I nearly jumped out of my sensible shoes at the unexpected command. I whirled to check the motionless figure stretched out on the bed behind me. "What?"
"Don't close the curtains. I want to watch the moon's progress." I glanced back at the window. Sure enough, the silvery orb was just climbing above the silhouettes of the trees surrounding Lindenwood.
"Very well, Mr...." I squinted at his chart in the dimness. "Carver." Jonathan Carver, age 64, acute right hemispheric CVA. Hemiplegia, nystagmus, transient apraxia, reduced peripheral vision in left eye.
"It's Dr. Carver. Don't they brief you damned nurses? Teach you some respect?" Even as I bristled at his rudeness, my cheeks grew warm with inexplicable shame. His cultured voice held an authority that brought me back to my school days. Mr. DeFazio and his infamous blackboard pointer. Tears in the eyes of the boys naughty enough to merit his punishment. I was always good, obedient and hard-working, but I remembered the heat of watching.
"Sorry, Dr. Carver." The man fumbled with the bed control, trying to bring raise himself to a sitting position. "Let me help you."
"I can do it myself."A frown furrowed his high forehead, under a shock of steel-gray hair. It took him three tries to get hold of the button, even with his right hand. Clearly there was some bilateral damage. His lips pressed together. His chiseled features twisted in concentration. At last, the motor whirred and the back of the bed rose six inches. He sank back into the pillows with a disgusted sigh, scrutinizing his recalcitrant fingers. He had big hands, hands that looked as though they'd been strong.
I smoothed and straightened the coverlet, trying to hide my pity and embarrassment. "Are you more comfortable now?"
He brushed me away. “I'll tell you when I need help,” he growled. “Hopefully, you can follow basic instructions.”
“I'll do my best.” Something about his manner made me blush and stumble. I felt an acute desire to please him, to show him that I was competent and eager to tend to his requirements. Clearly he was accustomed to giving orders.
I tucked the sheet in around his feet, untwisted the cord leading to the bed control, and gathered the used paper cups from his bedside table. I needed to be doing something. His silence made me increasingly nervous.
"Enough, enough! Stop fussing and turn on the light. Let's see what you look like." His voice held all the power that his body had lost. I rushed to the switch, a flock of crazed sparrows fluttering in my stomach. "Come here, girl."
I stood by the chrome railing, staring at my scuffed nurse's shoes, sweat gathering in my armpits and under my breasts.
"Look at me." His tone was softer but no less firm. I raised my eyes to his, which were the startling blue of glacial ice. I shivered and burned. "You're new, aren't you?"
"Yes, Sir," he corrected me. My nipples tightened inside my bra.
"Yes, Sir." Just his voice was enough to make me ache.
"What's your name?"
"Cassie, Sir. Cassie Leonard."
"Don't look away, Cassie. Look at me. Do you know who I am?"
"No, Sir. I just started at Lindenwood this week. Before that I was in the rehab department at Miriam Hospital."
"My slaves call me Master Jonathan."
My earlobes, my nipples, my fingertips, all seemed to catch fire. I wanted to sink through the floor. I didn't want him to see how his words excited me.
But he did see. I stared at my hands, knuckles white from gripping the rail.
"You have a boyfriend, don't you?"
"Yes, Sir, I do." An image of Ryan rose in my mind, his brown curls and uneven grin, muscled chest and hard thighs. I did love him, truly I did, with his quirky humor, his gentle fingers and his boyish ardor. He was a fine young man. My mother approved of him.
"He doesn't satisfy you." It was a statement, not a question. Tears of remembered frustration pricked the corners of my eyes. "Why not, Cassie? Is his cock too small?"
I couldn't believe I was having this conversation with a stranger, a patient, a half-paralyzed man forty years older than I was. I stole a glance at Dr. Carver. His mouth was firm but his eyes sparkled with suppressed mirth.
"No, Sir. His cock is fine." Ryan was justifiably proud of his meaty hard-ons.
"What is it then? Is he a selfish lover? Does he come too quickly for you?"
Guilt washed over me. Ryan would happily spend hours licking my pussy and fingering me, trying to get me off. The only way I could manage it was to think about scenes from the kinky porn I hid from him. Whippings and spankings, gags and handcuffs, all the clichés that I couldn't stop myself from wanting.
"Well? Tell me, Cassie. What do you need that he doesn't provide? What do you want?"
My mouth filled with cotton. I couldn't speak. I was acutely aware of my rigid nipples pressing against the starched fabric of my uniform. My clit pulsed like a sore tooth inside my sodden panties.
"Cassie, I'm waiting." His sternness sent electricity shimmering through my limbs. "Don't disappoint me."
I dared a glance at his face. His left eyelid drooped slightly. His eyes snared mine. I couldn't look away. One eyebrow arched in an unspoken question.
"I—um—I want him to, uh, to do things to me. That he doesn't want to do.” I tried to break away from his gaze, but the force of his will held me.
