Recovery (Doctor Dom Volume 5) (A BDSM & Medical Play Novella) (5 page)

***

I was sitting in my office on a Thursday afternoon, flipping moodily at a sampler pack of new upholstery fabric when I received a call from Jack, my contact at the city planning office.

“Lisa,” he boomed into the phone, and I winced and moved the receiver an inch away from my ear. Jack didn’t have an indoor voice. “I have a set of approved permits here for you. Dawson. Millclerk. Joshi. Anderson. If you want them quickly, come down and pick them up, else I can put them in the mail for you.”

“I’ll come get them,” I said hastily. The city had once told me they’d put something in the mail. Foolishly, I had thought they meant that day, or the day after. After three weeks of waiting for the permit, I’d befriended Jack and I’d taken to picking up the permits from him. “I’m leaving the office now,” I added.

“We close at four,” he reminded me.

“I’ll be there before then,” I promised him.

***

Permits in hand, I called clients and started filling my calendar. Finally, there was only one call to make. Patrick.

In some miniscule way, I was avoiding
being the person that reached out. The D/s thing was a massive elephant in the room. Neither of us were talking about it, but we couldn’t ignore its presence entirely either. And so, I was starting to build tentative walls around my heart.

He picked up on the first ring, as he often did. “Hey Lisa,” he said, a tone of pleasure in his voice. “This is an unexpected pleasure.”

So he’d noticed that I hadn’t been calling him as much. I kept forgetting how observant Patrick was.

“Your permit is here,” I replied.

“Ah,” he said. His tone changed slightly, and I felt like a bitch. I was being unreasonable about the BDSM, and I didn’t deserve him. But how did you change what you craved in bed? My submissiveness was an integral part of who I was. The last time I’d tried to live without it, I had stayed away from relationships and love for thirteen years. I didn’t want to do that again.

Be patient,
I chided myself silently.
Give it time. We will get past this. We will recover. We have to.

“I can get started right away, if you still want to do this?” I asked him. “I can always recommend another designer, if you’d prefer.”

He exhaled into the phone. “Are we really going to go over this again?” he snapped into the phone, and I winced. When Patrick was in Dom-mode, I knew this tone was a prelude to getting spanked. Outside Dom-mode? Not a clue.

Only
three weeks in, and the cracks were starting to show.

“Okay, I can get stuff going,”
I said. “How about I start on Monday?”

There was a pause, and then he spoke, his tone even once again. “Sounds good,” he said. “Hey, tomorrow night. I have tickets to a play, if you are interested?”

So we were going to ignore that little moment of discord, the same way we were ignoring the lack of BDSM sex. Okay then.

“That sounds lovely,” I replied. We talked some more, and then,
pleading an excess of work, I hung up.

Patrick:

I’d been on my way to see my therapist when Lisa had called. I was still moody when I got to Jackie’s office.

Lisa
was pulling away from me. I could tell. And intellectually, I could understand why. I was shutting her out too. I wasn’t telling her I was feeling less afraid every day. My visceral dread was receding. I didn’t want her to be hopeful, and then ruin it if I couldn’t follow through.

“She can’t live like this,” I said gloomily to Jackie.

“Can you?” Jackie asked me.

I started to say something, then I shut up. After Andrea, I could have sworn that I was done with D/s. But then Lisa happened, and I found everything I could ever want in a woman.

For a month, I had the world. Even now, it was still there. But with each day that I hesitated, with each day I didn’t talk to her, with each day that I failed to reach out, the promise receded further away. I needed to grab it before it was too late.

Lisa:

I’d gone home Thursday night, still moody, still frustrated, and I’d poured myself a glass of wine, and settled on my couch for some serious self-examination.

In the end, after I’d talked myself into circles, I came up with a conclusion.

I wasn’t going to be a bitch.

Already,
I could see myself turning into a bit of a shrew. I could see myself already holding back some part of myself from Patrick. And I didn’t want to engage in that kind of passive-aggressive emotional blackmail. To dramatically misquote Shawshank Redemption, I needed to get busy living, or get out of the relationship. And I didn’t want to break up with Patrick.

I scolded myself, drank some more wine, and suggested that I act like an adult. Then I
packed a couple of toys as a surprise, called a cab, and headed over to Patrick’s place.

***

I rang the doorbell, and Patrick opened the door, and looked half-surprised, half-pleased when he saw me there.

“
This is a nice surprise,” he said. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Patrick,” I giggled. The wine was causing me to
simper like some kind of vapid Disney princess. “Whatcha doing?”

“Are you drunk, Lisa?” He laughed
at me, his voice low and sexy, and my insides clenched in the way they always did around Patrick.

“
Kiss me and find out,” I suggested happily.

“I thought you were annoyed with me,” he said carefully.

“I was,” I replied. “I’m not right now. Right now, I’m just horny. Want to do something about it?”

“
Not on the doorstep of my house,” he replied with a half-smile. “Come on in.”

I followed him into the living room. “I brought a surprise,” I announced, holding
my bag up. “Toys.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You did indeed,” he replied. “What’s in it?”

