0 comments/  70674 views/  12 favorites

Clarissa & The Doctor

By: Nava Kirsch



I looked down at the slowly spreading puddle of coffee on the floor. I looked at the nice warm coffee stain on my lab coat. I looked up, slowly, at the coffee splashed on the shirt, tie and lab coat directly in front of me. I closed my eyes. I didn't want to know.

"Miss Blackwood."

I opened one eye, then the other, and looked up into the exasperated face of Doctor Michael J. Hanlon, my Attending Physician, wunderkind cardiologist, and scourge of St. Stephen's Hospital medical students. 

"Sir?" I managed. 

"You really ought to watch where you're going." He frowned and sighed, wringing out his tie. "Excuse me."

Off he went, I assume, to change into coffee-free attire. I bent over and picked up the now-empty styrofoam cup, and tried to wipe up the coffee puddle with a mooshed Kleenex I found in my pocket. I was close to tears. Out of hundreds of St. Stephen's employees, it was just my evil luck to run into Dr. Hanlon, nearly knocking him over and soaking him with scalding coffee. 

We hadn't exactly started out on the right foot a month before, when I'd started a cardiology rotation at St. Stephen's. It was the last rotation of my fourth year of medical school, and the light at the end of the tunnel was definitely starting to look less like an oncoming train and more like the glow of residency in July. I was looking forward to finally getting my teeth into my specialty, which if all went well, would be Internal Medicine. I had done well if not spectacularly in med school so far, getting decent grades, interacting well with fellow students and instructors. Most importantly, my patients seemed to like me just fine. Then I met Dr. Hanlon. Just over six feet, maybe thirty-five. Black hair, cut short, spiky on top. Huge dark eyes. Sensual slash of a mouth under a fine, straight nose. Fair skin, rosy cheeks, and an easy, boyish smile that made nurses and female patients go weak in the knees. Cool, precise, every hair in place. Expensive cologne, good shoes, stainless Rolex. Everything about him said total professionalism and understated money, and not new money, either. 

I had heard about him for a long time at the hospital and seen him around; I'd been at St. Stephen's since my last rotation. He was, I heard, wonderful to work with, great with patients, staff loved him, blah, blah, blah. Unless, of course, you were a medical student. Dr. Hanlon believed that the best way to deal with med students was to terrorize them into learning. I think he placed us somewhere between trained seals and sentient insects. Never one to make waves, I did my best to do my work and stay out of trouble. Would that it could have been that easy. Dr. Michael Hanlon made me nervous. He was impatient, exacting and tyrannical. However, I'm as human as the next female, and in spite of all of that, I privately, rapidly, developed a large crush. 

Michael Hanlon was not only handsome, but an incredible doctor as well. His knowledge of medicine and rapport with patients and staff were really something to see. He published. He lectured. He was gorgeous. That combination did me in. I was smitten. And I couldn't do a damn thing about it. I knew Dr. Hanlon was single, but med students and Attending Physicians don't exactly hit the corner bar for a cold one after a long day at the hospital. Add to that the fact that for some reason, the guy couldn't stand me. It was as if he'd taken one look at me and developed an intense and extraordinary dislike. I couldn't seem to do anything right. I wasn't serious enough. I wasn't dedicated enough. I wasn't applying myself. Do you really want to be a doctor, Miss Blackwood? He'd said to me on more than one occasion. You'll have to do better than that. So here I was, more distracted than I had ever been by a guy in my entire life. And the guy didn't even like me. And this was about the worst time in my life to be so distracted. Inevitably, I started screwing up. 

It was my habit to carry lollipops in the pocket of my lab coat. I had been trying to quit smoking for awhile, with limited success. (You'd be amazed at the number of docs and nurses who smoke!) However, the lollipops were helping. Every once in awhile I'd hand one out to a patient, when appropriate, or maybe somebody's kid. One morning I went in to check on a new cardiac patient, an elderly woman, admitted the night before. With an all-too-quick glance at her chart while we chatted, I made sure she was comfortable. Now, the woman wasn't my patient, but I figured that a few kind words and a lollipop couldn't hurt. I hadn't remembered seeing anything on her chart precluding it. People of all ages like candy, and I prided myself on my own patient rapport, and I was more than eager to play Kind Young Doctor. Feeling groovy, I bounced down the hall to admit a new patient.

Forty-five minutes later, I was in the middle of writing up a history and physical, humming while I worked. It was shaping up to be a good day.

"Miss Blackwood."

I looked up. There stood Dr. Hanlon, his face a perfect thundercloud. I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly dry. 

"In my office. Now." He turned on his heel and strode down the hall. I almost had to run to keep up with him.

We entered his office. He closed the door. It's never good when they close the door. Despite my feeling of impending doom, I looked around curiously. I'd never been in Dr. Hanlon's personal office before. Expensive original art on the walls. Huge teak desk. Handwoven oriental rug. The place was messy, though. Many docs' offices are apt to be a bit cluttered; they're busy. Dr. Hanlon's, however, looked like the aftermath of an explosion. Empty styrofoam coffee cups and junk food wrappers littered his desk and the floor around the wastebasket. Dozens of CDs and cases were stacked precariously. Medical journals and manila file folders covered every available surface. Dr. Hanlon threw himself into the chair behind his cluttered desk. I noted with some amusement that he'd had pizza for breakfast; one congealing piece was now firmly stuck to one of the file folders. I knew now why he used another office for consultation. 

He did not offer me a seat. 

"Did you give the patient in 408 a lollipop?"

Uh, oh.

"Yes,doctor. I, uh, didn't feel that it was inappropriate."

Dr. Hanlon smiled, but it wasn't a nice one. "Really? The patient in 408 is diabetic. You did read her chart? You know, the one that says she's diabetic? Or let me guess. You were too busy being Patch Adams to notice that small but salient notation. Was she your patient? Did you admit her? No, and no again, Miss Blackwood. Do we interact with other people's patients unless there's an emergency or unless we're asked? Godammit, this is inexcusable. Luckily, nothing happened, but you could have severely compromised that patient's care. You're in your last year of medical school, Miss Blackwood, and I know you've worked very hard to get to this point. But you still have a long way to go, and unless you want to be called Miss and not Doctor for the rest of your life, I'd suggest you start acting like a doctor."

Oh, Christ. I guess I'd been so busy chatting with the patient that I hadn't read her chart as carefully as I obviously should have. He was right. I had done a Very Stupid Thing. 

I stood there, mortified, my cheeks crimson. I didn't know whether to cry or vomit."I'm sorry," I managed.

Dr. Hanlon sighed. "I'll see you tomorrow, Miss Blackwood."

