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

  Chapter 12

  Lisa:

  What does a musician dress like? I wondered, standing in front of my closet Saturday evening. I hadn’t played in front of an audience for so long. Finally, I reached towards a pair of matte black leather pants, a black shirt that was fairly transparent, with subtle sequins to add sheen, and a black tank-top for some modesty underneath. I piled on the eye-liner and the mascara, going for dramatic, and slid on a pair of silver hoops in my ears. A pair of black 4-inch heels completed the look.

  Patrick had been lying on my bed, watching me dress with an amused look on his face. But he whistled softly when he saw the finished results. “So, tearing the clothes off you and fucking you hard, is that an option?” he asked. He was only half-joking.

  I laughed. His reaction was flattering in the extreme.

  “My clothes have to stay on,” I chided. “But I can reapply my lipstick, if you want a blow job.”

  He grinned. “Don’t be starting something you can’t deliver on, baby,” he warned, his lips twitching. His cock had hardened in response to my suggestion; I could see the outline of it through his pants. “As tempted as I am to take you up on your offer, you can’t actually be late tonight. We do need to head out.”

  I pouted, then winked at him. “Yes, Dr. Anderson,” I said meekly.

  He just grinned at my tone. “Later, Lisa,” he promised.

  ***

  My friends had all shown up to support the two of us. Ethan, Jason, Mandy and Monica were squeezed into a booth when we got there.

  “Are we late?” I asked.

  Mandy shook her head. “No, we got dinner first,” she replied. “I tried calling to see if you wanted to join us but you didn’t pick up.”

  I blushed. I’d been taking a shower with Patrick. I wouldn’t have heard my phone; I was being very effectively distracted from my nerves about performing. Patrick snickered quietly next to me. “We ate already,” he replied politely to them. We sat down. “What time do you go on?”

  “Nine,” Mandy replied. The butterflies in my stomach had resumed their crazy fluttering. Patrick took a look at my face, and got up to go over to the bar. In a minute, he was back, and he pushed a drink in front of me. “Drink up, baby,” he said. “Relax.”

  “Easy for you to say,” I grumbled. I took a sip of the beer he had put in front of me. A nice, hoppy IPA. He knew my tastes in beer well. I was always quietly surprised at how observant he was.

  “Hey,” a voice interrupted. “Can we join?”

  I looked up and my mouth almost fell open with surprise. Natalie and Charles, and they were holding hands.

  “Of course,” we all said, moving over. I was the only one with my mouth agape. The rest of my friends were just politely curious about who Natalie’s guy friend was.

  “Everyone, this is Charles,” Natalie said, doing introductions quickly. When she got to Patrick, he smiled a slightly tense smile, and shook Charles’ hand. “We’ve met before,” he said.

  Ah, I’d forgotten. Charles said his company had done some work for Patrick, and I’d meant to ask him about that. Tonight.

  “Alright, Lisa, we go on in ten,” Mandy said cheerfully.

  My nerves came roaring back. I must have looked freaked out, because Patrick squeezed my hand reassuringly. “You look a little scared, Lisa,” he said with a smile.

  “I am a little,” I said. “It’s been so long since I’ve played in front of an audience. More than five years. I used to love doing this.”

  He put his arm around my waist and kissed my cheek. “What can I do to help?” he asked softly.

  I leaned into his side. “Nothing,” I replied. “Just what you did already. Listen.”

  “Of course,” he replied.

  My nerves were all for nothing. Playing for an audience was like riding a bicycle. It came back. It helped that most people were there to see Mandy anyway, not me. From time to time, I’d glance over at our little table of friends. They all appeared to be having a wonderful time. The pitchers of beer in front of them were emptied at a steady pace, and they were both listening to the music and engaging in conversation.

  I very seldom wanted to be the centre of attention. But tonight, my music helped enhance an already lovely evening, and that was the part about performing that I absolutely loved.

