Authors: Christina Crooks
Rough Play (11 page)
“I am. Doctor knows best.” His evil grin hardened her nipples. Did he have to be so damn appealing? He made it difficult for her to think straight.
He would examine her.
New dirty movies rolled in her head.
“Turn around,” she said.
When he did, Charlotte found herself stripping her clothes off, everything but her panties and bra. It was too warm anyway. Probably not the fault of the cozy exam room, she thought as she pulled the paper gown over herself.
She fingered the ties uncertainly. “Should I . . . that is, am I supposed to . . . ?”
His calm voice, aimed at the door, carried just the right tone of dispassionate professional. “Do you require assistance? I can call in a nurse, if you prefer.”
He probably would. A male nurse perhaps? To hold her down for an injection? A big, thick injection? What was she getting herself into? And why did she feel so exhilarated?
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she muttered.
“Excuse me?”
“I’m decent now.” She noticed he didn’t turn around until she’d settled onto the long section of the exam table, her legs swinging freely.
“What’s up, doc?” she quipped. But when she glanced up at him, the knowing look in his eyes hit her like a shock. The air seemed to ignite between them as he crossed to her. Her awareness of him grew and grew, knowing he’d soon touch her.
She’d made herself helpless in a flimsy paper gown, and he’d touch her at any moment.
She looked up at him, schooling her expression to blankness. She needed this, and she didn’t even know exactly why.
All she knew was his proximity made her jumpy in the most delicious ways. She wanted him hard, and vicious, and dirty. Just the sight of him watching her, taking his time, wakened senses long dormant within her.
When he let a full minute go by, torturing her just by gazing at her, she bit back a groan.
She had to speak. She couldn’t help herself. “Martin, I’m not sure this is exactly what—”
“I have an extensive background in the treatment of many different types of afflictions, certainly including yours.”
“Afflictions?” She blinked. He thought something was wrong with her?
Martin leaned in, let his large hand rest next to her bare knee. The very image of casual authority.
“I can and I will help you. For the rest of this session, you will refer to me as ‘Doctor.’ You will do anything and everything I say. If you don’t wish to, you’re free to walk out of here now. Is that clear?”
9
S
he considered leaving. For about a second. “Yes, Doctor.”
he considered leaving. For about a second. “Yes, Doctor.”
“Very good.” He lifted the hand to pat her shoulder warmly, then slid the paper of her gown up her arm. He wrapped a heart rate monitor around her bicep. He punched some buttons into the device’s holder on the wall, and the encircling band tightened. She felt as if the air in her immediate vicinity constricted around her as well.
“Breathe normally,” he commanded.
“Easy for you to say.” The beeps began to sound in time with her heart.
“We need to give you a safe word, don’t we. How about ‘red,’ for stop? Say it.”
“Red.”
“Yes. Notice how I stop touching you, step back, and check in with you. That’s what saying ‘red’ accomplishes. Would you like me to continue this examination?”
She looked at him, knowing her mouth was hanging open. She shut it. “You mean, you’ll stop. Just like that. If I say so.”
“Yes, Charlotte.” He gazed at her, his eyes penetrating and wise. He nodded. “I see.” His lips tightened and his gaze sharpened further. She could tell from the intensity of his stare he was selecting and discarding different comments. He clearly debated what to say next. He finally shrugged. “You can’t tell me what to do, of course. Doctor knows best. But you have the power to stop me with the word ‘red’ unless we negotiate otherwise. I think your treatment is proceeding well so far, don’t you?”
He’d stop. He actually meant it. Unlike Cory. She honestly believed she could make Martin stop anytime she liked.
It changed everything.
“Yes, Doctor.” This time her response was heartfelt. The beeps of the machine came faster.
He raised an eyebrow. “Very, very good. But I see we have a problem.”
A problem? She cast a quick glance down at herself, at the band which gripped her so tightly. It all looked normal to her. She still felt giddy about having control over any part of this, control over making him stop. She didn’t have a slave heart. Cory was wrong. “What’s the problem, Doctor?” She could get into this.
“I asked you to remove your clothes. But you’re still wearing your bra and panties. I’m afraid I don’t tolerate difficult patients in my office. We’ll have to punish you.” His hand came off her shoulder, landed again on the tissue-covered padded table next to her with a loud whap that made her jump.
Punish?
The beeps raced.