*********************

Doctor Michael Joseph Hanlon paused, en route to his car, to watch Clarissa Blackwood drag herself wearily across St. Stephen's huge parking lot. He grinned in spite of himself as he looked at her. Christ, she was something! She had absolutely no idea, none, how pretty she was, nor how extraordinarily attracted he was to her. Hanlon would have laughed, but it was more pathetic than funny: a crush on one of his med students! Good lord, he could barely breathe when she was around. His cock got hard just looking at her. He'd wanted her since the first day he'd seen her, bent over some patient's chart, sucking on one of those ridiculous lollipops she always carried. He'd watched her full, pink lips slide slowly over the candy, her little tongue lapping at the small, cherry red ball on the end of the tiny white stick. Jesus, he'd almost come in pants right then and there. 

Not that the girl consciously did anything to make herself attractive, that was for sure. She dressed like a freaking bag lady: shapeless, drab dresses, tan nylons, cheap shoes. No makeup or jewelry. No, her beauty was natural. She was tall, at least five-nine, and slender. Great figure underneath those horrible clothes, if Michael was any judge of body types. Nice breasts, probably 36C. Beautiful pale skin that contrasted nicely with her black hair, which she wore in a long, tight pigtail. Michael often found himself wondering what it would be like to unbind that hair and spread it on a pillow. She had enormous black eyes, thick lashes. Beautiful little nose. Her mouth was, in Michael's opinion, perfect. Juicy pink lips, full and luscious. How many times had he imagined those lips around his cock? And there was something else about her... Unlike most of the other females Michael had encountered professionally, this girl had a sweet vulnerability and ripe innocence that begged to be exploited. Michael would've bet money that if he snapped his fingers and told Clarissa to bring him coffee, she'd jump to comply. And not out of fear, either. No, there was an aura of submissiveness about the girl, and Michael Hanlon liked his women submissive. Oh, he was a goner on Clarissa Blackwood. 

Which was precisely why he was so godawful hard on her.

Michael Hanlon knew damn well that any fantasies he had regarding Clarissa Blackwood would remain just that: fantasies. Attending Physicians did not fuck their med students unless they wanted to bend right over and kiss their own professional asses goodbye. Clarissa drove Michael crazy. To give himself the detachment from her he so desperately needed, he had gone out of his way to make her dislike him. He knew he made the girl nervous. He knew he'd often been unfair. Better that than shoving her into the nearest supply closet and screwing her brains out, which was one of the tamer things he wanted to do with Clarissa Blackwood. Michael hoped like hell that his detachment offense was making him seem as unpleasant as possible, because he was becoming increasingly more obssessed with Clarissa each day.

Michael shook his head, slowly, still watching the girl as she got into a beat-up Escort. The car looked like it had seen better days. Michael smiled, wondering just how far in debt Clarissa Blackwood had gone to pay for medical school. He unlocked his car, tossed his briefcase and lab coat on the passenger seat, got in, and turned the ignition key. The Mustang responded smoothly. Michael smiled, listening to the sweet music of eight gorgeous cylinders. He patted the dashboard. "Good girl," he murmured. The car was, after medicine, his One True Love. A sixty-nine Mustang, lovingly restored, fire-engine red. Black leather interior. Scrupulously clean, inside and out. Michael loved the car with much of his heart. His four brothers, all younger, teased Michael mercilessly about the car. Michael had been told on more than one occasion by more than one brother that his chances for snagging a girlfriend might increase if he'd stop spending so much time and money on the Mustang. 

Michael drove, thinking. Girlfriend. Not that he didn't want one; Michael's sexual appetite was huge. Unfortunately, years spent in medical school, residency, and Michael's own workaholic tendencies had made keeping a girlfriend difficult. Michael avoided one-nighters as a rule; in this day and age, it wasn't worth it. And so, contrary to what most of his friends and colleagues believed, Michael Hanlon hadn't been with a woman in almost two years. Unless you counted that nurse last summer. Michael chuckled, remembering. That had been a weekend fling, albeit a nice one. She'd been short and big-breasted and blonde and gave great blowjobs. Michael's cock stirred as his thoughts turned inevitably from the nurse to Clarissa. God, he wanted her. He imagined taking her dark hair in his fists and forcing her pretty little mouth down on his prick. Oh, she might struggle a bit at first, but that always made it better anyway. Her mouth would be warm and wet. He'd tell her exactly what he wanted done, and how she was to do it. He envisioned those tasty breasts of hers, freed from the confinement of her bra, jiggling sweetly. He wondered if her nipples were big and pink. Michael loved big, pink nipples. Jesus, he was hard, and a wet spot was beginning to form at the crotch of his pants. Michael licked his lips, which were suddenly dry, and decided he'd better concentrate on driving. 

Michael sighed, turning the last corner into the parking lot of his apartment building. Huh, that was another thing. Unlike most men of his age and profession, Michael lived in a six-room, barely-furnished apartment. He'd been there ever since he'd come to St.Stephen's three years before. He had no plans to move. The nurse had giggled when she'd seen his place, calling him an overgrown med student. Michael's parents despaired of him ever settling down. On his last visit home, at lunch with his mother, Michael found himself telling her once more that yes, he was quite happy where he lived, and no, he wasn't looking for a house. Mrs. Hanlon wished her son would grow up, get married, and start a family. Once more, she said so. Rather forcefully. Lunch had ended badly. 

Michael parked the Mustang, reached into the back seat, and pulled out a folded car cover. Grabbing his things, Michael got out, closed and locked the car, and tenderly blanketed it. " 'Night, honey," he whispered, stroking the car's warm hood.

Michael grinned sheepishly as he entered his building, wondering for the hundredth time if habitually talking to a car was pathological. He stopped at the mailbox, extricated a wad of envelopes, and climbed two short flights of steps to his apartment, sorting mail as he went. Gas bill, Victoria's Secret catalog (he did not wear the underwear; he looked at the girls), coupon pack, and a letter from one of his brothers, studying medicine in Nova Scotia. Michael unlocked his apartment and walked in, hitting the light switch as he entered. The light on his answering machine was flashing; he ignored it. If it was really important they'd page him. Tossing his stuff in the nearest available chair, Michael grabbed a half-empty fifth of bourbon from where it sat, amidst Taco Bell wrappers, loose change, and empty beer bottles, on a rather sticky coffee table. Opening the bottle of bourbon, Michael upended it into his mouth and took a long swallow. He exhaled slowly as the liquor burned its way down his throat. Wiping his lips, he carried the bottle into his dirty, neglected kitchen and opened the refrigerator.

"As if," he muttered disgustedly, looking at a rotting orange, two pieces of unwrapped, dried up pepperoni pizza, and a scary jar of cocktail olives. Michael grabbed one of the pieces of pizza and went into the smaller of the apartment's two bedrooms, which he used as an office. Loosening his tie, Michael plopped down in front of his computer and booted it up. He chewed for awhile on ancient pizza. Taking another pull on the bourbon, he reached absently across his desk , groping for a squashed pack of Winstons. He shook out a cigarette and, taking a silver lighter from his pants pocket, lit up. Michael often wondered what the good folks at St. Stephen's, not to mention his colleagues, would say if they knew that Michael Joseph Hanlon, crack cardiologist, had a pack-a-day habit. Michael grinned. He wondered as well what they'd say if they knew he liked to tie up girls and smack their asses with a riding crop. That he went to bondage and discipline clubs on a regular basis. That he had a collection of pornography and sex toys that would shame a professional dom. And now, dammit, he was thinking of Clarissa again. "Shit," he muttered, and opened his e-mail.

