The Troublemaker

"If you're a bad girl you know I can always take your favourite toy away for another month..." Sloane makes a good, quiet girl out of the patient with nothing more than a press of her gloved hand against the aroused, swollen vagina under the hospital gown. "Ah, there we go. That's my good girl, not feeling so fussy now?" She smiles, leaning over the railing of the hospital bed to peck Emily on the check.

"I'll try and be a good girl for you, Daddy," Emily whispers, and Sloane knows without a shadow of a doubt that it's a pretty little lie.

How she came into possession of Emily was neither here nor there, in the eyes of the board at least. They needed a chief for their struggling, fund-hemorrhaging excuse of a clinic. And Sloane, being the best of the best, required more than a slight sweetener in order to sign the dotted line and finally plant roots somewhere. It wasn't that Sloane couldn't go out and find a submissive if she wanted to, she was still fairly young, beautiful, in fantastic shape, respectable and more than financially secure, but life had afforded her very little time to find the submissive to compliment all of her darker, innate desires. Seven years of medical school, four years active service attached to the Marines as a trauma surgeon to pay off her debts, three years developing her groundbreaking research. It was worth it, of course, but it came at a personal sacrifice where her love life was concerned.

When the board called a few weeks after the initial sit down to say they had the profile of an unclaimed submissive who ticked all the right boxes, Sloane believed it was too good to be true. The best part was that the young woman, Emily, was more than entirely willing. Emily had just finished her master's degree and wanted a Daddy, a female one, mean and tough as nails too, either a military woman or a surgeon, according to her profile. In Sloane she found all of those things. Emily had already packed her bags and bought her plane ticket before Sloane had agreed to anything. An eager baby girl, if ever there was one.

A few handshakes under the table with the bigwigs upstairs, Emily was signed over to Sloane's claim and the board had their new chief. A year later, and the honeymoon period still hadn't even reached its twilight. Emily was an unruly little firecracker of a woman, and the novelty had not worn off yet. They drifted between periods of at home domesticity, and then, for a few weeks at a time, baby girl became her little inpatient. It was deliciously subversive for both of them.

"Get on all fours for me. Daddy needs to examine you and perform a few procedures," Sloane orders, authoritative and yet almost disinterested, as if this is any ordinary doctor-patient encounter. Her baby girl does as she's told, shivering in anticipation, aroused and nervous. "That's a good girl, can you pull your gown up for me?" Sloane snapped on a pair of black latex gloves.

The little troublemaker hesitates.

"Is it going to hurt, Daddy?" Emily peers over her shoulder with those big, glimmering green eyes.

"Only your feelings, so long as you're a good girl." Sloane smirks and lifts the gown up and over her submissive's small pale hips until the flimsy material bunches around her panting belly. The doctor buckles the restraints around her ankles deftly, quickly, the routine of it ingrained in both of their muscle memories. "There we go, nice and tight," she hums the words to herself and gives the leather cuffs attached to the railings a quick little tug.

The overhead lamp is pulled down and switched on, the hot bright light pointing directly at the patient's tiniest, pink, spread open crevices. The love between them, the playfulness, the pretense of it all, it escapes through the puncture wounds of the cracked open window until there's nothing left but method and structure. The doctor pinches the little labia hard, pulls them apart, like little wings, until they're almost translucent underneath the hot bright lamp, her thumbs rubbing the insides of each slick wet tiny labia until she is satisfied with her patient's whimpering response to the stimuli.

"Patient hasn't climaxed in a month, her external sexual features appears to be more responsive than normal." Sloane cranes her head towards the dictaphone in the pocket of her lab jacket. "Clitoris is far larger than normal for a young woman of her stature and ethnic background, the labia appear to be flushed and swollen, these may be physiological indications of arousal, or the patient might just be a big girl between her legs." Sloane smiles and pats her blushing patient's hip, aware of how much she hated any insinuation she was 'larger' than normal.

"Daddy can we do something different?" Emily whimpers and shifts away from the gloved hand resting on her hip.

Sloan smiles at that, already knowing the answer to her next question, "Does little girl want to stop or are you just feeling naughty?" she asks anyway.

"The latter, Daddy."

"Well, I challenge anyone to fault my little girl's syntax."

"Can you..." Emily halts and inhaled a short, sharp breath.

Here it is, Sloane thinks to herself with a smile.

