knows exactly what to do, and how he wants to do it.

  “Yeah, I’m gonna fuck you,” he says, one hand grabbing my pussy, the other lifting my leg around his waist. “You wet for me?”

  I moan again as he runs a finger down my slit and back. I put my arms around his shoulders. I don’t think I can support myself.

  “Yeah, you’re wet for me, you little slut. You think you can take me?” he says, and I hear him smiling as he slips two fingers into me. He doesn’t expect to feel the plug vibrating through the walls of my passage. I feel him startle, but I can’t stop, I can’t do much besides hang on and demand that he fuck me.

  “What the hell is that?”

  “Nothing,” I breathe, and I swear my pelvis tilts towards him of its own accord, trying to take his hand. My whole body is starting to shake, and the plug speaks through me. “It’s nothing. Just fuck me. Please.”

  He doesn’t have to think about it for very long. His fingers go to work inside me while his other hand rips at his jeans, fucking me sloppily but hard, and that’s all I need.

  “Yeah, I’m gonna fuck you,” he’s growling, “I’m gonna fucking wreck you.”

  But I’m already starting to come on his hand, and it is like a wrecking ball, like some fucking avalanche that I couldn’t stop if I tried. I grip onto him and bear down, and it comes on with such slow fury that I’m actually frightened, and when it explodes through me I let loose with this long, animal wail, like a freaking alley cat. There’s nothing the surprised trucker can do except let me hold onto him with my vice grip and ride it out.

  “Holy shit,” he mutters.

  When it finally begins to subside...it doesn’t really subside, fully. Like after a flash flood, the water doesn’t go anywhere for a while. The plug is lower, slower, but still there, still pulsing. The Doctor is still with me. I can feel the water beginning to rise again, and I know it’s not over.

  “Oh no,” I mumble. “More.”

  “Damn straight more,” the trucker says, and this time he’s ready. He opens my leg, slamming it against the brick, exposing my naked cunt, and pins me to the wall. I’m not going anywhere. His fingers fumble with the zipper of his jeans once more, and I close my eyes, knowing his dick will be free and inside me soon, so soon, so goddamn soon.

  “What’s going on here?”

  It’s not the trucker’s voice.

  Even with my eyes closed I can tell there’s a sudden flash of light.

  I open my eyes, and I have to squint into the harsh light. Deep in my sex haze, I’m mostly just pissed that the trucker isn’t fucking me yet, and is instead just standing there. It takes me a moment to figure out what’s going on. But then it’s obvious, even to sex-brained me: that is a cop’s flashlight.

  We are caught against the wall, pinned by an actual police officer’s flashlight.

  The stillness drags on for another beat, and then the trucker runs.

  He runs. With his dick wagging out in front of him, he actually runs away. Never mind all the ways this doesn’t make sense – I mean, if his truck is parked in the lot, he’s going to be pretty easy to find – the man runs anyway. I don’t realize I’m waiting for the cop to follow him until it registers that the cop is most definitely not chasing after him, and is instead still focused very much on me.

  And I’m leaning against the wall of an alley, naked below the waist, with one breast exposed, in the glare of a flashlight.

  I quickly pull the bottom of my dress down to cover my pussy, try to discreetly tuck my breast back in to the top. For a brief, brief second I forget all about the Doctor. This should kill the mood. All desire to fuck should be gone. My body is still alive, swollen, ripe, but my brain is waking up fast, and it’s waking up scared and disgusted at what I’ve done.

  “Officer...” I begin.

  And the plug starts to vibrate.

  Oh, no, I think. You can’t. You can’t be serious. I can’t...but it’s no use. I feel it building in me again. I almost want to warn this police officer, who I still can’t see behind his shield of blinding light: run. I am about to turn into a raging sex beast. I can’t control it, and I don’t know what I’ll do.

  That I could ask the Doctor to stop floats across my mind as a possibility. That I could lean down, unobtrusively whisper into the orchid, even use my safeword.

  But...I don’t want to.

  I want to fuck.

  And I don’t want to get arrested.

  “Officer,” I say. “That was very rude.”

  “Excuse me?”

  There’s something funny about his voice that I can’t quite place. Like it’s altered somehow. But I don’t care. I don’t care about anything much at the moment besides the thing in front of me that I want and that I’m going to take.

  “Very inconsiderate,” I say, raising my hands in the universal sign of surrender, and walking towards him slowly. I’m nearly there, no longer blinded, but unable to make out the features of the large man holding the flashlight, when I realize I just strutted. I don’t think I’ve ever strutted anywhere before.

  “Ma’am, are you aware that we have public decency laws?” His mechano-man voice sounds amused. Good.

  “I don’t have much interest in being decent right now.”

  There’s what I assume is a stunned pause. I’m nearly there.

  “Have you had anything to drink tonight, ma’am?”

  “Nope. Sober as a judge.”

  I’m close enough now that the light only beams down on my tits, as if they’re on display. Talk about indecent. I notice the officer doesn’t move the light.

