Doctor Pretty

She grunted madly into her gag, trying to force her legs together, but it was hopeless. Then she felt it, his fingers at the elastic of her panties. Her stomach jumped. Then down further, over her soft nest of blonde hair. Then there. There. They slid so easily down her labia. A finger, no two fingers sliding up and down her labia. Then two of them inside her. Her body jerked, trying to get away, trying to escape the violation. She writhed, twisted, and writhed and twisted some more. It was quite some time - seconds? minutes? - before she realized he had stopped moving his fingers. They were just held there, against her labia, two fingers up inside her. She stopped moving, looking up at him then. He was staring at her. Eyes burning, forcing, like the rest of him. "The moment of truth, Doctor Pretty. In your eyes. You can't hide it." She looked at him, helpless, then her head went limp, and she started crying again, weeping, harder. Her body gave up. She felt his fingers wiggle inside her. She jerked involuntarily. She could smell herself. He was slowly, slowly moving his fingers now in her vagina. Inside her, then out, along her labia, up over her clit, then back down and inside her. Repeating the motion. Each time his fingers moved over her clit her body jerked, writhed. Trying to get away from it, she told herself. Embarrassed, shocked at her body's response. She couldn't help her reaction. He was tormenting her. Humiliating her. Then he took his fingers out.

She looked down, wondering what he was doing. His hands were grabbing her pantyhose. They were strong hands, she realized. Muscular, athletic, working hands. They ripped her pantyhose apart. completely, so she now had two separate legs. Then his hands went up to the elastic of her panties. Her resistance now was half-hearted. Token. He grabbed one side of her panty elastic, and with one strong pull ripped it apart. Then he did the same on the other side. Now, with both hips ripped apart, he tugged her panties off her completely.

"I want you to keep your eyes open now, Doctor Pretty. Watch." He lifted her panties up to his nose, inhaling her scent. "Your fuckjuices, Doctor Pretty. Your cuntjuices. Here. Smell." He held them under her nose. She smelled her smell. A smell she smelled about once a month, when she masturbated under the beautiful pastel sheets of her bed. Then she couldn't believe it. He tugged the gag away from her mouth and started to stuff her panties in under the gag. In her mouth. Her wet panties. Her soaking panties. He got them about half in, leaving them dangling, all damp and scented, over her lips, under her nose. Then he replaced the gag. Her eyes were smarting, smarting with tears.

She shuddered and jerked suddenly. His fingers were back on her labia. "Your pussy is still soaking, Doctor Pretty. Fresh cuntjuices." His fingers circled and circled her clitoris, then dipped inside her, flicking inside her, pressing and massaging. Once when he pressed she jerked strongly and involuntarily. She looked up at him, scared, and he just smiled back. His fingers found the same spot again. She felt like she had to urinate. He kept pressing. Then the need to urinate passed, replaced by an incredible warmth, a buzzing throughout her abdomen. Then he took his fingers out. Circled her clit. Silent. Watching her body, looking down at her vagina, then up at her face. He pulled her bra down, exposing her nipples. He pinched them, twisted them. She was groaning and grunting. She was so humiliated. She couldn't stop her hips from moving. Jerking and shuddering as he tormented her, teased her. Fingers over her clit, then deep inside her. She closed her eyes. It was several seconds before she realized she had closed her eyes, unable to avoid giving herself up to the sensations of arousal, the approaching need to cum. She realized she wasn't going to be able to stop herself.

All she could hear, occasionally, was his silent breathing. And her hoarse breathing in reply. Her grunts. And in the occasional silences between her grunts, the slick sounds of her own wetness. She closed her eyes again. He stopped. He reached into his squash bag, pulling out a mini-recorder. "It's okay, Doctor Pretty. I'll make sure my secretary doesn't get the wrong tape." She couldn't believe what was happening. He turned on the recorder, placing it on the table beside her chair. Then his fingers reached inside her again and her body heaved, another jolt of arousal shooting through her. She closed her eyes. He stopped. She whimpered. Then it started up again. After a few seconds she realized it felt different. She looked. She groaned. He was licking her. His tongue moving slowly up and down her pussy, then pressing on her clit, lifting it, sucking it. She was wracked with dozens of shocks shooting through her, as his tongue drove her wild. His fingers moved inside her.

