Doctor's Orders

"Excellent," he said. "Come in."

As I stepped forward, he slipped his hand along the side of my neck and wrapped his fingers at the back. His thumb brushed my cheek, and his grip at the base of my skull was firm. He guided me into his office, just a step or two, and to the side of the doorjamb. He shut the door and I heard the lock engage. My back was to the wall adjacent to the door, and he stood just less than arm's length.

My eyes were glued to his. My whole body felt numb, gelatinous. My hands dropped to my sides, and though my heart raced, my breathing was slow and even. He moved me slowly and gently, positioning me so that my butt touched the wall lightly.

He brought his other hand up, tracing softly down my shoulder and upper arm, then back up. He brushed his fingertips over my cheek and I closed my eyes without thinking. When I opened them, he'd moved close enough that his breath flowed over my face like a warm wind.

"I'm going to kiss you now, Leah," he declared, softly.

"Yes, sir," I responded. It seemed like the only appropriate option.

He smiled even more broadly. His thumb rubbed on my cheek and he said, "Yes. I knew you'd be a quick study."

I stood stock still, rooted in that spot but somehow also floating above it. I tilted my head back just slightly, and he leaned down. The touch of his lips on mine was wonderful. He was slow and gentle, but also firm and insistent. I matched his movements with my own mouth, and let him slip his tongue past my lips. I tasted him, his saliva, and the faintest remnants of whatever he'd eaten for lunch. I didn't reach for him. I didn't try to touch him or caress him. I tapped his lips with my tongue and I leaned up into his kiss, but other than that I took no initiative. I just molded myself to him, adjusting my body to what it seemed like he wanted.

The kiss felt endless. My eyes closed and time slowed down until my heartbeat matched his motions. I distantly felt him brushing his free hand along my side, up my arm, and grazing the very tip of my breast. I put my hands behind my back and slid my feet apart. He pressed his body against mine and pressed me into the wall. Still, he kept kissing. I was swept up in it, my emotions roiling, happiness, desire, surprise and yearning, all flooding through me. I'd never been kissed like that before. I'd never been kissed by a man who acted like that kiss was an end unto itself, rather than just a prelude to something else.

Finally, inevitably, he moved away. I followed him, pulling off the wall, and prolonging the contact as much as I could. When he kept moving, back to arm's length, I let him go with a sigh. When I opened my eyes, he was looking at me with an almost unreadable expression. It was like he was proud of me, and pleased with himself. But there was also hunger.

He brushed his thumb on my cheek again, and his fingers curled in the hair at the nape of my neck. He tightened his grip on me, reestablishing that I knew he was there. I raised my eyebrows slightly. I assumed the kiss was only the beginning, but I couldn't even begin to figure out the question to ask.

I needn't have worried.

His free hand brushed down, across from one hip to the other.

"Now you will give me your underwear."

He said it so simply, as though it was so clearly a foregone conclusion that I didn't think about it. I reached down, slouching a little to grasp my skirt as far down as I could. I gathered up the fabric and slipped off my shoes. It was a little awkward because he maintained his grip on my neck, and he held me up straight even when I wanted to bend down. But I finally got to the hem of my skirt, pulling it up enough that I could reach under and slide my panties over my hips.

Once again, when I would naturally have bent over, his firm grip on my neck prevented that. I pushed the underwear down my thighs to my knees, then lifted one leg high through them. I wobbled a little on one foot, but he held me up. When I freed the other leg, I let the skirt drop. I held the panties up, showing them to him. He looked at me impassively and didn't reach for them.

I folded and then rolled them, like I was putting away clean laundry. The obviously damp crotch was on the outside of the roll. I held them up with both hands, presenting them to him. This time he nodded and picked them up. He held them under his nose briefly, then put them in his pocket. He let go of my neck and stepped back.

His office was basically the same size as the office I shared with Julia. But he had it to himself. His desk bisected the room, parallel to the wall with the door. There was a chair in front of his desk, and his chair behind. There were two empty book cases along the wall that the door would swing against. I still stood with my back to the wall separating the office from the hallway. To my right was a narrow door that I knew led to a tiny half bath. Just beyond that door was an institutional looking settee, with heavy wooden arms and cushions covered in thick yellow vinyl. Behind his desk was a window with a deep ledge. He had a few books piled there.

