Doctor Dom Series Sequence One (Triage | Observation | Diagnosis): A BDSM & Medical Play Series

Doctor Dom Series Sequence One

Triage | Observation | Diagnosis

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Tara Crescent

Text copyright © 2013-2014 Tara Crescent

All Rights Reserved

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
 

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. 

This series would not have ever been possible without the help and support of Jim and Kathryn. They read, critiqued, proofed, edited, and made things better. I don’t have enough words to express how grateful I am for their support. I am a better writer because of their efforts.

Cover Design by James, GoOnWrite.com.

Volume 1: Triage

Chapter 1

Patrick
:

My wife and I had an amicable divorce, I guess, if the destruction of all the hopes and dreams you had for a relationship can ever be amicable. We even agreed that I could keep our dog
Topsy, which was good, because that last year, Topsy and I had spent more time together than Andrea and I did.

Anyway. I wasn’t
very wounded, honestly, and all wounds eventually heal. This I should know; I’m a doctor. Being a doctor – very, very pertinent to this story.

A year or so after the divorce papers were fully finalized, I thought I might try to date again. Not that easy as it sounds; I’m not bad-looking, but once you are in your early forties, the actual mechanics of meeting women gets pretty hard. Sex was easy enough, but anything beyond that seemed to be pretty hard work.

I’m forty-two, if you want to know, but my vanity demands I tell you I looked pretty damn good for it.

I was leery of asking my friends to set me up; James and Doug would have ribbed me mercilessly about that. So, I tried the Internet. No particular Internet dating horror stories, but nothing particularly exciting either; I met some nice women, but no one that did anything for me. Plus, it was so much work, sifting through the millions of women in Toronto, removing out the crazies, sending the teaser emails; honestly, my actual job was easier.

And there, matters stood until that day at the trendy vodka lounge.

***

The vodka lounge was Alison’s idea. Alison is the wife of my friend James; and most times, she’s a lovely person. But that Friday night, she got some kind of bee in her bonnet that we never really went anywhere fancy. So, she insisted we all dress up and head to this trendy lounge. James just shrugged; Doug and Sara were okay with the idea as well, and before I knew it, I was sitting at a table in this plush lounge where the only way to get a table was to order a very expensive bottle of vodka.

We ordered a very expensive bottle of vodka. The girls were in crazy high heels and didn’t want to stand, and hey, doctoring pays well.

Thankfully, the place wasn’t as crowded as it could have been; the weather was damp and drizzly, and that had deterred many club-goers. The place was still full though; but we could at least navigate to the bar without having to push through bodies. For the moment though, we sipped our vodka, ate our munchies, and chatted.

“Good place to pick up a woman, Patrick,” Sara laughed. She did a quick survey of the room; leaned in to me, and muttered, “Check out the table of women behind you. Hot!”

“Sara,” I said with some exasperation, “I’m not turning around so I can eye some women, no matter how
hot
they are.”

Alison had perked up at Sara’s comment, she looked at the table too. “Two of them have wedding rings,” she announced. “But the third one looks single to me, come on Patrick, let’s go up to the bar, you can check her out from there…”

I looked helplessly at Doug and James, but they were stifling their laughter at the deer-in-headlights expression on my face. Alison had already risen from her chair, so I got up too, with the best grace I could.

“Alison,” I muttered as we navigated to the bar, “I’m trying hard not to kill you, you do know that, right?”

She smiled sweetly at me. “You’ll thank me in the morning, Patrick,” she grinned, “after you get laid. Come on, check out that girl, she’s really hot.”

Women are persistent, and evidently Sara and Alison had decided I needed to be set up. Okay then. I looked, as discreetly as I could, towards the table that they had indicated.

The woman in discussion: I wouldn’t have used the word
hot
to describe her. Instead, she was beautiful; her skin was fair; her hair was a mass of curls cascading down her back in colours that reminded me of honey and warmth and a beautiful summer day; her eyes were dark, and her lush body was made for sin.

“Not exactly in my league, Alison,” I muttered. I was startled at the huskiness of my voice; at the stirrings of desire in my cock. All from one look.

I was still looking at her, and perhaps she felt my eyes on her, because she looked up, looked right back at me, and she smiled. It wasn’t a shy smile, it was speculative, and wouldn’t you know it, my cock grew a little harder. Shy women do nothing for me; and I’m too old to date girls; this woman was all woman; she must have been in her mid-thirties, and there was no coyness in her gaze.