For the next three hours Michael answered e-mail, surfed for porn, and took a half-hearted stab at an article he was writing. When he finally looked at his watch, Michael was astounded to find that it was three am and that he was out of bourbon. 

Michael pulled himself to his feet and strode into the bathroom, pausing to look at himself in the mirror as he grabbed his toothbrush. He sighed sadly. "Jesus, Hanlon," he said to his reflection. "You are such a loser. Stop thinking about her." 

Angry at himself, Michael brushed his teeth so hard his gums bled. He dragged himself down the narrow hall to his bedroom. The only furniture in evidence was a box spring and mattress and a cheap nightstand. The nightstand was piled high with more of the same sort of junk from the coffee table. Piles of clothing, clean, dirty, and unknown, lay everywhere. Michael undressed, adding his recently divested clothing to what he hoped was a dirty pile on the floor. He paused, naked, and stretched, looking at himself in a full-length mirror. He guessed he looked okay. He knew he was handsome, and enjoyed the effect he had on women. 

He was well aware that there was probably not a woman at St. Stephen's, married or single, who wouldn't fuck him at the drop of a hat. At thirty-five, Michael could pass for thirty, maybe younger. He grinned. Good old Shanty Irish genes. His body was decent. He worked out regularly and had some nice muscles to show for it. Hard biceps. Well-formed chest, flat stomach. Lean waist, despite his dreadful diet. Michael dropped his hand to his crotch and fondled himself, hardening almost instantly. Nothing wrong with his cock, either. Seven-and-a-half inches long and almost two inches around. He'd never had any complaints. He continued to stroke himself. God, what he wouldn't give to slip his prick into Clarissa Blackwood! Michael's hand moved faster as he re-ran a now-familiar fantasy in his mind. He'd get her into his office, alone, presumably to discuss her progress. 

He'd smile and joke and charm her, and she wouldn't have a chance from the outset, because Michael Hanlon could charm any girl right out of her panties. When she was settled in her chair, he'd praise her, telling her what a fine physician she was going to be if she kept up the good work, et cetera, anything that sounded good. He'd tell her she looked tense. Smiling sweetly, he'd get up from his desk, come around behind her and place his hands on her shoulders. "Relax," he'd say, massaging her, slipping her lab coat down over her arms. Before she could protest, he'd lean over and gently, gently, kiss her neck, sliding his hands around to cup her breasts. 

She'd melt, moaning softly, arching her tits into his hands, leaning back against his stiffening cock. He'd rub his thumbs slowly, steadily over her nipples, which by now would be like two pencil erasers, straining at the fabric of her clothing. He'd undo the buttons at the top of her dress and push the dress down over her shoulders. Her breasts would heave deliciously as her breathing sped up, indicating her increased excitement. Michael would unhook the front of Clarissa's bra, sending her breasts spilling out. He'd play with them, massaging them gently, feeling their firm weight, rolling the huge pink nipples between his skilled fingers, pinching them hard. Each cruel pinch would send jolts of pure pleasure through the girl's body. Clarissa's skin would feel wonderfully creamy and silky. She'd spread her legs slightly and start to writhe in the chair. 

"Whatever is the matter, Miss Blackwood?" He'd murmur, his lips at her ear. 

"D-don't," she'd gasp. "We shouldn't." 

Immediately, Michael would stop. "You're quite right," he'd say, seriously. "You really ought to be sucking my cock." He'd snap his fingers. "Get up. Undress. Every stitch."


Clarissa & The Doctor Ch. 2



In the first installment, med student Clarissa found herself under the thumb--in more ways than one!--of an older male doctor. This episode continues her adventures. Probably a good idea to read Part 1 first; that's the set-up.

* * * * *

Michael paused as he picked me up. "Grab the booze, honey, would you?"

Michael carried me down the short hall to my bedroom and dumped me on my bed. It was a single bed. That wasn't lost on Michael. He chuckled. "That answers that," he said.

"Huh?" I said, still a bit dazed. I realized I was clutching the liquor bottle to my chest like a life preserver. 

Michael peeled off his clothing, making a careless, crumpled heap on the floor. He sat down beside me on the bed and gently pried the bottle from my hands, putting it down on my nightstand. "You obviously don't have a boyfriend. Not with this bed. Not that it would've mattered. 'Cause you'd have to send him right down the road, you know. I don't do sloppy seconds. Now take off your sweater. Bra, too."

He was right; I was undoubtedly single. I'd never exactly been a guy magnet, and besides, medical school has a funny way of cutting into your quality dating time. I found it both annoying and arousing that Michael Hanlon could figure me out so easily. I looked at him, seeing him unclothed for the first time. Admittedly, I'd wondered more than once what he looked like underneath his lab coat. Nice body, for sure. Good muscles, just right. A generous sprinkling of dark chest hair, becoming more dense below his navel. And there was his cock, finally, beautiful and huge and very hard, jutting out of a curly thatch as thick and black as the hair on his head. Amused, Michael watched me watch him.

He let me stare for a few seconds. "Okay," he grinned, pushing my shoulder playfully, tugging on my sleeve. "Take it off. You can look all you want later."

I slowly pulled my sweater over my head and unhooked my bra. Folding both, I started to get out of bed to put them on a chair. Michael shot out one arm, blocking me, and with the other hand grabbed my clothing. He tossed it across the room. "I didn't tell you to get out of bed, did I?"

I looked at him, feeling a slippery, fluttering warmth in my belly. Oh.

Michael sighed. "We have such a long way to go with you, Clarissa. But I know you'll come around. Now sit still."

He leaned over and lifted my breasts, cupping them in his hands, testing their weight. He massaged them tenderly, rubbing his thumbs over my tingling nipples, rolling the hard pink buds between his fingers, holding my gaze as he fondled me. His hands were gentle and sure: physician's hands. I felt myself responding, felt my pussy heat up. He looked remarkably disinterested, almost clinical. Perversely, that increased my excitement. Suddenly, he pinched my nipples, hard. I jumped and squealed, instinctively pulling away, trying to cover my chest. "Ow!" I cried, accusingly. That had hurt. I think.

"Uh, uh," Michael said, without changing his expression, not letting go. "Hands at your sides. Look at me."

My hands hovered reflexively, for a split second, halfway between my waist and my breasts.

"C'mon, honey, don't fight me. I'm not even applying full pressure. Wanna see how much worse it can get?"

With effort, I lowered my hands.