  Jason called out a couple of requests, and Mandy laughed and launched into his favourites. My heart was bursting with pride as I listened to her. She sounded so good. So smooth and polished. It was a sad fact of the recording industry that if you hadn’t made it by the time you were twenty-five, you were unlikely to ever make it. There would likely never be a record company scout in Toronto, listening to my friend sing smooth jazz standards. That kind of music didn’t really have record deal written all over it. But it didn’t matter for Mandy. She sang because there was something elemental in her that lived when she was on stage. She didn’t care about the record deals or the contracts. She didn’t waste her life in bitterness of the things that weren’t to be. She just really enjoyed performing.

  Finally, Mandy leaned into the mike. “We are just going to take a short break now, everyone,” she said into the mike, her voice laughing as Jason wolf-whistled his appreciation. “Stick around, we’ll do the next set in about twenty minutes.”

  I put down the guitar, and we headed to our table of friends. There weren’t any empty chairs, and Patrick pulled me into his lap. “You were amazing,” he said. “You are very talented.”

  I smiled at him. “I do okay,” I admitted. “I really have missed this. Is it wrong for me to hope that Mandy’s regular bass player won’t be available more often?”

  Mandy overheard what I was saying, and she laughed at me. “Say the word, and you are in,” she said. “Seriously. I haven’t asked because you’ve been so busy at work, but if you think things are settled down enough that you have the time to do this, I’d love to have you play regularly with me.”

  I hesitated for an instant, thinking about my mom, and Liam, and everything else on my plate. But my mom was better every day, and Liam would be arrested eventually. I beamed at her. “Give me a couple of weeks to arrange stuff?” I asked her. “But yes please!” The last words came out in an excited squeak that had everyone at the table chuckling at me. But I was among friends; I didn’t care.

  “Fuck,” Mandy had been laughing with the rest of us, but then she suddenly looked up and swore. “What is he doing here?”

  I followed her gaze and I went completely, utterly still. My face must have paled dramatically, because Patrick’s grip around my waist tightened slightly. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  I looked at the utterly gorgeous guy who had just walked in. Slight grey in his hair, still an air of effortless command. “See that guy?” I said to Patrick, my voice shaking slightly. He looked up.

  “That’s Nick O’Malley. My ex.”

  ***

  When you spend twelve years of your life only half-living, stuck in a shell of fear of someone, it isn’t clear how you react to seeing them. I could have fallen apart. But I was at a bar, surrounded by my friends, sitting on my boyfriend’s lap, and I felt okay. I’m not saying seeing Nick didn’t have an impact, because I was shaken up, but I held it together, and there was no major trauma.

  My friends had all stopped to give me worried looks when he had walked in, but I shook my head very slightly. “I’m okay,” I told them. I wasn’t lying. I was okay.

  As we went back on stage, I discreetly watched Nick and the girl he had come in with. She must have been in her late twenties. Still not age-appropriate, I thought snidely, given that Nick was in his early fifties. But I watched her, looking for the scared submissive I had been.

  You know what? It wasn’t her. I assumed that she was submissive because that’s what Nick looked for, but she wasn’t scared or cowed. Rather, she looked happy. She kept sneaking sidelong looks at him, and he held her hand as they sat at the bar and had a drink, and when the bartender engaged th
em in conversation, they both talked to him.

  As I watched them, it struck me, in much the same way I had realized earlier with Patrick, that at least a small part of my failure with Nick was my fault. I hadn’t advocated for myself, and I’d let Nick assume what I wanted. I wasn’t giving him a free pass; I had been very young and very inexperienced, and he had overwhelmed me. But I’d still been twenty-three. I held down a job; I’d lived by myself. I could have told Nick what I wanted and didn’t want. But I had been falling in love with him, and I had been afraid to jeopardize that. Some of the things that he made me do had made me feel like less of a person, and I’d been afraid that if I told him the truth, he would leave.

  It was the same reason I never used my safe word. I had honestly believed that being a good submissive was to take everything Nick dished out. Using my safe word was a sign of failure.

  Did some bit of that thinking carry over to that night that I didn’t use my safe word with Patrick?

  The realizations started crashing down on me, and it was only long familiarity with the song I was playing that kept me going through the piece. Fuck. How fucked up was my head?

