Authors: Tara Crescent
Lisa:
The weekend flew by with no incident. I spent most of my time at the hospital, but didn’t run into Patrick. He called me once Sunday afternoon, just to check in, and again, he warmed my heart with his genuine niceness.
Patrick. He was amazing and perfect. He was hard and dominant, but he was also lovely and sweet. If I could have designed a guy from the ground-up, adding a pinch of dominance, a teaspoon of gorgeous hunk, a tablespoon of humour, and a cupful of kindness, I wouldn’t have been able to make anyone more perfect than Patrick. And he was my boyfriend. I felt like I was living in my own Cinderella story.
My mom was doing great, according to Dr. Janokovic. She’d been a bit dazed and confused on Saturday, but she was significantly more lucid on Sunday. While full recovery would take months to achieve, she was due to be discharged from the hospital on Friday, exactly one week after the surgery.
***
On Monday, Mandy and Monica came to the hospital to visit my mom. “Is he here?” Monica whispered, dissolving into giggles.
“Who?” I asked in genuine puzzlement.
Mandy rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Patrick, you idiot. We want to meet this guy who has snapped the famous Lisa Preston no-commitment streak.”
“Yup,” Monica piped up cheerfully. “Ethan won, you know.”
“Won what?” I asked stupidly.
“We all had a bet. I was out ages ago, my guess was that you’d be twenty-eight when the streak snapped,” Monica laughed. “Mandy had twenty-nine, we thought that confronted with your thirtieth birthday, you might relent and keep a guy around. In the end, Ethan won.”
I just laughed. I guess I could have been irritated, but honestly, it was kind of funny. Their bracing assessment of my life was often what I needed. Whenever I sunk into self-pity because of the disaster that had been Nick, Mandy and Monica spoke soothing words of comfort and then told me to get over myself. They were perfect.
The three of us had become best friends when we had bonded in college over a particularly brutal undergraduate class. They’d always been there for me. We’d drunk vodka and bitched after my disappointing first time with the fumbling college boy who couldn’t find my clitoris with a map in one hand and a flashlight in the other. We’d giggled over the outrageously large bouquets of flowers that Nick sent me when he’d been in determined chase mode. We’d lost touch a little during those eight months when every bit of my mind and body was consumed by Nick O’Malley, but they had been my rock when I needed out. They had painstakingly put the shattered bits of me back together into something that resembled a functioning human being.
They had always been there for me. Mandy especially. Nick had been her boss, and she had had ringside seats to the sexual dynamics between us. I’d been concerned that when I ran from Nick, I had put her job at jeopardy. She had wanted to quit, but I wouldn’t let her. The job market had been tight, and Nick wasn’t the sort to mix work with pleasure.
We never talked about Nick. She still worked for him; I knew that. But she never mentioned him to me. She always made me feel like she was on my side.
“I don’t know where he is,” I said, returning to the discussion at hand. Patrick.
“Call him. Didn’t you say he did rounds here?”
I glared at my determined friends, but they were unrelenting. I sighed, pulled out my phone and dialled Patrick’s number. He picked up on the first ring. “Lisa,” he said, warmth filling his tone.
“You aren’t at the hospital, are you? My friends want to meet you, they are here visiting my mom.”
He laughed. “I’m just finishing up rounds. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
***
He charmed the pants off them. In thirty seconds, they had morphed from grown-up, competent, capable women into giggling, blushing girls. Finally, Mandy took a break from giggling, and looked at me. “Hey, I have a favour to ask. I have a gig in a couple of Saturdays, and Perry can’t make it. Will you play?”
“If everything’s okay with my mom,” I said.
“Patrick, you should come watch Lisa play.” I shot Mandy a look, but there was no stopping her. Sigh.
He grinned. “I love watching Lisa play,” he said, winking at me. I blushed beet-red. He was definitely not talking about the guitar.
“Mandy’s singing in a couple of weeks,” I explained, trying to calm my racing pulse.