Michael smiled. "Good girl. Concentrate on what you feel. Remember that spanking you just got? Same concept. Bear it for me, Clarissa." He released my nipples, suddenly, and, just as quickly, clamped down again, harder. I gasped as I felt a wave of warm ecstasy ripple through me, radiating from between my parted thighs.

"There ya go," he soothed. "Nice little endorphin rush, huh?"

I shuddered and moaned, unable to look away. He was so beautiful. I was drowning. 

"And you know," Michael whispered, "You get addicted to that rush. Real fast. Best drug in the world, Clarissa." He let go, then pinched again. Once more, that incredible, warm wave. My pussy was throbbing, soaked, my labia swollen and hot. I could feel my vaginal muscles twitching. I bucked my hips, whimpering. I began to cry, not knowing why. 

"There's my girl," Michael said softly, "Go on, give in. Just open up and let me get right inside your pretty little head. Because the truth is, honey, you want me in there, dontcha?"

Sobbing, I nodded. God help me, he was right. I didn't understand this, I really didn't. But my body understood perfectly.

Michael released me, suddenly, and just as quickly, shoved me down on the bed, climbing on top of me. He gripped my wrists, one in each hand, forcing my forearms down on either side of my head and pinning me to the mattress. I felt his cock, heavy and hard, against my abdomen, his muscular chest against my breasts. "Now, here's how it goes," he murmured, his handsome face inches from mine. "From now on, you live to please me. Whenever I want. However I want. If you're a good girl, you get to feel good. If you're a bad girl, you get , uh, corrected."

I moaned, feeling my clitoris swell. I was lubricating heavily.

Michael laughed softly. "Yeah, I know. Something tells me you can't wait to be bad."

He shifted slightly, nudging my thighs apart with one knee. He released my wrists and grabbed his cock in one hand. "Hands above your head," he whispered. "Cross your wrists. Keep 'em there, okay?" 

I complied, feeling deliciously vulnerable.

Michael raised himself slightly on one arm, on his knees now, straddling me. Gently, teasingly, he rubbed the head of his cock, slick with pre-come, back and forth over my labia, stopping every so often to nudge my clitoris, grazing it in slow, slippery circles. The tip of his organ slid easily, so easily, over the sensitive tissue. Oh, God. My breathing became rapid. I felt my pulse jump sharply.

"Bet your heart's going like a steam-engine," Michael breathed. "Wonder how many beats a minute we're counting now, Miss Blackwood?" 

He continued to stroke me with his cock. I squirmed, pushing my hips forward to give him better access. My pussy was dripping. I felt viscous fluid on the insides of my tensed thighs. My nipples were tight pink stones, super-sensitive from Michael's previous ministrations. I was having a hard time seeing straight.

"Aw, you want it so much," Michael laughed. "Poor little frustrated Clarissa. Such a dedicated student. Such a good girl. Always dreamed of being a doctor, so she hocks herself to the eyeballs and works her ass off, taking shit from jerks like me. But the work wasn't enough, was it, honey? You thought'd make your life complete, helping people, healing people, but something was still missing. Something that didn't have anything to do with medicine."

Michael inclined his head and kissed me, gently, sweetly, full on the mouth. I felt his tongue trace a feathery line around my parted lips. He pushed the head of his cock inside of me now, just past the entrance to my vagina, and held it there, teasing me. From somewhere in the part of my brain that wasn't focused on my crotch, my common sense made a sudden, unexpected appearance. Uh, protection, anyone? I pulled back, hesitating.

Michael looked at me, raising one eyebrow. "Don't even think about asking me to use one, honey, " he said, understanding instantly. "Not with you. I'm clean. And I bet you haven't been with more than two guys in your life." 

He was right.

I gave myself up to the inevitable.

Michael kissed me again, deeply, darting his tongue around mine, gently biting my lower lip. 

"Now that all of the, uh, niceties are out of the way, how 'bout I fuck you, Miss Blackwood?" he whispered, his lips against mine, hips undualting wickedly.

I nodded, feeling like my chest was going to explode. I was on fire between my legs. I wanted Michael Hanlon more than I wanted to breathe.

"Say please."

"Please, Michael!" I was begging now, writhing. I didn't know how much more I could take. "Fuck me!"

Michael grinned and drove himself into me, good and hard. I closed my eyes and gasped.

"Hey, now," Michael admonished, grabbing one of my braids and giving it a brief tug. "Eyes open. On me."

He withdrew, nearly all the way, and slammed inside me once more. He stroked in and out now, roughly, hard and fast, setting a wicked, expert rhythm that I instinctively strained to match. He heated me, filled me, each savage thrust sending delicious shocks through my loins. I looked up at him as he worked me, moaning with each stab of his cock. He eyed me detachedly. Suddenly, he gripped my hips and swiveled his pelvis, adding a circular motion as he lunged forward. He pushed again, deeply, hitting something far up inside of me; my cervix? Oh, God, he was in that deep. It hurt. Or did it?

"Ow!" I cried, twisting underneath him.

"Ssh," Michael said, gently. "Not a sound. Not a word. Relax, sweetheart. Feels better if you do."

Another gut-wrenching thrust.

He was splitting me in two. I tensed against the sensation. "Michael!" I gasped. "Please--!"

He frowned. "Godammit, what did I just say? Do I have to gag you?"

"But---" I protested.

Michael leaned in, crushing his chest to mine, and clamped one hand over my mouth. "Guess what, Clarissa?" He ground out, breathlessly, never ceasing his onslaught. "This isn't about you. It never will be. You're here for me. So you think about how much I'm enjoying this, honey. Using you. Taking you. My slut. My whore."

I stopped struggling as Michael's words sank in. To be treated like this... His hand over my mouth, his stiff cock filling me, raking the walls of my cunt. Only here to please him. I could have been anybody, any girl off the street. He was using me to get off. Just a piece of warm flesh underneath him. Oh, God. The thought was intoxicating. Was I going crazy? What I had originally felt as discomfort now receded, and was slowly replaced by warm, sweet friction. I spread my thighs wider, now wanting so much, so much, to take all of him. To let him do what he wanted. 

Michael felt me relax, and smiled. "Good girl. Just take it, Clarissa. You can't fight me. Fucking slut. You love this."

I moaned behind his hand. 

Michael pushed his other hand between our bellies. His thumb found my clitoris and rubbed it, gently. "You like it when I talk to you like that, dontcha? Just a girl after my own heart." He continued to stimulate me, fucking me, rubbing me. I jerked my hips sharply as I felt my abdomen tighten and twitch, precursor to orgasm.

"Whatcha doin'?" Michael asked, playfully, nuzzling my neck. "Not thinking of coming, are we?" His voiced tightened instantly. Warning me. "Don't you fucking dare. I'm the only one who gets to come, this time." He ran his thumbnail back and forth over my clitoris, pressing ever so slightly. "And the best part is, I know where all your most, uh, sensitive spots are. I can bring you sooo close and just... hold you there. Like a little puppet."