He stepped back once more, and leaned on the chair in front of his desk. He looked me up and down, as I stood there, hands once again clasped behind my back. I was acutely aware of the gentle swirl of the loose skirt fabric hanging from my hips, and that my pussy was flooded. He put his hands behind his back, and looked pointedly at my crotch.

"Show yourself to me, Leah."

I gasped, not from shock, but from pleasure and surprise. I wasn't offended; I was ecstatic. I trembled as I reached down once more for the hem of my skirt. I spread my feet further. I bent over, to yank the fabric up. He coughed. I looked up at him and his eyes had narrowed just slightly.

I paused, then stood up straight, and repeated what I'd done earlier. I imagined that his hand was holding me up and that I wasn't just flashing him. In my mind, these movements became an important part of a ritual, some kind of ceremonial dance that needed to be performed correctly. My hands worked automatically, and I held his gaze, altering my actions by reading his reactions.

I gathered all the fabric in my hands, rolling it as neatly as I could and holding my hands far apart. I lifted my skirt up so that the bottom hem rose higher than the waistband. I gathered and lifted until I saw him nod slightly. Then I stopped moving and let him look at me. I felt his gaze on my vulva. I monitored his expression for any disapproval of my naturally sparse bush, or the oddly shaped birthmark on my lower abdomen. He stared at me and my heart fluttered and pounded. My pussy clenched and I let myself stare at his crotch. I let myself imagine what he looked like, under his clothes.

He stood up and I braced myself for his touch. I wanted him to explore me, to slide his fingers or his tongue into me. I wanted him to tell me to strip completely naked. He didn't. He moved over to the couch and sat down, at the end nearest to me.

He raised one hand and crooked his fingers, the dropped them and patted the space next to him.

"Come over here, Leah. We've things to discuss."

I knew enough not to drop my skirt. I walked over and started to sit. I perched sideways on the sofa, but it seemed wrong. I shifted around, sliding back away from him and then closer. He looked at me with an indulgent and amused expression.

"You don't want to sit next to me?" It was halfway between an assertion and a question.

"No. Sir. I. I don't know. I just." I was out of words. I didn't understand why I was suddenly calling him "sir". I couldn't explain why sitting on the couch with him seemed inappropriate. I stared down at my lap, still gripping the skirt tightly.

"It's OK, Leah. Clearly this is all new to you. For today, you settle where you think you're supposed to be. If it pleases me, we'll keep it. If not, we won't."

His reassurance and understanding were a salve for my worries. His recognition of my inexperience as well as my desires calmed me. I instantly knew what I wanted.

I slipped down to the floor, kneeling with my knees spread wide and the skirt tucked up by my hips. I pushed the fabric back, so that my thighs were exposed and he could still see my crotch. I clasped my hands behind my back and straightened my spine. I lowered my gaze to look at a middle point between his lap and the floor. In my peripheral vision, I saw him relax against the back of the couch, spreading one arm along the backrest. He let his legs fall open. That's when I noticed his shoes were off. He put one sock covered foot on my knee and pressed gently. I spread myself wider. He kept up the pressure, and I moved my knees as wide as I possibly could and maintain balance. After I was done, the pressure from his foot relented, but he left it on my leg.

"Such a quick study," he said. "But one thing to correct. Look at me, at my face." I raised my gaze.

He looked at me with kind and knowing eyes. "Never be ashamed of what you want, Leah. Of what you are. Never cower. This is all about communication. So, don't cut off any avenue you have to understand your partner."

That was my first lesson.

My second lesson was all about a different kind of exposure. He interrogated me. He was gentle and respectful, but it was nonetheless an interrogation. He probed and calmly demanded answers to deeply personal questions I'd hesitated to even ask myself. I knelt there on the floor, with the heat from his foot anchoring me and answered. I gazed up at him and bared my soul even more clearly than I was baring my sex. I told him my fantasies and my imaginings; I told him what I thought about when I prepared to masturbate and how I touched myself when I did.

"How long have you known?" he asked.

I shrugged. He coughed.

I looked him in the eye, took a deep breath. "Would it be a cliché to say I've always known? That since I've understood anything about sex, I've known that I wanted something different than what gets portrayed in romance novels. I didn't know what it was, exactly, until I was older. But..."