“And you are going to play bass?” he asked. He smiled at me. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Patrick:
We had dinner on Wednesday at an all-you-can-eat sushi restaurant that she picked. “Okay,” she said to me, blushing prettily. “I can eat. A lot. Try not to judge.”
I’d been married to a woman who fretted constantly about how much she ate. The last thing I was going to do was judge. A woman who enjoyed food was a relief. Instead we both loaded our plates with sushi, and sat back down.
We chatted for a few minutes about her mother’s stay in the hospital. She was doing great, was on track to be discharged in a few days and Lisa’s relief at that was clear and palpable. Then, I asked her something that had been piquing my curiosity for the last few days.
“Your friends seemed really eager to meet me. What was that about?”
She winced. “Ah, I was afraid you were going to ask that,” she said. She made a face. “You are sort of my first boyfriend in a really long time.”
“How long?”
Her voice was quiet, but she met my gaze evenly. “Twelve years.”
I looked at her, trying to keep the shock I felt out of my eyes. “What did he do to you?” I asked her, my voice harsh. I’d asked her before, and she had always evaded the topic. But today, she sighed and answered.
“He started taking over my life,” she said softly. Almost a whisper. “He had all these rules for me. What I should wear, when I should call him. It didn’t matter what I wanted, who I was. I was just there to be moulded into whatever he wanted.”
I reached out and grabbed her hand, and held it, and in that gesture, I tried to convey how amazing I found her. How strong she really was, though it was clear she didn’t see it. This jerk had abused her right when she was on the cusp of figuring out who she was and what her sexual needs were. That she still had the courage to ask me or anyone to spank her, that she let me tie her hands together with my tie the first time we had sex – these spoke to both courage and a sexual honesty that was incredibly rare.
She looked bleak, as she took a sip of her tea. “I let it happen, I didn’t stop him.”
“You were twenty-three,” I said softly. “He was a lot older. Can you not see that? Is there no forgiveness possible?”
“Forgiveness,” she whispered, “forgiveness is always possible. But trust? I stayed away from boyfriends and relationships and love for twelve years because I don’t trust myself.”
I don’t trust myself.
She’d worded that in the present tense. And I didn’t know what to do with that, because she’d have to learn to trust herself. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t help her with that.
***
“Tell me about Andrea,” she said, after a while.
“What do you want to know?”
“24/7 is different for everyone, what was it for you?”
“It wasn’t anything I either wanted then, or want now,” I stressed. I had no desire to go through another situation the way I had with Andrea, and Lisa needed to be completely sure of that. Things had escalated between Andrea and me far beyond my comfort level. I had shamefully allowed it to, thinking it was easier to go along with what Andrea wanted, rather than hurting her feelings. But in the end, we’d both been hurt, and we both felt like we’d entered the marriage under false pretenses. Our marriage hadn’t survived the resulting loss of trust.
She didn’t look convinced, and so I sighed and elaborated. “It was the little things and the big things. She wanted me to make all the decisions, all the time. It got… tiring.”
“She’s beautiful,” Lisa said, her eyes on her tea.
I shrugged. “Sure. It ceased to matter pretty quickly.”
She met my eyes. There was a challenge in hers. “So tell me, Patrick, if it stopped mattering that quickly, why did you stay married for eight years?”
***
I was being open and honest about Andrea. I was staying away from the other stuff. My parents, the obligations I had walked away from, my struggle to convince myself I hadn’t shirked my responsibilities. I’d finally made my peace with all of it, but I wasn’t still entirely comfortable talking about it.
I met her eyes. “I’m going to be a bit vague here, because some stuff, I just don’t want to talk about.” I saw the surprise rise in her eyes. To this point, I’d always answered her questions. “But, for a long time, it was critical that I fulfil my obligations. And marriage was a pretty big obligation, and I didn’t walk away from it lightly.”
“Is that why you came to the hospital when I called? Cause you felt obligated to do it?”
I laughed aloud. Lisa was a bright, shining gleam of light and sunshine. I wanted to be with her, and duty and obligation had nothing to do with it. I found her sexy and funny and smart and real and unexpected. And so, so fuckable.
