Part One – Teased and Trained
Darcy knew she should have said something—told someone—about what was really going on behind closed doors at Dr. Jared Brackett’s office, but she knew a lot of people flat out wouldn’t believe her. He had one of the most successful practices in the state, did a lot of pro bono work and had won more than his share of awards, none of which appeared anywhere where a patient could see them, quite deliberately.
He was nothing if not humble, it appeared—which was another one of the things everyone always raved about when they were talking about him—and his high-profile cases ensured that the folks in this tiny burg rarely talked about anything else.
If they only knew…
Besides the fact that she knew she was going to be called a liar behind her back—and probably in front of her—if she exposed him—she also felt pressured to keep her mouth shut for a much less altruistic reason—the doctor paid amazingly well. It was an open secret within the medical community that doctors paid their staffs a pittance, and normally, the better the doctor, the worse the pay scale in the office—as if his or her employees should consider it a privilege to work there and practically donate their time.
But not Dr. Brackett.
Besides having huge bills from her education that she was still paying off by dribs and drabs, she had lost an argument with the I.R.S. to the tune of several tens of thousands of dollars that they seemed to have less than no sense of humor about her repaying. She was making rather large regular payments on that debt but desperately wanted to get them off her back for good, so she did her best to live frugally and send everything she could to them to get the debt paid down as quickly as possible. That was the number one reason why she had taken this job in the first place. She was making easily more than three times what she’d made at the last place she’d worked, and that was a much bigger practice. Dr. Brackett preferred to keep his patient roster quite small—even intimate, some might say.
And some knew better than others just how intimate.
Darcy bit her lip, knowing she’d just gotten herself into deep trouble by daydreaming during an “office visit”—and that was using the term very loosely—at which she was supposed to be assisting. Of course, the terms of her assistance had very little to do with the practice of medicine and much more to do with her willingness to participate in the doctor’s various sexual adventures, but then she’d already chosen that road and could hardly complain now.
Now, all she could do was worry, frankly. She didn’t know how many times the doctor had tried to get her attention before she finally heard him, but she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that if it was any more than one time, her ass was his—literally and figuratively.
Because above almost everything else, Dr. Brackett expected to be obeyed.
One look across their patient’s obscenely spread legs at Angine, the other nurse in attendance who had been with the doctor for much longer than Darcy had—for his “special” patients, the doctor always had at least two nurses in the room with him at all times—told her that she had been well and truly caught, and she knew that she would be summoned to his office at an ungodly early hour, tomorrow morning, where she would be made to pay—quite painfully and humiliatingly—for her inattention, and she knew it would be that much worse because of this patient’s unusual status.
Although he maintained enough regular patients—not to mention the occasional highly publicized ones—to pay the bills, Dr. Brackett’s real bread was buttered by women who didn’t just come to him for their annual exams. When she’d first arrived at the office, Darcy had been surprised—and perhaps a bit alarmed—to realize that there were some patients who were coming in for some sort of treatment on a nearly daily basis. She couldn’t imagine what kind of condition would warrant such close attention by the doctor. If there were serious problems, the patients were usually handed off to other specialties—obstetrics or fertility or, unfortunately, oncology, in some cases.
But for what looked like otherwise normal, healthy, happy patients to see their gynecologist three plus times a week—for years on end, it seemed, when she looked back in their records—she knew that something about what was going on wasn’t right. And, surprisingly, it hadn’t taken them very long at all to let her in on their secret.
Now she was caught. She knew with complete certainty that she should go to the state licensing board with what she knew, despite the acute embarrassment she would be causing herself, since she had participated in such treatments, as well as been subject to them. But by doing so, she knew that she would be facing the loss of her job and the income she so desperately needed, not to mention her own status as a nurse, which was the only profession she’d had any interest in since she was about ten.
So, she kept her mouth shut and stayed, figuring that it was only a matter of time before someone—someone who was obviously a much better, stronger, and more principled person than she was—came forward to complain.
Although, for the life of her, she couldn’t imagine who it might be—patient or staff. They all seemed to be getting exactly what they needed—wanted—from the doctor.
And she knew that, to be completely truthful, she had to include herself among them.
Darcy tried to keep her eyes on him as the handsome doctor rolled his stool between the woman’s legs. But it was hard to ignore the way the patient was sighing and groaning, even before the doctor touched her. Mrs. Rose was completely naked as she lay stretched out on the examination table, which was entirely unnecessary but something the doctor insisted on for even those patients who weren’t being given the doctor’s unusual brand of attention. The only parts of her that were covered by blue sterile drapes were those that didn’t need to be—her midsection and her legs. Anything that was of interest was left completely exposed.
“Now, Mrs. Rose,” the doctor began in his usual commanding tone of voice—the one that was left over from his stint in the military, they all surmised. “As I recall, I left you deliberately at peak last week and told you that you were not to touch yourself—or even let your husband touch you—until your next visit, which was carefully exactly a week apart.” From her vantage point, which was just behind the doctor to his right, she was compelled to watch as his big, gloved hand rested possessively over the woman’s vulnerable privates. “Tell me. Did you follow the doctor’s orders?”
Every bit of Catherine Rose’s creamy white skin blushed a deep pink as she answered, almost at a whisper, “Well, y-yes, sir. I did, but—”
The doctor pounced, as the two nurses in the room knew he would, on her hesitation questioning her authoritatively. “But what, Catherine?”
“M-my husband, sir. I couldn’t—it wouldn’t be right—we—he wanted to—and I couldn’t.”
Darcy couldn’t believe how shockingly red the woman’s skin was becoming as Brackett did nothing whatsoever to alleviate her embarrassment. In fact, he encouraged it. “You let him have you, didn’t you, Catherine?” he asked, every word dripping with blatant disappointment.
Poor Mrs. Rose couldn’t even answer him verbally; she was so thoroughly humiliated, she could only nod slowly, her eyes wide and filling with tears as she looked down between her legs at him.
The nurses knew he wouldn’t let her get away with even that small avoidance.
“Come now, Catherine. You know better than that. A nod of your head is useless if I am to be as thorough as I know you want and need me to be in your treatment.”
Merely his tone of voice had the woman practically writhing in orgasmic delight on the table, and he had barely touched her. He hadn’t moved his hand from where he’d originally placed it, and yet she responded to him as if he was eagerly mouthing her clit while furiously finger-fucking her, which was the most likely scenario of how this “procedure” would culminate.
“Catherine!” There was no mistaking the command in his voice, and the patient immediately stilled. “You know you aren’t allowed to experience sexual pleasure anywhere in your life but here with me, where I can monitor and control it, for your sake and the sake of your treatment.”
She was practically blubbering now, knowing that whatever he had in store for her, she wasn’t going to like enjoying it one bit.
“But, Doctor, sir, he didn’t…he doesn’t…” she tried to explain without confessing too much of her own husband’s inadequacies in the bedroom, which was closing the barn door many, many sessions too late.
Dr. Brackett sighed heavily, as if deeply pained. “You know what I have to do, don’t you? It isn’t as if I haven’t given you every chance to obey me. I was very explicit in my orders, wasn’t I? And I explained in detail why it was so important that they be followed very strictly?”
Catherine was caught—she wasn’t in a very good position to contradict him at the moment, and yet that might—might—have saved her.
The doctor gave an almost imperceptible nod, and the woman’s arms were stretched out to her side, then strapped to padded armrests that stuck straight out from the exam table and were usually used when an IV was needed. At the same time, Darcy reached down and extended the highly tweaked metal stirrups to midway down her foot, then up just past the beginning of her calves, so that they formed almost a boot that would not allow her to remove it, no matter how hard she tried. Moving to stand beside the patient’s stomach, Darcy leaned over and pulled the heavy leather waist belt out from under the table to wrap it tightly across her bare, nonexistent belly.
“The patient is secured, Doctor,” Angine murmured quietly after checking on the job that Darcy had done, as was her right as the senior nurse in attendance.
All the doctor had to do was put his hand out and Darcy was right there with what he needed next. She knew the routine and was eager not to screw up again and make things worse for herself—they were already going to be bad enough. She dropped the tube of KY into his open palm, and everyone in the room could hear it farting noisily out onto his fingers, and Darcy knew the exact question that was in Catherine’s mind at that exact second, would he use two fingers right from the get go, or ease her into it with one?
Darcy’s money was on two, but the doc was a hard man to fathom sometimes. She knew he would consider the fact that she made love with her husband to be disobeying him, and that generally meant he would employ whatever method he thought would make his patient feel the most thoroughly punished.
But sometimes, he liked to slow things down, draw them out, allowing for a longer period of true discomfort, so as to make his point a bit less forcefully, but more thoroughly and completely.
He was the only one who knew which method he would choose, and, as he bent forward, his mouth inches away from the area that Catherine would have much preferred he occupy himself at, he reached beneath her to her already spread cheeks and placed the tip of his fingers at the entrance to her bottom flower.
Catherine tried to start at the feel of the cold jelly and his firm flesh nestled threateningly against her, but she was too well bound for that. But she couldn’t suppress an entirely unladylike yelp.
As those digits swirled teasingly around her tightly clamped rosebud, his mere glance at Angine had her pressing a neatly rolled up wad of gauze past Catherine’s expensive lipstick, then placing a length of bandage across it, between her lips, and tying it off—not behind the patient’s head, where it might ruin her expensive hairdo—but to small loops that had been surgically and conveniently implanted at the head of the table at jaw level for just such a purpose. There was no need for her—or any of their other unusual patients—to know that the exam rooms—indeed, every room in the building—was highly soundproofed as insurance against anyone upsetting the other people in the building. The doctor was a master at psychological torture, and he liked to let the patients think there was still a chance that they could be rescued from him, or, if that was their bent, that they could become mortified at the idea that they had a rapt, horrified audience in the waiting room.
Darcy highly doubted that any other practicing gynecologist in the country had quite so hacked an exam table or quite so elaborately appointed building, for that matter.
“Catherine.” Just her name, spoken softly but with such a wealth of chastisement that he had Darcy’s toes curling within her shoes. “You know I can’t have you disturbing the other patients in this office while you’re getting your punishment. That wouldn’t be right or fair to them, now, would it? They’ve all done as they were told, taken their medicines, refrained from intercourse, kept their fingers—and their husband’s dicks—away from their little honey pots. They all obey me, and I reward them for doing so. I’ve rewarded you, sometimes, too, now, haven’t I? When you’ve been an especially good girl?”