"I want you to be nasty to me. I missed you so much when you had to leave for your meeting. Daddy, I missed you between my legs extra badly..." The memory makes her squirm and roll her eager hips.

"You didn't climax, did you?" Sloane asks accusingly, anticipating an incorrect answer and already on the brink of anger because of it.

Sloane is an optimist, not a fool. She knew Emily loved to bend and break the rules from time to time, mainly just so she had a reason to punish her in the ways they both liked, but this, the thought of Emily reaching between her legs and fiddling with a month's worth of research data? It leaves the clinician damn near seething.

But Emily shakes her head and bites her bottom lip, "No ma'am. I undid my gown and rubbed and pinched my nipples as hard as I could like you taught me to do when I feel antsy between my legs."

Sloane exhales a deep, relieved sigh, "Good girl—"

"And then I rubbed my kitten on the pillow and pushed my fingers as deep in my hole as I could get them." Emily's eyes glimmer as she takes in the furious, measured expression of the woman who calls the shots. "I sucked my fingers clean and pretended you were growling at me to gag on them, Daddy. I got three fingers all the way but it made my kitten ache so I pulled them out before I came."

"You fucked yourself in the twenty minutes I left you to hand over my paperwork?" Sloane doesn't even know where to start.

"Yes, but I didn't cum. Give me that much?" Emily pouts.

The response to the admission of guilt is swift and methodical, silent and pulsating with clinical anger. Sloane walks around and restrains each of her wrists as hard and tight as she can. Her gloved hand reaches underneath the moaning, warm, pushing chest and blindly rub and squeeze the puffy areola hard between the thumb and forefinger. There, she smiles to herself as the first little bud begins to stiffen and grow hard. The medical clamp is applied, the pressure tightened, the steel biting into the base of Emily's areola until her squeals grow high and warbly.

"Stupid games, stupid prizes." Sloane spares no sympathy as she clamps the other nipple.

Sloane sits back down on her stool at the bottom of the bed, enjoying the sight of her little submissive sobbing and trying her hardest not to rest weight on the sore, tightly clamped, stiff nipples. The overhead lamp is moved closer between the straining, separated legs. The light is so bright and hot between the patient's parted thighs, close enough to burn and sting her plump vulva. Though, that alone isn't enough, not for Sloane's big brave girl. The labia are forcefully parted, the hood of her clitoris tugged back, the fat little cunt bead examined with careful, methodical appraisal while a gloved finger rubs the tip until the tears start up.

"Daddy," Emily chokes and loses her breath, "Oh god... Daddy... the light... it's too hot on me..."

"You've been a naughty girl." Sloane slaps her hard across the plump mound and earns a hard little jolt. "You get what you get, princess."

Sloane patted her girl on the small of her back and steadied the trembling hips that made for difficult work. The catheter was next on the agenda, Emily knew as much too from the sharp rustle of the plastic covering. It makes the young woman whimper and grow small, innocent in ways she doesn't deserve to be, as if this punishment didn't quite fit the crime. Catheters were always the worst thing that could be done to her in the personal ledger of procedures and punishments that could be doled out at whim. Sloane cares to disagree. The tip is lubricated and aligned with the tiny, twitching orifice between her puffy mound. Sloane hesitates once she has the thick tip inside. It's a little game she likes to play, one where no matter the outcome, she is always a winner. The patient fists the crisp white sheet beneath her body and throws her head back damn near hard enough to break her neck, veins bulging, teeth gritted, snarling and fighting against the slow unrelenting intrusion into her urethra.

Sloane thinks, with absolute certainty, her girl is the most beautiful wild thing to have ever breathed.

"I give!"

"What was that?" Sloane stops and pulls the catheter slightly, smirking to herself.

Emily's head slips forward again in defeat, her breaths deepening in relief. "I give," she finally says it again, more solemn this time. "I give, Daddy. It's too big." She slumps in relief as the doctor removes the offending stimuli.

"Well that didn't take long, did it?" Sloane is amused by the false start.

"You went for the big guns early."

"Honey, if you thought that was the big gun. If I have warned you once..."

"No." Emily snaps around with wide eyes, her plump lips pouting again as she realises this was absolutely part of the plan. "You're not serious? You're not... doing that?" she asks, tacitly.

"What do I always tell you?" Sloane levels a serious, heavy expression, her manicured brow piquing.

Emily blinks and swallows hard, "But it took six weeks to wear off last time."