  ***

  I was very quiet in the cab ride back, still lost in a sea of thought. Patrick sat next to me, his hand on mine, and he finally spoke up.

  “Are you okay, Lisa?” he asked. I could hear the concern in his voice.

  I nodded. “Yeah. Seeing Nick just made me realize something, and I’m trying to process it.”

  “Can I do anything to help?”

  I shook my head. “I just need to sort this out for myself,” I replied. This had nothing to do with Patrick, really. This was about me, and how insecure I’d been; so scarred by my past that I was afraid to ask for what I wanted, for fear that I could lose the man I was with. Though flashes of that insecurity came rushing back from time to time, I honestly didn’t think I was that person any more. But I needed to make sure. Because part of being in an adult relationship was to act with honesty.

  It occurred to me that telling Patrick about the time I didn’t use my safe word was more than just about getting rid of my guilt. In some way, if I did tell him, it would be genuine personal growth. I knew that I could lose his trust when I told him, but it was also the right thing to do. Was I willing to risk losing Patrick?

  Not tonight. I kept silent, and leaned my head against his shoulder.

  ***

  We headed back to my place.

  “Hey,” I said as I undressed, turning to Patrick. “I was going to ask you. Charles said his firm did some work with yours.”

  He shook his head. “Not my firm,” he replied. “My father’s firm. But we’ve met because I sit on the board.”

  “You sit on the board though you are bored to tears by what your father’s firm does?”

  He smiled. “It’s our compromise,” he replied. “Plus, I get to supervise where the company’s charitable contributions go, which I’m happy to be a part of. I grew up wealthy, and then, for a while, I lived among people that were dirt-poor. I’ve seen both the positive and negative things money can do.”

  I eyed him thoughtfully. “You are being a lot more talkative nowadays about yourself,” I commented.

  He nodded. “I tend to be quite reticent by default,” he said. “I’m working on it…”

  I smiled. I was taking my clothes off, and it didn’t escape my attention that while he was talking to me, his eyes were following the movements of my hands, and he clearly enjoyed the view of my body that he was getting. “Dr. Anderson,” I muttered. “Are you watching me take my clothes off?”

  “Absolutely,” he said instantly, a twinkle in his eyes. Then his expression turned serious. “Are you up for any D/s play? After seeing your ex?”

  I nodded. “All the more,” I replied. “It’s different with you. Way different. Way better.”

  He smiled. “In that case,” he inclined his head towards the shower. “Why don’t you take a quick shower while I get things ready here?”

  I eyed him with mild suspicion. “What things?” I asked.

  He gave me an even look. “Do I have to repeat myself, Lisa?”

  Aw fuck. Dominant Patrick. Hottest thing alive. I winked at him. “No, Dr. Anderson,” I said meekly, but with a thread of laughter running through my voice. “Shower. Got it.”

  He laughed openly. “Go.”

  ***

  He knocked on my bathroom door when I was about halfway through. I yelled at him to come in over the noise of the water. “Are you joining me?” I asked hopefully.

  He smiled. “No,” he said. “I’ll shower after you. I’m leaving something for you to wear. When you are done, put it on and come to the bedroom.”

  “Okay,” I replied. I was tingling with anticipation at what he had planned. Because he’d definitely planned something. The fact that he’d laid out an outfit for me on the bathroom sink was proof.

  When I was done, I looked at the black cardboard box. Lingerie. I opened it with trembling fingers, and I pulled out a corset made of emerald green silk and lace, with a matching thong. I stroked it a little reverently; the lace was not the slightest bit scratchy, and the silk was as soft as butter.

  I quickly dressed, noting that the corset was cut really, really low on my chest. If I breathed deeply, my breasts would pop out. I grinned at that thought. I ran a comb through my hair, and left the bathroom in a cloud of steam. My bedroom door was closed, and I knocked.

  “Come in,” Patrick called, and I entered. There were candles flickering through the room, my bedside lamp was on, but with a scarf draped over it for softer lighting, and some instrumental music played in the background from my phone dock.