Then ceased as he ripped the band off her arm. “Normal,” he said as if bored. “Are you a hypochondriac, Charlotte? Do you pretend to be ignorant, weak, and fearful? Or is there a deeper problem here? You crave a man to give you what your body and your mind demand. Don’t bother to protest. You need someone stronger than you, and that’s not easy to find, is it, Charlotte?”
She stared at him.
“That’s what I thought. On your belly. Now.”
The static of fear in her mind rose to a shriek, freezing her for a moment. It seemed to shout at her to go, to get out while she still had any sense of control. Cory had abused his power. Martin might, too.
All she had to say was “red.”
But her body throbbed and yearned toward what he offered.
Her voice trembled, that of a stranger. “Yes, Doctor.” She turned herself over, knowing she was giving herself into his hands. It felt as exhilarating as she imagined paragliding off a cliff would be: a leap, then simple hope and faith that what followed wouldn’t be a disaster.
She felt his hand on her lower back, firm and impersonal. It drew all her attention.
His voice sounded distracted, a jaded doctor instructing his patient. “This may smart a bit, but I want you to hold still for it. Hold very still. Do you understand?” He waited for her to nod.
He pushed aside her paper gown, then pulled down her panties with the same smooth, firm movement.
Smack!
His hand landed with more noise than force on her bare rump. He left it there, pressing firmly. She gasped at the insult to her more than the mild pain. The sharp heat radiating out mesmerized her with its intensity, and the surge of humiliation changed swiftly into something else, something deeper. Something familiar.
The sensation of willing helplessness was a homecoming.
She squirmed with delight.
“I told you to hold still. If I have to restrain you, I assure you, it will be done.” He landed another blow, this one landing in the crease where her buttocks met upper thigh. He let it stay for a moment. And another, harder.
She thought, briefly, of her safe word.
Red.
The word danced in her mind in opposition to the delicious craving for more of Martin’s stern manhandling. Then it disintegrated, blown away by sensation as he spanked her hard once more.
Where his hand met her ass a delicious heat spiraled inward, making her clench pleasurably. It was as if there was a direct connection between the sweet spot where his hand made contact and her aching pussy. Her need forced soft moans from her. A languor rose, steady and strong in response to his firm spanks. He could do anything he wanted to her, anything at all.
Martin suddenly stopped. “The patient has to want to be helped. I can see you’re making some progress, so I hope we can continue without further delays. Strip. Everything but the gown.” He fiddled with something under the table, then turned his back on her to give her privacy.
“Everything?”
“Of course.”
She struggled onto her side, then to sit up. Her ass tingled with warmth. She checked to see his back was still turned. She quickly wriggled out of her bra and panties.
Even with his back to her, his deep voice easily came to her. “When you’re finished, place your feet in the stirrups.”
“In the . . . ?”
“Will that be a problem?”
“I don’t think I can.”
“You’ll have to trust me to determine your tolerances, Charlotte. Unless you have a certain word to say . . . ?”
She swallowed. “No. Of course not. Doctor.”
“Then stop wasting my time.”
She toyed with the edge of her gown. “But I can’t just—”
That was all she got out before he whirled on her. He took two steps, then lifted her easily by the waist onto the table. “Enough.” He positioned her at the table’s end. His hands moved past her, pulling up two matching wide, white winch-strap style restraints. His hands moved firmly on her, encircling her thighs with the wraps. He tightened them with practiced ease.
He’d positioned her legs open enough she could feel every stray breeze on the moistness between. Heat rose to her face.
“This isn’t necessary,” she pleaded, horribly embarrassed. Yet her breath came faster. She tested the bonds. She shifted in a vain attempt to hide her exposed flesh.
He tightened one strap further, then patted her leg dispassionately.
Her only warning for his next action was a wicked grin.
Three long strides, and he was at the door. Opening it wide.
Everyone could see her!
He ignored her cry of protest and the crackle of tissue as she jackknifed forward to try to hide herself, then try to undo the tight straps. When both failed, she placed her hands over herself.
She looked up. She recognized the man standing in the doorway. “Ratty.” As she said his club name, her face heated further with embarrassment.
“You’re getting into the swing of things,” Ratty observed. The brighter light in the exam room illuminated every curve and shading of the rat tattoos on his head.
She realized with mortification she was equally illuminated. “Okay, if you tell anyone at Burger Town about this, I won’t leave you any balls left for Amethyst to pierce.”
He finally averted his gaze from between her legs. “Excellent.”
