Doctor Dom Series Sequence One (Triage | Observation | Diagnosis): A BDSM & Medical Play Series (15 page)

Chapter 6

Patrick:

For almost a week, every time my phone rang, I had hoped it was Lisa. But when the phone did ring, I almost couldn’t believe it was actually her.

“Lisa,” I said. I didn’t pretend I wasn’t happy to hear from her, because I was, and I was too old to play stupid mind games.

“Patrick,” she said, and her voice was thick and hoarse, as if she’d been crying. “I need you.”

***

I was there in ten minutes, and I pulled her into my arms as soon as I saw her and just held her. I could feel her tremble; feel the emotions coursing through her. Worry radiated from her.

For a few moments, I held her, selfishly reluctant to let her go, feeling her body against mine, her softness, her sweet smell, her frailty and her strength. My thumb made gentle, soothing circles on her lower back. Finally, she drew back.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know who to call. They won’t tell us anything.”

“Hush, baby,” I soothed her, stroking her arm. I couldn’t stop touching her. “Let me go see what’s going on, okay?”

I turned towards the man who must have been her father. The resemblance was noticeable; their eyes were the same colour. Usually, Lisa’s eyes were filled with an easy good-humour that I loved. Today, all that was visible was worry and pain.

“Patrick Anderson,” I said, sticking out my hand. He shook it. “Colin Preston,” he said.

“Patrick’s a surgeon,” Lisa interjected.

I shot her a look at that. I couldn’t help myself. There were probably a hundred ways she could have introduced me that were more reflective of our relationship. Before I said something snide and inappropriate, I went over to the nurses’ station.

***

“Patrick,” Susan greeted me with a harried smile. I had worked long enough at Toronto General to know most the staff there.

“Hey Susan,” I replied. I inclined my head towards Lisa and her father. “Lisa’s mother was brought in, three hours ago? Do you have her chart?”

She shook her head. “They have her in the ICU. She’s under observation. Greg’s the attending doctor, if you want to go find him?”

I nodded and smiled. “Thanks Susan, I owe you one,” I said.

“Girl you are dating?” Susan gave Lisa the once-over from her spot at the desk. “She seems nice.” I heard the tone in her voice.
Nicer than your ex-wife,
was what Susan had meant. Andrea was a bitch to the nurses; they all hated her with a passion. I swear, there were champagne glasses raised the divorce was announced.

“She’s lovely,” I said firmly.

***

I found Greg
Alexandrov in the ICU. He was sipping a cup of coffee, and rubbing his eyes tiredly. “Hey Patrick,” he greeted me as I walked in. He looked slightly surprised to see me. I did work at Toronto General, but I wasn’t scheduled to be there until Monday.

“My girlfriend’s mother was brought in, and Susan said you were the attending doctor,” I explained. “She’s going out of her mind with worry.” It was easier to call Lisa my girlfriend rather than get into long explanations. And I sure as hell wanted her to be my girlfriend.

“Name?” Greg asked.

“Last name is Preston, I think,” I said.

“Ah, Claire Preston.” He nodded. “I can find the chart, but basically, hydrocephalus. We just did an MRI.”

I winced. Hydrocephalus was fluid build-up in the brain. The treatment was surgery, implanting a shunt in the brain to drain the fluid. And brain surgery was always risky.

He was looking at me with sympathy. You built up a certain resistance to pain as a doctor. Giving families bad news about their loved ones was a necessary, evil part of the job, and after a while, you just did it without thought. But then, when the circles intersected and the people you cared about were at risk, you were reminded forcefully that death stalked the hospital. Every once in a while, despite all our best efforts, death would win.

“Patrick,” Greg was talking. “If it helps, she’s as low risk as it gets. She’s only sixty, her weight is normal, no diabetes, no history of heart disease and no other complications. We are in the process of getting her scheduled for surgery.”

“Don’t schedule me if you can avoid it,” I said automatically. Standard hospital policy was that you didn’t operate on your loved ones. And though Lisa’s mother wasn’t a blood relative, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if something happened to hurt the woman I was falling in love with.

The woman I was falling in love with. I stopped for an instant as my brain caught up with something my heart had known for some time. I was falling in love with her.