  I could reach out and touch him, from where I am. The old, scared, rational voice in my head makes one more desperate plea: he’s a cop. This is insane. You will ruin your life, Claire.

  On the other hand...what life?

  “Ma’am, are you in need of assistance?”

  I’m silent, my heart thundering in my chest. It’s that familiar precipice, that place of doubt and fear that I’m getting to know so well.

  I’m about to take the leap when the plug pulses and expands, filling me so full of feeling that there’s no more room for those doubts and fears. The plug pushes me over that precipice, and I raise my eyes, smiling.

  “Yes,” I whisper.

  I reach out and tug on the cop’s belt. He doesn’t say anything. Not yes, not no. So I drop to my knees, and feel for his zipper in the dark.

  But first, I find his cock. His large, hard cock, straining against his pants. I almost stop to languish over it, feeling the smooth, fine quality of the material against the hard, angry bulge of what is promising to be a beautiful dick, but the plug urges me forward. It’s the Doctor again, always keeping me focused. It’s almost as though he’s here with me, as though I can fuck him by proxy.

  That thought opens up a can of primal whupass I didn’t know I had.

  I rip blindly at the cop’s pants, finally freeing his cock. He switches off the flashlight, and I can’t see anything in the dark, but I can feel, and it is a monster. I grab the hot shaft, feel it throb, feel the silky texture of the skin, and take the head in my mouth. He grabs me by the hair and surges forward, driving all the
way to the back of my throat. My eyes water, and I lap at him with my tongue as best I can, savoring the salty precum, the heat of it in my mouth.

  The plug wants more. It starts to vibrate faster, harder. It wants me fucked.

  The Doctor wants me fucked.

  I pull back from the cop’s dick and stand up as quickly as my heels will allow. I still can’t see anything in the dark, and he still remains silent, if breathing a little hard. I’ll have to ask for what I want, just as the Doctor intended.

  “Fuck me,” I say, hand pumping on his hard dick, still wet with my own saliva. “Please, I need you to fuck me. Sir.”

  Again, an aching pause. And then there are large hands spinning me around and pushing me forward. I stumble a few steps and catch myself on the brick wall just as he catches up to me. There’s the sound of plastic wrapper being torn, there’s a hand pulling my dress up, there’s a leg between mine, kicking my feet apart, and another hand spreading me wide. The buzzing plug picks up its rhythm and intensity, and I know he must be able to see it, to feel it, must somehow know it’s there, but he says nothing and then the feeling of the head of that huge cock pressed against my slippery cunt pushes aside all thought.

  He drives all the way into me, and my knees buckle. I’m held up by the wall, by his arm around my waist. The buzzing plug in my ass presses against the walls of my cunt, making it smaller, tighter, pressing in on his dick.

  He fucks me madly. The plug fucks me madly, pulsing in time to his thrusts. He pistons in and out of me, silent as the grave, and the pleasure, the fucking, after all this time...I bite down on my forearm, and whimper. I was already so high and sensitive that each stroke hurts almost as much as it pleasures me, and I fucking love it. It’s acute, agonizing, all of it, and I run towards it with abandon. With his cock buried deep in me, the plug filling the rest of me, all of it buzzing together, the orgasm blooms quickly, bubbling up inside me and gushing forth. I scream in the dark alley and come all over his dick, collapsing fully against the wall, tears streaming down my happy face.

  The plug finally stops.

  The man behind me – whoever he is – pulls out. I assume he came. I wasn’t paying attention, honestly. I couldn’t. But I hear him pull off a condom, feel him pull down my dress. I catch my breath against the brick wall for a few more minutes before I decide to test the strength of my own feet and push off. When I turn around...I don’t know what I expect to find. I guess I expect to find him, the cop.

  I don’t. He’s left. I’m alone in an alley behind a diner. Well, not alone. I still have the orchid on my dress, so the Doctor is still with me.

  Honestly, I’m relieved. I didn’t want to have to explain what just happened to anyone. I never want to try to explain it; I don’t think it would be possible. Only the Doctor would understand.

  I’m not even sure I understand.

  I try to sort it all out in my head, still alone in the dark, and yet somehow not scared. A white plastic bag scuttles past me on a light breeze, and I follow it to the end of the alley, still at peace. I think of that scene from American Beauty, with the weird guy talking about dancing with plastic bags in the air, and the universe being full of beauty and love, and I giggle. I like my version better: full of fucking.

  That’s when I see the Doctor’s limo, parked at the other end of the alley. I wonder how long he’s been there – the whole time? Just now? Come to think of it, I never saw the “cop’s” face. I never knew...

  Doesn’t matter, I’m just happy to see him. To almost see him. I trot over as fast as I can, still high as a kite, and open the door.

  The car is empty.

  The divider between the back and the front is up, the driver invisible to me. The Doctor is nowhere to be found. I slide in gingerly, careful of the plug and my soon to be sore everything. I still hope for some kind of explanation, but all I get is a card on the seat where the Doctor should be. It’s a time and place for our next appointment. On the back there is a note.