The patient’s head nodded vehemently up and down as she also tried to answer him verbally, although it was almost completely suppressed by her gag, as if doing so would save her from what he was about to do to her.
“But for some reason, you,” he emphasized the word by drilling both fingers—side by side—up inside her in one thrust, all the way to the last knuckles, “think I’ll let you get away with it.” He began to pump those fingers in and out of her in a relentless, pounding rhythm. “You think I am going to let you get away with disregarding a treatment plan I’ve so carefully made for you and letting your boor of a husband and his ham hands have his way with you, even though I expressly told you not to.”
Darcy watched Catherine Rose trying to arch herself away from those invading digits, to writhe or wriggle or roll, somehow, to avoid the painful thrusts, but there was nowhere for her to go. She had been deliberately placed—like all women undergoing a gynecological exam—with her hips at the very end of the table, her butt hanging over the edge with no support or—more importantly—protection. And now she was being very carefully held there to receive whatever discipline it was that he—as her doctor, of course—had decided to mete out to her.
But there wasn’t any such thing as getting away from Dr. Brackett in any way. Once he got you into one of his “special treatments”, you were stuck. There were women who had been coming to him for years who couldn’t pull themselves away—or wouldn’t, for fear of the public humiliation and embarrassment that might result if he spilled those particularly prurient beans to anyone at all.
No one who had ever been seen by him like this would ever even consider missing an appointment without an extremely good reason. Whatever the punishment would be for disobeying him so blatantly as to make something up didn’t bear thinking of, much less enduring.
“You are unacceptably tight back here, Catherine. I can see that I’ve not paid enough attention to you here. That’s my fault, and believe me, I’ll address it in the future.” The patient’s wails—even severely curtailed as they were—fervently increased in volume and number, to no avail at all. “But right now, we’re dealing with you and this bratty misbehavior of yours.”
With his fingers still pumping with terrible power in and out of her behind, he met his captive’s eyes as Angine held her head up so that she had no choice but to do so. He placed his mouth over her clit, trailing his tongue down to her pussy and finding the moisture there, then making his way—very slowly—back up. “I need to find a better way of punishing you, I can see, since you’re wringing wet from this.” He added a third finger then, abruptly and without warning, although he tried to maintain the same momentum as he had previously, thrusting away at her, forcing her to accept this new level of invasion, forcing her to yield her body to him completely.
“Your clit is enormously swollen, too, Catherine,” the doctor growled, as if he was having a hard time denying himself what he wanted, berating her for her overt response to what he was doing to her. “But you are still under orders not to come—not on your own or with anyone else.” Dr. Brackett leaned forward and encased that pebble sized nub in his mouth, washing it slowly and thoroughly with every part of his tongue.
Then, just as abruptly, he removed his fingers and his mouth and sat back, husking off his gloves and throwing them away, turning to the small desk at the corner of the office. “Just so I’m making myself perfectly clear to you, you are not to orgasm until your next appointment, Catherine.” He gave her a firm look. “You are not to engage in anything even remotely resembling sexual behavior of any kind, with anyone, not even your husband. I don’t care what kind of excuse you have to make to him. Am I making myself completely understood?”
Catherine, who was already sitting up, having been freed of her restraints and handed her clothes, replied softly, but with no small amount of anguish as she tried to find a comfortable position that didn’t make either her bottom hole or her clit ache terribly as a reminder of her punishment, “Yes, sir.”
“Let’s see.” Brackett made notes on his tablet computer. “I’ll see you in two weeks—considering the severity of your disobedience—but, of course, I want you in here daily getting treatments from Angine or one of the other nurses. I imagine you’ll be truly repentant when I see you next.”
The young woman looked truly horrified that she was being made to wait that long for sexual fulfillment, when ten out of the fourteen days, she’d have to undergo embarrassingly intimate, deliberately sensual procedures for at least an hour without being allowed release, and knowing full well that there were no guarantees whatsoever that he would grant it to her even then, even if she had followed his orders to a “t”.
“See Steffie on the way out to make your appointment, Catherine,” he reminded, shaking her hand in a calculatedly business-like manner on his way out the door.
If she didn’t think she was going to be in a similar situation tomorrow morning, Darcy might have been more sympathetic to the woman, who looked as if she was going to burst into tears at any moment as she headed for the scheduling window.
“You are in the doghouse, but good,” Angine whispered to Darcy as she passed by her on the way to reception.
Hoping to hide from him at least until he was in with his next patient, Darcy ducked into the employee lounge, which occupied the entire backside of the building and reminded her of something the Google employees enjoyed, especially in comparison to every other break room she’d ever been in in her life. When she’d first come to work there, she’d wanted to move in. There was everything—free broadband Wi-Fi, cable TV, Xbox 360, fridge with water and ice in the door that was also stocked with everyone’s favorite drinks, a separate freezer with free ice cream treats all summer, plus the usual coffee and tea, in a space that had been decorated to resemble a living room rather than a sterile employees’ lounge.
But, of course, he had kept his eye on her since he knew they had an upcoming conversation that he had yet to schedule, so he simply followed right behind her.
“I want to see you in my office at five, tomorrow morning.”
Darcy was an early bird, but that was going to be tough, even for her—especially considering that she was then going to have to spend the rest of that day—if any of their previous “conversations” were anything to go by—being worked like a dog by him while her ass throbbed as if it was going to fall off at any given moment. And, of course, that’s exactly why he handed out punishments before work, rather than after. If he did it after, the miscreant would just go home to soothe herself by rubbing with analgesic lotions. This way, he would deliver “reminder” smacks liberally throughout the day, and he didn’t give a damn who saw him do so, either. He’d just wink at whoever it was and say something about needing to keep his girls in line.
And he was so damned good looking that no one ever took offense, even though what he delivered could not in any way be considered a love pat, and some of the girls—usually the new ones who hadn’t learned better not to—even yelped in pain when his palm connected with their behinds.
Of course, the uniforms he made them wear weren’t any help in that area, either. They weren’t much of a help in any area. They weren’t the usual white polyester. They were spandex, but in a soft, just shy of tasteful salmon pink, and they hugged every single curve you owned, and some you didn’t know about. The doctor preferred women who weren’t skeletal, and thus, the way some of them—Darcy, in particular, because she was severely gifted both coming and going—filled those uniforms out was awfully close to pornographic in and of itself.
Darcy had often wondered why women still came to his office, but then she recalled the “special treatments” so many of them got and knew she had her answer.
“Five tomorrow morning, yes, sir,” Darcy knew she was required to say. He felt that if you repeated it back to him, you were more likely to remember it. She wasn’t at all sure it helped—the only thing that was going to help her to not be late to that appointment was getting home and going to bed early.
One out of two wasn’t such great odds. She got home at the normal time but found that the anticipation of what she had coming to her in the morning kept her awake most of the night. Of course, that’s why he hadn’t chastised her sooner. He liked to make his girls spend the night before wondering and worrying about what they had coming to them, then spend the work day wishing they could rub their sore rear ends. It turned a two-hour punishment into a twenty-four or more hour one.
The next morning, Darcy awoke at four A.M., got dressed in a uniform she made damned sure was spotless, did her make up very carefully and scrutinized herself in a full-length mirror very carefully before she took a deep breath that was full of dread and drove in to work to meet her fate.
He was already there, of course. None of his nurses had ever beaten him to the clinic for a punishment. He seemed to practically live there. None of them had ever been to his home, either. Office parties—and they were legendarily elaborate and lavish, especially for Christmas—always took place elsewhere, usually at one of the better restaurants about town.
Darcy checked herself again, compulsively, before she knocked on his door. He was a stickler about all of his female staff looking their best. She remembered hearing a tale about one of the nurses he’d hired coming to work in the morning with a stain on her uniform—and the light-colored material showed everything. She had been made to stand naked in a corner of the break room, bent over one of the straight-backed chairs that were always depressingly at hand around the office, her viciously tanned behind—and the rest of her intimate charms as her legs were lashed to the outsides of the legs of the chair—on display to all of her coworkers.
Rumor had it that there had been a paddle on a table next to her and a sign encouraging her fellow employees to help her to learn to mend her ways and take pride in her appearance, but that part of the story was—so far—unconfirmed.
Darcy shuddered at the thought just before she heard him say, “Come in, Darcy.” She drew a deep breath and entered the room, knowing that the next hour or so was going to be filled with pain and humiliation that—to her immense horror—only made her lady parts contract and swell in perverse pleasure.
He was behind his big desk, recording notes for patient files to be transcribed later, but he focused his attention on her immediately, his eyes half closed as if he was casually giving her the once over, but she knew better. There was nothing lazy or casual about him, especially not during an employee training session.
She knew what to do, although the exact routine had taken her a painfully long time to remember. She stood in front of the desk at attention—stomach in, breasts out, straining against the push up bra that was a requirement for everyone on staff. He had designed the uniforms himself, and they had a deep V in front that, in cooperation with the bra, revealed an entirely indecent amount of cleavage, regardless of the woman’s cup size.
And Darcy’s overly generous bosom threatened to break free of its restraints every minute of every day, and she knew that he liked that she was constantly worried about just such an occurrence.
She thanked her obsessive-compulsive tendencies that had made her be just that much more careful with her appearance this morning as he rose and came to stand by her, circling all the way around her, giving her the once over with a very critical eye, looking, she knew, for any reason to add strokes to what was already a pretty hefty count against her. And not that he had to go looking. There were absolutely no restraints on him—he didn’t need to trump up a reason to punish her. He could do so for as long as he wanted, whenever he wanted to, as long as she was in his employ.
It had been a part of the employment contract that she’d had to sign, along with a clause about needing permission from him to reach sexual gratification in any way, which she rarely did on her own or with anyone else, anyway, so that was no skin off her nose, and a confidentiality agreement that was the size of war and peace. The doctor didn’t want anyone telling tales out of school.
But he liked to find at least somewhat valid reasons for his harshness, and they were usually depressingly easy to trump up. Despite the fact—or maybe because of it, in many cases—that his girls knew they were going to catch very painful hell if they broke one of his rules, they did so with satisfying frequency—especially lateness.
Except Darcy. She had struck him as a very staunch rule follower in her interview, and that type of person was few and far between, especially lately, and he had wanted her for himself so immediately that his cock had swelled to enormous proportions at that completely inappropriate moment, so much so that he hadn’t stood to shake her hand as she left because he didn’t want to reveal to her just how turned on he was.
