Page 21 of Doctor's Orders

But she knew that there would be some sort of counterpoint to all of this pleasure. There had to be. It was what the doctor was all about.

Before she knew it, she was flipped over onto her tummy and was given more than enough reason to grab desperately for something to hold on to as she heard his leather belt snick slowly through the loops.

He teased her in more ways than one, making her wait for that first stroke, and then he nodded to Nurse Carson and she placed a frilly white sleep mask over her eyes.

She was blind and not nearly as helpless as she wanted to be in a situation like this—needed to be, she realized. Everything in her was screaming that she should get up and run, but she couldn't. Those buzzing tormentors between her legs kept her in place, along with a large dollop of greed. One way or other, she intended to be rewarded today, and it had gotten to the point where she didn't much care which way it was. They were both equally important to her at this moment.

That was until it finally fell, years after she'd heard him remove it, she would have sworn, long enough for her to get lost in her own thoughts since she could no longer use the mirrors to keep track of what he was doing—that first stripe of angry red that was followed by so many more than she couldn't count—she never could, even when it was expected of her. The agonizing pain made her lose her mind and all she could do was live—barely—from moment to moment, praying that the last strip of flesh he removed from her behind was the last.

And it almost never was, it seemed. When it did happen, she was usually made to wish it hadn't, and this time was no different from any of the others, except that she had denied herself the tiny succor that was the ties that held her fast. She never realized just how much she depended on them until they weren't there anymore.

Her legs were spread again, but still not affixed in the stirrups. She could remove them at any time.

It was another long while—it seemed to her—before the next phase began. The one that made her howl.

The doctor had decided that if her legs and arms weren't restrained, then neither should her mouth be, and what he was doing to her now made him almost want to reconsider.

Almost.

He had procured Darcy's implement—the one she had used in a very similar fashion on Mandi. Now they'd have something more in common than they already did.

Darcy's voice left her after the first two full lunged screams, and her throat was raw by the time the last blow fell. She figured her nether parts were just so much hamburger, until the doctor cranked up the vibration on both the dildo and the plug, creating an epic battle within her between the forces of pain and pleasure, and it was anyone's guess who was going to win.

Only the doctor knew who was going to win. He was. He felt as if he already had, and he was going to make sure that Darcy knew that, too.

He removed the plaster that had been painted onto her clit and slid even closer up between those spread legs of hers, leaning down to grasp a hold of her still throbbing, still sizzling cheeks and squeezing them hard, then latching his mouth onto her oversized clit and hanging on for dear life.

If she could have screamed at that moment, she would have, but all Darcy could do was croak. She'd never heard of the doctor doing this to anyone, much less an employee, yet here he was, flicking her clit with his demanding tongue, licking her like a little boy with an all-day sucker, laying broad flat strokes of his tongue down on her so that she couldn't escape all of that stimulation.

He knew that she was close. He forced her to live close to that edge, and yet he took his time, being deliberately slow, building sensation upon sensation until he could tell that she was going to blow, and then he suckled and flicked like mad until he'd driven her over the precipice.

All of the soundproofing in the world couldn't have kept the sound of Darcy's howl contained. She had lost her upper ranges early on, but this was low and deep and fierce, ending on a growl that had the hackles raised on the backs of their necks.

And he didn't stop there, knowing she had endured months of build up before this. He dragged more orgasms out of her than he could count, somewhere into the teens, he knew. Maybe even over twenty. He didn't even think she knew.

As she lay there, absolutely unable to move, Darcy was surprised to realize just how gentle the two of them were being with her. They were whispering quietly between themselves, so as not to disturb her, she guessed, and had removed each of the instruments she had been wearing with the utmost care.

They dressed her as best they could while she was still stretched out on the table, and there were two strong sets of hands to assist her when they needed to get her to her feet. It was never easy to apply clothes to the newly spanked, unless one's goal was to make them as uncomfortable as possible in doing so, and, admittedly, that was usually his goal. It made him consider the practicality of the uniforms the girls wore, but when he saw how her swollen bottom looked, peeping out from under the very short uniform skirt, he knew why he did it.

In honor of how brave she had been, how extraordinary, he gave her the rest of the day off and sent her home to recuperate with a prescription for a sleep med, just in case she had any trouble, as well as orders to drink lots of fluids and not to talk for at least a few days to allow her voice to come back. It would take longer than that, but a few days not using it would be a good start.

Darcy felt everyone's eyes on her as she left the building, knowing they must've somehow heard that last yowl and nearly dying of embarrassment at the idea, even now. It didn't seem to matter what was done to her—she still had a deep, abiding sense of shame. She had been in horrifically embarrassing situations in front of all of those people, and yet the idea that they might have heard her in ecstasy was enough to make her blush as surely as being naked in front of them all would—and had.

She did almost exactly as she was told, going home after she got the prescription filled, grabbing a pint of Ben and Jerry's to treat herself once she got home, and falling into bed at a depressingly early hour into a deep, dreamless sleep for twelve hours straight.

The next morning, while she was still padding around in her pajamas and slippers, which were the most comfortable things to wear when one's privates and behind were still raw, a stretch limousine pulled up and a man in a chauffer's uniform got out with a huge bouquet of multi colored roses and a nicely wrapped box. Darcy met him at the door and tried to tip him, but he said he'd been well taken care of, so he declined her offer.

The roses were gorgeous, already arranged in a vase, their colors vibrant and their scent intoxicating, but there was no card among them.

She turned her attention to the gift, and inside was an intricately carved, ornate wooden box. When she opened the lid, she saw two pieces of paper. One was a note from the doctor, saying to take a few days to recover, but not too long. The second was a check that would more than grant her freedom from Doctor Brackett forever, if she wanted it to.

Three days later, she got up early and deposited the check, then she sat in the parking lot of the bank and set up electronic payments to pay off everyone she owed. She was free. No more debt—and therefore, technically, no reason to stay at her job. She could find something more normal, something that would be nine to five and that's it, something where she would never be expected to endure what she'd endured at the doctor's hands.

Twenty minutes later, she punched in at work, to be greeted by the words she expected from the man she expected would deliver them, "You missed your punishment session, this morning."

She knew what awaited her, yet she continued into the building as a strong hand clamped itself around her delicate wrist.

It wouldn't do to let them see her smile, so she didn't.