I paused, looking at him. He just returned my gaze, letting the moment and the tension grow. It's something we do, all the time, with reluctant patients or when talking about sensitive things. Letting the silence build, being willing not to break it, until the client says something. Just because I knew the technique didn't make me immune to it.

I looked at him, and the set of his lips told me he was willing to sit there in silence for an hour, or all night. His expression told me he was going to get a complete answer out of me.

I cleared my throat, shifting on my heels. "I like pain," I said hoarse and barely a whisper. "The first time I masturbated. Well, the first time I orgasmed from masturbating, I used the handle of a hairbrush. And I liked the way the bristles rubbed on my inner lips. I." I closed my eyes, partially remembering those first fumbling explorations, and partially to try to seal myself off from his stare. "I like feeling small and forgetting myself, and when I fantasize it's always about some man..." I sighed. "Some man basically owning me. Making me his. Making me into whatever he wants. Being compelled or obligated to do something he wants, just because he wants it. But. But also respecting me, and liking the contradiction."

I shook my head and made myself open my eyes. He was smiling. He rubbed his foot along my inner thigh, grazed my labia with his toes, and then put it back. I realized his smile was pleasure. He wasn't mocking me or condescending. He was happy.

I felt myself relaxing, being that much more willing to open up to him. I explained what studying and exploring I'd done. I told them about fumbling with boyfriends and making it seem like I was joking when they didn't understand. I told him about my college boyfriend who'd talked a big game about kink, but never followed through

"What do you think the problem was?" he asked.

I paused, remembering Eric and the things he'd promised. I thought about what I'd learned, but hadn't had a chance to practice, since then.

I smiled briefly and shrugged. "I think the problem was that Eric was a sub too. He knew the language, but he didn't know how to convey that he wanted me to take charge. I barely even knew the language. And I couldn't have taken charge. It wouldn't have worked. I wouldn't have been any good at it. Also, I'm pretty sure he was gay. Or at least bi. So, I think I wasn't exactly what he was looking for in that way either."

I chuckled, and then I remembered that I was half naked and kneeling in front of this man I'd only known two weeks. I startled at how comfortable I'd gotten. I stared up at Dr. James and gasped. He raised one eyebrow and cocked his head to one side.

I blushed and ducked my head. Then I shook it slightly. My mouth opened and closed.

"This just got very strange, didn't it, Leah?"

His voice was so soft, so knowing. It rumbled through me and the vibrations settled on my heart. I managed to nod. My mind was whirling. I wasn't ashamed, but I was completely unsure of myself. I clenched my hands into fists, and looked down at his feet. He'd slid the one foot off my knee, and now both of his rested between my outspread thighs. I stared, suddenly fascinated by the pattern of his socks.

"Come closer," he said. The volume of his voice was barely above a whisper, but the command was as loud as a klaxon.

I started scooting closer to the settee, trying to move while also maintaining my wide stance, and keeping my hands behind my back. It wasn't easy, but the task distracted me from the thoughts roiling in my brain. I heard a faint clatter and the telltale slide of a zipper going down.

I looked up, grinning, as he pulled his tumescent cock out from his fly. I shuffled even closer to the seat, stopping when I felt his toes pressing up into my vulva. He moved his big toes, up and down, sliding back and forth over me. I shivered when his smooth silk socks tapped the well that was my soaking wet center. His toenail pinched, just slightly, even under the cloth, and that pinprick of pain made me shudder.

He held himself loosely in one hand, and reached for me with the other. Lesson three was about to begin. He cupped my cheek with the hand and rubbed his thumb along my jaw. I pressed my face into his hand, leaning on him like a cat, rubbing back and looking up at him. The saliva was running freely in my mouth then, and I licked my lips in anticipation. He held himself and my head, maybe an inch away from him. I moved my eyes to look at his penis, not fully erect but beginning to thicken. His hand clenched on my neck and I stopped moving.

I stayed there, transfixed by his cock, liked I'd never seen one in person before. I had, of course, but this meeting had leant an important aura to everything about him. It was truth to say I'd never seen a cock as important to me as his was in that moment. When I was still and my breathing had slowed his thumb rubbed over my cheek again.