We were sitting in a booth in the corner, out of sight of most of the restaurant. “Slide next to me,” I said with a wink. She grinned and obeyed my instruction with sweetness and the amused awareness that was so uniquely her own. I reached out for her hand, and placed it over my dick, which was rock-hard underneath my jeans.
Her lips twitched. “I’m just pussy then,” she said, laughing.
“The best pussy,” I replied with a grin. “But the rest of you is pretty awesome too.”
She blushed beet-red, and my cock twitched in response. “You are pretty damn awesome yourself, Patrick,” she drawled, in that sexy, smoky voice of hers.
***
All I wanted to do was take her back to my house and fuck her senseless; I tried my level best to resist that. “What do you want to do?” I asked her.
She looked at me with heat in her eyes. “I want to play, Dr. Anderson,” she said clearly.
I was lost and drowning, but I tried one last time to be gallant. “Are you sure?” I asked.
There was no doubt in her voice. “Absolutely.”
***
Lisa:
“Can we avoid the examination room today?” I asked him when we pulled up in front of his house. “Is that okay?” My voice was hesitant.
“Of course,” his voice was warm. He reached out and took my hand in his. “You’ve had a difficult couple of days with hospitals. It’s perfectly normal that you wouldn’t want to do something that takes you back there.” He looked at me. “Vanilla tonight?”
I shook my head. “I still want to play,” I told him. “Just not in the examination room.”
He looked at me, and there was a gleam in his eyes, a gleam that sent lust shooting through me as I pondered what he had in store for me. “Good,” he said, a smile playing about his lips.
***
When we entered the house, he looked at me. “Come here,” he ordered. I moved in front of him. He quickly removed my shirt and my pants, unhooked my bra and slid my panties down my legs.
He took a step back, just watched me for a few quiet minutes with pleasure in his eyes as I tried my best to meet his gaze and refrain from covering myself. Finally, he looked at me and spoke in his quiet, dominant voice. “Go upstairs,” he said. “To my bedroom, please. Lie on the bed. I’ll join you in a few minutes.”
“Yes, Dr. Anderson,” I said quietly. Whatever he had in store for me, I wanted it.
***
He smiled at me as he entered the room. He had something in his hands, but he kept it out of my line of vision, shaking his head at me as I tried to peek. “You’ll find out soon enough,” he said, setting whatever he had in his hands on his dresser before coming to lie next to me.
“Lie on your stomach, Lisa,” he said, his voice indulgent. “Come, you’ve had a long couple of days, let me take care of you.” His hands roamed over my back, massaging my shoulders, then they slid down my ass, stroking it, cupping the cheeks. He spanked me gently, once, and chuckled at my murmured protest.
“I do like spanking you, baby,” he said, his voice warm. I blushed, my head buried in a pillow. I like being spanked by him. Another spank on the other ass cheek. I turned my head and smiled at him. “But I’ve been a good girl,” I pouted at him.
He chuckled again. “And you are getting the good girl spanking,” he said. “The bad girl spanking hurts more.” I laughed; I could attest to the truth of his words. The thirteen strokes of the belt on Thursday had been a lot harder.
His fingernails scratched a gentle path down the back of my thighs, and I wriggled involuntarily, and parted my legs. He just chuckled again. “Not just yet, baby,” he said. “First, a surprise.”
“A surprise?” I repeated, looking at him. “What kind of surprise?”
“A fun one,” he responded, with a grin. “Keep your eyes closed,” he instructed, and I complied.
His hands continued their slow rub of my shoulders and my back and my ass, and I relaxed and gave into the sensation. “Mmm,” I moaned, as his hands cupped my ass cheeks, and he spanked me again. “Patrick, that feels really good,” I muttered.
“Good,” he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice. “Here,” he said, moving a pillow near me. “Let’s get a couple of pillows under your hips.” I obediently moved my hips up, placing my weight on my right wrist, as he quickly and efficiently slid a couple pillows under me. “Good girl,” he said.
