Clarissa & the Doctor Ch. 3byNava Kirsch©
Lots more naughty fun this time around when Michael and Clarissa go downtown! Light bondage and threesome. You may want to read Parts One and Two; they set up the story and introduce the characters.
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Michael jumped off the couch, did up his pants, and strode into the kitchen. I sat up, slowly, wondering why he'd offered to wait on me. Odd behavior, given this evening's tone. Probably didn't want me to see how bad his kitchen really was.
"Hey," I called weakly, feeling self-consciously sticky all of a sudden. "Can I clean up?"
Michael sauntered around the corner, gulping Bud. He handed me the beer and a dampened dish towel and plopped down beside me. He grabbed a pack of cigarettes off of the coffee table, extracted one, lit up.
I sponged myself off, mildly abashed at having to do it while Michael watched. I like my bathroom privacy.
He turned to me and grinned wickedly. "Ever had a girl?"
I reddened instantly. "Certainly not!" I gasped, placing the towel on the coffee table with a suddenly less-than-steady hand.
Michael laughed. "Didn't think so. Wanna try it?"
I looked at him, speechless. Tact, I was quickly discovering, was not one of Doctor Michael Hanlon's greatest strengths.
The sudden warmth below my belly took me by surprise as well.
I mean, not that I hadn't wondered; I'm human. But a lifetime of small-town Pennsylvania upbringing has a way of keeping you from too much, er, experimentation. The only two females I'd ever kissed on the lips were my mother and my great Aunt Margaret, and it hadn't been sexy.
Michael reached over, brushing my hair to one side, and began to stroke my neck.
"Think how nice that'd be," Michael murmured. "A girl would know just how to do you. Just how to eat you. How to make you feel good."
Oh, my. I closed my eyes and moaned, leaning into Michael's caress. I imagined, too easily, too vividly, another girl's lips on mine. On my neck, my breasts---
"Girls are wicked soft, too," Michael continued. "And they smell nice, and they make you eggs in the morning. C'mon," he coaxed. "Bet you always wondered."
He turned to me and slid his hand up my neck to the back of my head, massaging steadily. His other hand found its way to my breasts, where it cupped each one in turn, lifting gently. I felt Michael rubbing his palm back and forth over my nipples. No pinching this time, just light stimulation. The tissue, already sore and sensitive, sprang erect. Shock of pure pleasure, radiating from my nipples, going directly to my crotch.
I felt Michael's lips at my ear. "I want to see you with another girl, Clarissa. Want to see you get off with her mouth on your pussy and my dick down your throat. Whaddaya say?"
The image flashed behind my closed eyelids.
I arched my breast into Michael's hand and turned my head, pressing my mouth hard to his. I felt wicked and naughty and suspected I could get used to it. I felt Michael smile as I kissed him.
He broke the kiss and grinned, taking my chin between his thumb and forefinger. "We'll find us a nice little piece," he promised, winking. "Soon."
I stared at him, feeling light in my head and heavy in my loins. I nodded, swallowing hard.
Michael put his hands on my shoulders and pushed me flat on my back. I went without resistance. Rolling over on his stomach, Michael inched down, positioning his face directly between my legs.
"In the meantime--- I'm hungry again," he murmured. "How about a snack?"
Michael bent his head and gently kissed my mons, sliding his hands underneath my buttocks to cup my ass in his palms. His lips caressed my pubic mound, skimming my inner thighs, feather-light, his breath warm on my skin. Pressing his mouth to my crotch, he slithered his tongue over my labia, pausing to bite gently every so often, pulling the skin between his teeth. He licked me lovingly, moving his lips and tongue up and down the length of my slit in long, slow strokes.
He was practiced, wicked. Warm... he made me so warm. I sighed, letting him work me, yielding to him. His, and only his. I spread my legs wider, thrusting my pussy into his face. His tongue danced over my cunt, dipping into my hole, mimicking the movement of his cock, stabbing me sweetly. He changed direction, slicking slowly upward, barely grazing my clitoris before moving back to my vaginal canal. Teasing.
Wanted more, needed more. Nownownow. I pushed my hands into Michael's hair, pulling his head down, harder, grinding his nose against my pelvis.
Michael ate me in earnest now, lapping at my throbbing lips, sucking my juices, moaning his obvious pleasure. Digging his fingers into the flesh of my ass, he nibbled his way to my clit and gave it his full attention, tickling it fiendishly, swirling the tip of his tongue over the swollen bud. I swiveled my hips, chest heaving. God, yes. Just like that. Lovely, sweet tingling. Soon.