Alison chuckled delightedly at my side. “And she’s interested. Excellent.” Her voice sparkled with glee. Sheesh, I didn’t realize getting me laid was Alison’s project of the week.

“Alison, I don’t meet women at bars,” I pointed out, trying to retain some vestige of common sense.

“Agreed. You also don’t meet women at work; you don’t meet them on the Internet; and you don’t meet them anywhere else.” Damn woman and her sass. But she was right, and I knew it.

“Okay, I’ll think about it…” I said. I hadn’t approached a woman in a club for over ten years; and yeah, I was nervous about it. Alison, thankfully, let it slide; didn’t insist I take action right away. We got our drinks at the bar – water, really, since there was an entire bottle of vodka at the table, and made our way back.

***

Lisa:

“Lisa, that guy at the bar is totally checking you out,” Monica giggled. Happily married; her one-year old at home, she was revelling in her crazy Friday night out while her husband watched the baby.

“He’s hot,” Mandy drawled. Mandy. Newly married; she had decided she was my personal matchmaker. The three of us had known each other since college; so I guess I could have always told her to knock it off had it really bothered me.

It’s not that I didn’t want to meet anyone; I did. It’s just that when they found out what I wanted them to do to me in bed, the nice guys usually ran. And I didn’t date assholes; it was a good rule; one that had stood me in good stead all my life.

I looked up. He was good-looking in that particular way that I liked best; he was tall, lean and his eyes were friendly. Yummy.

“He’s with the girl at the bar, isn’t he?” I asked the girls. They’d know, they always knew. They had a special radar for that kind of thing.

“No, she’s married; he isn’t,” Monica quickly pointed out. “No wedding ring on your man, Lisa…”

I watched him make his way back to the table; and my insides tightened as I imagined him naked; on top of me, firmly clasping my wrists so I couldn’t move; holding me down as he took me. I gulped; took a sip of my drink; I tried desperately to cool myself down. It had been six months since I’d last got laid; and I was afraid the desperation would show.

Mandy giggled. “Send him a drink,” she said, gesturing the waiter over. The waiter had been near invisible the entire night, but that one time, he was prompt. He came up, smiling at us in a manner calculated to inspire the best tip. “What can I do for you, ladies?” he asked.

Monica leaned forward. “Lisa would like to send the guy at the table behind us a drink,” she said. “Right, Lisa?”

It couldn’t hurt, could it? Well, the drink would cost fifteen bucks, but that seemed worth it at the moment. Like I said; six months. It had been a long time. I nodded. “I’d like to send him a dirty martini, extra olives, please,” I said. The dirty martini was my signature drink; I loved how salty it was, I loved the olives, plus, it was called a dirty martini, right? It always reminded me of sex.

The waiter grinned at me. “I’ll take care of it,” he promised.

***

Patrick:

“Go over and talk to her,” Sara urged, when the drink appeared.

“Ladies, enough.” Doug’s voice was firm. “Let’s go to the dance floor, shall we? Give Patrick some room here…” Doug was a good guy. I was going to go over and talk to the woman; if nothing else, to thank her for the drink, but I was loath to do it in front of an audience.

The four of them got up, went over to the dance floor. I got up, grabbed my drink and the bottle of vodka. The table was deserted except for the mystery woman; her friends had done the same thing mine had; given her a bit of space. I walked over.

“Thanks for the drink,” I said.

She smiled at me, indicated the chair next to her with an unspoken invitation. I sat down; inclined the bottle of vodka at her. “Care for a top-up?” I asked. Sure, it was a stupid line, I had no idea what she was drinking.

She smiled at me again. “Thanks,” she said. Listening to her voice,
aah. Her voice was like liquid sex. My cock stirred again.

“Lisa,” she added, pouring herself a shot in a deserted glass on the table.

“Patrick,” I said. “Interesting choice of drink, the dirty martini…” I was trying desperately to keep my eyes on her face, not her breasts; but that dress revealed the perfect amount of cleavage; seductive, not slutty. I wanted to pull her breasts out from her dress; feast on her body.

She laughed, a throaty laugh. “I’m a bad girl,” she said, with a wink at me. She leaned her head back, did her shot of vodka. She was sending me all kinds of signals, and I wanted this woman; this stranger at the bar that I didn’t know at all.

I’m not sure if I’ve ever been the type that played games, but I especially didn’t feel like playing games at that moment. I reached for my wallet; pulled a business card out. “Want to get out of here? The card has my address on it; hand it to your friends to be safe, and let’s go?” I was being brave; vodka-inspired bravery, no doubt.