I looked directly at him as I pulled out the video camera from my bag. I normally used it to record client spaces so I would remember key details about the architecture. Not at this moment though. Right now, I wanted to use it to record Patrick and me having sex.

“A camera?” His voice was surprised, his eyes gave nothing away. “Every time I think I get a handle on you, sweet Lisa, you astonish me in a new way.”

“Want to use it?” I asked him. I needed the wine to summon up courage to ask him. It had seemed like a good plan when I had hatched it on my couch. After all, you only made a sex tape with someone you trusted deeply.

I trusted Patrick. I needed to know that he trusted me too.

He gave me an amused look. “For your on-screen performance,” he said, chuckling at me, “do you intend wearing that?” He pointed to my jeans, my t-shirt, my cable-knit sweater. These were not the sexiest clothes in the universe.

“There’s lingerie in the bag as well,” I responded loftily, ruining the effect by hiccupping at the end.

He shook his head at me. “Ah, drunk women and the trouble they get themselves in…” he said wryly.

I rolled my eyes at him. “Yes, I believe that’s exactly the reason we slept together the first time,” I responded
snidely, and he laughed again.

“There is that,” he
said. “Okay. Go to the bathroom. Change into your lingerie, and head back over to this room. Oh, and did this camera come with any cables?”

I pulled a tangle of cables from the bag, and handed it to him, then I winked at him and headed to the bathroom.

***

I made a brief detour to Patrick’s kitchen to
drink a glass of water, then I changed into my lingerie.

I’d never recorded myself having sex before. It was the kind of thing I could only see myself doing in a committed, trusting relationship.
Despite the three glasses of wine that I’d had to drink, I was still slightly nervous. But to bolster my courage, I’d brought the hottest piece of lingerie I owned. A bra, a pair of briefs and suspenders in white lace. Nothing spiced up a sex tape like virginal white. Purity defiled, or some such thing. I didn’t believe in such misogynist crap, but it was hard to argue with the way the lingerie looked on me.

The camera was set
up on a tripod when I came back, and there was a cable connecting it to the TV. The living room lights were all turned on, and the blinds were thankfully down.

Patrick clicked the remote control of the camera as I walked in, and gestured to the couch. “Get on it,” he said, from this position behind the tripod. “Sit on your couch, one leg on the floor, one leg on the armrest.”

I moved silently to obey, spreading my legs wide for the camera. My image appeared on the TV at the same time. Ah. That was what that cable was for. “You are good with the electronic stuff,” I smirked at Patrick, and on the screen, the girl grinned at the camera.

“I’m good with all kinds of
stuff,” he responded. “Now. Tell the camera what you did.”

I looked at Patrick’s amused eyes. “I drank a couple of glasses of wine,” I said. My fingers brushed, almost as if by accident, against my nipples, and they hardened. I could see Patrick fiddle with the controls, and on the screen, the camera zoomed into my erect nubs. “Then I came over here to seduce you.”

“Why did you give me the camera?”

“I want to watch you fuck me.”

“What a naughty girl you are,” he chided, but his erection, visible underneath his faded jeans gave him away.

I just licked my lips in response, and he chuckled darkly. “Are you going to join me?” I demanded, and he raised an eyebrow at my tone.

“I don’t think you should talk,” he said mildly. An order, disguised as a suggestion. “I think you should just focus on doing as you are told. Now, take one of your fingers, and use it to push the crotch of your panties out of the way. I want to see your pretty little pussy.”

He fiddled with the camera settings, and on the screen, the image zoomed out until my entire face and body were once again visible. He then came and sat next to me on the couch.

“I took the liberty,” he said, looking at me, not at the camera, “of adding a few things to your bag. Why don’t you pull out the dildo from it?”

I bit my lip. This was getting all kinds of interesting. My finger exposed my pussy lips, and my free hand rummaged in my bag till I found the distinct shape of a
large dildo in it. I pulled it out. It was massive and heavy in my hands, and I just looked at Patrick.

“Oh come on, I hardly need to tell you what to do with it, do I?” he asked me with a laugh. “Keep those legs spread, and push
that dildo in and out of you.” He snickered cruelly. “Oh, Lisa. You do know you can’t come, don’t you?”

Well fuck me. Orgasm control? Hello, Dominant Patrick. My mouth curved into a slow smile, and I whispered a compliant
‘yes’
at the camera.

My hand moved the dildo towards my pussy as I watched the TV.
On the screen, I could see myself tease my pussy lips, rubbing the head of the dildo up and down at my slit. My pussy glistening with arousal, and soft whimpers filled the room.

“Did I tell you to tease yourself?” Patrick’s voice was dangerous.

“No,” I whispered. I looked into his eyes for warmth, and found caring and love in his gaze. “I love you,” I said.

He smiled a half-smile at me. “And I love you too, baby,” he responded. “But right now, I want you to push that dildo in you. Deep.”