He stopped. She looked down, then closed her eyes, catching her breath. She could taste herself on her panties still. She was not crying any more. She had entered a new space, a plane of existence. She was watching her body, observing its responses. It wasn't hers any more; it was this chaotic swirl of fiery meteors, something that was merely wrapped around the core of her. Except it was the core of her. There was nothing else. She didn't know how long this went on. Alternately fingering her. Licking her. Tormenting her. Stopping. Pinching and twisting her nipples. Her body was not her own now. Her hips moving, starting to fuck his fingers, fuck his mouth. Groaning when he moved away. Whimpering. How did he know? How did he do this? She wanted to explode, she wanted to jump off this ledge and feel that freefall, the weightless exploding universe of her own release.

He stood up, leaning over her, his finger slowly slowly moving around and around her clit. Very slowly. Very lightly. With each circle she was whimpering, shifting, thrusting forward. "Your eyes are begging me, Doctor Pretty." He stared into her eyes again, yanking her head back by grabbing her hair. "Your eyes don't lie, Doctor Pretty. Such a bad girl." He pressed on her clit and she jerked. Yes, she said to herself, this is it! I am going to cum! But always he pulled back just before. She started to cry, she was so desperate. "Such a bad girl, Doctor Pretty. Such a bad girl. Are you a bad girl? A bad girl who wants to cum?" She was about to shake her head, but he was looking into her eyes. His eyes held hers. Slowly, she nodded.

She nodded again. She sucked in air again. He touched her clit harder and she jerked, trying to fuck his fingers, shameless. Then he took his fingers away. Through the gag, she whined, screwing up her eyes, small tears forming at their corners. He touched her clit again, slowly circling it, not quite touching the most sensitive flesh. She squirmed more, and more. She whimpered, she bucked her hips. Then she felt her head yanked back. His hand was in her hair, and his eyes were once again boring into her.

"So Doctor Pretty. I hear what your body is saying. Do you want to cum?" She nodded her head up and down slowly, breathing hard through her gag. He didn't move, but pressed her clit again with his finger. "I want to hear you tell me you want to cum, Doctor Pretty."

Her eyes widened in horror. Then she forgot her horror as he slid his fingers up and down her dripping slit, and her pussy came closer to orgasm. She bucked and whined louder. Her eyes pleaded, tearing.

"So Doctor Pretty, you are going to have to ask. I have all night, of course. And you just have your television to go home to. And your cat? I bet you have a cat." he pinched her nipples, then tugged on them, and she felt the fire right under her clit. "I am going to take the gag off for a second, and you are going to tell me what you want. If you scream, I will put the gag back on, and we'll do all this again. Understand?"

She nodded vigorously, fearfully. For a fleeting second the thought of screaming crossed her mind. But she was intelligent. A part of her was still cool, carefully assessing her situation. And then there was another part of her. A deeper, primal part. It frightened her, like the monster under the bed when she was a little child. Irrational and powerful. It crept out from under the rock inside her, and slowly took her hands, tied them as securely as Alex had tied her hands in this room. She hated it. She watched it take her over, this monster.

He pulled the panties from her mouth. Then he lifted the gag from her mouth, watching her carefully, ready to clamp it back down. His fingers were working up and down her slit mercilessly.

"Yes?" he said. "Tell me, Doctor Pretty."

Her hips bucked and she moaned. She moaned again. "God!" she shouted. "Please! Please! Please! Please let me!"

"Let you what, Doctor Pretty?"

"Let me cum," she whimpered hoarsely, almost under her breath. "I want to cum. I need to cum."

"What was that, Doctor Pretty? I can't quite hear you? What do you want me to do?" His fingers were driving her wild.

"I want to cum!" she said more loudly, a hoarse shout. "Please I want to cum!"

"You want to cum, Dr. Pretty. You want me to fuck you? Fuck you with my fingers?" He lowered himself to his knees, and slowly licked up her slit, lifting her clit, sending her again into whimpering, moaning spasms of aching, so close to orgasm. He looked up, his lips wet. "Fuck you with my mouth? I want to hear you ask, Dr. Pretty. Beg."

Tears were falling from her eyes, but not copiously. They were now as much tears of frustration as tears of humiliation. "Yessssssss," she hissed. "Fuck me. Fuck me with your fingers. Fuck me with your mouth. Fuck me however you want!"

He stopped licking her. "You have to ask, Dr. Pretty. Not tell me. Ask. Ask nicely." She was teetering on the edge. He had driven her crazy.