“Things?” He sounded amused. A fresh wave of hot, wet shame swamped my body. “What sort of things?”
“Uh—tie me up. Spank me. Use me. Treat me like his slave.” It all came out in a rush, the desires I'd never shared with anyone except Ryan. Even then, I'd only shown him the tip of the iceberg, the least perverted of my needs. “He wouldn't, though. He was shocked when I told him. Disgusted. Said that I had a filthy mind.” The tears that had gathered earlier spilled out over my cheeks.
“I imagine that you do, little one, delightfully filthy.” His voice was a caress, soothing and seductive. “I knew that right away, just from your reactions to my voice. Your deepest desire is to submit to a strong master, isn't it?”
“Yes—Sir.” I felt relief, now that I'd admitted my secret. He at least didn't seem to condemn me.
“You want to be beaten and buggered, shackled to the bed and split open by a huge cock. You want to bath in your master's come, maybe even his piss. To be forced to service his friends.”
It was thrilling and horrible, listening to him enumerating my darkest fantasies out loud. My clit felt the size of a ripe plum, swollen and juicy, ready to burst. I nodded, still finding it difficult to expose myself so completely.
“I will do those things for you, if you'd like.”
“You?” The suggestion startled me enough that I forgot the honorific, but he seemed to forgive my lapse. I searched his handsome, ravaged face. “How...?”
“Don't underestimate me, girl. I may not be the Dom I once was, but I can still make you burn for my touch. I can still make you beg.” He snagged the button on the end of its cord and raised himself to full sitting position. He moved more smoothly and easily than before. “Remove your clothing.”
I stood just stood there, petrified by mingled fear and excitement. If anyone discovered us, I'd lose my job. I'd never work as a nurse again. Five years of education down the drain. But this might be my only chance. The chance to make my fantasies real.
“Didn't you hear me? I told you to strip.”
“Uh—yes, yes, Sir.” I tore two buttons off my blouse struggling to remove it. I tripped and nearly toppled onto the bed while wrestling with my trousers. When I unfastened my bra and released the weight of my breasts, Dr. Carver let out his breath in a long, appreciative sigh. A little thrill of triumph sang through me. He wanted me. My Master wanted me.
I slid my soaked bikini over my hips and down to my ankles. The sea-soaked scent of my pussy rose around us. I would have been embarrassed if I had not been so aroused.
“Give them to me.” I put the damp slip of cloth in his open palm. He brought it to his nose and inhaled deeply. “Lovely. You're already wet, from simple anticipation. Wait until you experience real pain.” He reached for one of my aching nipples and pinched it until I yelped.
“Go get a pair of forceps from that drawer under the sink.” I scurried off and returned with the article he requested. I wondered how he knew where the medical instruments were stored. Could it be that he had seduced my predecessor the same way as he overwhelmed me? I didn't have time to be jealous, though. He caught my left nipple in the jaws of the forceps and clamped down hard.
Pain raced from my tortured breast to my pussy, transmuting to pleasure on the way. The harder he squeezed, the more tightly my cunt clenched. Fresh pussy-juice gushed from my cleft. I moaned, struggling to stand as he gradually increased the force of his grip.
“Do you like that, girl?” He released the inflamed left nipple and captured the right, sending new pangs arcing through me. I trembled, panting, unable to answer even if I dared. “You don't need to tell me. I know you do. You'll like it even more when I clamp your fat red clit.” I came close to exploding at the obscene image. My cunt spasmed. My whole body shuddered. “I can't wait to hear your screams.”
The pressure on my nipple disappeared. Echoes continued to ripple through me. “Turn around. Spread your legs. Let me see your ass.”
My only desire was to please him. I turned and bent at the waist, gripping the back of a chair near the bed. “Beautiful,” he murmured. “Your sweet white skin will mark nicely.” His fingers trailed lightly across my backside. It was the first time he had touched me. I arched back, bulbing my bottom toward the bed and silently begging for more.
“I think that the first time I beat you, I should use a riding crop. Each stroke will hurt more than the last. The pain of a crop is sharp, searing, biting deep. Eating into you, body and soul. I'll beat you into a lather, my little pony. Your ass with look like it has been barbecued. You won't be able to sit down for days.”
I could see it all. I wanted it all, wanted it now. The delicate trace of his fingers on my flesh burned like the trails of fire he promised me. His silken voice made me weak with desire. My clit was a red-hot coal threatening to burst into flame.
“Touch yourself, girl. Show me how much you want to be my slave.”
I didn't think twice. Before my new Master, I knew no shame. I brushed my palm over my sticky pubic curls, then slipped my middle finger into my soaking cleft and grazed my clit. Lightning shot through me. My body began to erupt. He rested his palm on the small of my back, short-circuiting the climax.
“Cassie! Don't come, slave. Not until I tell you that you may. Can you do that for me?” His voice was gruff with lust. Joy sang through me at the realization. He wasn't doing this just for my benefit.