But he knew that, with her, he had struck the jackpot, that she would take to his particular style of staff training like a duck to water, even more so than the rest of the staff, because this one would have a guilty conscience he could exploit for even the smallest of misbehaviors.
Like daydreaming in the middle of a patient’s exam.
But he was disappointed to find that her uniform was spotless, as was her makeup—heavy enough to cover any blemishes, but light enough to still look quite natural. Her hair was up in a neat bun. It wasn’t the hairstyle he preferred, but he bowed to practicality in that. It was just easier to have them to keep their hair back, especially when they were dealing with women in pain—or the ultimate pleasure—who might grab at anything they could to try to get him to stop—or continue—doing what he was doing to them.
He reached down and lifted the hem of her uniform—although it was already almost criminally short—to see that she was also wearing the prescribed frilly white garter with lace topped hose, as well as a white lace thong, and he could tell that she’d shined the tops of her nurse’s shoes, only, of course, they weren’t the usual. He’d found a very small shop on the internet that would make exactly what he wanted, which was an almost business like pump in white patent leather, with inch-and-a-half hidden platforms and five inch stilettos. They didn’t quite reflect up the way he’d wanted them to, but they were just demure enough to get by the patients and slutty enough that, when he saw them on the long, leggy blondes he preferred to hire, he got harder every single time.
“Take off your shoes and hand them to me.”
She almost turned and looked at him, almost asked, “What?” because the order startled her so much, but she steeled herself against it and, instead, did exactly as he asked, lifting each foot up behind her to slip them off.
He inspected each carefully, and she thought she was fine until he turned them over and began to shake his head and tsk, giving Darcy a gnawing feeling in the pit of her stomach that only increased as he spoke. “This will not do, Darcy. Not at all.” Instead of giving them back to her, he showed her what her downfall had been. “You obviously buffed the tops; I can see that. But you left the bottoms entirely untouched.”
She could see how dirty they were and that there was gum stuck to the bottom of one of them—but she would never have thought to clean the bottom of her shoes.
He always came up with something that would ratchet up the level of punishment for her. Always. She didn’t know if he did it with the other girls, but he always did it with her. None of her punishments were ever as they had been described by him in the beginning—short, sharp reminders to follow the rules. They always ended up being exactly what this was going to be—long and drawn out, thoroughly and deliberately embarrassing and humiliating.
She knew that without a shadow of a doubt when she heard a particularly throaty car turn into the parking lot.
Jared watched her eyes as she realized they weren’t going to be alone while she was being chastised.
This was the first time he was going to have someone else there with her while he punished her, and he was very interested in how she would react to it. She was a strange little thing who kept largely to herself, but he found himself infinitely intrigued by her responses to him, especially considering their strength and the fact that nothing he’d done yet had seemed to deter them.
He thought she might be a true submissive, although completely untrained, and he intended to cultivate her as such for himself, slowly but surely. He didn’t care how long it took, but eventually, he knew that she would be entirely his and the idea of instructing her to that level—where she would obey him immediately and without question, no matter what he required of her—kept him giving her more attention than any other member of his staff.
But the addition of Angine was two-fold, because not only would he get to see how she dealt with being handled intimately by a woman, but it would also serve to placate Angine, who, prior to Darcy being hired, had been his hands-down favorite.
Darcy knew she was supposed to remain stock still—at attention, with her head forward—until she was told to do otherwise, and she did, although her eyes were wide. She began to breathe much more heavily, and her now bare feet itched to run out the door and never come back. But the bills she had received in the mail last night danced through her mind, and she knew she was going to stay right where she was. She didn’t want anyone else to witness her complete mortification—how he managed to reduce her, in a humiliatingly short amount of time, to the level of a trapped beast trying to free itself from its tormentor—least of all Angine, who she already knew didn’t like her and would definitely enjoy seeing her that way, if only to lord it over her later and probably crow to the rest of the staff about what a baby she was.
There was the politest of knocks on the door, and the doctor answered it, greeting Angine warmly and thanking her for taking the time to assist him with Darcy’s continuing education, as if this was some sort of class that was sanctioned by the licensing board.
Her answer was depressingly eager and delivered in a smarmy tone that had Darcy cringing inwardly. “It’s my pleasure, sir. I’m always ready to help a fellow employee excel in your service.”
The doctor smiled down at Angine in a way he had never done with her. “Darcy is still relatively new, as you know, and as such, I feel I have to be a bit stricter with her than I might be with one of you who has been here for a while, so that she knows I mean business and that I intend she will be as dedicated and obedient as you are.” He turned his attention to the young woman who was still standing in front of his desk. “Please remove Darcy’s uniform. Leave her garter and stockings, but nothing else.”
She had been exposed in front of the doctor before, which was bad enough, but never one of the other nurses. But before she knew it, Angine was in front of her, reaching for the white zipper pull that hung enticingly between her breasts and drawing it all the way down until it unhooked from itself. The material was stretched so tightly around her that it burst open. All she had to do was slip it off the other girl’s shoulders and Darcy was left there as Angine hung the uniform in the doctor’s closet so as not to rumple it.
Then she returned to nestle a cold finger between Darcy’s breasts, behind the front bra closure, bringing it forward so as to unlatch it, as the young woman’s generous endowments exploded out of their confinement. Darcy bit her lip and closed her eyes against the flood of pure mortification, but she opened them again on a yelp as the other woman’s fingers and thumbs reached out to viciously pinch her distended nipples.
“You do not close your eyes during a punishment, Darcy, no matter what’s being done to you or by whom,” she corrected harshly.
Her grip on those very sensitive points didn’t lessen in the least. “That’s not at all what I want to hear. Try again.”
Panicked that there were now two very demanding, dominant personalities she was going to have to please if she didn’t want to end up spending the entire day like this, being disciplined to their hearts’ content, Darcy did her best to say what she thought was wanted. And when she remembered that she knew that neither Angine nor the doctor cared whether or not she was sorry, because they were going to use this time to make her sorry, she said quietly, “Yes, ma’am.” She felt thoroughly degraded to call someone who was barely three years older than she was “ma’am”, but she felt it was right somehow, nonetheless.
“That’s somewhat better.” Angine turned to the doctor to await his command.
“You know what to do next, Angine. Put her into the correct position.”
The correct position?
Darcy thought. He’d always just taken her over his lap, except for one time he’d draped her over the back of a chair.
The other young woman went immediately to the doctor’s desk and cleared it off completely, attached some sort of pillow like gadget at one end, flipped up what looked like padded restraints from under the rim of the top points of the desk, then grabbed Darcy with a firm hand around the back of her neck, guiding her roughly over to the newly padded edge and pressing her head down so that she had no choice but to bend over it.
The width of the pillow that had been strategically positioned in front of her forced her onto her tippy toes and brought her backside into such prominence that Darcy didn’t even want to consider what an obscene picture she presented to the two of them. It was somewhat peaked in the middle, which caused her legs to fall open even further than they would have naturally, causing her to expose her intimate secrets merely by virtue of her position. A strap was applied across the back of her neck, holding her head down, and her arms were extended in front of her, as if she was flying, and anchored there with eerily comfortable cuffs that felt as if they were made of velvet pillows but with the strength of steel. She tugged experimentally on them and there was absolutely no give in them.
Then Angine squatted behind her to place some sort of cuff on the inside of each of her knees that she then used to pry her legs even further apart, such that even the barest tips of her toes no longer touched the carpet and the lower half of her body simply hung there, suspended in midair.
The last thing the other nurse did was to reach into a drawer on the credenza behind them. She put the jar she had retrieved down directly in front of Darcy’s nose, so that there was no way she couldn’t see what it was.
Darcy began to struggle more violently against her restraints, despite the fact that she already knew they were as unforgiving as the two people who were in the room with her. Then, before she’d had a chance to come to grips with it, she had to watch helplessly as her coworker dipped a long nailed finger into the jar and drew out an obscenely generous dollop of the viscous ointment before returning to her prior position behind Darcy as she continued to try to work her way out of the restraints.
When Angine would have applied the salve without further delay, the doctor reached out and grabbed her arm. “Wait. Use your other hand and see how wet she is right now. This one is a gusher. She’s always wet, not matter what I do to her.”
Within seconds, Angine’s naked finger was rudely molesting her private parts, rooting around there as if she had no idea of her anatomy, brushing her clit, pinching her swollen lips, then, finally, driving a slim finger up inside Darcy’s leaking quim.
“Jesus, she’s a faucet!”
“Isn’t she just?”
The satisfaction in his tone and the incredulity in hers only made Darcy feel more humiliated and embarrassed, especially since Angine had yet to withdraw her probing finger, and then the doctor prompted, “Why don’t you just leave it in there while you slather her with the balm? I bet she’ll get just that much wetter while she tries to convince us that she doesn’t love it.”
The instant that first, barest glob of goo touched her already shamefully engorged clit, the whole area began to throb and burn, and not in a good way. Not in a good way at all. And she had seen the size of the finger full that Angine had taken, and she knew that every last bit of it was going to be transferred onto that very delicate spot.
When she’d finished, the two of them just stood behind her and watched as she did her best to twist and turn and heave and wiggle, trying get away from those horrible sensations—certain that the most sensitive spot on her body was being burned slowly away. Darcy was certain that there would soon be nothing left of it at all. Of course, she didn’t—couldn’t—escape. There was no hope of that, not that the knowledge of that slowed her efforts down in the least.
Darcy was so involved in her own misery that she missed the fact that they were preparing for her actual punishment, and before she knew it, Angine put a paddle down right in front of her.
“Now, Nurse Hanson. What naughty thing did you do to find yourself in this position?” the doctor asked, pacing in front of her like some disapproving principal.
This was one of the parts of the entire ritual that she hated the most—having to confess her sin, whether or not she thought it was one. She was a good girl. She’d always been a good girl, always tried to follow all the rules, usually succeeding. But the doctor never let her win—he always found some reason, some fault, that landed here right here.
But she knew better than to delay her response, regardless. “I wasn’t paying attention during Mrs. Rose’s appointment.” As she knew it would, her spanking commenced the very second she finished her sentence.