She looked at the card, looked at me; slow speculation in her eyes. Then she smiled at me. “Let’s go, indeed.”

Chapter 2

Lisa:

Dr. Patrick Anderson. Surgeon. Hot. Utterly desirable.

He knew I wanted sex; I was broadcasting the signals loud and clear, and he didn’t beat around the bush. He helped me into my coat; I tossed some money at our table, made a brief detour to the bar to hand Monica his card, and then, we left.

Outside, there was a line for cabs, and we joined it. I shivered a little; I couldn’t believe how impulsive I was being.

“Here,” Patrick said, and wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me into his body so my back leaned against him. Little tendrils of pleasure curled in me as I felt the warmth of his body; the strength of his arms. I turned; I wanted to kiss him.

Such a good kisser. His lips were soft on mine; his hands were in my hair, pulling my head closer; and as I opened my mouth in helpless need, his tongue slid into my mouth, hot and insistent. I gripped the back of his neck, pulling him closer still; kissing him like my life depended on it; and at that moment, maybe it did. I drank in the feel of his body; the strength of his chest; the woodsy smell of his aftershave, and heat rose in my body as I moulded into him, losing myself in a swirl of sensation. 

The sound of a throat clearing brought us back to reality. The guy hailing down cabs for us looked at us impatiently. No doubt he saw necking couples every day – vodka had the magic ability to lower inhibitions. “You guys still want a cab?” he asked with irritation.

“Yes, please,” Patrick answered smoothly. He reached into his pocket, handed the guy some money, and smiled easily. “Thank you.”

The guy’s demeanour changed; he straightened; opened the cab door for me, as Patrick slid in the other side. “Have a good evening,” he said politely.

“Your place or mine?” Patrick looked at me expectantly. I thought to my place; the boxes of unassembled furniture in the middle of the room, the empty instant noodle wrappers piled high in the kitchen, and shuddered. However bad his place was, it couldn’t be worse than mine. “Your place, please…” I said.

Patrick nodded; leaned forward, gave the cab guy his address. I caught his neighborhood. Rosedale. Figured. Bottles of vodka at trendy lounges in Toronto didn’t come cheap. I shrugged. I’d been poor and I’d managed. Right now, I was comfortable enough; my business finally established to the point where I didn’t have to constantly worry about money. Wealth didn’t really impress me.

“Where did we leave off?” His voice was a low murmur, the very timbre of it sending little shivers of pleasure coursing through my body. My stomach did a little flip-flop as he moved closer to me, placed a hand on my knee. I swallowed; and my legs parted slightly in invitation.

“In a cab?” he leaned in and whispered in my ear. “Naughty, naughty Lisa…”

I loved the way he did that; the feel of his warm breath on my ear; the way his hand just stayed on my knee, even though my skirt had ridden up to mid-thigh. This was more subtle; he could have kissed me again, and I would have thrown myself on him in a frenzy of need; but this slower seduction was something else; it was more deliberate, more intentional.

Little of my mind was clear; I was high on the sexual arousal, riding on a wave of lust and longing, but in the small, clear bit of my mind, I was deliberating a response to his comment. I could either ignore that he’d called me a naughty girl and kiss him, or I tell him what I really wanted; I could confess that I wanted him to put me over his lap and spank me for being naughty. But, like I said, most nice guys couldn’t handle this. I decided to hint, just a little.

“Yes, I am being such a naughty girl…” I purred, placing my hand on his thigh, sliding it up his leg till my palm rested on his hard erection. From under my lashes, I tried to sneak a peek at his face; to see what his eyes revealed.

His eyes had widened slightly. Crap – had I scared him off?

***

Patrick:

So she wanted to be spanked. She’d lowered her eyes, but I didn’t think she was particularly submissive. Her cheeks were slightly flushed; I assumed she was embarrassed, but I didn’t particularly understand why she was embarrassed. Plenty of women wanted to be spanked – it certainly was neither the rarest of kinks out there, nor was it the most depraved.

Her breathing had changed almost imperceptibly; she was almost holding her breath as she waited for my reaction. But I was happy to play her game.

“Naughty girls get punished, Lisa,” I whispered in her ear; trying to look stern; suppressing my smile with difficulty when I heard her slight sigh. I put my other hand, the one that wasn’t on her knee, over her hand, effectively holding it in place over my erection.

The cab driver ruined the mood by pulling up just then in front of my house. I freed my hands, paid the guy, and we went into my house.