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"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.
Chapter 2
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.