And although he only started with his hand, that was quite bad enough for her. Despite the fact that she considered that there was more than ample space back there, it seemed that, even when he’d just started, every inch of her skin was set aflame, and therefore, each swat hurt just that much more. He was extremely fit—and Darcy had a sneaking suspicion that he concentrated on his upper body strength when he made his frequent trips to the gym for just this reason—and there was a tremendous amount of power behind each sizzling smack, enough that it almost succeeded in distracting her from the fire that Angine had set on her clit, but not quite.
Instead, it simply added to her misery. And she knew that this was only the very beginning, because the paddle he intended to use next was right there for her to gaze at through almost instantaneously teary eyes.
Sometimes, he lectured—usually, he lectured—but other times, he didn’t. This morning, he let Angine do it for him.
She came to hunch over right next to her ear so that she couldn’t miss a word, whispering softly enough that it seemed almost too intimate, but loud enough that the doctor, as he diligently worked over Darcy’s bare bottom, could hear her, “The doctor is very disappointed in your behavior, and so am I. You know better than that, or you should, by now. The doctor needs everyone on their A game at all times, especially when we’re with a patient. You embarrassed yourself, and much worse, you embarrassed him, and in front of a patient who has been with this practice since it began. Shame on you, Nurse Hanson. And when he’s through, you’re going to thank the doctor—with all sincerity—for taking valuable time out of his schedule to discipline you. I’m sure he intends to make enough of an impression that we won’t have to all meet here again—at least, not for this reason.”
“Very good, Angine. I couldn’t have said it better myself,” the doctor praised, and compliments from Dr. Brackett were very scarce on the ground. He much preferred to employ negative reinforcement, frequently, and with great conviction. Of course, neither the lecture nor the compliment distracted him from his intent. He continued to lather poor Darcy’s behind, leaving evidence of his conviction in the myriad reliefs of his handprint on her formerly ivory skin.
Normally, Darcy was a very dignified person. She wasn’t given to making any kind of display of herself and preferred to blend into the woodwork as much as possible. But the type of training the doctor used on his staff didn’t allow for that, pretty much from the moment a punishment was assigned, which was usually ahead of time, to allow the miscreant to stew about it for a good long time. And Darcy was the type who stewed the most, absolutely dreaded it the most, even when it was just him.
But now it was Angine, too, someone who was supposed to be pretty much her equal, although with more seniority. They both had the same level of education and degree and about the same amount of experience. How was she going to face the woman all day every day when she had watched the doctor give her a spanking like a five-year-old child? And had heard her wailing and weeping and begging him not to, to stop, to please, please, please stop as she sobbed pathetically, even though everyone in the room knew that he would only stop when he felt she had truly learned her lesson and not a millisecond before?
When the doctor thought the appropriate time had come, Angine had even handed him the paddle with such an evil grin that Darcy almost wailed out loud, even though she hadn’t yet felt it.
“I think, before I apply the paddle, Angine, that Darcy could use a refresher.”
That stumped the both of them, until Angine all of a sudden realized what he meant, and reached for the Tiger Balm again, which she had conveniently placed back on the desk by Darcy’s head, so that Darcy was again forced to watch as she—this time, using two fingers—again scooped a more than generous dollop out and immediately applied it to Darcy’s still sizzling—and, surprisingly, still very swollen—button.
Her yowl at that indignity, not to mention the very real singed stinging, at the fact that her fellow nurse wasn’t content this time to merely apply it to but, also, rubbed it around and into her clit to make the uncomfortable sensations just that much worse became legendary—animalistic and savage and completely unconscious—like the many more of them she issued, to the point of becoming hoarse, as the other woman withdrew and the doctor began to apply his own method of searing her flesh.
He saw to it that that paddle made the rounds, crisply covering every inch of her generous backside, making it cringe away from each loud smack and wobble just slightly with the impact just before the next swat landed, keeping up a terrible consistence as the unyielding wood connected with her quickly crimsoned flesh with the timing of a metronome—unrelenting, constant, and unfailing. They came so quickly and powerfully that Darcy had no time to react to any individual smack, but instead, she found herself screaming as best she could throughout, unable to throw her head back as it was strapped down, but ruining her voice further with the attempt to give voice to her misery.
And when he finally stopped, leaving her quite thoroughly stripped of any shred of dignity she had ever laid claim to, raw and swollen and sore in more ways than one, he wasn’t quite as finished as she had hoped.
She was released from the cuffs but led through a secret door to a very private exam room that only the doctor and his employees knew about. This was where staff “physicals” were conducted. The entire room—with the exception of the floor but not the ceiling—was nothing but mirrors. Darcy used to wonder what his contractor must have said at that, but then, perhaps his contractor shared the doctor’s tendencies.
She found herself put into pretty much the same position that Mrs. Rose had been in, on her back, only without the drapes and with her upper body much higher in the air, so that she could almost slide right off the end of the table. Even her stockings and garters were stripped away by an oh so efficient Angine, but her arms were immobilized and her legs were spread just slightly past the point of discomfort. And since she had been a gymnast in high school and college, that was pretty wide. She couldn’t not see herself and how shamefully exposed she was, nor could she avoid looking at her tormentors—and she knew if she closed her eyes against all of those obscene images, it would go that much worse for her.
But it was what she heard next that had her trying to howl at least as loudly as she had been while she was being paddled, but she didn’t have the voice left to do it. She heard the all too familiar tinkle of his belt buckle being loosened. He didn’t bother to undress with her—she wondered if he did with anyone else—just adjusted his clothing enough to release himself while she lay there completely naked as he leered down at her.
Only this time, Angine took point—literally, standing at her head, at the opposite end of the exam table from the doctor as Darcy watched in horror and dread as she dipped her index and middle fingers of both hands, as well as the thumbs of each, into that same balm and applied them to her straining, pebble hard nipples at the exact moment that Dr. Brackett drove himself inside her—and not her quim—with minimal use of the lubricant that they got free from the company.
She felt as if she was being split open while those ultra-sensitive buds were being blow torched off, but Angine wasn’t in the least idle as the doctor pumped furiously away into her, the weight of her body forcing her down onto him against her will, as if she welcomed his savage invasions while Angine pinched away furiously, tugging and pulling and twisting in almost perfect rhythm with the doctor’s powerful thrusts.
And he took his time about it, too. Jared Brackett didn’t much do wham bam thank you ma’am. He liked to draw things out, to luxuriate in what he was doing and force his victim to spend long moments—even hours—confronting the reality and the stark, undeniable images—of what was being done to her.
“So tell me, Nurse Crawford, you had a chance to see, if not examine, it while you were securing her to the table. Was Darcy’s clit small and shrunken because of the lotion you applied and the spanking and paddling she received?”
Darcy felt the blush begin at her toes and flood over her body, not stopping until it had seeped into her hairline—not only because he’d asked the question, but more so because she knew the truth of the mortifying answer that her fellow employee was going to give.
“No, sir. It was erect and throbbing and very swollen. I would venture to say even more so than before I applied the lotion.”
“And what conclusions about the patient can we draw from the evidence her own body has presented to us—the swollen clit and the dripping cunt?” the doctor asked, breathing heavily but having slowed himself considerably, although, as a counterpoint, he had begun to withdraw completely from her after each plunge, then snap his hips up and thus force himself abruptly into her, to the hilt, every time, as if it was his first entry with each thrust.
“That she enjoys everything about this, no matter how loudly she might protest to the contrary.”
“Exactly, Nurse. Exactly. And that is a very rare thing indeed. So, what is the best way to proceed with a situation like this?”
It took Angine just a split second to reply with relish, “I think that would mean that it would be necessary for you to be just that much stricter with her. I would think that you would need to keep an even closer eye on her, just in case she, you know, comes without permission or does something sexually inappropriate—perhaps even with a patient—because her passions have driven her to it.”
As she watched him nod his head in agreement at Angine’s suggestions about how she should be handled, Darcy wanted to scream that she would never, ever do anything in the least inappropriate and that she didn’t need to be so closely supervised, but by that time, she had lost her voice completely, and although she opened her mouth to protest vehemently, she couldn’t even get so much as a whisper to come out.
The doctor was very close, they could both tell, but he prided himself on his control, so he forced himself to continue the conversation. “Another excellent answer, Angine. And although I fully intend to tighten the screws around our little miscreant, here, I am also going to charge you with supervising her. You must come to me to discuss it and get permission first, but I will allow you to punish her as you see fit based on the deficits you find in her behavior or attitude, her dress or preparedness or any reason at all. I think this one needs the strictest of control and discipline in order to keep her on the straight and narrow. You’re not allowed to make her come at all. But I think this one needs to be kept very close to the edge at all times, so make sure she thoroughly enjoys her disciplinary sessions, just not to completion. She needs the same type of teasing treatment that I give a lot of my patients, only more so—more frequently, more harshly, and with markedly fewer chances to alleviate all that tension. That should keep her mind focused on obedience.”
He threw his head back and watched the scene he had created in his mind being played out in reality and that drove him over the edge, drove him to take her with mindless force, slamming himself into her as he watched Angine viciously wrenching those poor seared nipples. He exploded deep within her bottom, emptying himself in huge spurts until he was sure there would be nothing left of him for weeks on end and he almost felt weak from the powerful orgasm.
Or at least until he got a good look at them in the mirror again.
If he’d had any hesitancy about how he was going to proceed with Nurse Hanson, it evaporated right then and there. He would never let go of her. No woman had ever inspired such heights in him. He was already completely hard again, when, seconds ago, he would have sworn that was impossible.
Darcy, whose body was still trying to absorb the various ways in which it had been assaulted, whose bottom hole was throbbing in time with her pulse, as were her nipples and her clit and, it seemed, even those areas where she hadn’t been touched, was surprised that she hadn’t been released yet. All of her seemed to be on edge, waiting for something that she was obviously going to be denied while the remnants of her punishment were left to remind her of her deficits—and their inevitable consequences—for the rest of the day.
Instead, Angine helped the doctor straighten his clothes, helped him into his lab coat and stood by him as he paused at the door to look back at Darcy, saying, “Give her a thorough washing out before you allow her to start her shift.”
“Yes, sir.” Turning to her charge, she smacked Darcy’s bottom hard. “What did I tell you to say when the doctor was through with you?”
She was going to have to thank him for doing this to her? She couldn’t—she wouldn’t.
But she did, and quickly, knowing it would go that much worse for her if she didn’t. “Thank you, Dr. Brackett,” she barely croaked.
“You’re welcome, Nurse Hanson. You can look forward to many more of these sessions in the future, I promise you, either with me, or with Nurse Crawford.”