Chapter 7

Lisa:

It was close to nine when Patrick came out with another man in a white coat. The doctor on call. Both my dad and I took a step forward, and then we both stopped; neither of us with the courage to proceed further.

Patrick came to me, put an arm around my waist and pulled me into his body. I leaned into him shamelessly. I was selfish, but I needed his comfort as we heard what the doctor had to say.

“Mr. Preston,” the doctor spoke to my dad. He nodded at me. “I’m Greg
Alexandrov, I’m your wife’s attending physician.” He filled us in on her condition. Hydrocephalus. Fluid in the brain. My hand tightened on Patrick's.

“Fluid in the brain?” I could hear my dad’s voice shake. I felt shaky as well.

“Yes.” The doctor sounded kind and sympathetic. “Has she been having difficulty walking? Any unexplained falls? Dizziness?”

My dad looked stricken. “We were just in Turkey on vacation,” he said. “She fell once; she was dizzy a couple of times. But we just thought it was the heat, maybe the food.”

Dr. Alexandrov nodded. “We did an MRI,” he said. “She’s going to need surgery. A shunt will be placed to drain the fluid.”

“Is it dangerous?” That was my voice, though I could barely recognize myself. I sounded high-pitched and squeaky and panicked. Surgery was going to be required. Brain surgery; that couldn’t be good.

“All surgery comes with an element of risk,” Dr. Alexandrov said. “But we have excellent neurosurgeons here, and she’s in an otherwise stable condition.” He glanced at Patrick when he said that.

“Look, she’s being stabilized now, we have her in the ICU,” he added quietly. “No visits tonight. My advice is that you go home and try to get some rest. Visiting hours are at nine tomorrow morning. Why don’t you just come back then? We’ll call if we need anything.”

I couldn’t leave. There was no way. But my dad was nodding agreement with Dr. Alexandrov.

“I’ll stay here for the night, Lisa, you go home. Let’s take shifts,” my dad said. He looked drained. He definitely needed a good night’s sleep more than me.

“Dad, I can take first shift, why don’t you go get a decent night’s sleep at home?” I suggested.

He looked at me, and shook his head. “I won’t sleep,” he confessed. “I need to be here tonight.”

I eyed my dad. My parents had the best marriage of anyone I had ever met. They weren’t perfect, but they were kind and respectful towards each other, and when they fought, they fought fair. Next August, they would have celebrated their fortieth wedding anniversary. Right now, August didn’t feel possible, not when faced with the looming prospect of brain surgery. Death stalked this hospital, and I was afraid to leave it; afraid that if I left, it would open the doors for Death to enter.

She’s going to be fine,
I scolded myself.
Stop being fanciful.

“Lisa, go home, come relieve me at nine in the morning, okay?” my dad asked.

“Okay.” My voice was small.

“How did you get here?” Patrick had been listening to the conversation silently, and I jumped when he spoke. I still couldn’t believe he was here. He’d come instantly when I had called, even though I’d ignored him all week. I didn’t know what to do with that.

“I took a cab,” I mumbled.

“I’ll drive you home, Lisa.” His voice was firm. I nodded. I was weak and pathetic, but I wanted to be in a car with him alone; to sneak a few precious moments in his company.

“Okay,” I said softly.

“Dad,” I faced my father. “Call me if something happens. At any time.”

***

We drove in complete silence for a while. Finally, I broke it.

“Thank you for coming,” I said.

“Lisa,” he said, his voice a caress. “I’m happy to do this for you.” There was nothing else in his voice. Just warmth. No bitterness, no anger. I’d ignored him all week. I didn’t even understand how he did it. Unless he didn’t care at all.

“Why aren’t you angry with me?” The words came out of me before I could stop myself.

“This doesn’t seem the time for anger.” His voice was calm.

“And what if things were otherwise? If my mom wasn’t in hospital?”

He turned to me, his eyes expressionless. “What do you want, Lisa?” he asked evenly. “I’m not going to play games with you. Tell me what you want.”

I was suddenly angry. “You know what, Patrick?” I asked him, my voice rising. “I didn’t want to find out that your ex-wife was your 24/7 submissive. I don’t want to feel a sense of uncertainty when I’m with you, wondering if that’s what you want from me. I don’t want to wonder if you are secretly expecting me to call you master. I don’t want any of this.”