I felt the wave rise, slowly, inside my belly. I twisted my head from side to side, uttering incomprehensible sentences. I flung out both arms, balling my hands into white-knuckled fists, hammering the cushions. Something tightened, coiling behind my navel, exploding suddenly, sending me spinning into space. A gutteral cry flew from my lips, torn from my core by the sheer force of the orgasm.
I surfaced, slowly, opening my eyes, waiting for my vision to clear. I lay prone, breathing hard, trembling. Michael lifted his head and grinned up at me.
Michael got up, wiping his mouth and chin, and reached for the beer. He sat back on the couch, draining the bottle in one long swallow. Looked at me, amused.
I sat up, slowly, leaning my back against the arm of the sofa, facing Michael. I felt warm, lightheaded---cleansed. Just the most amazing state of mind.
Michael laughed. "Bet nobody ever ate you like that."
I might have been glowing, but I wasn't catatonic. Michael's arrogance was big as life and truly astounding; he raised it to a fine art. He was right about what he'd just done, of course, but I'd resigned myself to finding it more amusing than annoying. I laughed. I couldn't help it.
Michael raised one eyebrow. "Glad to see you're happy. You'll no doubt be quite receptive to what I'm going to tell you."
I leaned forward, unconsciously, suddenly compelled by the tone of his voice to pay close attention.
"Okay," Michael said, evenly. "Listen up, Clarissa, because I'll only say this once. I don't have many rules; I don't feel like I'll need them with you. There are only two. First, as I told you, you belong to me. Just me. No boyfriends, no dating. I catch you with somebody else, I'll see that the words 'physician' and 'Clarissa Blackwood' are never uttered in the same sentence. Second, I fuck who I want, when I want. On those occasions, you might be included. You might not."
Other girls? I felt a sudden, wholly unexpected spark of---what? Jealousy? Unbelievable. Idiot, I thought, angrily. Of course he's got other girls. Probably has a Little Black Book the size of a Physician's Desk Reference. And he's been excruciatingly clear about what you are to him. What do you care, after what he's done to you?
But I did.
And it showed.
"Other girls?" I managed finally, my throat tight.
"Hey," Michael said, gently tweaking my big toe. "No pouting. You'll get used to it. You'll enjoy it, eventually. Just keep in mind how much you're pleasing me. And I know how much you like making me happy, Clarissa. How hot it makes you."
I digested that, knowing without a doubt that Michael Hanlon had rammed his fist into my chest and was holding my heart---and my psyche--- in a death-grip. I sighed shakily. I could refuse Michael nothing and we both knew it.
I leaned over and kissed Michael lightly on the lips, resigned to my fate, feeling delightfully helpless to do anything but acquiesce.
Michael smiled, patting my head. "Good girl. Look, I'm gonna go check my e-mail. Here," he said, tossing me a television remote control. "Watch TV or something. I got cable. HBO, Cinemax and Playboy, if you want." He got up, crossed the living room, and disappeared down a short hallway.
I sat for a few minutes, turning the remote over and over in my hands. I stifled the urge to laugh hysterically. Alice might have tumbled down the rabbit hole, but I was rocketing headlong through Willy Wonka's psychedelic fun-tunnel. What the hell, I thought, pushing the power button and settling in. I can't afford cable at my place.
I awoke some time later, stiff and chilly. I was stretched out on the couch, my head resting on a squashed pillow which had done little to cushion my skull. My neck was killing me. I opened my eyes, rubbing the bleariness out of them, massaging my neck. The television was still on; an ancient black and white film flickered feebly. I looked at my watch. Four-twenty. Michael was nowhere to be seen. I grabbed the remote from the coffee table and switched off the television. I rose and stretched, not bothering to get dressed. Michael seemed to prefer me naked anyhow.
I padded across the living room and down the hall, stopping at the first room on the left. I peeked inside. Within, Michael slept soundly, slumped over his desk, head cradled in his arms. A single gooseneck lamp shone dimly. He obviously used this room as an office, and it was as bad or worse than the rest of the apartment. I found myself thinking of avalanches. His computer glowed serenely. I tiptoed in and came up behind him, looking at the screen, hoping for something that would give me some insight into Michael's Deeper Emotional Self.
No such luck. Looked like a bunch of financial gobbledygook: stock market stuff. Lots of it. Feeling nosy, I scanned columns and figures. AT&T. Pharmacia. Sprint. Wells Fargo. Bank of America. Hanlon Pharmaceuticals?! Thousands of shares. Big dividends. I wasn't a financial whiz, but I knew major moola when I saw it. I also knew what your average cardiologist pulled in, and it wasn't nearly enough to do this kind of Wall Street Shuffle.