And then he left, and Darcy tried not to think about what he’d said or about what was yet to happen to her in the next few minutes, not to let the butterflies—that had become bats—to start in her stomach again, but it was already too late. A washing out. A washing out! Angine was going to give her an enema, with the full knowledge and blessing of Dr. Brackett! She had never wanted to faint in her life, but now she prayed fervently for a loss of consciousness that she knew wouldn’t come.
Angine wasted no time in repositioning her, and the innovative design of the table allowed for that to be done with a minimum of fuss or staff participation. In fact, it was pretty much automated once her legs were released. The splint like extensions that her arms were strapped to begin to move, and she had no choice but to move with them.
As she was slowly, forcibly rolled over onto her tummy, the level of the table began to change, so that her head was well below her rear end and the bladder at the end of the table began to fill, pushing her behind out as if it was embracing the idea of being filled with soapy water, when that was the farthest thing possible from the truth. Her legs were left to hang over the end of the bed until Angine secured them much as she had Mrs. Rose, using the braces on her knees to pull her legs wide apart again, then securing her feet into stirrup boots that would immobilize her just that much further.
Darcy had never had an enema before, and she couldn’t think that Angine would be the most compassionate administrator of one. And she was absolutely right.
Of course, even though she was facing away from that end of the room, she was forced to watch the woman behind her, preparing everything. There was a sink behind one of the mirrored wall panels, and behind another was a huge selection of enema equipment, some of which seemed to be antiques and quite a few things that Darcy didn’t recognize—or rather, preferred not to recognize. She saw the other nurse select a transparent bucket and add an unknown amount—that looked huge to Darcy—of Castile soap to the warm water after having clicked the clamp closed on the hose that was already conveniently attached to the bottom of the bucket.
Then she stood in front of what were obviously enema nozzles, although some of them were absolutely enormous and looked much more like dildos. Darcy began to sweat when Angine reached for one or two of the larger ones, and she realized that there was absolutely nothing she could do to prevent her from using them on her, anyway.
But then she moved on, to the inflatable choices, finally selecting a double Bardex, which had a balloon that was inserted inside the patient and inflated, as well as a balloon that was externally inflated, in order to prevent leaking.
None of the choices was acceptable to Darcy, and this one was worse than most. It likely signaled that the size of the enema was going to make it hard for her to retain on her own, and when she saw the extent to which the bucket had been filled, she knew the truth of it. Paying her absolutely no mind, Angine hung the bucket on the pole that she had popped up from the top left corner of the table and shoved extremely high into the air, so high she had to go on her tiptoes to hang it.
Now they both knew as nurses that the enema should be hung only about two feet above the patient’s hip so as to make it easier for them to take. But apparently, that was not one of Angine’s concerns regarding her enema.
She heard—and saw—Angie snap on latex gloves, then attach the nozzle to the hose, running a bit of the solution through it to make sure it wasn’t leaking anywhere. And then she saw her preparing the end of the nozzle that was going to go inside her. She should have been slickening it with KY.
But it was Tiger Balm, instead, being lavishly slathered onto both the interior and the exterior balloons. She was going to be burned alive from the inside and out!
She would have sworn she didn’t have the energy left to protest, but her body apparently hadn’t gotten the memo. She was held down so tightly and completely, though, that even her frantic, frenetic attempts at movements didn’t have much effect, certainly not enough to deter Angine.
She had seated herself on the rolling stool that the doctor often used and placed herself between Darcy’s well spread legs. As she placed the tip of the nozzle against Darcy’s cringing, puckered hole and began to press firmly, Angine commented snidely, “Well, considering that the doctor was here before me, there’s certainly no need to warm you up at all.” Then she laughed out loud at the little joke she had made at Darcy’s expense and proceeded to push the nozzle into position in one stroke while Darcy wept and tried to wail with pain and rage and indignation, but nothing came out. Her mouth was wide open in a silent scream almost the entire time.
As there hadn’t been when it had been her clit that was on the receiving end of Angine’s Tiger Balm fetish, there was no escaping the searing effects on those delicate tissues, and seconds later, when she heard that telltale “click” that signaled that her nurse had begun the flow of enema fluids into her bowels, she learned that the almost hot temperature of the liquid only ratcheted up the level of her discomfort.
Within another few seconds, with Angine’s faithful reporting of each more permissive click, she was forced to take the full flow from where the bucket hung, much higher than it should have, and the irritants of the balm as well as the soap and the water had her panting and sobbing and trying to come to grips with what was being done to her and failing very badly as it went on and on—because, occasionally, and not when she needed it the most, Angine would completely stop the flow and reach up, past her still humiliatingly swollen clit to her rapidly expanding lower belly, which she massaged with surprising gentleness, all while the inside of her forearm pressed warmly against Darcy’s privates, not quite stroking them, really, but touching them enough that she was desperate for her to either continue the stimulation to its natural—if shamefully humiliating—end or, preferably, withdraw altogether.
But she did neither, of course.
Darcy knew that it wasn’t the out of the kindness of her heart that Angine was doing that, either. She was manipulating her lower belly so that the liquid she was very quickly flooding into it moved further up inside her, making room for just that much more of what was waiting for her.
And then it was immediately back to that full, powerful flow that had Darcy in mindless misery as all of that soapy substance burned and sluiced its way through her tummy.
“I know this is turning you on, Darcy,” Angie said softly as she stood at Darcy’s head, stroking her hair gently in direct contrast to the riot she’d set in motion at her other end, “and that you’re horrified and humiliated that it does. And I’m going to take to do my best to make sure that this—or something like it—happens to you very frequently so that, like the doctor said, you’re pretty much constantly teased to within a fraction of an inch of coming. And heaven forbid if you should lose control and come before you’re given permission. That would make everything that has been done to you up to that point feel like a joy ride.”
With that, she headed back to her previous position, only this time, she didn’t sit between her legs; she stood, with her KY slickened fingers fluttering very lightly over Darcy’s engorged button, tempting, almost stroking but not quite as she used her other hand to pinch and squeeze Darcy’s still inflamed rear end, finally beginning to slap it hard.
“You’re going to take every drop of this enema, Darcy, and then you’re going to get at least two more, until you’re running clear, before you thank me for my efforts and I let you start your work day. And what an interesting day it’s going to be, too.”
And she wasn’t kidding about any of it, especially the interesting day.
Darcy had had a horrible time of it. Her behind was abominably sore and the spandex only seemed to contribute to it, and it was worse when she sat down, which she did for a reasonable part of the day. Her nipples—and other even more intimate parts of herself—continued to burn long after Angine had finally dismissed her from the secret exam room—after, of course, having extracted the requisite submissive, humiliating “thank you” from Darcy for having been so cruelly abused. But what was worst of all was that, although all of those things were horrible in and of themselves, combined, they nearly drove her crazy with the need to alleviate the ache that they created. She actually had to physically restrain herself from keeping a hand in her crotch constantly, like a little girl who needed to go to the bathroom.
She wanted—needed—relief from all of the pent up sexual tension from this morning and from weeks of it that had built up from the doctor’s attentions, but she knew she wasn’t allowed to do much more than wipe herself and was definitely not allowed to bring herself off.
And all of this distracted her from her work at the worst possible time—when Angine’d been given jurisdiction over her behavior and was watching her like a hawk. She’d already earned several more punishments to come tomorrow, when Angine added insult to injury and said on their way out, “I’ll see you in my office at six A.M. tomorrow—for the mistake you made on Mrs. Erickson’s record, the fact that you forgot to have the speculum the doctor needed on the tray during Ms. Hamilton’s exam, and because you were late to work this morning.”
Darcy stopped mid-step and looked back at Angie in disbelief, entirely unable to stop herself from saying incredulously, “But you made me late for work with y-your…” She didn’t want to elaborate, in case someone else heard her, so she reverted to, “You made me late!”
Angine stood directly in front of her and warned, apparently without care as to who might overhear her, “I would watch my tone, if I were you, missy, since you’re already in so much trouble. And if you hadn’t already been in trouble with the doctor for your inattention to your duties in the first place, then I wouldn’t have been able to make you late, now, would I? Six A.M. Don’t be late. It’s going to be bad enough for you without adding to it.”
Darcy cried all the way home, sitting on her still sizzling rump and still feeling the lingering after effects of all of the balm that had been used on her in such delicate places, to say nothing of what the doctor had done to her. But despite all of the discomfort she had been subjected to, it was the humiliation and degradation that affected her the most. She could barely meet Angine’s eyes all day, because, every time she did, she saw her driving that spiced nozzle into her helpless backside, or torturing her nipples, or boldly fondling the very parts she’d just set fire to, as if she was trying to drive Darcy past her ability to control herself so that she would be in just that much more trouble with herself and the doctor.
When she got home, she took a hot shower, then changed it to cold in order to help her privates recover. Darcy was embarrassed to realize that even doing something as simple as that, that was almost clinical, had her clit tight and throbbing, as if beckoning her to eliminate the wait she was being subjected to and just bring herself off.
But considering what she was being subjected to for such small things, the idea of disobeying such a basic rule of working there kept her hands at her sides, although her fists were clenched from the effort.
And it didn’t help that Darcy spent the entire night being kept awake by the desires that everyone seemed to enjoy stirring up in her but never fulfilling. Visions of what had been done to her danced through her feverish mind before and after she was finally able to fall asleep, more in the early morning than the middle of the night, which she knew made it just that much more possible that she might be late for her appointment with Angine, which was really only a few hours away.
After that day, things settled in a horrible routine for Darcy with alarming ease. She was at the clinic nearly every morning, hours before she needed to be, to be disciplined for one crime or another, from something as major as leaving a patient alone in the exam room for nearly a half hour because she’d forgotten to give anyone her chart to being what Angine called “snippy” with her, which meant anything that even remotely smacked of anything but complete submission and subservience.
It rapidly became more unusual for her not to have a sore, throbbing bottom than to have to deal with one all day, every day. Angine had also taken to disciplining her in empty exam rooms whenever she felt the need. Her supervisor apparently didn’t feel the need to keep that fact from anyone, so that juicy bit of gossip spread like the wildfire Angine lit on her ass every time she turned around. Darcy quickly found that, instead of being sympathetic, the other women were much more likely than not to turn her in to either Angine or the doctor, just to get her into even more trouble than she was already quite capable of doing for herself. There was always a crowd now when Angine finally let her out of whatever room in which she was being punished, a crowd that eagerly took in her tear stained face, swollen eyes, and hitching breath, and her tormentors did nothing to discourage it.
