Relapse (Doctor Dom Volume 4) (A BDSM & Medical Play Novella) Read online

  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 sex 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.”

  He trusted you the night you weren’t prepared to use your safe word, Lisa. My conscience sounded snide. For the moment, I dismissed her ruthlessly. As some point, I would have to figure out what to do about my guilt, but not now. Right now, I needed to get on my hands and knees.

  In response, I just got into the bathtub and kneeled. I could hear him behind me, unscrewing the shower head, and opening the tap. I supressed my urge to turn around and see what he was doing, and just stayed where I was, facing away from the shower hose.

  A finger moved to my ass. “Tell you what,” Patrick pondered. “Why don’t you rest your chin on the ledge,” he gestured, “and hold your ass cheeks open for me. Can you do that without slipping?”

  I could do it without slipping. But I couldn’t do it without embarrassment. I could feel my entire body flush as I bent forward and parted my ass cheeks for Patrick. Yet my pussy was slick with my arousal, and my nipples were erect. And when I turned my head towards him to see his face, heat shone openly in his eyes, and his lust insulated me from my humiliation. His admiration just made me feel special. Beautiful.

  “Fuck, Lisa,” he said, and there was a tone of reverence in his voice. “Baby, you are absolutely perfect.”

  Cold lube dribbled on me, and his fingers massaged the lube into my puckered asshole, and I forced my clenched muscles to relax. Warm water splashed at my feet, and then, the tip of the hose was inserted into my ass, and water began to flow into me. Patrick had been right about the water pressure; the water entered my ass at about the same pressure it usually did from the enema bag, and I sighed softly and relaxed. For a few minutes, I just luxuriated in the feel of the warm water flowing inside of me.

  After a couple of minutes though, I began to feel really full. I groaned as my belly distended, and I raised my ass higher to allow more of the water to flow into me. My stomach started to cramp, and I bit my lip, and my fingers, holding my ass cheeks apart for Patrick clenched into a fist.

  “About half done,” Patrick said easily.

  “Half?” I squawked in outrage and disbelief. I couldn’t take much more liquid. Already, beads of sweat were starting to form on my forehead as the cramps threatened my body.

  “Would you like to rephrase that, Lisa?” Patrick’s voice was very quiet.

  Aaah. “I’m sorry, Dr. Anderson,” I whispered. “You know best.” My nails dug into my ass cheeks as another wave of cramps swept through me. The water flowed into me steadily. My moans became small whimpers as I felt more and more filled.

  Finally, Patrick removed the shower hose from my ass, and inserted a butt plug there to force me to retain the liquid. I whimpered, and hoped he wouldn’t make me hold it for long. A sheen of sweat covered my body, and I shivered slightly.

  “Is your pussy wet, Lisa?” I nodded quietly. Despite the pain, the knowledge t
hat I did this for both our pleasure acted like a powerful aphrodisiac. These were my fantasies, brought to life by his quiet voice, his even tone, the firm smack of his palm on my ass.

  “Okay, stand up,” he ordered. He helped me up, and I stood in the bathtub, goose bumps covering my flesh.

  “Cold?”

  I nodded quietly.

  He smiled at me. “Get under the shower,” he said, turning it on. A spray of lovely warm water gushed over me, and Patrick quickly stripped and joined me. I put my arms around him and leaned on his shoulder, wincing a little from the fullness in my belly.

  He smirked openly when he saw my grimace. I started to say something snarky, but he grinned at me. “If I were you, I really wouldn’t make that comment,” he said.

  “Will I be in trouble if I do?” I really liked Dominant Patrick. I also wanted to make sure my boyfriend was still under there somewhere. He had been right to warn me before; this was more intense, and in a mostly good way. As I leaned against Patrick, I felt possessed by him.

  “So much trouble,” he said easily. There was no threat in his voice, just a promise. Patrick had a wicked, wicked imagination. I held back the sarcastic little quip I was going to make.

  He lathered up the soap between his hands, and ran his hands all over my body, as I whimpered in appreciation. Every inch of my body was cleaned. My nipples were stroked gently as his hands traced spirals over my breasts. His thumb slid between my legs and caressed the entire length of my slit. Then, he tapped the butt plug once, twice with his fingers, and I moaned. He chuckled.

  “Okay,” he said, stepping out of the shower far, far earlier than I wanted him to. He grabbed a towel and dried himself quickly. “You have ten minutes. When you are ready, join me in the examination room.” He looked at me evenly. “I don’t need to tell you that you can’t touch your pussy?”

  I shook my head. “I won’t touch my pussy, Dr. Anderson,” I promised him. No, I wasn’t going to touch my pussy; I wanted him to.

  He smiled at me. “See you in a bit, baby,” he said, leaning forward and kissing me on my nose. I giggled, and his smile widened. “Nine minutes now,” he laughed, and left the bathroom.