I obeyed. I bit my lip as I pushed the dildo in me. It burned as it scraped against every inch of my vaginal walls, and I moaned in mingled pain and pleasure. I pulled it out and pushed it in again, and this time, it slid in easier, my vagina lubricating to accommodate it.

Patrick played with the button on his waistband, popping it open, and then unzipped his jeans. His cock sprang out, hard and ready, and I instinctively reached out to touch it with my free hand.

He grabbed my jaw in one hand, so hard that it ached. “Are you allowed to touch me without permission?” His voice was dangerous. His hand moved to my breasts, to twist a nipple painfully as punishment.

I just moaned and pushed into his hand. As he released my nipple, the pain abated, and sharp pinpricks of pleasure came rushing in. “Do that again,” I ordered, wondering how far he’d let me go with ordering him around until his natural dominance took over.

He looked at me, amused. “We seem to be under a misconception about who gives the orders here, Lisa. So let me clarify things for you.” Another aching, bruising pinch of my nipples. “You do not give the orders - do you understand? You follow orders.”

“Okay,” I smirked at him. Oh, I was loving his
hard tone and his curt words. Shades of Dominant Patrick were emerging from whatever hiding place they’d been harbouring in for the last three weeks, and I couldn’t be happier about it.

I didn’t call him Dr. Anderson. I didn’t want to push it. But I kept my tone submissive. “Please Patrick,” I asked him softly. “May I touch your cock?”

He laughed and gestured for me to stand. I obeyed, standing with my legs slightly apart to accommodate the dildo, clenching my vaginal muscles to hold it in place.

“Oh I do like that,” he said, his voice approving. “Turn and face the camera.”

I obeyed again, sneaking a glance at the TV. I looked both sexy and lewd, standing there with my white lace bra pushed down to expose my painfully erect nipples. The crotch of my panties were bunched to the side, and a giant dildo was sticking out of my pussy.

“I look like a porn star,” I commented.

Patrick laughed. “You look way better than a porn star,” he said. “Now, ask again. Look into the camera and tell me what you want.”

I licked my lips seductively, and I opened my eyes wide for the camera. “Please can I suck your dick, Patrick?” I asked. My voice came out as a throaty plea.

“Why do you want to suck my dick, Lisa?” he queried with a raised eyebrow. The way I was standing, he was still visible on the screen. I could see every expression on his face. See his cock twitch and jump as his hot lust-filled eyes ran over my exposed body.

There was a real answer, and a porn star answer to this question. The porn star answer was easy.
Because I’m a naughty slut.
That was the answer Patrick expected from me.

I turned around and looked into his eyes instead, and gave him the real answer. The answer from deep within my soul. “I need to please you,” I said.

He held my gaze for the longest time. Finally, he just stood and pulled me into his arms, and kissed me softly.

I giggled nervously. “You know we are ruining our porn movie with the emotions and the kissing,” I pointed out, and he laughed, easing the sudden
emotional tension in the room.

“Come here,” he ordered, stepping out of his jeans so that he was completely naked, and lying down on the couch. “Get that pussy in my face.”

“Gladly,” I grinned. I lay on top of him, my mouth mere millimeters from his hard cock, and I looked into the camera. “Patrick,” I asked breathily, once again playing the porn star, “please may I suck your cock?”

In response, he pulled the dildo out and slammed it back into me so that my entire body was thrust forward, and my nose bumped into his dick. I giggled, took that as a ‘yes’, and lowered my mouth onto him.

Have I mentioned I loved to deep throat? I did. Sucking Patrick’s cock was erotic any day, something that was always guaranteed to set my pussy gushing. But this? Watching myself on the TV screen with my lips wrapped around Patrick’s erect member, while his hands played with my pussy, and slammed the dildo in and out of my aching vagina? I wasn’t gushing. I was a waterfall.

A waterfall that
Patrick was very much enjoying, from his muffled groans of pleasure.

His strong hands sank into my thighs, spreading me open even wider. One leg of mine trailed onto the floor, the other was carelessly tossed on the back of the couch. I felt the tip of his tongue dance around my clitoris as he continued to push the dildo in and out of me.

I groaned and took his cock deeper in my mouth, my hand gripping the base. The only way I was going to survive Patrick’s assault on my pussy was to focus entirely on him. On his pleasure. On the way his cock jumped in my mouth, the grunt of pleasure he made as I bobbed up and down on his hard length.

But as I relaxed my throat and forced my mouth deeper down on his
shaft, I realized I’d made a mistake. Giving him pleasure always aroused me. And this time was the same. I felt the clenching start of an orgasm, and I pulled my head up for a second to beg for permission, but it was too late. His tongue circled my clitoris, and the dildo raked every inch of me, and I lost it completely, my nails digging into his thighs as I erupted in climax, clenching, screaming and moaning out his name.

“I’m sorry,” I finally whispered.

“Are you?” he asked me, his voice hard. “You should be. Get on your knees. I want you to kneel on the floor. Face the camera. Part your legs wide. Bury the dildo in your pussy. And beg for forgiveness.”

Well fuck me. I almost came again hearing those words.