She began to pray that they were fully booked for the day and that no one cancelled, because, if they did, she would spend the forty-five minutes that had been calculated for their appointment bent over an exam table or lying on one—she wasn’t sure which was worse.
The doctor insisted on a weekly update as to how his protégé thought her charge was doing, so not only was she in early, but she was required to stay late every Thursday evening so that the subject of their discussion was present as they critiqued her.
Angine presented the doctor with a list of Darcy’s misdeeds, which was always depressingly long and thorough, as well as the subsequent punishments therein.
As he pondered the list, while Darcy stood naked at attention in the middle of the room, of course, he asked, “How long has it been since she orgasmed, Nurse Crawford?”
Angine, for once, was at a loss for words. That just wasn’t the kind of question she would have even thought of asking. She hadn’t the slightest idea, so she passed it down the line to Darcy. “Hanson?” She had taken to calling Darcy only by her last name for some reason, and Darcy didn’t like it at all, especially since she was now only allowed to call Angine either Nurse Crawford or ma’am, but there was nothing she could do to change it. “When was the last time the doctor generously allowed you to orgasm?”
Darcy knew to the day—practically to the hour and minute, too, because he was so damned stingy with them that she had relived every minute of the precious few times in her mind constantly. “Five weeks and three days, ma’am,” she whispered, then realized her mistake. But before she could correct it, Angine produced the tawse she had begun carrying on a leash around her wrist for just such an occasion and began to lay into her with that strap until Darcy said very loudly, “Five weeks and three days, ma’am.”
Twenty remedial strokes later, the doctor asked, “And you’ve been disciplining her regularly like this for how long now?”
“Three weeks, sir. There hasn’t been a lot of improvement that I’ve noticed, though, Doctor.”
Darcy wanted to hang her head at that pronouncement, since she’d been very motivated to try to get the harsh disciplinary sessions reduced in length or frequency, although she hadn’t been able to do that in the least since it began. If anything, they were increasing.
Tears coursed down her cheeks as Angine continued. “It seems that we take one step forward and two steps back with this girl.”
The doctor almost smiled. “Well, keep at it.” He reached out to touch Darcy’s bare behind. “Although she doesn’t look very red right now, to me. When did you say that you’d last punished her?”
“This morning, sir,” Angine answered. “We had a full schedule today, so I didn’t get a chance to do a correction mid-day, which I usually like to do.” Darcy could tell by the tone of her voice that she was going to catch hell for the fact that her skin recovered much too quickly—visually, anyway—for the doctor’s tastes.
“Perhaps daily spankings here with me, in the evenings after work, in addition to whatever you deem necessary to rectify her errors during the day, of course, might help.”
Angine nodded her agreement.
“And anal training is another thing that just might get her to buckle down. Feeling a stiff, wide butt plug in her bottom all day long should be another good reminder for her. As I recall, she was much too tight the last time I took her there, anyway.”
“I think we’ll schedule a time to give her an orgasm, too, dependent on her behavior, of course, and after another six weeks of training or so. Every once in a long while, it’ll be good for her to let off some steam and feel what her continued bad behavior is causing her to miss. In a very controlled environment, of course. Never on her own or with anyone other than me, of course.”
Abruptly, he put down the clipboard that Angine had given him with the lists of her many faults and the subsequent corrections. “Prepare her, Nurse Crawford. I feel the need to fuck her.”
His desk was cleared quickly and efficiently, and Darcy was strapped down tight, with her arms above her head. Her ankles were held wide apart and her heels were fitted into stirrups that kept them there. To her great shame, before he took her, he reached down to press a finger inside of her, where his big cock was soon to follow, and as her body creamed all over him, he grinned, saying, “This one is a rare one, Angine. Feel how wet she is just from us talking about her like this, and no doubt from your efforts, this morning, with her, too.”
Unable to do anything to prevent it, Darcy had to endure the ignominy of having Angine explore her intimately. She tended to do so when she was being corrected and they were alone, but she had forgotten that it was a whole new level of mortification when she did so in front of the doctor.
As he arranged his clothing, he ordered the other woman, “Reach into my top left drawer and take out two of the clothes pins that are in there.”
Darcy wanted to wail—clothespins? That couldn’t mean anything good for her.
“Got them, sir.”
“Put them on her nipples.”
Darcy rapidly realized that they weren’t the ordinary kind, but then, the doctor wasn’t the type to have an ordinary anything. As Angine settled the first one onto her already painfully peaked right nipple, she felt it bite into her in a way she hadn’t expected—it wasn’t wood or even plastic she was feeling biting into that tender flesh.
It felt like Velcro! He’d glued or somehow affixed the male—rougher—side of Velcro onto the insides of the clothespins, so that when Angine placed them and they began to exert the continued, constant pressure, it drove all of those hard, prickly nubs into those proud peaks, making them sting and almost itch, to say nothing of ache unbearably.
Darcy couldn’t help it—she shrieked at this horrible indignity, her mouth opened wide, uncontrollably letting loose with long, loud bellows of pain until she found a large roll of bandage material fitted into her mouth, then held there by a strap that also kept her head pinned to the desk.
And even though she continued to shriek at the top of her lungs, very little sound emerged from behind the gag, as she knew it wouldn’t from previous experience having used exactly the same method on some of the doctor’s more vocal patients.
“Much better.” Without another word, he rammed himself up inside her, and Darcy knew it was a good thing that she self-lubricated, since he hadn’t bothered to use anything to make his entry any easier. He was a good-sized man in all aspects, and he filled her to just past the point of discomfort. She could feel his balls swinging against her behind as he began to fuck her with hard, powerful strokes.
Angine was standing quietly to one side, awaiting further orders as she watched him taking Hanson. “If you feel like it, Nurse, you can reach down to pull the tips of those clothes pins apart. Don’t compress them from the outside, because then they’ll come off. Put your fingers in between them and try to spread them. That’ll exert just that much more pressure on her poor nips.”
Angine obeyed his orders, obviously reveling in the extra agony she was causing, but she also went above and beyond, twisting and pulling at the pins, too, slapping them, bending them all the way down then all the way up, and generally making them hurt as much as she possibly could while Brackett pumped away, laboring for a surprisingly short amount of time before he spilled himself within her.
As he lay atop her, his breath still heaving out of his lungs, he commented in an offhand manner, “That’s another thing that you might want to consider—look on the internet for some sort of nipple clamp that she could wear during the day that won’t show through her uniform.”
Considering how skin tight the material was, that was a tall order, Darcy thought, but she underestimated Angine’s dedication to doing the absolute best job she could at this for the doctor, since she enjoyed it so thoroughly.
But, of course, it was less than a week before she was told to report to Angine’s office, where she was told to strip immediately as her superior slowly closed the door.
She wanted to hesitate—it was the middle of a business day, and the door wasn’t even locked! But she did as she was told, undressing and folding her clothes meticulously until she was completely naked. Even then, she earned herself a harsh smack on the bottom.
“I want you standing at attention when you’re naked in my office, Hanson! Stomach in, shoulders back, chest out!”
Darcy did her best to comply, her heavy breasts jutting obscenely out from her small frame as her elbows nearly met in the middle of her back—until she was given some help with that in the form of a tight band around them that did make them meet back there. Her ankles were bound similarly, and then she had to watch as Angine approached her breasts with some sort of device that looked like a tiny breast pump, which she applied to her nearest nipple, engorging it even further than the perpetually aroused state it lived in since she’d joined this practice. Then she slipped something down and off the end of the sucker that settled around the very base of her nipple. And squeezed. And continued to squeeze until her nipple had swollen to twice its usual size.
Then she did the same thing to her other nipple, and as she watched them puffing up, she stood in front of Darcy, squeezing and tugging them while she crammed her other hand between Darcy’s legs to check her moisture level—which she had taken to doing seven or eight times a day in order to report it to the doctor. “My, my, you are quite the pain slut, aren’t you, Hanson?”
She wanted to deny it. She did. She didn’t think of herself at all that way. But she knew she couldn’t contradict without incurring even more severe consequences than she already had to deal with. “Yes, ma’am.”
Two fingers straddled her clit, rubbing rhythmically along the sides of the swollen nub.
“I’m a pain slut, ma’am.”
“Say ‘I like it when you make me hurt’, Hanson.”
“I like it when you make me hurt, ma’am.”
“I know you do, Hanson. Hell, this entire office knows what you like and that you get punished all the time, either by me or the doctor himself. And that you’re not allowed your pleasure. That you’re being teased deliberately, as a part of your training and treatment.” She leaned towards Darcy to whisper in her ear, “I know the doctor told you that he was going to allow you a release in a month or two. But I’m going to do everything in my power to get him to delay that. I want you teased and tortured for at least six months—maybe even a year—before you’re allowed to come. If then.” She leaned back and met Darcy’s eyes. “But with your bad behavior, it’s not likely to happen, even then. Just think about it—days and weeks and months being spanked and paddled, given big, hard to hold enemas, having your nipples clamped and squeezed like this, so that they stand out even more than they usually do. They’ll spend the day like this, rubbing against your uniform.”
She watched Darcy’s face before she continued. “And I haven’t even started your anal training yet.”
Darcy sucked in a horrified breath at that thought.
She heard Angine chuckle cruelly. “You were hoping I had forgotten about that, weren’t you?”
She didn’t respond quickly enough, so each nipple was given a tremendous slap because of it.
“Answer me, Hanson, and it had better be the truth.”
“Yes, ma’am, what?”
“Yes, ma’am, I was hoping you had forgotten about it.”
Darcy swallowed hard and said it the way she knew she was expected to. “Yes, ma’am, I was hoping you had forgotten about m-my anal t-training.”
“Too bad for you, Hanson. That starts tomorrow. For today, you will wear these elastics around those pretty nipples of yours. Report to me at the end of the day and I’ll see whether or not I want to remove them—or perhaps the doctor will have some suggestions at your evening spanking.”
When the day finally ended, having dragged on and on as her nipples became bigger and bigger and more and terribly itchy, but of course, she wasn’t allowed to do anything about either condition, the doctor rhapsodized about the size—and increased sensitivity—of her nipples, deliberately playing with them and gauging her reactions. “I bet I could make her orgasm just from this,” he chuckled.