I whimpered, bereft. Twisting. Thrashing. 

"C'mon, you can hold out," he grinned. "Because if you don't, my darling, I will tie you face down to this bed and tan your pretty little ass with my belt. You won't be able to sit for three days. Wow, how's that for incentive?"

God, I was so close. I was sweating, and my juices ran freely, soaking the sheet beneath me. I couldn't, it wasn't fair, what he was doing, he knew I couldn't, oh, please... My hips bucked wildy. My cunt begged for release. I was crying again, sniffling miserably. 

Mercifully, Michael withdrew his hand. Bracing himself once more on both palms, he concentrated now on simply getting off. 

"I love fucking you," he gasped raggedly. "Love looking down into those big, wide eyes. Look at you. You're just lost. Feels nice, doesn't it?" He laughed, snapping his hips faster, faster. A thin sheen of sweat covered his upper body, painting his hard muscles. He slammed away at me, methodically, ramming my slick cunt. I felt his cock thicken, stiffen. And still I moved my hips in tandem, loving the heat, the fullness. My eyes were glued to his.

Michael lifted his hips for the coup de grace, laughing. "Bombs away, honey!" 

He threw back his head, closing his eyes, and thrust one last time, impossibly huge, impossibly deep. He groaned softly, exploding inside me in a scalding, jetting burst. 

Michael collapsed atop me, burying his face in my neck, his ragged breath hot in my hair. I threw my arms around his back, holding tightly, needing suddenly to hold onto somebody, something.

We lay for slow minutes, listening only to our own hard breathing.

Michael raised his head and tenderly kissed my mouth, nudging my nose with his. It was a diffident, boyish gesture, oddly touching. He grinned and rolled off of me, throwing himself down beside me. He grabbed the bourbon from the nightstand and, unscrewing the lid, put the bottle to his lips and took a healthy gulp.

"Wow," he breathed, wiping his brow. He turned to me and beamed. "You're a keeper, Miss Blackwood. Definitely punched my fucking ticket. Go get my cigarettes, would you? Don't forget the ashtray."

I didn't even think about it, and I didn't even think about not thinking about it. I simply sat up, slowly, and pulled myself shakily to my feet. I tottered into the living room, grabbed the stuff, and brought it to him.

Michael took the mangled pack of cigarettes from my trembling, outstretched hand. Pulled out two. Lit them.

He held one out to me.

I shook my head. "Trying to quit. That's what the lollipops are for." 

Michael laughed, stubbing out the cigarette he'd lit for me. "You and those lollipops. You got some oral fixation. Lucky me."

I stood by the side of the bed, looking at Michael, not sure what to do. Michael inhaled and blew out a stream of blue smoke, watching me speculatively. He took another pull on the bottle.

"Uh," I began, twisting my hands. 

"Hmm?"

"May I please get back in bed?"

Michael smiled broadly. "Awesome. High marks for asking. Sure." 

I walked back around to my side and got in, half-leaning, half sitting, on two pillows. I sat on top of the covers, drawing up my knees and wrapping my arms around them. My brain felt like somebody had run it through the spin cycle. I needed to say something but I didn't know what.

Michael smoked for awhile in silence, one arm behind his head, ankles crossed, post-coitally serene. 

He turned to me, suddenly. "You want to go to a movie or something?"

What?!

I gaped at him. After what he'd just done to me? I felt like I was dangerously close to a mild psychotic break, and he wanted to see a movie?

Michael noted my reaction and shrugged. "Or not. Maybe dinner? You like Taco Bell?"

Arrgh! I balled my hands into fists and slammed them down, hard, on either side of my thighs. The bed jumped.

"Easy, honey," Michael said, evenly, looking straight ahead. "Got something to say?"

I took a breath, seething. I knew better now, however, than to raise my voice. I counted to ten.

"How could you?" I asked, stung by his indifference, starting to cry for the third time in three hours.

"Huh?" 

"You know," I said. I grabbed a Kleenex from a nearby box and swiped at my blurry eyes.

Michael raised himself up on one arm and looked at me, genuinely puzzled. "Clarissa, are you premenstrual?" He paused, musing. "Your abdomen was a bit distended---"

Now he was calling me fat!

I cried harder.

"Aw, for---" Michael sat up, turning to face me, and crossed his legs, Indian-style. He ran an impatient hand through his spiky black hair. "Stop crying, for Christ's sake. What's wrong with you?"

"What you did to meeee---" I blubbered, blowing my nose loudly.

Michael absently handed me another Kleenex. "What? So I fucked you. I don't remember you complaining too much."

I took a shuddering breath, the air hitching in my lungs. "It's the psychosexual implications," I sobbed.

Michael rolled his eyes, thoroughly exasperated. "Of what? My penchant for a little kink and your discovery that you like it? Welcome to the human race." 

I couldn't stop crying.

"Come on, Clarissa," Michael said. "We both know there's no such thing as normal. You liked what we did, right?"

I nodded slowly, tears gradually subsiding. I considered the situation. Michael knew how to push my buttons, that was for sure, buttons I hadn't even known I'd had before that night. Admittedly, sex with him was the best I'd ever had, but I decided that Michael didn't need to know it. Doctor Michael Hanlon's opinion of himself was inflated enough without my help. Boy, he was some arrogant piece of work. 

But I had to be honest. He'd gotten to me. 

I felt what was left of my resolve slip merrily over the falls. What the hell, I thought. In for a penny, in for a pound. I suddenly found myself smiling.

************************

Michael watched Clarissa carefully. Was she actually smiling? Yep. Whew, Michael thought. I could not handle this girl falling apart on me.

Not when he was just getting started. 

Maybe she was hungry. Michael was starving. A really awesome fuck always did that to him.

"Hey," he said easily, lifting one foot and nudging her leg, "Let's go eat. My treat, what do you say?"

She lifted her head and looked at him, smiling bigger, now. Warming up.

Michael beamed back, his patented Trust-Me-I'm-Harmless special edition grin firmly in place. 

Clarissa uncrossed her arms and stretched out her long legs, letting her hands fall loosely into her lap.

Michael did not miss the shift in body language. He did a little mental victory dance. 

"Gw'an," he urged. "Take a shower and we'll hit---" he paused, not wanting to lose precious ground. Instinct told him that Taco Bell was a bad idea. "---a really nice restaurant. Maybe a steakhouse. More than enough of 'em in this town. You like steak?"

Clarissa did. 

And then she laughed. 

"Smooth move," she said, poking Michael's thigh with one finger. "Expensive dinners are typically known to prevent episodes of mild psychosis, especially in female subjects." 

She leaned over, suddenly, and kissed him on one chiseled cheek.. "Save Taco Bell for the second date." 

She swung herself around and jumped out of bed, disappearing down the hall and into the bathroom.