"I still have the little pink plastic potty in my office." Sloane shrugs and changes her gloves with a quick, thunderous snap. The plastic covered syringe taken in one hand as she moved to the cupboard to fetch a little bottle of botox, her fingers dancing over the lined up medicines until she found a syringe of numbing agent too. "You look cute in diapers too, everyone always agrees it's sweet the way you get so embarrassed about it."

"The charity gala is in two weeks — you already bought my dress for it." Emily is eager to remind the doctor bubbling with ideas a few feet away.

"Well," Sloane sits herself back down with a darkened little smirk, supplies clattering on the metal tray. "You're going to look very bulky around the hips now. Stupid games, little one."

The labia is spread but this time Sloane takes her forceps from the metal tray, the littlest ones that have handles like scissors but small steel circle clamps at the end, and tugs the vulva apart with them. Each handle is taped to the lily white skin of Emily's inner thighs, nice and out of the way. It frees up the doctor's million dollar hands for other things. Emily becomes quiet and respondent, her spine pushing up and down with the unsteadiness of her breathing, excited, fearful, nervous, aroused, all of these things simultaneously until there is no room for cheekiness or back talk.

Sloane almost misses it, for a moment at least, but then she is flicking her finger against a syringe of numbing agent, preoccupied with other things.

"I'm going to numb your urethral meatus now, you will feel a sharp sting but it will go away quickly, then all you will feel is tugging and pressure." The doctor pulls the overhead lamp back down until she has a better view.

"Daddy—" Emily chokes on the word nervously as a gloved finger traces over her tight, taut cunt.

"When you hear the sound of your bladder expelling in the pan, the sound of you pissing yourself like a little girl—" Sloane becomes crude and serious, her thumb and forefinger pinching the opening of the urethra. "I want you to remember that your kitten belongs to me. It's my little research project, my little thing to change and touch and play with at whim. Do you understand me?"

"Yes Daddy," Emily gasps.

"Say it back to me, so I know you understand why this is happening." The doctor drags out the torturous anticipation, fingers tugging and playing with her tiniest opening. "What did you do that you shouldn't have done, little one?" She becomes impatient.

"I played with my daddy's toy without permission," Emily whimpers, "I fucked myself even though I knew it would make you mad—oh!" A long, hard gasp punches the ceiling as the doctor sets to work.

The hypodermic needle was a wondrous thing, easily one of the greatest medical inventions of the modern world. It was merely a very thin, hollow tube with a sharp tip, and yet depending on the procedure necessary, it could administer life saving medicine with narrow precision or relieve the body of cysts and malign that would otherwise cause catastrophic harm. Yet, so many people were frightened of them. If only they knew the painful things Sloane was capable of inflicting with nothing more than a twenty-five gauge needle and a bone to pick, then they would have something to be fearful about. A needle never hurt anyone, only a doctor in a bad mood ever did.

The sharp bevel punctures the urethral opening, a tiny amount of numbing agent injected, the warning of a sharp pinch given just a moment too late. Emily whimpers and clenches her trembling thighs. Cute, Sloane thinks to herself, hushing and rubbing the tensing flesh. No more than a moment later she is back at it, injecting a little deeper, numbing her slowly, methodically, the cool tingly loss of sensation climbing up her bladder like static. Emily whimpers that she doesn't like the feeling of it, Sloane chuckles slightly and reminds her that she isn't supposed to with a chaste peck against the plump globe of her bottom.

Ah, there it finally is.

Sloane's smile glimmers, eyes glittering, jaw tensing with a delicious, heady sense of arousal as a trickle of clear liquid dribbles out of the numbed little opening. The metal pan is placed between her baby girl's restrained propped thighs, the sharp sound of water hitting the metal startling the girl with sudden humiliation. There was always something gorgeous about watching the defeat slowly sink in, the awareness that her daddy had played with something so deeply innate to her personhood that there was nowhere to hide other than the deepest layers of her subspace.

It was a little joyful pleasure to be had, like chocolate fondant, rich and decadent to Sloane's palet.

"No," Emily whimpers and crumples forward, blushing and tearful.

"I am determined to find new things to make catheters pale in comparison," Sloane whispers the explanation and rubs her patient's hip as the bladder helplessly voids itself. "There there, you're nearly finished. Someone clearly didn't go to the bathroom like I politely suggested earlier..." She placed the pan out of sight now her kitten was finished wetting herself.