  Well done. You may keep the plug.

  I look forward to our next appointment.

  So do I.

  I want that man. And for the first time, I feel brave enough to go after him.

  PART 3:

  STRIPPED

  I almost start to touch myself, thinking about what he’s got in store for me. How crazy is that? Out in the street, in this rich neighborhood, standing in front of his dignified townhouse on a clear night – to actually touch myself?

  Nuts, right?

  But the Doctor makes me do crazy things. He makes me feel crazy things, too. The weird part is that he does this even as I’ve begun to feel more sane, more sure of myself, than I ever have before. All because of him.

  The Doctor came to me out of nowhere just few weeks ago, and offered me a chance at his special brand of “treatment.” If you’d told me that someone could show me how to be more like the person I want to be, and less, you know, miserable and sad, through hardcore sexual domination, I would have...I don’t know what I would have done. Run away? But somehow, the Doctor made me trust him. Each week since then he’s sent me on an assignment, and each week he’s taught me a lesson he thought I needed teaching. And he’s been right, every damn time.

  I learned how closed off I was to the world. I learned how afraid I was, and how to be fearless. I also, incidentally, got fucked blind in a swing, had a remote control butt plug make me do things I never, ever thought I would do, and might have jumped a police officer in a dark alley. Among other things.

  Anyway, those were the planned lessons. What probably wasn’t in the plan was me actually falling for the Doctor. The thing is, I’ve never had anyone see me the way he does. I’ve never had anyone look at me like that, and like what they saw.

  I know I’m supposed to think that he does this for everyone that he “treats,” that there’s nothing special about me. But I know there’s something there – I can feel it. I think I can really see him, just like he sees me, and I want him to know that I like what I see, too.

  Oh, who am I kidding. I want him.

  Which is why I’m standing here, half an hour early for our next appointment, wondering what the hell it will be this week, too nervous to ring the stupid buzzer.

  There’s a brisk breeze down this avenue, a mini wind tunnel formed by all the tall, stern townhouses lining the block. I can’t help but smile at the incongruity of me, in my getup, and this classy part of town. I’m wearing what the Doctor ordered: an incredibly complicated front-tying black reverse-corset thing, with my ample breasts pushed up and my nipples nearly poking out the top, a tight skirt, matching black panties, and black heels. He had me pick up the outfit at a lingerie store. Over it all I’m wearing a trench coat, because it was the longest thing I had. Only now do I realize I probably look like a flasher, or a hooker.

  A few weeks ago, I would have been mortified. Now I feel a flush warming my skin, and I can enjoy the thrill.

  But I still can’t make myself push that buzzer. Even though I’m dying to know what he has in store for me this week, even though I’m dying to see him.

  The thing is, I know I crossed a line. I couldn’t help it. I know his address, obviously; it was only a little work on the internet to find out his real name. Cedric Durant, of the Durants. Which...I’m not sure I was totally prepared for that, honestly. Scion of an old but declining family, born of scandal, had a huge society wedding. He famously saved the family business, and then his wife died, and he just...disappeared. Totally retreated from the world. I found out all this in a fit of mad googling. I know I violated his privacy, in a way, encroaching on the boundaries of our “professional” relationship by prying into his private life. But seriously, how could I not? Especially once I got started. His life story is ridiculous. Just, totally operatic.

  And obviously all of that only makes him even more attractive. That, and the dark hair dappled with gray, the finely tuned body, and the cobalt blue eyes don’t hurt either.

  And his hands
...

  This is why I want to touch myself.

  And why I’m afraid to press the buzzer, now that I know these things about him. Real things, not just the roles we play during my appointments. I stare stupidly at the intercom as the breeze picks up, spreading goose flesh up my thighs. I have to come clean, is what I have to do. Tell him what I did, how I feel. I think about all he’s given me already – I told him about my dream of becoming an artist, going to art school, that silly dream that everyone laughs at, the reason I’m still living with a family that doesn’t really like me very much. I’ve since started looking for a job in a gallery or something, anything to get me started. I wouldn’t have done it before. I was scared.

  I can’t be more scared to press a stupid buzzer.

  I reach out to the intercom, finger poised, determined to get inside and confess and apologize first thing when I see him, determined to be fearless, and then I hesitate just a moment.

  “Are you Claire?”

  The intercom squawks to life, and I startle half a step back. It’s not the Doctor’s voice. I look closer, and see the tiny hidden camera lens embedded in the casing of the intercom. Someone’s been watching me.

  Someone who isn’t the Doctor.

  “Hello?” the Someone squawks at me again. “Are you Claire?”

  I fluster easily, and it takes me a second to find the talk button.

  “Um. Hi. Yes, I’m Claire.”

  “I think you’re early, Claire.”

  “Yes, I’m sorry. About that. I’m actually just here to see the Doctor?”

  No response. I think for a moment on the fact that I’m early, and have no idea who I’m talking to, and might have just outed the Doctor as...the Doctor.

  Shit. Only, how did they know my name?