Doctor's Orders: The Complete Series (2 page)

I look down at my hands.

“I don’t know.”

“That will be the last time you lie to me, Claire, or you will never see me again.”

I look up with obvious worry. I can’t bear the thought of that. Ridiculous, I know, but already this has been the only thing in my life that’s truly mine, the only thing that’s the least bit special. No one even knows I’m here.

“Because there’s something wrong with me,” I whisper.

He cocks his head to the side, as though listening for something only he can hear. Finally he puts his hands together, fingertip to fingertip, and looks down at me.

“That is one way of putting it. You are trapped, Claire. You are unhappy. You are not free. The only path to freedom is through surrender. Did you know that, Claire?”

I shake my head. I have no idea what he’s talking about, except that he’s right about one thing: I do feel trapped.

“Different people find freedom in different ways. They surrender to different things. I suspect that your way, Claire, is to surrender to me. That will be your treatment, if you choose to pursue it.”

On some level, I know that this is insane. But it’s a very far away, abstract kind of awareness. The rest of me, the flesh and blood and driving animal part of me, the part that can still feel things, wants to scream its relief: finally, something feels right. It’s like he’s in my head already.

“Yes,” I say.

“You will submit to me completely during the course of your treatment, Claire. I will give you a safeword. If you choose to use it, treatment will immediately, and permanently, cease. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“You will submit to me
completely.
”

This is the first thing he’s said with any sense of urgency, and I feel the stirrings of nerves in my belly. It’s as though he’s warning me. My curiosity is overwhelming, but in these few minutes I realize that I’m tired of being scared all the time. I’m tired of being boring, of being scared to explore because of what I might find. He’s already given me a taste of what it feels like to be brave. And I want more.

“Yes,” I say.

“You wish to pursue this treatment?”

“Yes, sir.”

He leans back in his chair, his eyes glittering with satisfaction.

“Your safeword is ‘prison,’ Claire. Now stand up. It is time for your exam.”

I can feel my eyes go wide as he gets up from behind his desk and makes his way towards me. Immediately I remember all that medical equipment, the rolling table, the stirrups, but I won’t turn my head to look. I don’t want to appear afraid.

What have I gotten myself into?

I rise, slowly, again trying to smooth my appearance as much as possible. I run my hands through my long dark hair, tussling it a little, and wish I’d changed before I’d come. My thin blouse, tight black skirt, and nameless black heels look cheap, and not in a good way.

He comes around to my side, opposite the lamp, and steps very close to me. Suddenly I feel his fingers in my hair, and it’s all I can do not to sigh. He hasn’t even touched me yet. I have no idea what he’s going to do.

“This exam will be very thorough, Claire.”

I nod, wondering if I should look at him.

“Take off those clothes.”

There’s a hitch in my breath, and I hesitate just long enough to irritate him. He reaches out his hand as if to undress me, but I quickly move to obey. I’m clumsy with the buttons, not wanting to see if I’ve disappointed him already, blundering through my fear. In no time I’ve hung my blouse on the chair behind me, and I’ve shimmied out of my skirt, my heels tucked under the chair. I try to stand proudly in my white bra and white cotton panties.

“All of your clothes, Claire.”

I should have realized. I should have known. He sounds annoyed, and that’s almost worse than the idea of being naked - almost. Trembling, I slide one bra strap over my shoulder, then the other. I fumble with the clasp in the back, my fingers numb with embarrassment, and with an impatient gesture he reaches up and snaps it open. My bra falls to the floor, releasing my breasts. I’ve always had large, round breasts, ever since middle school. My nipples are already hard, and getting harder, like two mini erections. I’m sure he notices. I can feel a deep red flush begin on my cheeks and neck, and begin to work its way down to the top of my breasts.

He doesn’t say anything. That’s almost worse. He’s the first man to see me like this in a long time, and I want to know if he likes the way I look.

I almost ask if everything is ok, like an idiot, when I remember I’m not done. I hook my fingers under the thin cotton of my panties, and feel the material stick to my wet pussy as I peel them off. I step out of them and scrunch them up into a little ball, bizarrely embarrassed that he might see how wet I am.

“No,” he says. “Show me.”

It really is like he’s in my head. Gingerly I unwrap the panties and turn them inside out, so the damp patch where I’ve leaked all over them is clearly visible. He looks at it for a moment, then at my breasts, and my nipples, still rock hard.

“You find this very arousing, Claire.”

“Yes.” I mumble. There’s no point in trying to hide it, no matter how embarrassing it is.

“Look up,” he orders. I do. “Close your eyes.”

Swallowing, I do this, too. He makes me wait just long enough for me to get nervous, to be on the brink of opening my eyes, when I feel a finger on the tip of my chin. That finger begins to trace the line of my jaw, down, gently, to my neck, to the hollow at the base of my clavicle, where he presses down with the slightest pressure. I can’t suppress a shiver. From there, more fingertips, so light, and then two hands cupping my breasts. He lifts them, squeezes them, toys with the nipples. I’m trying so very hard not to moan, to keep my breathing regular. I think it amuses him.

“You will start taking better care of yourself, Claire.”

I catch my breath involuntarily, indescribably wounded by this.

“You will buy the expensive lotions and cleansers. You will go to a spa, once a month.”

“But –”

“I will give you the name of the right place.”

His hands drag down the skin of my stomach, my muscles shuddering beneath the skin in their wake. I can’t control my breathing anymore. My entire body tingles.

“What do you do for a living, Claire?”

His hands are tracing the curves of my hip, my lower stomach, coming so close, so close. I’m grateful that he hasn’t asked me to open my eyes. I don’t know that I could take it.

“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 that 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 fingertips. 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 that 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...