“Yes, Sir.” I managed through gritted teeth. I pulled back, sliding my fingers along my slippery lower lips, avoiding the swollen nub begging for my attention. Sensations prickled and sparked between my thighs. I spread myself wide with one hand and stroked with the other. The Master's magic fingers returned to my butt, kneading and caressing. I strained for control.
“Before your first flogging, I'll rope you up and suspend you from the ceiling. Wrists fastened together, arms pulled overhead. I'll secure a spreader bar between your ankles, to keep your thighs apart and make sure you're accessible. I've got a fine cat that I'll use to whip your shoulders, your back, your butt—strokes fast and then slow, each one slicing across your lovely pale skin and leaving fiery trails. When you can't take any more, I'll just twirl you around and start on your breasts and your belly. Every so often I'll stop to use one of your holes. Your mouth. Your dripping cunt. Your tight, tender ass. I'll fill you with my come. Then I'll go back to beating you.”
My fingers squelched in my cunt. I thrust them deep, trying to get my whole hand inside. My clit throbbed and twitched. I felt the orgasm coiling deep in my pelvis, winding tighter and tighter as his words and his stroking hand drove me toward the edge.
“The marks will show the world that you're mine. I'll take you out to my favorite club, lead you collared and naked through the crowds, so that everyone can admire the rosy tattoos of your devotion. Don't stop frigging yourself, girl. Work those fingers. In and out and around. That's right.”
I hovered near the peak of pleasure, dizzy, pulsing, terrified that I would topple over the precipice and disappoint him. I focused on his hand, still dancing across my butt, and his deep, controlled, hypnotic voice, painting pictures that seemed realer by the minute.
“Everyone will want a piece of you. I'll drag you up on stage and bind you to the padded horse. Then one by one, the mistresses and the masters will take you, however they choose. Paddling you, whipping you, clamping your clit, forcing their fists into your cunt. You'll take them all, for me, and you'll love it, won't you, my slutty little girl. Won't you?”
His finger traced its way into the cleft between my butt cheeks. I held my breath, unable to move, unable to answer.
“Finally, at the end of the night, when you've been beaten and fucked to exhaustion, I'll stand behind you, grab your hips, and ram my cock into your ass. And then I'll let you come. I'll pump myself into your butt and we'll come together, master and slave.”
“Come now, Cassie. Come now!”
He pushed his slick finger deep into my rear hole. One finger only, I knew it was just one finger, but I felt the thickness of his cock, the pain of being stretched, the dirty joy of being filled, the spasms as he emptied his seed into my bowels. I was there with him, in that club he described so vividly, jerking and convulsing as I came, impaled on my Master's cock.
The tension snapped. Fierce gusts of pleasure battered my body. I sank to my knees, face against the padded seat of the chair. It went on and on, swells of sensation spiraling up from my sex, shaking me until I was limp and exhausted.
The quiet finally roused me. I stood up, stiff and sticky, and turned to face Dr. Carver. He lay back against the piled pillows, his eyes shut, locks of silvery hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. He was completely still. The sheet barely moved with the rise and fall of his shallow breathing.
Oh my God! What had I done? What if he had suffered another stroke? I groped for his wrist. His pulse was slightly elevated. I cursed myself and my unnatural desires. I'd lose my license, certainly, but that wasn't what mattered. My only concern was for my Master.
“Master?” I whispered. I grabbed him by the shoulder. “Sir? Please, Sir, wake up. I'm so sorry, Sir...”
His sapphire eyes flipped open. He favored me with a faint smile. “Don't be sorry. I'm fine, Cassie.” He placed his hand on mine, stroking a fingertip along my wrist and sending shivers up my spine. “Better than I've been for months.” Warmth flooded through me as his voice gained strength. “Now, put your clothes back on. Then you can help clean me up.”
He pointed to the growing damp area on the sheet. “For the moment, I'd like to keep our little arrangement confidential.”
“Yes, Sir.” I wondered what the day shift would make of the smell of sex that hovered in the room. I donned my bra and reached around for my panties, which lay crumpled on top of the sheet. Dr. Carver grabbed them before I could.
“I think I'll keep these,” he said, stuffing them under his pillow.
“Whatever you wish, Sir.”
“And from now on, Cassie, I want you to come to work without any underwear. It will make everything more convenient. No brassiere, no panties. And wear a skirt, not those silly inaccessible trousers.”
“Are you going to argue with me, slave?” His grin belied his cautionary tone.
I felt the gathering wetness soaking the crotch of my work pants. “Of course not, Sir. But I don't know if this kind of—activity—is good for a man in your condition..”
“On the contrary. Anything that gives me the motivation to suffer through the endless hours of physical and occupational therapy that I'm facing is good, in my book.” His smile was an affectionate challenge. “I'm determined to reach the point where I can flog you the way you deserve. You'd like that, wouldn't you?”
I hugged myself, amazed and delighted. “If it pleases you, Sir, then I'd like it very much.”