"Please! Pleeeeeeeease! Please fuck me. Please fuck me with your fingers. Fuck me with your mouth. Please I need to cum!"

"That's a good start, Dr. Pretty. Now you'll tell me you are a bad girl. A bad girl with a wet pussy. It aches to be fucked. You're a bad girl whose pussy is soaking wet, so aroused, and you think of fucking and you are aching to be fucked so will I please fuck you."

She didn't care now. She did it. Said all the words he wanted to hear, a constant stream of wanting to be fucked, of being a bad girl. And as she spoke, and begged, and said what a bad girl she was, he continued to touch her, to drive her closer and closer. "Yes, a bad girl who wants to cum, a bad girl with a wet pussy who wants you to fuck her. Fuck me fuck me fuck me. Pleeeeeease!!!!!"

Then she came. Right in mid sentence. She came and came and came. Her body convulsed, and just when she thought her orgasm would be over it kept going, another spasm and then another spasm. Finally it subsided, and he stood up. He took out his hard cock. Her eyes drank it in, in a daze. It was long, and thick, and ridged, the head shining. He started stroking it. Then he stopped. He moved closer to her. She thought she knew what he was going to do, and her mouth had opened slightly, almost involuntarily. Instead he reached down and started fingering her tender slit again. She moaned. He knew exactly what to do. God. She was becoming aroused again. She snorted. She was an animal. She knew she was an animal. She wasn't Dr. Pretty any more.

He didn't need to ask this time. His cock was inches from her face. She could smell it, the warm, musky, sweaty man smell. The head was shiny and pink and purple. God she remembering the last time she had had sex. It was four years ago. The last time she had had a man's cock that close. "Please," she said. "I want to cum. I want you to fuck me with your fingers, your cock, your tongue."

He kept up the manipulation of her sex. "You want to suck my cock, Dr. Pretty, don't you? Tell me this bad girl wants to suck my cock."

"This bad girl wants to suck your cock. Please let me cum. Please let me suck your cock." His one hand stayed on her pussy, expertly arousing her, bringing her closer. She whimpered and moaned. She opened her mouth and he slowly moved his cock to her mouth, his hand around the hard shaft, guiding it. It was large. She had to open wide. She cautiously licked it inside her mouth, sucking it. He started moving it back and forth, every once in a while going deeper, making her gag.

"Suck, bad girl. And keep sucking. Suck every drop of cum from my cock. Swallow it all. I don't want to see a drop escape." He was demanding. As if she couldn't possibly question him. She just kept sucking. Soon she was so close herself. He was breathing harder. She could feel some moisture in her mouth, additional moisture. But he wasn't cumming. This was precum; she knew it, only slightly from experience, and more from reading. Her reading. God. Those books. Her body started to buck. He backed off. Her eyes widened, pleading. She sucked harder, more vigorously. She need to cum. Then it happened. He erupted in her mouth. Pumping hard, grabbing her head. She sucked hard. She sucked like her life depended on it. She swallowed. She didn't care what it tasted like, what it felt like. She didn't stop till he did. Then her own orgasm ripped through her. She screamed, she bucked, her body spasmed. Finally she sat limp. Sweating. Crying.

He put his cock away. He undid her wrists, then her feet, but she didn't move. He put his stuff away, then stood looking down at her. She had tried to pull her skirt down, but she hardly covered herself. Her pantyhose was half way down her calves. One shoe was off. Her eyes were red.

"Thank you, Doctor Pretty. You see I'm not so wrong about girls, am I? Underneath every lady, there is a bad girl. Isn't there, Doctor Pretty?"

She said nothing, just brought her fingers to her eyes to hide them. He held up the cassette tape. "And this is the proof, of course. I told my buddies what you would be like, and this is the proof." He looked at her proudly, cruelly. "But then again, maybe I won't let them listen. Maybe I will have other plans for you."

He left.

***

"How was your date last night?"

Joyce would not know anything had happened, on the surface. "Oh it was great. Dinner was fabulous. It is so nice to do that once in a while. So romantic." She smiled at her boss, and let images of her evening float up again in the pool of her memory. She didn't say too much more; she always thought it was such a pity that Doctor Pretty led such a quiet life. All those plays, and symphony concerts. All that work, all those conferences. So she didn't bother going into detail about her date. Besides, Doctor Pretty was wearing the maroon suit today. Joyce had noticed that she tended to be distracted on such days.