Michael watched her go, frankly surprised. Smart cookie, wasn't she? He realized he was glad, and that surprised him, too. Michael usually cared more about what a girl had between her legs than what she had between her ears. But Clarissa really got to him; she had from her first day on his floor. He hadn't been able to peel his eyes off of her, and found himself, like some oversexed tenth-grader, making up ridiculous exscuses to be near her. He'd almost burst out laughing when she'd dumped coffee all over him in the hall last week, turning his eighty-dollar tie into a fifty-cent dishrag. She'd looked like she couldn't decide whether to wet herself or pass out. He chuckled softly, remembering. 

Shaking his head, Michael grabbed another smoke and fired it up, still thinking. Clarissa had also scored big points, in Michael's opinion, by not wedging herself into his arms after they'd finished fucking and slobbering all over him--- even if she had slobbered all over herself. She hadn't begged him to shower with her, either. Bravo. Michael forgot about his cigarette; it burned unheeded between his fingers, a tubular ash. 

Clarissa was wicked pretty, too, even if she didn't know it, and somehow that increased Michael's attraction. Nice tits, slender waist, great legs. Pretty face, framed by that silky dark hair. Add to that her undeniably submissive bent, and you had a pretty decent package. Michael wondered, fleetingly, what his family would think of Clarissa. That brought him up short. Uh, uh, Hanlon, he thought, alarmed that this should have even occurred to him. He tossed his guttered cigarette butt into the ashtray, brushing a big pile of ashes off of the blanket. 




Clarissa & the Doctor Ch. 3



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.

* * * * *

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.

Yes.

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.

"Gotcha."

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.

Wow.

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. 

Except... 

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.

She was.

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. 

No response.

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.




Clarissa & the Doctor Ch. 4



In which Michael, Clarissa and Kate get to, uh, know each other better...

* * * * *

I stopped in my tracks just inside the door.

The hotel room was nice. Really nice. One room, but wow. Dark antique wooden furniture, expertly arranged. Thick oriental rugs on polished parqueted floors. Heavy tapestry draperies. Cut flowers in colorful porcelain jugs on the coffee table, the sideboard, the nightstand. Real oil paintings on the walls. Twin tobacco jar lamps glowed softly from matching tables on opposite sides of a beautifully carved, overstuffed sofa. I craned my neck, looking amazedly at the heavy plaster rococco moulding bordering a ten-foot ceiling. Gold leaf. It was dusted with gold leaf.

I gawked like a yokel. Motel 6 was more my style. 

And then I saw the bed. 

Huge, four-postered, canopied. Big fluffy pillows, crisp white sheets, glossy burgundy comforter. It matched the canopy. Naturally. The linens had been turned back, and there were chocolates on the pillows, individually wrapped in shiny gold foil. I was betting room service was killer.

I felt a sharp crack across my left buttock. I jumped.

"Jesus!" Michael snapped impatiently. "You gonna stand there and gape all night?" 

Michael grabbed my arm and dragged me into the room. Kate followed, laughing, closing and locking the door behind her.

Releasing me, Michael walked over to the sofa, peeled off his jacket, and tossed it onto the cushions. He threw himself onto the couch and leaned back, stretching out his long legs and propping his booted feet on the coffee table. He took out his cigarettes, shook one out, and fired it up.

Kate followed. She knelt beside him, waiting.

Michael leaned over and fisted one hand in Kate's hair, jerking her head back..

"How about you suck my cock while Little Miss Braids gets me a drink?"

Kate lifted her chin defiantly and smiled. "How about you ask nicely?"

Michael sighed mightily and in one swift motion, released his hold on her hair and backhanded her. Hard. Michael sat back, watching her serenely. He took a deep drag from his cigarette and carefully blew a series of perfect, lazy smoke rings.

Kate remained on her knees, holding her injured cheek, head bent, trembling.

"Look at me, Kate," Michael said, gently.

Kate lowered her hand and stared at Michael with huge, tear-filled eyes. Her right cheek was a riot of flaming scarlet. Her beautiful chest heaved wildly. Her bravado had evaporated without a trace. But she didn't move.

Michael raised a dark brow."You wanna test me? 'Cause we can play that way. You think you're some tough cookie, don't you? Going to hotel rooms with guys you meet in bars. Real Cosmo Girl. Whatever. Not here ten minutes and you're already on your knees, crying." Michael leaned over and shoved one hand between Kate's parted thighs, pushing up the hem of her dress, trailing his fingers over her mons, caressing the swollen lips of her shaved pussy. He slipped one finger inside of her. Grinned.

"Gee whiz. Sopping wet. Fucking slut. Bet you'd come right now if I slapped you again, huh?" Michael laughed softly, sliding his finger slowly in and out of Kate's vagina. "I like the way you're wired, Katie, but you got to watch how you talk to me."

Michael withdrew his hand and shoved his finger into Kate's mouth. Kate gasped and shuddered, undeniably aroused, and sucked lovingly.

"Let's try again," Michael murmured. He pulled his finger from Kate's mouth and sat up, planting his feet flat on the floor, knees apart.

Kate nodded. Kneeling up, she positioned herself between Michael's thighs. With shaking hands she unbuckled Michael's belt, opened his jeans, and pulled his rigid cock from his boxers. Kate inclined her head and placed her lips gently on the head of Michael's erection, kissing it tenderly. 

"Christ," Michael ground out, exasperated. "I said suck it, not kiss it! Whaddaya think this is, the freaking high school prom?" 

Michael grabbed her hair once more, this time with both hands, and forced himself into her mouth, snapping his hips. "I just wanna fuck your mouth, honey, so open wide and say 'ah.' "

Michael turned to me. "You," he snapped. "I told you to get me a drink. Glasses and booze are on the sideboard. Try not to spill anything, huh?"

Dazed, I walked slowly to the sideboard, opened a heavy silver ice bucket, and extracted a handful of cubes. Dropping them into a short, heavy glass, I grabbed a bottle of bourbon from an impressive selection of ethanol, unscrewed the cap, and splashed a healthy dose over the ice. 

I paused, considering Michael's sudden change in mood. There was nothing playful about him now. He seemed angry. Genuinely cruel. He'd hit Kate rather hard; she'd probably have a bruise tomorrow. She hadn't seemed to mind, though. It had, in fact, quite obviously turned her on. 

I wondered, crazily, how I would react if Michael did the same to me, and was ashamed to feel the blood rush to my crotch. I knew, as surely as I was standing there, that I desperately wanted Michael to use me until it hurt.

"What the fuck are you doing over there, distilling the stuff?"

I jumped again, jarred from my reverie, and hurried over to Michael. I handed him the glass of bourbon and stood to one side, waiting. On the floor next to me, Kate sucked enthusiastically on Michael's cock, moaning as he stabbed his prick down her throat. I watched, wide-eyed, as she took him all the way in, expertly working her lips up and down his stiff shaft, tonguing the underside of his cock, stroking his balls with gentle, practiced fingers.

