Relapse (Doctor Dom Volume 4) (A BDSM & Medical Play Novella) (7 page)

Lisa:

Patrick turned to me in bed. “So,” he said, lacing his fingers in mine. “Talk to me about the bathtub.”

“Ah.” I was embarrassed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to freak out.”

“No, no. I’m just trying to understand. Tell me about the humiliation. I’ve done plenty that embarrasses you. What
was it about that bit that made you nervous?”

I thought about it. “I don’t know. I think it was mostly that I didn’t know what you were going to do.
In the bathtub, ahead of an enema, that could be a lot of places I really don’t want to go.”

“Like watching you expel the enema?” he probed. “I told you, I don’t have any interest in that. That’s just too extreme for me. But how do you feel about a certain amount of play that could embarrass you?”

“What’s the difference between embarrassing me and humiliating me?” I asked.

“That’s a matter of perspective,” he replied thoughtfully. “From my standpoint, keeping you slightly at edge is desirable. But my intention isn’t to make you feel any less valued or cherished.”

I really liked having this discussion with Patrick after we were done. In session, there could be potential for hurt. Now, curled up next to him, discussing what worked for me and what didn’t – I felt like we both had the same goal – to ensure that we had the most amazing sex. It felt collaborative. With Nick, any discussion had always felt adversarial. Like a difficult negotiation, not a calm conversation.

“You made me lick my juice off the examination room stool once,” I mused. “That was really hot.”

Patrick smirked at me, before composing his expression into seriousness. “Why was it hot and not humiliating?”

“It was hot because you were so turned-on by it, I guess? And your arousal acted as a catalyst for mine?”

“I’m going to try something when we play next,” he said. “I’m going to rely on you to tell me if it crosses a line.”

I nodded
, ignoring the little prickle of guilt. Every time he said something that implied he trusted me, I felt guilty. Yet again, I pushed the guilt aside, and replied to his comment. “Yes, Dr. Anderson,” I said. “This play session, is there a date I need to block off in my calendar?”

He winked at me. “Sometime next week,” he said. “Let me check my calendar; see what work looks like. I’ll text you. Now, if you wouldn’t mind sharing some of this blanket that you’ve managed to steal completely, we can fall asleep.”

“Get your own blanket,” I grumbled, but I moved over and he drew me into his arms. I smiled. “I am having such a good time,” I said softly.

He ran a finger over my lower lip, and bent to kiss my neck. “
Me too, baby. Me too.”

I started to fall asleep, but then remembered something. “Hey, Patrick?”

“Mmm?” His voice was sleepy.

“I’m rehearsing Friday night with
Mandy,” I said. “Do you want to hang out tomorrow instead of Friday?”

“Okay,” he replied sleepily. “I’ll call you in the afternoon, when I know better what time I’ll be out of work. Now, Lisa, it’s bed-time. No more talking, please.”

“Good-night, Patrick,” I said sweetly, inwardly laughing at his sleepy grouchiness.

“
Mmm,” he grunted. I took that to mean that he wished me a good night too. Giggling slightly, I went to sleep.

***

Thursday night, yet again, I dressed carefully for my date with Patrick. This time, a bright pink bra and panties, with orange polka dots. It was among the silliest, most cheerful pieces of lingerie I owned, and every time I saw myself in the mirror, the bright colour and pattern made me giggle. Over those pieces of confectionary, I wore a sober black t-shirt and jeans, pulling on a black sweater over it. It was almost November, and there was a definite chill in the air.

At seven, my phone rang. It was Patrick. “I’m downstairs,” he said. “Are you ready, or should I park?”

“I’m coming down,” I replied.

He smiled when he saw me, and leaned forward to kiss me. “It’s among your most endearing qualities,” he said.

“What is?” I asked him.

“Being on time,” he replied. “You don’t keep me waiting around. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”

I grinned at him. “Well, I have to make up somehow for never waking up in time to put on the first pot of coffee…” I said. I was inwardly quite touched at his compliment, because it wasn’t an easy compliment about the way I looked. Rather, it was something about me that he’d taken the time to notice and appreciate, and it warmed me that he had done so.

He laughed. “There is that,” he said. “Any thoughts on where you want to go for dinner?”

“How about that bar that we went to on our first date? The one that only served curry? I’ve been craving that butter chicken.”

He smiled. “Sure thing,” he said easily.

***

Food orders placed, beers in hand, we settled in a secluded corner.

“Tell me about the time you went travelling,” I ordered.

He raised an eyebrow at my tone. “Bossy, aren’t you?” His lips twitched. “Which time? When I was
nineteen?”

I nodded.

“What do you want to know?” he asked me.

“
Everything. Tell me how it came about, where you went, what you did.”

He laughed at me. “Okay. I told you I had a fight with
my parents?” He took a sip of his beer. “My parents and I have a difficult relationship. It’s better now, but it was pretty strained when I was younger.”

“Why?”

He looked at me. “Sure you want to hear it?” he asked me. “I don’t want to scare you away.”

I gave him a disbelieving look. “I’m not sure it’s possible to scare me away,” I told him. “You are stuck with me.”

He flashed me a smile. “Okay, where do I start? My father is a lot older than my mother. She was working for him, they had an affair. My mother became pregnant. I don’t think she ever really wanted to have a child, but my father insisted. They got married. I was born a few months later.”

I reached over and threaded my fingers in his. I stayed silent and let him tell his story.

“The thing is, my dad was very invested in doing the right thing. But he was less interested in actually having a child. And to my mother, I was the object that had trapped her in marriage to a rich and powerful man.”

His voice was an even monotone as he told this story. My heart ached for him, for the neglected little boy. Some of what I felt must have shown on my face, because he smiled.