"Daddy it hurts," Emily whines and twists her hips around the strange void of sensation between her legs.

"No it doesn't."

"Alright, fine, it doesn't now but it's still embarrassing!" Emily's shoulder collapse forward, but then there's a sudden jolt and gasp.

The nipple clamps, Sloane remembers and smiles.

"You know you're my pretty girl, always, don't you princess?" Sloane comforts the sore little troublemaker with latex hands gliding up and down her trembling thighs. "Even when you're sore, when you've been naughty, when I have to do things to you that make you feel like a silly little girl, you know you're still gorgeous, don't you?"

The corner of Emily's mouth twitches at that. "Well that helps, slightly," she mumbles, the surface tension of their pretense briefly shattered.

"Good." The doctor nods to herself, sighing for a moment. "Right then, that's settled. Head down, bottom up high, I still need to administer the botox and punish your fuck holes. I have an hour and then I need to review some labworks, time isn't on our side."

"Yes ma'am."

The gleaming little spread open crevices are wiped with antiseptic, and god does her little troublemaker jolt and buck when the sting touches her most private places. Sloane is very thorough, wiping and blotting and tracing and dancing over the tiny lips and little dips of her patient's vulva. After a moment, once the sting subsides, her methodicity is enough to earn a tiny strangled moan that is more aroused than it is sore. She circles the clitoris again, pointer finger dancing over the twitching little bud, then she stops before it feels too good.

"If I'm a good girl can I cum?"

Sloane can't help but laugh loudly, "Baby, I think we're miles over that bridge now."

"But I didn't cum earlier," Emily snaps around with a devastated, forlorn expression. "You said one month, no orgasms, you said!"

"Ah ah," Sloane plunges two slick fingers deep inside her vaginal canal, pads curling into the spongy flesh that made her troublemaker's toes curl. "Inside voice," the doctor reminds quietly.

"Yes ma'am," Emily's voice hovers above a tiny whisper, her gasps strangled, shoulder blades tight, weight bearing down on buckling elbows as the doctor between her legs tentatively fucks her. "You said one month, Daddy," she whispers, softly.

"Goodness, your so engorged and swollen." Sloane's eyebrows knit together, entirely unconcerned with the wittering little pet shackled to the bed. "I can feel you throbbing." Her fingers twist inside a little deeper, knuckles riding hard against the posterior wall. "How much do you think you could take right now, kitten?"

"Anything for an orgasm, Daddy," the troublemaker pants hard.

Anything. Sloane feels herself come to a near boil on that one little word.

"I'm going to stretch your vagina with my fist. I'm going to stuff every last finger inside, and then I'm going to fill your bottom—" Emily writhes and gasps in relief already, slumping, pushing herself back up, trying desperately to fuck her hips backwards against the two fingers making slow work of her arousal. "I'm going to pinch you, prod you, play with you, edge you, stuff your little fuckholes until you're achy and bruised, and if you magically find a way to impress your daddy, I'll think about letting you cum. Am I clear, princess?"

"Anything for you, Daddy," Emily pants hard, "Please, I want it."

Sloane slips a third finger inside, her digits wiggling and curling and feeling out the tight little orifice. It's enough to make her pet sob a deep, guttural moan of relief. The latex glove made for a low coefficient of friction, fingers slick, the pressure slippery, and so the doctor stuffs her pinky finger inside before the little troublemaker has the usual minute or two to adjust. The walls clench around her fingers so tight, pulsating, almost trying to push Sloane out. The doctor wouldn't have that. She adjusts her grip and stands from the stool, her other hand grabbing the propped hip for leverage, she puts her shoulder and back into her efforts, fucking the sloppy little girl on the bed like a whore.

The clitoris beneath her thumb twitches and throbs, swollen and desperate for attention underneath the hood. Sloane can't dissociate completely, no matter how much she enjoys her little pet, she is a woman of method and order before all other things. Analytical, cool, focused, a woman knitted together by her training. She notices the tremor in Emily's hips, palpably aware of the inner workings of each internal system, the blood rushing to each erogenous zone, the nervous system suffocating itself with dopamine, the arteries constricting, the capillaries engorging, the muscles contracting, the innermost private functions of her baby girl's body. It means she knows exactly where and how to touch her. It makes their love making soaked with a strange sense of professionalism. She is a doctor, and a daddy, and a dominant, and a woman on the edge of her own sensibilities, and somehow she is all of these things at once.