Without missing a beat, Michael took a long swallow of booze, put the glass down on the coffee table, and sighed contentedly.

"Clarissa," he ordered, "Here. Beside me."

I plopped down next to Michael. He grabbed my braids with both hands and pulled me to him, fastening his mouth on mine, kissing me hard. His lips were warm and soft. His tongue darted over mine, slippery and wicked. My body responded instantly. I leaned against him, feeling my nipples harden, my belly twitch, my breathing quicken.

Michael cupped one hand around my breast and rubbed his thumb over the nipple. I moaned, pushing myself against him, wanting more.

"Get down there and help her," Michael murmured into my mouth.

I knew better than to hesitate. I slid off of the sofa and onto my knees.

Kate paused, lifting her lips from Michael's cock, and, leaning over, kissed me. Her mouth was sweet and hot. I could taste Michael on her, and I gasped as her tongue found mine and nudged it gently. Her soft hair brushed my neck, raising deliciously shivery goosebumps along my arms and thighs. I could feel heat and raw desire radiating from Kate's flesh like a sunburn. 

Kate broke the kiss, inclined her head, and placed her lips on the head of Michael's cock, swirling her tongue in slippery, wet circles. Following her lead, I leaned over and licked the shaft, slowly, up and down, cradling Michael's balls in my hand, massaging them with my fingertips.

"Work it, Katie," Michael murmured. "I wanna feel your fuckin' tonsils. You," he ordered me. "Suck my balls. And watch your teeth."

I shifted, allowing Kate better access to Michael's cock, and bent low, taking Michael's scrotum gently into my mouth.

I licked for all I was worth, loving the velvety feel of his skin against my tongue, the taste of him. I strained to watch as Kate swallowed Michael's cock. She moaned softly as she sucked, taking it all the way down her throat, up and down, in and out, pausing every so often to tongue the head and glans. Her nimble lips caressed Michael's cock, coating it with a sweet, glistening mixture of her saliva and his pre-come. 

Michael grabbed double handfuls of Kate's lustrous hair and jerked her mouth harder, faster, up and down his engorged prick, undulating his hips.

"That's it, Katie," Michael gasped. "Gonna shoot soon. Right on both of your pretty faces." 

He groaned, and I felt his balls tighten in my mouth.

"Aw, yeah---" Michael moaned, pistoning his hips. "Here it comes, kids!"

Michael grabbed me by the back of the neck and hauled my face up next to Kate's, pulling his cock from Kate's mouth and jerking his prick, hard, in his other fist. Thick, creamy jism spurted from his pulsating organ, drenching Kate's face and mine. 

Kate brought her mouth to mine and kissed me once more, licking Michael's cream from my lips, my cheeks, my chin. I returned the favor, kissing her timidly at first, then more boldly as the taste of Michael's semen and sensation of my tongue on Kate's cheeks and mouth made my cunt swell and my heart pound. I crushed my mouth to hers and kissed her, running my tongue around her parted lips.

Michael chuckled, stroking his slick, still-hard cock. He proferred a come-coated hand. Kate and I sucked his fingers dutifully, attending to his cock when his fingers were clean. 

Satisfied, Michael sat back, stretching lazily.

Michael snapped his fingers and jerked his head toward the bed. "You two. Get naked and get in the sack." 

Kate and I rose shakily to our feet and shucked our clothing. Smiling, Kate grabbed my hand and led me to the bed. We sat down, side by side, on the bed, legs crossed demurely. Across the room, Michael stripped down and, snagging his jacket, pulled two pieces of soft white rope and a condom from one of the pockets. I shuddered, remembering the way that rope had felt.

Michael walked over to the bed, swinging the rope loosely in one hand. His cock jutted, ramrod stiff, bobbing with each step. He paused, one fist on his hip. Grinned.

"On your belly, Clarissa. Arms out."

I complied, licking my suddenly dry lips. 

Michael put the condom on the nightstand by the bed. He tossed a piece of rope to Kate. "You know how to tie a decent knot, Red?"

Kate giggled and shrugged. "I guess."

Michael frowned. "Do a good job, now. If that slut gets loose, I'm holding you personally responsible. You may find yourself in her place, understand? And I don't think you want to be her tonight."

Swallowing hard, Kate nodded. She slid off of the bed, walked around to the other side, and wound her piece of rope around my right wrist.

Huh? Not want to be me? What the hell was Michael up to?

"Hey," I said, weakly, suddenly a lot less sure about the outcome of the evening's festivities. I tried to get up.

Michael was on me in a flash. He put one hand in the center of my back and shoved me back down on the bed. In one fluid movement, he hopped onto the bed and straddled me, grabbing me by the hair so tightly my scalp burned.

"What the fuck," he said quietly, "do you think you're doing?"

"I, uh, just wanted some clarification," I stammered, alarmed. "You-- you aren't really going to hurt me, are you?"

Michael smiled gently. "You want clarification, honey?"

He yanked my hair again, harder still, pulling my head back. Tears welled, hot and thick, in the corners of my eyes.

"Gosh, I thought we had that all worked out." Michael sighed. "You fourth-year students sure can be thick-headed. I often wonder how any of you ever make it through residency." 

Michael snaked one hand around and gripped one of my nipples between the thumb and forefinger of his free hand, twisting it hard. 

A sob broke from my throat; but even as I wept, I felt my cunt swell and tingle.

"I'm gonna hurt you a little, Clarissa, but it's nothing you can't take. And nothing you don't really want. I saw the look on your face when I belted Kate. You practically creamed. I'm gonna show you how strong you really are, baby. Build your character. Think of it as a form of Outward Bound." He chuckled. "Emphasis on bound."

Michael nodded at Kate. "Proceed. She's going to behave now, aren't you, sweetheart?"

I nodded, sniffling. I didn't have a choice.

They finished attaching me to the bed.

Michael crooked a finger at Kate. She came to him, and her grabbed her and pulled her to him. Kissed her, deeply and heatedly. She melted into his arms, moaning softly. 

Michael took his mouth from Kate's and slid his hands over her hips, caressing her curves. He smiled nastily. "Wanna have some real fun, Red?" 

Kate nodded, slipping a slender hand around Michael's cock and stroking it gently. 

"Clarissa's got jealousy issues. She's got to learn to share. Needs some behavioral adjustment. What say I do you first, while she watches? Then you smack her around a bit."

Kate giggled. "I have a hairbrush."

Michael beamed. "Awesome." He paused, eyeing Kate thoughtfully. "You get to call the shots much, Katie?"

Kate shook her head coyly.

"Hmm. Bet you got all kinds of pent-up frustration, huh? Not healthy to keep that stuff bottled up. Clogs your arteries. So you just go to town on Clarissa. Get it all out. Whatever you wanna do." He chuckled. "No permanent damage, of course. I still got to get some use out of her."