I looked at the mess I was standing in, in an apartment that probably didn't cost more than six hundred dollars a month, in a neighborhood just shy of blue collar. Looked at Doctor Michael Hanlon, the original Poor Little Rich Boy. I shook my head slowly, picked up a tattered blanket I'd nearly tripped over on the way in, and draped it gently over Michael's shoulders. Maybe this was all a dream, and if I went to sleep I'd wake up in my own bed. I kissed Michael on the head, walked out of the room, and slipped down the hall to his bedroom.
Michael woke slowly. Shit, he'd fallen asleep at his desk again. He sat up, wincing. His lumbar region was singing grand opera. And what the hell was stuck to his face? He put a hand to his cheek and peeled off a large paperclip, realizing as he moved his arm that he was wearing a blanket. Clarissa? Huh. He found himself smiling, feeling an odd little tug just above his stomach and to the left of his sternum. He sat, staring into space. It was a full ten seconds before he caught himself, and another twenty while he silently gave himself hell. Dangerous territory, he thought, shaking his head. Keep out, Doctor Hanlon. Michael sighed, shut down the computer, and hauled himself to his feet, closing the door as he left the room.
Michael walked slowly into the bedroom. Clarissa was asleep, smack in the middle of the mattress. She lay on her back, one arm outstretched, the other thrown across her stomach, head turned to one side. Her hair lay fanned over the pillow in a jumble of dark curls.
Michael walked closer and stood by the bed, watching. Her breathing was easy and regular, moving her full breasts slowly up and down. Lips slightly parted. Lashes like soot on her smooth cheeks. She'd pushed the sheet down past her hips; it lay, rumpled, just below her navel. Her nipples were hard pink buds. Her shapely legs were parted, clearly outlined beneath the bedclothes.
Damn, she was pretty.
And she was his. Completely. Unquestionably.
Clarissa stirred, sighing softly, and stretched out her other arm..
Michael drank her in. Sleeping, she looked like a kid. Her vulnerability both touched and excited him. He'd been kind of hard on her, but she'd been a pretty good sport. Of course, she didn't really have a choice. She'd responded quickly, as Michael had guessed. He was glad. He was not a patient man.
If Michael had any regrets about seducing Clarissa, he was more than willing to bury them. He'd ditched guilt long ago, along with daily Mass and giving up stuff for Lent. Michael knew that what he was doing with Clarissa was spectacularly unethical, but she was just too good to pass up. The girl was a living, breathing, textbook submissive borderline personality, with lots of pretty little buttons just aching to be pushed. He'd denied himself sex for far too long, anyhow. Time to have some fun. Michael sighed contentedly. Having Clarissa Blackwood in the palm of his hand was like freaking Christmas morning.
Michael re-ran the evening in his mind. So far, good.
Michael frowned, puzzled. What the hell had made him get up and get her a beer? As far as Michael was concerned, she was there to please him. Huh. Something about the way she'd dared to tease him... Fighting back when he'd tickled her. Combination of weakness and strength, giving her a depth that was surprisingly attractive. For a brief moment, he'd actually, uh, wanted to show her he could be a decent guy. What the fuck. And that damn blanket... Michael shook his head, as if to clear it. C'mon, he chided himself, she's a poverty-stricken med student from Anytown, USA. Not exactly the kind of girl to get attached to. Probably wouldn't know which fork to use if you labeled it. Nah, Michael thought, trying to find his equilibrium, screw her silly, teach her a few tricks for the next guy, ditch her when you're bored.
Michael also realized that he didn't intimidate Clarissa as much as she pretended. Naughty girl, already playing games. Tougher than she looked.
And not very wise. Michael smiled nastily. Trying to manipulate him, was she? That wouldn't happen again. He'd just have to, ah, refine his approach.
Michael's mind hummed, vividly picturing the endless possibilities Clarissa provided. He wondered what she'd look like in a schoolgirl's uniform, and he intended to find out. Michael rolled his eyes, grinning sheepishly. Yeah, he knew it was the oldest one in the book, but it was one of his favorites. Didn't need a specialty in psychiatry to figure that one out. Scratch a lapsed Catholic, he thought wryly, and you'll find a healthy fetishist.
Yeah, he had a nice long list of stuff he wanted to do with Clarissa.
Gee, she sure was fast asleep. He guessed he'd worn the girl out. Hmm.
Michael chuckled softly as he suddenly got a Really Good Idea.
He turned and, walking to the closet, quietly opened it. He walked in, switching on the light, and pulled an old knapsack from a cardboard box on the floor of the closet. Unzipping the knapsack, extracted two lengths of soft white rope.