He didn’t respond to my rant. His shoulders were relaxed, his eyes on the road. “What do you want, Lisa?” he repeated.

I wanted him to reassure me, to tell me that he wanted me just the way I was. I wanted him to pull me into his arms and tell me that he cared about me and that he wouldn’t let me go. That the extent of the submission I had to give was exactly how much he wanted. But those were the big things; the things I didn’t yet have courage to say to him. I had just enough courage to instead say one little thing.

“Can I come home with you?”

***

He was silent a long time. Then finally, he spoke.

“Are you going to run?” he asked me. No emotion in his voice.

I shook my head silently. I was fearful, but I wasn’t a fool. He had been there when I had needed him. I was old enough to recognize the preciousness of that gift. Someone who was unstintingly there for you was worth holding on to.

“I’m sorry,” I said quietly. “You deserve an explanation.”

He smiled at me. “It’ll keep,” he said. “Your mother is in hospital. You have other concerns at the moment. I’m not going anywhere.”

I looked at him with gratitude, warmed by his understanding. “Thank you, Patrick.”

His lips quirked. “I’m only postponing the punishment, sweetness.” There was underlying steel in his voice. I gulped, suddenly aware of how many of his calls I’d ignored in the last week.

One hand still held the steering wheel. The other hand, he placed on my thigh, and without meaning to, I parted my legs to allow him more access. Heat swept through me at the thought of him making love to me. Comforting me.

But I had a debt to pay. And the payment of that debt needed to come first, before I could draw comfort from him. I understood how patient and how kind he was being. And I didn’t want him to think that it was unnoticed.

“Can I be punished tonight, Dr. Anderson?”

“Your punishment will keep, Lisa,” he smiled. “You have more important things to worry about.”

I shook my head. I needed his comfort, but before I leaned on him, I needed to pay my debt. “Tonight, Patrick. Please?”

***

When he finally spoke, his voice was hard and dominant. “If you really want this, you are going straight up to that examination room. You are going to take your clothes off and kneel and wait for me. When I come in, I am going to punish you. I’m going to take you for my pleasure. I’m going to use your body harder than I’ve ever used it before. If I feel like cropping your beautiful breasts, you will cup them and offer them to me. If I tell you to part your legs so that I can kiss your sweet pussy with the lash of my belt, you will spread them and beg me to continue. Do you understand me?”

The tiredness and worry had receded as he spoke, and heat filled me instead. Hot flaming need for Patrick to do exactly as he threatened. To take me so hard that I would lose myself in him.

“And then,” he continued, “when we are done, you are going to tell me everything. Why you ran. What you are afraid of. Why you didn’t stay and talk to me. And you are going to promise me you won’t do that again. That you’ll always talk to me first. That you’ll give me a chance before you cut me out.”

The breath caught in my throat.

“Patrick,” I said helplessly. He wanted everything from me.

“Where to, Lisa?” he asked.

I could pretend all I wanted, but I needed him. Tonight, I needed to lose myself in him, to cede control and let him take care of me. “Your house,” I whispered.

Chapter 8

Lisa:

We didn’t make it past the front hallway. His lips were on mine as soon as the front door was closed and he kissed me with heat and passion, marking me as his.

“You don’t run,” he said, through the kisses. “Do you understand?”

“Yes,” I said softly. His fingers were on my shirt, unbuttoning it, pushing it past my shoulders, easing it past the cast in my left wrist, then the shirt was thrown carelessly on the floor. He shrugged out of his jacket, and the fingers of my right hand found his shirt buttons, started undoing them, one by one.

“You always talk to me,” he said, his mouth pressed on my earlobe, giving it a small bite that sent arousal flaming through my body. “Do you understand?” There was tension in his voice, as his mouth continued its way down my neck, trailing kisses down my neck and down the curve of my shoulder.

“Yes,” I repeated.

His hands reached around my back to unhook my bra. I stood there, naked to the waist, and watched him watch me. Eyes slightly narrowed. Nostrils flared in arousal. He finished unbuttoning his shirt and threw it to the side.

“Ready?” he asked. I was trying not to gawk; not to reach out and touch every sculpted muscle in his chest.