Once in her office, Jane Pretty closed the door and leaned back against it, inhaling deeply. She stared up at the ceiling, then over at the chairs, still angled toward the painting of the Irish coast.

She hadn't cried once after Alex had left. Still seated, she lifted her breasts back into the cups of her bra. She took off her ripped pantyhose, and threw them on the floor beside her torn panties. Later, she dropped them in a garbage bin outside the building. She did up her suit jacket, flattened out the wrinkles as well as she could, then put on her shoes. Finally she stood. She managed that pretty well. Her only shaking was in her fingers. Her mouth tasted of... of... what? Impossible to identify. She imagined a very very watery flour paste. That was what it felt like, too. At home in her condo that looked out over Lake Ontario, she picked at a pre-made salad. The early rounds of the US Open were on. Capriati defeated someone from eastern Europe. Pete Sampras struggled past a young Frenchman. She finally fell asleep at about one a.m.

Her first patient was due in ten minutes. And so on. Patient after patient. She didn't go out of the building at all. Certainly not out on the sidewalk past Starbucks. She made it through her day.

"Good-bye, Jane."

"Good-bye Joyce. No date tonight, huh?" Joyce rolled her eyes and smiled.

Jane Pretty closed her door. She breathed a sigh of relief. Nothing all day. Maybe that was the end of it.

Next day, same thing. Her usual patients, a routine day. And nothing by the end of the day. At home, at that night, more tennis.

Next day, by noon, still nothing. It was nagging at her. The things we imagine, she thought. Always worse than the reality. But the past two days of brooding were now moving to the forefront of her mind. This morning she had allowed herself to replay the events, for the first time. Certainly, she hadn't been able to prevent certain images, images that made her try to shudder away the sensations. But this morning she had played back the events in their entirety.

Then it arrived. A couriered envelope; a mini-cassette inside. Her entire body flushed. After Joyce left, she put it in her own machine. She listened to it stonily. Her body flushed deeper. He had done a very good job. Cutting and pasting her words and his, and the sound of whimpers and grunts and moans, till it sounded like an elegant erotic movie. "I want you to fuck me. Fuck me with your mouth, with your fingers, with your cock. Please I want to cum. I am a bad girl who wants to cum." She played it over. She searched inside the box for a note. An explanation or a threat. But there was nothing.

She bent her head and rested her forehead on her fingers. She rubbed her brow. She put the tape in her purse, and went home. She made herself stay away from her purse as long as she could. A test of her will, her ability to keep it in perspective, not to be overwhelmed.

The next day, nothing again. She played the tape once more, while Joyce was out for lunch. And again that night. She finished watching the tennis, and went to bed. She didn't need to play it back any more. She knew every word. Every word of the tape, and every word of the real scene. It took her about 30 seconds to cum; the ache was overwhelming.

Nothing the next day. It was now Friday. She went home. Lots of tennis on, a few more seeds going down to defeat. Monday was a new day.

"You okay?" Joyce asked half way through Monday morning. "Something bothering you these days?" Joyce rarely asked; she was not the doctor. She did have her theories about human beings, gleaned mainly from her mother, her grandmother, and her girlfriends.

Jane looked up sharply, and smiled, saying nothing. "Oh yeah. Just staying up too late to watch the tennis, most likely."

Joyce smiled weakly, warmly. "Oh I forgot you were such a keen tennis fan." She was about to leave but stopped at the door. "Oh I forgot. A call from that man you saw last week. Alex Kennedy. He said you would see him at the end of the day today, after your last patient. I said I would have to ask you. That you normally didn't do that."

Jane was looking down at her desk. "Oh him. Yes, that's all right."

Joyce looked at her boss, suddenly nervous, a little apprehensive. "Ummmm... I won't be able to stay tonight. I know you like... I mean when a patient is here... someone else around."

Jane cut her off. "Oh it's okay. This is no problem."

"Oh. Okay." Joyce breathed a sigh of relief.

***

Joyce just peeked her head in before she left. "Mr. Kennedy is here, Jane. Quite the hunk."

Jane was obliged to laugh at her assistant's comment. "Yes. That's part of his problem. Send him in."

She stood beside her chair, placed in exactly the same position as last time. "Good evening, Alex."

"Good evening, Doctor Pretty." He had his squash bag with him again. She bit her lip very slightly.

"Please, have a seat."

"Thanks, Doctor." He put his squash bag down, and lifted his hand to undo his tie. "You don't mind if I undo my tie?"

"No, make yourself comfortable."