  “Lisa,” he breathed, taking me in. “You look glorious.”

  “You have good taste in lingerie,” I commented.

  He smiled. “Speak only when spoken to tonight, baby,” he said, and I bit my lip in nervous arousal and nodded.

  There were toys laid out on my bed in a neat line. He beckoned me closer to him, and slowly and methodically fastened a pair of wrist cuffs to my hands, and then led me to my closet door. There was an over-the-door rod to which he efficiently fastened my cuffs, positioning me so that I was facing the door, with my ass sticking towards him.

  He stood back and I could feel him eye me. My legs, though not fastened to anything, had automatically spread apart so that my pussy would be accessible to Patrick. My arms were secured wide apart and above my head, and I needed to stand on tip-toe to avoid straining my shoulders.

  “Nice,” he said approvingly. “Stop wriggling. I’m going to the shower now, so find something to entertain yourself with for the next few minutes.”

  The jerk. My hands were tied and I couldn’t get myself off, and I was clearly supposed to just stay tied up and wait for him to come tend to me. But my voice, when I spoke, was soft and submissive. “Yes, Dr. Anderson,” I said meekly, and he snickered as he walked away.

  I kept still for a while, then I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. He wasn’t long though. He reappeared just as I was discreetly trying to rub my nipples against the wood of the door. I hadn’t noticed him, lost in my own haze of lust, but a stinging slap on my ass stopped me in my tracks, and Patrick came around to my line of sight, holding a crop in his hand.

  “Do you really want me punishing you already?” he asked mockingly, shaking his head in rebuke.

  I flushed. “No, Dr. Anderson,” I muttered, my eyes downcast. “I’m sorry.”

  His lips twitched. He had dressed in just a pair of jeans. I openly drank in the sight of his firm chest, the scattering of hair that covered him, snaking a path down to his crotch, and I bit my lip as my gaze settled on his erection, clearly visible through his jeans.

  “Stand straight,” he ordered. “Stick your butt out.” He took a firm hold of my hips and pulled me away from the door slightly, doing something to lower the chains to which he had fastened my cuffs so that I could bend my shoulders. I half-b
ent at my waist, and I pushed my ass out towards him.

  Whap. Whap. Whap. Three firm strokes of the riding crop stung my ass, and I whimpered slightly and wriggled a little. His hands were immediately at my hips again, positioning me to his satisfaction. “Hold that pose,” he ordered.

  His hands were on my ass, kneading each cheek, spreading them apart. I sighed as pleasure snaked through me, and I heard him chuckle softly. “You like this?” I nodded silently, and he came around, took my face in his hands, and kissed me briefly and thoroughly, before walking back to my ass again.

  Two more swats with the riding crop, this time on my other ass cheek, and then he threaded his hand through my hair and pulled me up. “Stand,” he ordered, tightening his grip on my hair and pulling it back. “Part your legs.”

  I obeyed, and he quickly pulled down my skimpy thong and made me step out of it. Then he stood next to me, his hard chest making contact with my side, and rubbed the shaft of the crop between my legs, running it through my pussy lips. I whimpered as I tried to grind against the shaft. I was hoping to get myself off.

  “Stop that,” he said sternly, and I groaned in despair. The entire experience of being restrained against my closet and being forced to wait for Patrick to shower had sent my arousal sky high. I was more than ready to explode, but I knew that I’d have to wait a long time for him to give me permission to come.

  The leather of the crop traced a path through my slit, and I bit my lip and kept as still as I could. Patrick drew it slowly through my puffy lips, and then pulled it out and delivered two stinging slaps on my ass. Then, the crop was back between my lips, and I could feel my pussy part to welcome it into me.

  Patrick’s hands gripped my ass cheeks, and he parted them, exposing my soaking pussy and my tight asshole to his gaze. “Push your butt out towards me,” he ordered, and I obeyed. “I’m going to put the crop on your back, Lisa,” he instructed me coolly. “If it drops, you are going to be in trouble.”

  “Yes, Dr. Anderson,” I whispered. Don’t move. Easier said than done.