He said, "You're going to learn what I like. You're going to do what I want. In this space here, you obey me. Out there is out there, and we follow those rules. In here, we follow only mine."

"Yes, sir," I whispered, and licked my lips again.

"Take me in your mouth, Leah. You should be able to fit all of me for now."

I did, I opened wide and I stuck out my tongue, and he guided himself deep into my mouth. I sucked and swallowed, and rubbed my tongue on his underside and I kept slipping him in until my lips were at his base and touching the fabric of his fly. His hand never left my head, and when I had him as far into my face as I could get his fingers tapped gently on the side of my neck.

He gave me instructions; he gave gentle corrections. He angled my head the way that felt the best for him, and told me to open my mouth wider. He told me tricks to ease my breathing while I was full of him. Everything I did well earned me a compliment and a gentle tap on my neck. Soon enough he was fully erect and I could no longer hold him completely in my mouth. His thumb moved on my cheek in a slow rhythm and I pulled off of him, then slid back down at a similar pace. I maintained that pace, letting him fuck my mouth, and then matched as his thumb moved faster. He pulled me down onto him and I gagged and he let me off long enough to collect myself. Then he did it again.

My pussy was dripping and I found myself pumping my hips in time with my mouth. He pressed his toes up into me, and they dragged over my clit and it was better than any toy I'd tried. He tapped my neck, encouraging me and I humped his feet, fucking myself on him while he fucked my mouth. It was like a great circle of fire and pleasure and I lost myself in the sensations. I lost myself in the feel of his jutting prick invading my mouth and his glans taking up residence in my throat. I lost myself in that frisson of pain as I rubbed the most tender and exposed nerves I have on the hard silk covered keratin at the end of his feet. I felt dirty and animalistic and totally free.

I made one major mistake. At some point I forgot about him, even though his cock was deep in my throat and his hips pumped as much as I moved up and down his length. For a moment all I registered was the feeling in my pussy and the need in my clit. I rammed myself down onto him mindlessly, moving faster and faster in smaller and smaller strokes until an orgasm bloomed and exploded out of me. I cried out, choking on his cock even as my body shook and shuddered. I jerked up and let his cock fall out of me. I gasped and groaned and tucked my chin to my chest as the last throes of the climax rolled through me.

He didn't say anything, but his hand on my neck became a vice. I twisted in his grip and tried to look at him, but he grabbed his cock and shoved himself back into my mouth. I opened my lips and teeth wide and he fucked my face in earnest. He held onto me with both hands, pulling my head down into his lap and then shoving his hips up and up until my nose was smashed against his pelvis. This time when I gagged, he didn't let off. He spat a single reminder to breathe, pulled out a fraction of an inch so I could, and then slammed himself back in.

The odd thing was that even in that moment, I wasn't afraid. I left my hands behind my back; I didn't try to get away from him or pull off. I wanted him to find his pleasure however he wanted. I accepted his changed behavior as both his educational opportunity, and my deserved remonstration. When he realized that I wasn't going to balk he became less frantic.

He slowed his pace. He didn't pull me down as far or as hard has he had. I managed to look up at him, though my eyes were bleary. He stared down at me with an iron look and I felt a magnetic attraction once again. He pumped into me a few more times, then pulled halfway out and erupted into my mouth. His cum was thick and briny. He filled my mouth and I clamped my lips around his shaft to keep from spilling any. His cock twitched and jerked and with each spasm another spurt shot into me.

He pulled me off of him slowly.

"Show me," he said.

I opened my mouth, I showed him how full it was. The smell was thick in the air. I gazed up at him, waiting for instructions.

He nodded. "Swallow."

I did. I swallowed it down and relished the taste. He laid my head on his knee and stroked my cheek and my hair. When we'd both caught our breath, he rearranged himself and closed his pants. I remained with my head on his knee, feeling satisfied but yearning for more.

"You did well, Leah, for the most part."

"Thank you, sir."

His hand continued to stroke my hair and his feet remained trapped between my thighs. He sighed, and I wanted to look up at him, but his hand on my head wouldn't be disturbed. I don't know how long I stayed like that. I know that it suddenly registered with me that the room was very dark, that at some point the sun had gone down. The only illumination was the ambient light from the parking lot, far below.