He switched off the light and snuck over to the bed, ropes in hand, grinning hugely.
Michael hoped Clarissa was a deep sleeper.
Gently grabbing the arm closest to him, Michael lifted Clarissa's wrist, pulled it to the edge of the mattress, and bound it firmly to the right-hand bed rail. Hmm, he thought as he worked. Buy a new bed next week. One with nice, big posts. He paused, holding his breath. She slept on.
Michael stole to the other side of the bed and repeated the process with Clarissa's left wrist.
He stood back, admiring his handiwork. Michael smiled as he felt his cock stiffen. Christ, Hanlon, he thought, thoroughly enjoying himself, you are such a deviant.
He leaned over and kissed Clarissa, very gently, on the mouth.
Michael raised one eyebrow. Hell, she really did sleep hard.
He knelt by the bed, reached out his hand, and cupped one of her breasts, rubbing his thumb back and forth over the nipple.
Clarissa moaned softly and opened her eyes.
"Hiya," Michael said, smiling pleasantly.
Clarissa blinked, disoriented. Then she saw Michael. She smiled. Tried to move.
The look on her face was priceless.
Michael leaned his elbows on the bed, resting his chin in his hands. He shrugged, grinning. "I was bored."
Clarissa stared up at him. Her eyes were huge. "I don't know about this," she said. Her voice was very small.
"No choice, I'm afraid," Michael chuckled.
She pulled at the ropes, testing them. Pulled harder. Debating.
Michael could almost hear her thinking.
Finally, she frowned. "Untie me," she said, peevishly.
Oh, she's gonna push me, Michael thought, delighted. Good girl. Give me a fight.
Michael burst out laughing. "Did you just give me an order?"
"Michael," Clarissa said, changing her tack. Trying to reason with him. "I don't think---"
"I don't give a fuck what you think," Michael snapped, his voice suddenly tight. He stood up, putting his hands on his hips, and glared at the girl. "You still don't get it, do you? You think because I fetch you a beer and joke around that it changes the dynamics of our little arrangement?" Michael smiled inwardly, warming to his role. Should've been an actor, he thought for the thousandth time.
"You got what you wanted," Clarissa argued. Halfway between angry and pleading. Nice.
"Haven't you had enough for one night? I've tried to accommodate you---"
"You haven't even begun to accommodate me, Miss Blackwood," Michael said, darkly.
Clarissa pouted, still uncowed, eyeing him defiantly.
Oh, baby, Michael thought, his cock swelling, you are in such trouble. And whether you know it or not, you're gonna love it.
Omigod, he'd actually tied me up. Bastard.
I lay in the middle of Michael's bed, arms stretched out on either side of me, wrists bound to what I guessed were the bed rails. I yanked at the ropes, straining my fingers, trying to reach the knots. Useless. He knew what he was doing; it didn't look like I'd be going anywhere soon.
I was angry. This was too much. I'd never done anything like this before in my life. How dare he? I moved again, twisting my wrists in my bonds, and gasped as I felt my belly flutter. Huh? There it was again. Unmistakable. Warmth between my legs. I writhed again in response, spreading my thighs reflexively as I felt my crotch tingle.
This was ridiculous! I struggled harder, angry at myself, angry at my traitorous body, angry at Michael for manipulating me with such practiced ease. And on the heels of anger, excitement. Undeniable arousal. I was suddenly profoundly aware of the way the ropes felt, soft and snug, encircling my wrists. How my arms were stretched, taut, straight out on either side of my body, forcing my back to arch, my breasts forward. I was exposed. Vulnerable. Helpless. My nipples were tight, supersensitive. My heart was bumping along like a Coney Island rollercoaster.
I stared at Michael, finding no words. I felt like I was teetering on the edge of a cliff.
Michael smiled sweetly. "Now I just bet," he drawled, "that those ropes are sending a nice, warm pulse straight from your wrists right on down to your little clit." He laughed, sitting down beside me on the edge of the bed.
I twisted again, moaning, struggling. He was right. My cunt was wet, swollen, throbbing. I tensed my muscles and pulled again at the ropes, loving the way it felt, gasping as heat and fluid flooded my vagina.
"Aw, honey," Michael crooned, stroking my cheek. "You are just so confused right now, aren't you?"
"Let me go---" I finally managed. My head was spinning. Too much stimulation. Too many conflicting feelings. No. I wrenched my body back and forth, over and over, succeeding only in practically dislocating my shoulders. I fell back, panting, sweating, my hair a dark tangle across my face.