Martin watched with amusement. “Ratty’s been waiting to find out how you are. He was concerned about you.”
“Ratty can speak for himself,” Ratty said, brushing imaginary specks of dust from his coat. “I was waiting to find out how you are. I was concerned about you.” He spoke to the bare white wall beyond her. “I apologize for my inexcusable behavior earlier. I think I hit you . . . ?”
She’d forgotten. Her hands started to her face automatically before she remembered what they were covering. She kept her hands in place. Her jaw felt only slightly sore when she spoke. “Not very hard.”
Ratty’s own jaw worked, clenching and unclenching. Finally he spoke. “I don’t know what came over me. I’m so sorry. It’s utterly unacceptable. Amethyst made me lose it tonight, and then it was like people kept flinging her in my face. She makes me question . . . well, never mind. I should just stay away from Amethyst.”
“Probably,” Charlotte agreed. “I would. She’ll hurt you. I suppose you like it, though.” Was he ever going to leave?
Ratty’s shoulders slumped. “I know. Your visions. Just let me know when I can ever make it up to you . . . ?” He looked at her, noticed her expression. “Yeah. Okay. I should—” Ratty waved his hand in the air in the direction of the club.
When he’d left, Martin closed the door again. Charlotte kept her hands in place. “You had him standing outside the door this whole time?” She looked at Martin accusingly. “You could have covered me, you know.”
“I chose not to.” Before she could process that, Martin added, “Ratty waited to apologize to you.”
“He should apologize. He was out of control.”
“Would you like me to ban him from Subspace? I could, if it would satisfy you. But I’d prefer not to.”
“Why would you prefer not to?”
“Because he was willing to wait to apologize, possibly for hours, as penance for his actions. And because he’s still outside the door keeping an eye on things for me so I can have some time alone with you. Furthermore, I believe he’s good people. Troubled at the moment, perhaps. Currently struggling with his sexual identity, definitely. Amethyst is, of course, not helping him. Amethyst could provoke the Dalai Lama into a rage,” he confided with a smile. “So, it’s your choice. I can ban him immediately and permanently. Or . . .”
Martin walked, ever so slowly, back to the table. He spoke softly. “Or we can let him play guard, while we play doctor-patient.”
“That last one.” She breathed in his warmth and scent.
“I thought so. But first. What is this ‘visions’ business in regard to Amethyst?”
“What do I say if I want to change the subject? Yellow?”
“Yellow means to pause, check in, possibly stop. Do you want to stop?”
She looked at him. “No.”
“You’re very distracting like that, you know.” His voice, deeper and more sensual, sent a ripple of awareness through her. “I don’t want to cover you up, Charlotte. I want to uncover more of you. Explore you.” His fingers grazed her neck, pushing the paper gown down her shoulders, her arms, until the garment pooled uselessly at her elbows. Only the outside of her thighs were still covered.
It reminded her of her scar.
She kept her hands in place. “I suppose you want to finish examining me.”
“Astute of you.” He grasped both her slender wrists with one large hand. He lifted them above her head.
She felt a gasping sensation of pleasure at his dominance. He made her feel so exposed, so small before him, so helpless. So entirely turned on. “Please,” she whispered, even as she twisted and tested the strength of his grip.
“You want this, but you fight me.” He tightened his hold, shook her slightly. Her breasts jiggled, bare as the rest of her, but he didn’t take his gaze from her eyes. “You’re all but flying into subspace, just sitting there. And I know exactly why.”
A pleasant languor suffused her. “Do tell me why.”
He let go of her wrists. She immediately felt the loss of his sturdy grip. Her arms remained in the air for a moment, making her cooperation obvious. She lowered them quickly to her thighs. She refused to cover herself like some embarrassed schoolgirl.
“Because you trust me.”
“I barely know you.” She wished he’d step just a little closer to her. Being handled that way by him had her in a state of arousal she’d never experienced before. If only he’d take the one tiny step to close the distance completely, put that deliciouslooking bulge between her spread thighs.
“Doesn’t matter. You can tell I’m not like your ex. No.” He arrested the movement of her hands to cover herself after all.
She raised her chin to him, rebellious yet nervous and curious.
He patted her hands gently. Too gently.
She craved . . . something overpowering. Something beyond the physical thrust of his body into hers, though that would be gratifying.
“Tell me what happened with your ex.”
Her frustrated exhale made Martin smile. “Whatever it is, it can’t be that bad.”
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