“Yes,” I said again.
Yes.
That was all I could say.
Yes. Yes to everything.
I looked at him; there was no denying my need. My nipples were erect and arousal shone openly in my eyes. I wanted him.

More than that. I wanted to submit to him.

***

His hands were on the waistband of my slacks; he undid the zipper, and lowered them around my ankles. I stepped out, my eyes on his. Heat rose in his eyes, as he contemplated me there, standing in a wisp of lace and midnight-blue satin so dark it might have been black. A wordless gesture had me removing them, slightly awkwardly with one hand, and I stepped out of those as well.

I was naked; he was bare-chested, and his erection was visible through his pants. “Patrick,” I groaned, but I didn’t say anything else. I could plead after my punishment. Plead for his body to cover mine; beg for his hands to run all over my skin, and take me with intent. But first, I needed to get punished.

“Should I go upstairs and wait for you?” My voice was soft. I knew this voice. This was not the voice of someone who was afraid. This was the voice of someone who craved the freedom and release that came with submission.

He nodded, but he didn’t say anything. His eyes were on my face. I turned around and climbed the stairs, feeling his heated gaze on my back.

I entered the examination room, flipped on a light switch, and eyed the place. It wasn’t a pretty room. There were no paintings on the wall and no comfortable chairs with cushions. There was a steel examination table, and a stool to sit on; a desk in one corner.  But this was the room in which Patrick made my fantasies came true, and just in the act of entering the room, I was already wet and ready for him.

I knelt with difficulty, unsteady because my left wrist was in a cast. I closed my eyes and searched for any hidden disquiet, but there was none. I wasn’t afraid of Patrick; I was afraid of myself.

A knock. Even in my dreams, he had knocked. He entered the room and smiled at me. He held something in his hand. His phone. I’d carried mine up as well, clutched tight in my hand. He put both the phones on the side table. “They are both right here if we need. We’ll hear if either of the phones ring, ok, sweetie?” His voice was reassuring. I nodded.

“The cast is going to make this a bit more challenging,” he said with an easy smile. “You can’t bend over the desk and you can’t be bent over my lap.” I could see his eyes take in the room and the cast on my wrist; see him plan the scene.

“Okay,” he said after a few seconds. He extended his hand out, I put my right hand in it, and he helped me up.

“Safe word?” he asked me quietly. “Red,” I muttered. He pulled me towards him and kissed me softly on my lips. A mere whisper of a kiss, but it fanned the flames of arousal still further in me, and I shivered in his arms. He unbuckled his belt, doubled it up on itself; his intention clear. I closed my eyes for a second. Still no fear. Still just arousal.

“I want you to use it if you need,” he told me. I nodded quietly, but I knew I wouldn’t
safeword tonight. For a week, I’d ignored him, trapped in my own fear. And he’d been there for me when I needed him, showing up within minutes of my phone call. I felt the need for atonement, and if it was delivered through the strokes of his belt, I would take my pain with pleasure.

He watched me as these thoughts flew through my brain. I prayed that I had kept my resolve concealed; I knew him well enough to know that he would back away instantly if he suspected I wouldn’t
safeword.

“Come here,” he said. He sat on the stool, and spread his legs apart, I was pulled into the space between, trapped between his hard thighs. He turned me so that my side was facing him; my ass perfectly in line with the swing of his hand. I shivered again, pure arousal shimmying through my body.

His left hand reached up, stroked my nipples. They engorged instantly, and I groaned. “Patrick,” I moaned. I wanted him to pinch them, run them between his fingers and pull them away from my body. I wanted to wince in slight pain, and feel the pleasure rush in in response.

“No talking,” he said evenly. I nodded again.

His touch stayed gentle on my nipples, his thumb just grazing them, his pace maddening in its deliberate slowness. I whimpered in need, but I held still and pouted at him. He just chuckled.

“Count the strokes,” he said, his thumb now tracing small circles around my nipples.

I could feel the belt trace a path on my skin, and then, whap. The sound of the blow echoed around the room, pain blossoming at the spot he’d hit me. I clenched my ass muscles automatically, then forced myself to relax and breathe through the pain. “One,” I whispered, as his hand rubbed the spot he’d hit me, pushing the pain back, bringing pleasure in its wake.