“I wouldn’t, sir,” Angine said casually, careful not to couch it as an order.
“Why not, Nurse?” He continued to stimulate Darcy’s tender tips, even stopping to draw them into his mouth and suckle, flicking each fervently with his tongue, which at the same time soothed and inflamed her senses.
Angine cleared her throat. “I’m of the opinion that, because Hanson is so…receptive to all of the attention she’s being given, even though most people would think it was negative attention, that it would be in her best interests, and ours in training her, to severely limit her culminations. Certainly, not her punishments or the frequent medical procedures she’s already receiving, but she should be made to feel the full extent of her submission. She likes being punished. She likes enemas and nipple torture and pretty much anything we can dream up. And allowing her to orgasm seems like a huge reward, especially when we’re correcting her multiple times a day.”
The doctor looked thoughtful as he lightly slapped her nipples, delighting at the gasping breaths he heard her take each time his palm connected with her flesh.
Darcy wanted to scream at Angine to shut up, but the doctor’s ministrations were actually helping her keep from doing that. The pain distracted her, made her less able to dwell on what they were talking about as her body was flooded with sensations, some of which were pain, some were pleasure, but they all seemed to end up at her clit, regardless.
“I’ll take your opinions under advisement, Nurse Crawford. In the meantime, we have a punishment to see to, don’t we?”
And it was a Friday punishment, which was worse than any of the other regular ones she received. Because the doctor felt that it would have to last her all weekend, it was longer and harder than most and always left her hoarse for the next few days, which he considered a badge of considerable achievement, a goal he began to strive for.
When she got home that evening, she stripped naked and went into her bathroom, where there was a full-length mirror that reflected in the mirror on the medicine cabinet, and she could see the evidence of what had been done to her behind just a few minutes ago.
Tonight, he had used the cane. He knew she hated it the most, but he didn’t use it often, always wanting to see the horror and dread in her eyes when he chose it. He was smart enough to know that if he chose it too often, that would diminish. There were swollen, raised tracks across her behind from stem to stern, but he was an expert with that implement and none of them ever wrapped around her hip.
They landed exactly where he wanted them to, which is why a large percentage of them were at the bottom of her bottom, so that she wouldn’t be able to forget about what he had done to her while she was on her own for a few days. And she couldn’t. Every time she sat down, even on her comfy bed or in her favorite overstuffed chair, she was reminded of him, and to a lesser amount, of Angine.
Angine had held her for the strokes, this time, stretched out naked over the table in the conference room, her wrists held tightly out in front of her by the woman’s constricting grip around them, and she knew she would rather die than let go. The doctor swished the cane in the air several times behind her, catching her eyes in the mirror and smiling slightly, knowing full well that he was heightening Darcy’s fear of what was coming for her.
And once he started, he didn’t stop. He didn’t lecture, he didn’t rub, he didn’t contemplate, he didn’t coddle. He simply sliced down onto her bottom with swift, sure strokes issued every three seconds, just enough time between each crack to let the previous just begin to sink in and start to sting horrendously before the next landed either right next to it or across it—or it and others before it. He easily had her screaming from the first whippy stroke to the last, and that was exactly the way he wanted it—not that he or Angine heard her cries. She had been gagged from the moment she’d been put into position for the thrashing, with a roll of bandages that was twice as large as usual and secured by another that was laid over it and tied at the back of her head, forcing her to keep her mouth open wide the entire time.
And still, to her deep embarrassment, despite the atrocious condition of her behind, when he finally lay the rod of correction down, he reached up between her legs and unerringly found her little honey pot, which—as always—seeped her liquid “thank you” very generously down over his fingers.
When he stood back up, rubbing his dampened thumb and fingers together and looking at all of that glorious tribute, his brow wrinkled, and Darcy knew that couldn’t be good. “Is it a three-day weekend, Angine?”
“Yes, sir, it is.” The office was closed on all major holidays.
“Then,” he continued, “she definitely needs something extra in order to remind her to stay in line for that extra day, wouldn’t you say?”
Darcy was already straining at the hands that were holding her, but she found them quickly shifted into the well anchored and ever present cuffs. Angine was smart enough to know that, if the doctor was going to lay down another layer of correction over the atrocious one he’d already delivered, she might not be able to hold the miscreant down.
“Whatever you say, Doctor. You know best how to handle her, and I would always come down on the side of being as strict with her as possible.”
As Angine went around and assessed or tightened the restraints Darcy was already in, the doctor squatted behind Darcy and examined her thoroughly striped rump. “There’s no broken skin, no blood. I believe she’s good for another round, although not with the cane.”
Darcy wasn’t sure whether she was happy to hear that or not, afraid of what else he was going to come up with. And what he used was nearly as bad, in a different way. It was a clear Lexan paddle that had eight holes drilled in it—she knew the exact count because she was sure that she could feel each one of them raising a blister on her poor behind every time it fell.
And she could see her own cringing flesh being smacked by it, just before she yowled in indignation or bellowed because he had aimed—and unerringly hit, of course—a place where a lot of the welts he had already administered overlapped, so she had blisters upon wheals in a lot of places before he stopped.
It was finally going to happen. She had been told by the doctor, himself. She was going to be allowed to come. And it hadn’t been the year that Nurse Crawford had threatened, either, although it was darned close to it. They had settled, not long after their first discussion of it, on three months, which had been vetoed by her nurse because of her behavior. Then it was six months, and that was—again, very triumphantly—delayed. That evil woman had come to that punishment session armed to the teeth with examples of her misdeeds, and the doctor had allowed himself to be swayed. It ended up being nine months, which was quite horrible enough, as far as Darcy was concerned.
She didn’t think she even could come any more, after so long being kept simmering at a low boil, with the promise of relief dangled so closely in front of her…nose, then always snatched away. She’d had to maintain such tight control over herself that she wasn’t at all sure she could relax it on command—and she couldn’t imagine that was going to go over very well, either.
Nurse Crawford, in particular, liked to tease and torment her horribly. Darcy wasn’t sure just how aware the doctor was of how sexual—as well as disciplinary—the other nurse’s role had become with Darcy, but she didn’t consider that she was in a position to say anything, knowing she would likely catch hell then from the both of them.
Nurse Crawford often ended a discipline session by supposedly measuring just how much moisture Darcy was producing—the evidence of which was always presented to the doctor at the Friday night punishment sessions and discussed quite freely in front of her, to her intense embarrassment. But Darcy noticed that the nurse always took that measurement after she had spent some time playing with Darcy, and she didn’t think the doctor realized that her readings didn’t take that into account.
Darcy would still be face down—very often over the only slightly older woman’s lap, a position that she had adopted for Darcy not long after she’d been tasked with her close supervision because she knew it would make Darcy feel just that much more mortified to be forced into such a childish position.
Of course, her wrists and ankles were already bound—which neatly kept her from either reaching back or kicking up. Nurse Crawford didn’t favor gags. She liked to hear the results of her efforts in Darcy’s increasingly fervent moans and yelps.
Since she had also been tasked with training her charge anally, too, she often had Darcy bent over the exam table—well strapped down, as usual, so that she couldn’t interfere with her progress and, as always, completely naked. Angine preferred to get her into as helpless a position as possible, and all of the doctor’s thoughtful tweaks to the equipment helped her easily do that, leaving Darcy hanging over the edge with her feet well off the floor, heels forcibly pointed outward which lifted and spread her cheeks just that much further open in a completely natural way but one that she had no control over. Her legs were spread much wider than was necessary for such a procedure, but then Nurse Crawford often liked to reach down and stroke Darcy’s most sensitive place while she was firmly and steadily pressing something up inside her behind.
And she had quickly come to the conclusion that this, in particular, was something that Darcy loved. Well, her body loved it, anyway. Her mind was, of course, completely against it, but that also worked in the nurse’s favor, because it made Darcy blush furiously with shame, which also augmented her sexual desire. So, it was a vicious circle, one from which there was no escape.
Once she had seated a plug or a vibrating bullet or egg well up inside Darcy’s rectum, only then would the nurse release Darcy momentarily—just long enough to then rebind her for her spanking and force her to hop over to where the straight-backed chair had been placed in the middle of the floor to lie over her lap.
Angine had also been busy spending the doctor’s money for things with which to either discipline or tease or otherwise increase either Darcy’s mortification at what was being done to her or to increase the pleasurable or painful sensations she was being subjected to. And one of the things she had found was a hairbrush that was specifically designed to discipline misbehaving husbands. She had found it on a female domination site and liked it from the moment she saw it.
It was, probably, technically, much too harsh an implement to be used on Darcy. It was big and relatively thick, covering the majority of her ample behind with every swat, but then, that was what she wanted. But it wasn’t a big bad paddle like the one the doctor sometimes used. It was only a hairbrush—solid wood, of course—with a wide square head. It wasn’t too heavy for her hand, but it delivered quite a hefty smack with relatively little effort on her part, which meant that her arm didn’t get tired as she was spanking, so she was able to give longer, more thorough sessions.
And boy, did it work! By the time she was finished, every time, poor Darcy’s behind was swollen and practically maroon in spots, giving off incredible amounts of heat. And, of course, the whole time, her little bottom hole was being stretched by the plug that had been inserted or, at the very least, constantly sensually stimulated by a vibrating egg or bullet that had been lodged there.
Sometimes, she made Darcy lie on the exam table on her back after thorough hair brushing, knowing her behind was going to give her fits in that position, making sure that she was hanging partially off the end of it so that she would have full access to every bit of what should have been secret, private territory. But there was no such thing as that for Darcy any longer.
She would measure her natural moisture again and it had always increased, and it seemed the harsher she was on the poor girl, the slicker she became!
Occasionally, she would continue to stimulate Darcy purely anally, easing the plug out of her and back in very slowly, so that she had a lot of time to feel every second of the experience, every millimeter of that thick invader spreading her wide open, or she’d insert more vibrating bullets into her rectum and turn them all up to high, or she’d remove one plug and replace it with the next bigger one.
That was the one she preferred, and, if the juices coming out of her quim were anything to judge by, that was the one Darcy preferred, too.
She was too sensitive for Angine to touch her clit much, although she did like to slide her fingers up and around the sides of it and the only thing that was keeping her from sending her over the edge was the fact that if she orgasmed, the doctor was likely going to put her hide in a sling, too. The nurse took the time to put on fresh gloves. She knew that Darcy had a thing for sterile gloves and always made sure to snap them loudly—she had confessed to Angine, when she’d first started working here, that just that sound made her nipples hard.