“I don’t want you to feel too sorry for me,” he said. “I had a nanny who took very good care of me. I had every material advantage. I went to the best schools. Had the best tutors. The best education money could buy.”

“As I got older, my father started paying more attention to me. I was to be groomed to be his heir. To run the company his father had founded.
For a few years, I tried. I went to the office after school for two years to learn about his work.”

He took another sip of his beer. “It bored me to tears.” His voice was flat. “It was all so pointless to me. I wanted to do something I was passionate about. I didn’t know what it was, but it wasn’t my father’s company. I told him that when I was nineteen. After freshman year in college. I’ve never seen him so angry.” He laughed at the memory.

I looked at him. When I was nineteen, I had just started at university. I’d known I was interested in interior design my entire life. My parents were supportive. We weren’t rich, but they helped as much as they were able, and helped me look for grants and scholarships to fill the shortfall. I worked part-time jobs where I could. I had really enjoyed my university years, in large part due to their unstinting support. I couldn’t imagine how hard it must have been to do without.

He chuckled at my expression. “Seriously, Lisa, you have to stop feeling sorry for me.
My life was a piece of cake compared to so many people. So anyway, my father threatened to cut me off. I told him he was welcome to do whatever he wanted with his money. I withdrew from college, bought a ticket to India. I stayed in India for almost a year, then went to Nepal and backpacked there for another six months. Then China for two years. Mongolia for another six months. Then, I came back home.”

“
You went to pre-med?” I asked.

He nodded. “Somewhere in my travels, I realized how good I had it. How much I had compared to most of the world. It helped knock the chip off my shoulder. I’m not saying that my parents didn’t neglect me, because they did. But I was also pointlessly angry about the situation. Traveling helped me realize this.”

I surveyed him silently. “Okay,” I said. “Tell me about BDSM.”

He laughed aloud. “That’s quite a topic shift,” he said wryly. “My introduction to kink, you mean?”

I grinned and nodded. I wanted to know everything about Patrick, and it was rare that he spoke about himself so openly. I was going to take advantage of this talkative mood.

“There was this girl I dated for a while in China,” he said. He smiled, remembering. “She liked to be spanked. Tied up. Taken hard. I was twenty one. I was
just thrilled to be having sex with a beautiful woman who would let me do almost anything to her.” He grinned. “It just grew from there, I guess. I kept exploring. Plenty of sleeping around in college and after.”

“How much exploring?” I asked him curiously.

He grimaced. “You name it, I’ve very likely done it,” he said. “Medical school was filled with women who thought being tied up and whipped was excellent stress relief. I was very happy to oblige.”

I laughed. I wasn’t fazed by how much he’d slept around in the past; I’d had plenty of sex myself. 

“Okay,” I probed. “Have you had a threesome?”

He rolled his eyes. “Is that the kinkiest thing you can think of?” he asked me. “Yes.”

“Two women?”

“
Sure,” he said. “I had a threesome with two submissive women once. That was a disaster. But two Doms and a sub – that’s a dynamic I’ve enjoyed more than once.”

“Why was it a disaster?” I was curious.

“Well,” he said. “If you think about it, a Dom expends a lot of mental energy keeping a sub at a particular state. Balanced between pleasure and pain. Just at the edge of arousal, not tipping over. It’s insanely hard to do that with two women. Someone’s going to be neglected.”

“Ah. And two
Doms?”

He grinned. “Twice the amount of focus.”

I shivered. “That sounds intense,” I said.

“Want to try it?” he asked. His tone was interested.

“Would you be okay with that?”

He shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t know. I’ve never shared a woman I’ve been in love with. I have no idea how I’d react. But if you were interested, I’d consider it. And if we did go through with it, I will certainly behave myself, and not be a possessive jackass.”

I grinned. “Not anytime soon,” I said. “Baby steps. I’m really only just comfortable with you dominating me.”

He laughed. “I’ll quit worrying about it then,” he said. Our food appeared, and we dug in for a few minutes in silence.

“Okay, what else have you done?” I asked him. It was exciting hearing about Patrick’s secret life of kink. I felt like I was watching some particularly exciting porn. “Have you ever fisted someone?”

“Vaginal or anal?” he asked calmly, and I nearly choked. He laughed at my reaction. “Your eyes are as wide as saucers, Lisa.” He chuckled, and ate a forkful of food.

I flushed. “Seriously? You’ve done both?” I sounded a bit shocked.

He chuckled again, and he shook his head. “Vaginal, a few times. Anal, never. I know this is going to sound pretty hypocritical of me, given I have no problem putting my dick in
your ass, but the idea of my fist there makes me a little squeamish, to be honest.”

He looked at me evenly. “Are you interested
in being fisted?” he asked me, taking another bite of his food.

I gulped. “Will you judge me if I say yes?” I asked him.
I was both scared and intrigued by the idea of being fisted. My internet porn history could attest to that.

He
rolled his eyes. “Did you judge me when I told you I’ve done it?” he replied. “No, of course not, I’m not going to judge you, baby.”

A thought struck me, one that made me feel suddenly depressed. “So Andrea and you must have done a ton of stuff together,” I said. I tried to keep my jealously out of my voice. I failed terribly. I could hear myself. I sounded disconsolate.

He shook his head. “Most of this is pre-Andrea,” he said. He made a face. “With Andrea…” he hesitated, and then continued. “Without discussing my marriage in any kind of play-by-play fashion, I can tell you we did very little together. I’m happy to play with a partner that I can trust to be honest about their limits. Right from the start, when she hid what she wanted from me, it was hard to trust her. She really wanted to be my slave. It freed her from any responsibility for her own safety, which made it even harder for me to trust her. If you can’t trust someone, you can’t really play with them easily. The Dom/sub dynamic is mostly about trust, and our dynamic never recovered from the loss of trust.”