His finger traced the seam of my ass cheeks, and I parted my legs slightly, giving him room to touch me wherever he desired. He shook his head slightly. “Not just yet, baby,” he muttered. His belt came down on my ass again, and the pleasure-pain spiralled through me again. Heat rose at the spot where he’d hit me, and spread in slow waves through my body. I shifted restlessly, and muttered “Two,” as I struggled to contain the arousal. I could not allow myself to orgasm. My pleasure was his to control.

Another slap of the belt, the sound loud in the quiet room. My quiet “Three.” His gentle stroking of the reddened spot, layering in pleasure over the pain. A thumb gliding over a nipple, keeping arousal simmering.

I counted the blows as they rained down. The crease where my ass met thigh was given stinging attention, the fleshy spot right above that crease also a target of the steady, painful strokes. But his hand still soothed me between blows, and his other hand still traced gentle circles on my nipples. I felt enveloped in his warmth, soothed by both the spanks and his attention. Cradled in his arms, I was free.

Whap. “Twelve,” I said quietly.
How many spanks,
a part of me wondered, but I dismissed the thought as irrelevant. As many as Patrick desired. My entire ass felt hot. I could guess that the flesh would be red and tender, slightly swollen as a result of his spanks. But my pussy was hot too, pulsing with a different need; wet and ready for him, waiting for him to claim me.

Whap. “Thirteen,” I groaned, clenching my ass despite myself, preparing for the next blow. A blow that didn’t fall. His hand just stroked my ass, rubbing the redness and soothing the pain. I could feel his fingers in the seam of my thighs, and I parted my legs to his unspoken command.

Thirteen was an odd number to stop at.

His fingers dipped into my pussy and found it dripping. “It appears you enjoyed that, Lisa.” His voice was amused. He brought his fingers to his lips, tasting me, his eyes on mine. My lips parted involuntarily, and he just smiled at me. How much was he going to tease me?

Why thirteen?

My attention was in two places. Most of me was right there, responding to Patrick’s slow touch on my skin, his infinitely soft flicks of my clitoris, increasing my arousal, but keeping it at a simmer until he was ready to take me higher. But a tiny background part of me kept coming back to that number. Thirteen spanks. I couldn’t help thinking that this wasn’t just a random number.

Thirteen. Six days. Thirteen phone calls I hadn’t picked up.

I shifted as the realization flooded through me, and I gazed at him in shock. “Thirteen missed phone calls?” I asked, my voice showing a hint of stress.

He didn’t try to pretend he didn’t know what I was talking about. His eyes were appreciative. “Mmm.”

“How angry are you?” I asked warily.

He shrugged, his hands pausing their slow, steady exploration of my skin for a second. “Thirteen calls, thirteen spanks. That’s it.”

“Are you going to spank me if you don’t like what I do, then?” The strain was still there in my voice. This was too close to my punishment at Nick’s hands.

He looked at me quietly. “You have a safeword. I didn’t drag you here. You asked to come. You knew exactly what was going to happen when you walked through that door.”

I shut my eyes for a second. Every word he said was true.

“Lisa,” he said. There was tension in his voice as well. “We both have baggage. But, there’s also enough here,” his hands stroked my nipples, “a connection, an intimacy that cannot be explained away by simple words, by clichéd phrases about dominance and submission.” He took my right hand in his, kissed my palm and my wrist, his eyes on my face. “Stay. Talk to me.”

I looked at him. Could I do this? Could I reveal all of who I was to Patrick, every broken bit? And if I did, would he stay?

For twelve years since Nick, every relationship of mine had stayed superficial in some essential way. No one had reached that inner, shut-off core in me. I had thought of that place as the place from where my submission sprung, and I had let the thorns grow over that path. But it was more than that. I had walled off my heart, because I hadn’t trusted myself after Nick.

But Patrick had walked onto that path effortlessly, and I had let him. I had cleared the thorns and the weeds, and I realized that under it all, the walls enclosing my heart weren’t as high or as secure as I had thought.

Everything was too real too soon. My mother was in the hospital, facing the prospect of brain surgery and potentially death, and I couldn’t deal with any of it, not in the moment. In this moment, I just needed to lose myself in his body.

Perhaps all of this was visible in my eyes, because he paused and inclined his head. “Let’s go to the bedroom, Lisa,” he said gently.