His hands continued to stroke my ass, even strokes that had my pussy clenched with anticipation and wet, even before we’d started.
“Baby,” he said, his voice quiet. “You have the most beautiful ass.” His hands traced a line down the centre of my spine, all the way from my neck to the crack of my ass, kept going until he found my tight little asshole, and his finger wriggled into it. “So pretty… so perfect.” He spanked the cheeks once, twice, one on each cheek. “You mark so easy, baby,” he said, his voice thick with pleasure. I just groaned in response; pushed my ass up towards him.
More,
I begged silently in my head.
Spank. Spank. Spank. A flurry of spanks hit my ass, each one not very hard, but the combined effect to start a slow, hot fire in me. Again, I raised my ass towards him, begging for more. “So beautiful,” he said, his voice level. “Baby, you are going to be a good girl for me, aren’t you?”
My voice was automatically compliant. “Yes, Dr. Anderson,” I said. I wasn’t in the examination room, but when he spoke to me in that dominant voice, I felt compelled to address him using the honorific. I couldn’t do any less when he controlled every aspect of my pleasure.
“Lisa,” he said, his voice quiet and serious. “You know I won’t hurt you, right?”
“Yes,” I responded instantly, my answer coming from a place deep inside of me. “I know you won’t hurt me.”
“Good,” he replied, his voice slightly amused. He leaned forward and kissed me, just for an instant, the merest brush of lips. I moaned as I felt him near me. “You know, Patrick,” I groaned, “We don’t have to play. We could just have sex right now.”
He chuckled. “Tempting as that sounds… no. Where’s the fun in that?” But there was tension in his voice; I could hear it, and it warmed me through my core. Whatever the games he played, and he played them well, with implacable control, he still wanted me through all of it, as much as I wanted him. I heard that slight unravelling in his voice, and I received that slight lapse in control as the gift that it was; a sign that he was deriving as much pleasure from our play as I was.
“Lisa,” he said, his voice intent, “I’m going to put a butt plug in your ass.”
I nodded. I’d had butt plugs in my ass before. But then, his voice had a definite undercurrent of laughter in it as he continued. “Well…” his voice was a sexy, sexy drawl. “Not a butt plug exactly.”
“What does that mean?” I asked warily.
“Wait and watch,” he said, a finger pushing into my asshole. He pushed something into my ass, something not much wider than his finger, and I clenched automatically as I responded to whatever he inserted in me. “Patrick, this is cold,” I yelped a little, though in a few seconds, the cold didn’t matter anymore, as my ass started burning with a slow heat. His hands traced a slow pathway again, from my neck, all the way down my spine to my ass, and he punctuated the movement with a spank of my ass, and I clenched automatically. A hot burn radiated from whatever he pushed in.
“Patrick,” I said, fighting the urge to reach back with my right hand and pull whatever he’d inserted out, “what is this?”
“Ginger,” he said promptly. “It’ll burn.”
“You don’t say,” I groaned. “I’m assuming it is safe, Dr. Anderson?” I placed heavy, pointed emphasis on the word Doctor, and he just chuckled in response.
“Live a little, Lisa,” he chided. His hands were at my back, stroking me with even, soothing strokes, as I fought to stay still. The ginger created intense, burning heat, and I shifted on the bed, and my hands gripped the covers as I fought to stay still. I moaned as the itching intensified.
“Patrick,” I groaned. His hands stroked my ass gently. “Yes, Lisa?” His voice was thick with lust.
“It really burns, Patrick,” I said, my voice ragged. I took a couple of deep breaths, but they just made it worse, sending the heat and the burning in a tidal wave over my body.
His finger swiped a slow path through my pussy. “You are soaked, baby,” he said, satisfaction in his voice. “I’m guessing you are enjoying this a lot more than you think you are.”
“You try it on your ass, Dr. Anderson,” I retorted, hissing, and he just chuckled in response, and kissed the base of my neck.