Dipping the tips of two fingers into Darcy’s overflowing font, she’d bring them up to the top of her lips, then slowly, very slowly, slide them back down, always skirting to either side of her clit. The moans Darcy issued when she was being fondled this way—and even just during the anal side of things—were nearly as loud as those she emitted while she was being punished.
When Nurse Crawford determined that she’d had enough, she would allow Darcy to get up and get dressed—usually leaving something inside her somewhere to keep her aroused or to remind her to behave—not that her scorched bum wouldn’t do that, too.
Of course, those weren’t the only things she wore. The doctor loved seeing her impudent nipples pressing against her uniform, so she was quickly required to wear something to keep them that way, most usually the elastic rings, which the doctor had definitely taken a liking to. Sometimes, he had multiples of them applied, which made her nipples poke out so much that it was impossible for anyone not to notice them, but she was required to work that way, regardless. She knew people were staring at her nipples—even though a hundred percent of their patients were women—and it added to the shame she felt, which ratcheted up her desire another several notches.
At the appointed time, when she was finally going to be allowed a sexual release, Darcy remained after work. It was a Friday night, and she wasn’t going to be allowed to skip her usual punishment. To the contrary, it was a much worse one than usual. He used his hand, the cane and the paddle, and finally, his belt, until she thought she’d lose consciousness from it.
They were in a different room—one she hadn’t been in before. It looked like an operating theatre, complete with a gallery, only there was definitely a gynecological exam table in the middle of the room, rather than one on which a surgery would be performed. Although, as she was flipped over onto her back and offered a bit of water to replace the many tears she had wept, she wondered if he hadn’t started with a surgical table and then added gynecological elements—among others—to it, for the grand design exam tables he used on his special patients and, now, her, too.
But there were no drapes for her. She wasn’t allowed even the semblance of modesty. Darcy was completely exposed, as always, only this time, her legs were pushed up and back, as if she was going to deliver a baby, which put her pussy at center stage—every glorious, denuded pink inch of it.
She was, of course, completely secured, although Darcy noted that there were a few extra straps than usual. One was above her breast and one right below, as if outlining them, and then the regular ones around her arms and wrists as they were attached to the cushioned rests that held her arms at a forty-five-degree angle from her body and around her waist and hips. She was surprised that there was no gag this time, although there was a strap across her forehead that held her head to the table. Her legs were held in place by soft straps that were nonetheless very strong, and her feet were also set into stirrups that kept her from putting her legs down.
It took her a moment to notice as Angine and the doctor were getting things ready—and that the nurse had taken the usual measurement of her intimate fluid output—that there were quite a few big mirrors placed around her—along with big lights. She felt as if she was going to be on display of some sort, which, of course, was ridiculous.
But it wasn’t so ridiculous when the doctor—who was fully garbed as if he was going to perform a surgery—nodded to Nurse Crawford, who was dressed the same way, including a sterile mask over her face that the doctor wasn’t wearing, and she turned to press a button on the wall that pulled back the curtains in the two galleries that were on either side of her to reveal the entire staff of the practice, eagerly gazing down at her.
Despite the fact that she knew—intellectually, by now—that struggling wasn’t going to get her anywhere, she often couldn’t help herself, and this was definitely one of those times. She desperately wanted to cover herself, but instead, she watched helplessly as the doctor reached over and turned the big lights on, adjusting them so that they were concentrated on her breasts and the area where he took point—right between her legs.
As all of this was happening, she realized that the top of the table was being slowly slanted down, so that her privates were raised up and presented in even further detail to the only too interested gawkers.
He nodded almost imperceptibly at his nurse, who proceeded to attach four elastic rings to each nipple in quick order, while she wept and moaned with each application.
“Look at how her nipples plump up! And they become terribly sensitive, too.” His voice boomed through the room, his every syllable amplified, as were her responses, although those were quickly turned down a bit.
All of her desperate, pleading, “No, please!” was completely ignored as the doctor proceeded to hold up a good-sized butt plug, showing it to the crowd. Darcy recognized it as the next step up from what Nurse Crawford was already using on her.
“Don’t let her moans and wails fool you. Darcy loves every bit of what’s being done—and has been done over the course of the past nine months—to her. And we have the scientific measurements to prove it.” With a theatrical flair, he showed Darcy—and thus everyone else—that he was lubricating the plug generously with Tiger Balm as he placed it at the entrance to her rectum. “And this is one thing she likes more than most things—to be stretched back here, which is something Nurse Crawford and I are only too willing to assist with. The Tiger Balm is just an extra, added effect and to keep her on her toes.”
To Darcy’s horror, he began to push it, just barely, up into her as he continued to talk to the people in the gallery while her very innards began to burn and sizzle, and she, indeed, gave her best effort at getting away from the advance of that thing into her bowels, trying to be on her toes, but she was too well held to achieve much of anything. “You might have noticed that she often sits rather gingerly around the office. That’s because Angine has volunteered, over the past months, to help me with Darcy’s training. She’s undergone something like the teasing treatment I give to some of my more particular patients, only intensified quite considerably. She has also not been allowed to orgasm for nine months exactly, even though we’ve been subjecting her to those exact things that titillate her the most.”
As much as she tried to avoid it—not wanting to humiliate herself in front of all of those people—Darcy couldn’t keep herself from panting and moaning and, most shamefully, begging him to stop, as she felt herself being inexorably forced to accommodate the width of the plug.
“Her nipples are usually quite distended, and that’s because of the rings that were often applied to them, as they were just now. She has also been disciplined—quite firmly and quite often, as you may have heard earlier—by myself or her nurse for her mistakes at work, as well as being given frequent enemas which accompany her anal training. The two kind of go, well, hand in hand, sort of.”
There was a chuckle from the audience at that.
“Tonight, she’s going to be allowed to orgasm for the first time in a very long while, and probably the last time in an equally—if not longer—while. And you, her fellow employees, are here to witness that event.”
He had reached the widest point of the plug, the part that was hardest to take, and began to twist it up inside her as she wept and sobbed and tried to relax to ease the pressure and the pain, but there was nothing she could do to help it as it was plunged home inside her.
The gallery gasped at her high-pitched yelp as Dr. Brackett seated it within her, then nodded for the nurse to come down and take another measurement. Nurse Crawford announced, with obvious glee, that her output had increased three-fold between the period after her punishment and the time the plug was applied.
There were more gasps and tittering giggles from the audience at that, which made Darcy want to melt into the floor in embarrassment.
“Now, since we’ve already established what she so obviously loves, Nurse Crawford is going to apply Tiger Balm to her nipples.”
It was no sooner said than done, a dollop applied to either engorged peak then rubbed in, then more mercilessly applied on top of that while Darcy shrieked as her nipples felt as if they were being reduced to ashes.
Lastly, he produced a very large vibrating dildo that he plunged into her to the hilt and used a hidden prop to keep lodged deep inside her, so that both openings were stretched almost beyond her capacity.
When her protestations had died down, as had the chattering in the audience, the doctor said, “Now, Darcy, you are being granted a very great favor, tonight. You are going to be made to come. I say that because I want you to realize that you have no more control over this than you do being spanking or having your little bottom filled with hot, soapy solution. You are here and will orgasm because that’s what your nurse and I want you to do.”
The doctor again nodded to Angine, who affixed the same clothespins she’d already been subject to more often than not, only never over nipples that were also under the effects of that horrible pepper balm.
Amid her howls, Dr. Brackett reached into that same jar and brought out two fingers covered with it that he then applied to her clit.
After allowing that to sit for what seemed like forever to Darcy, who was mindless from the burning, he changed gloves and squirted out a small amount of KY and applied his fingers to that same spot—it was still hard and swollen as it had been since he’d begun with her. Despite what was being done to her—or more likely because of it—that had never wavered, and he had a feeling that, even after this evening, she was going to be standing just as proud.
She couldn’t help what she liked, and he was more than willing to give it to her. In spades.
Eventually, he began to move those fingers over that tiny mound, splitting them around it sometimes, but usually riding on the top of it. At first, Darcy couldn’t feel anything but the agonizing torture of the unguent, but then what he was doing to her—and also his stated intent—overcame the discomfort, and suddenly, her head was whipping back and forth because she felt as if she was going to explode, not because he was whipping her behind, or spreading her bottom hole wide open, or torturing her nipples, but because of all of the combined torture and teasing sessions when she’d been left wanting, physically aching, for release.
His fingers were relentless on her clit, rubbing, pinching slightly sometimes, frigging her constantly but at a damnably slow pace. His eyes were riveted on her as her body tried to writhe and heave with the sensations he was causing—pure pleasure, for once, but still pleasure earned through pain and embarrassment and submission.
Darcy’s world consisted of those points on her body that he had consciously affected and his fingers. And when it began to build up—that undeniable wave of ecstasy—she became frightened, but he didn’t give her any choice but to try to deal with it. He retained complete control of her body, and he never changed or stopped or slowed his rhythm in the least, even when he heard that raw, throaty growl begin deep in her chest until it tried to come out her wide-open mouth. She had already exhausted the extent of her voice, but he knew she was screaming with it, with a peak that was too much for her, that was so obviously, rawly mind-blowing, because, seconds later, she fainted.
He had thought that might happen to a woman who was as obviously sensual and sexual as she was, so he was prepared and had the nurse waving smelling salts under her nose almost immediately, and once she was brought around, he continued the exact same rhythm.
At first, Darcy had wanted him to never stop, but then she wanted him desperately to stop. She was so sensitive, she thought that if he didn’t, she might out and out die from it.
But she was wrong, and he was right. All she did was continue to orgasm, sometimes lighter, sometimes much harder, as he manipulated her body to his liking, forcing more explosions from her than anyone could count until he finally allowed her to collapse.
He dismissed the staff and the three of them were alone again as they usually were. Darcy was surprised at how gently the two of them treated her, washing her like a baby, dressing her, and even taking her home. The doctor refused to allow her to drive—her legs were shaking so badly she could barely stand. He got her keys from her and delivered her car to her himself, later that evening.
And when she awoke the next morning, not having remembered even how she had gotten into bed the night before, she found an envelope on her nightstand with the doctor’s bold handwriting on it. Inside was a check made out to her. A bonus check, for nine thousand dollars.
A thousand for each month she had been denied.