Kate looked at me, studying me like all women study their competition. Her eyes narrowed.

I gasped. I knew my psychology. Given the chance, Kate would no doubt mete out worse punishment than Michael ever could. And Kate was a complete stranger. She could be a raving psychotic. 

"Michael!" I protested, struggling against the ropes. 

Michael slung a casual arm around Kate's waist and turned to me. "Shut the fuck up," he said pleasantly. "You are, as of this moment, a non-person. My toy, and therefore Kate's. You mind her, or I'll break your heart." Michael grinned. "And you know I can do it, honey. You think I don't know you're in love with me?" 

I wept, bereft: a torrent of bitter tears. And writhed as I felt my cunt throb.

Michael's cruelty was intoxicating. I loathed myself for loving it, loving the scalding wash of conflicting emotions that he never failed to elicit. I felt him wound around my brain and my heart like so many silken tentacles. 

With blurry eyes, I watched Michael wrap Kate in his arms and kiss her tenderly, trailing his lips across her ear, her cheek, her neck. His lips met hers and she pushed herself against him, swiveling her flawless hips.

Kate watched me over Michael's shoulder, smiling triumphantly, obviously pleased with this sudden shift in the balance of power. She liked Michael. A lot. I had a feeling that if she could have given me a hundred-dollar bill and sent me home in a taxi, she would have jumped at the chance. But she was smart enough to give Michael what he wanted. And just nasty enough to enjoy it.

Michael stepped back, taking Kate's hand, and pulled her toward the bed. He pushed her gently down beside me and lowered himself onto her, pressing his chest to her breasts, his cock to her belly. Michael ran his hands through Kate's hair, smiling sweetly. She gazed up at him, raptly adoring.

He turned and looked at me coldly. "Watch closely now, Clarissa. I've decided I'm going to make love to Kate. Not fuck her. You do know the difference, don't you?" He laughed softly. "Just thought I'd show you what you're never going to get from me."

I gasped as my chest tightened, as Michael's words seared me like acid.

Michael grinned, enjoying my reaction. "Wow. Just like a knife through your heart, huh? Poor Clarissa. Wants so much to be loved, but only gets fucked. You want candlelight and roses, sweetheart? Keep dreaming." 

My head spun as my beleaguered brain vainly attempted to process equal amounts of anger, jealousy--- and boiling desire. I should have hated Michael. But a bigger part of me needed what he did to me. And Michael knew it.

He slid one hand down the inside of my thigh and shoved his index finger roughly into my vagina. Michael's finger slipped in easily: I was soaked.

"Jesus," Michael breathed, almost admiringly. "You're completely aroused. You twisted little slut. How the fuck are you wired?"

I moaned and shuddered, pushing myself down onto his hand, snapping my hips.

Michael withdrew his finger, and raising his hand, slapped me across one cheek. "That's my girl." He turned back to Kate, and inclining his head, kissed her gently on the mouth. Nudging her thighs apart with one knee, Michael took his cock in one hand and positioned it at the opening of her vagina. With the other, he grabbed the condom and dropped it onto Kate's chest.

Taking the cue, Kate unwrapped the condom and slipped it slowly over Michael's erection.

Kate wound her arms around Michael's neck. He made no move to stop her. Not for her the ropes, the welts, the harsh words. Not now. 

They looked like lovers. 

Michael pushed slowly into Kate, groaning softly. She lifted her hips to meet his, wriggling sinuously. 

Michael moved back and forth, slowly, in and out of Kate, smiling down at her. 

Kate sighed and lifted her lips to Michael's. Michael obliged willingly, inclining his head and kissing Kate gently on the mouth. His gaze found mine as he did so, and he smiled.

Michael slid his hands slowly down Kate's silky thighs, catching his hands under her knees and lifting her legs. She wrapped them around Michael's back, locking her ankles at the base of his spine.

Michael rocked his hips slowly, rhythmically, stroking Kate's hair, feathering soft kisses on her upturned face, her closed eyes. 

I watched the hard muscles in Michael's back and buttocks flex as he had her, and God, he was so beautiful and she was exquisite and my heart was splitting in two. Tears coursed freely over my flushed cheeks, dampening the pillow beneath my head. But I could not deny the waves of warm, shuddering pleasure that suffused my pussy and hardened my nipples. 

Jesus. 

I loved it! Loved hanging perfectly, painfully poised between stabbing jealousy and overwhelming arousal. And somehow I knew that Michael understood this, as surely as he knew the rest of my mind and body so well.

I heard someone moaning. It was me.

Michael looked up at me, never ceasing his fluid, heated onslaught, and grinned, his dark eyes feverish and full of wicked wisdom. "Watch this, Clarissa," he whispered.

He turned his attention back to Kate. "Christ, you're pretty," he murmured, suckling her nipples gently. "And tight. Like warm, wet silk."

Kate arched her neck, throwing back her head. Incomprehensible cries of pure pleasure issued from her wet, parted lips.

Michael fucked Kate in earnest now, sliding in and out of her drenched pussy, faster, harder, his mouth locked to hers. Both of them glistened with sweat born of raw desire.

Kate thrashed and groaned, building toward orgasm.

"C'mon, honey," Michael breathed, pumping for all he was worth. "Come for me. Right on my cock."

Kate cried out, bucking her hips, grinding her pelvis against Michael's, lost to all but her own climax.

"Yeah---" Michael gasped, bracing his arms on either side of Kate's shoulders, giving one last shuddering thrust. He groaned deeply as he came, head down, biceps quivering.

Michael pulled out of Kate and threw himself down on the bed between the two of us. He reached over and tweaked Kate's right nipple. "Nice job, Katie. You ready for another treat?"

Kate raised herself on one elbow and kissed Michael lightly on the mouth. "Yeah."

"Get the hairbrush," Michael said. He stripped the condom from his cock and thrust himself to my lips.

"Suck it clean," he snapped. I complied.

Michael grinned hugely. "Scared?"

I nodded, chest hitching with barely supressed sobs.

Michael laughed. "You should be." 

He stroked my hair gently. "But you'll bear it for me, won't you?" 

"Yes, Michael," I whispered. I looked at him intently, searching his hard, handsome face. There was still so much that I did not understand. 

Kate bounced back over to the bed, hairbrush in hand. It was round and wooden and looked expensive. Incredibly, I wanted to giggle. At least I'm getting it with a quality piece of equipment, I thought insanely. 




Clarissa & the Doctor Ch. 4



Michael grabbed Kate by the wrist and jerked her toward the bed. 

"Get to it," he said.

Kate climbed onto the bed beside me and knelt, hand poised in midair.

I squeezed my eyes shut and tensed, waiting.

"Hey, now," Michael laughed. "Eyes open. Turn your head and watch Kate. I want you to see it coming."

Thwack! 

It came. Hard. I squealed and jumped. This was harder than Michael had ever hit me. 

God.

Thwack! Harder. 

Could I take this? Could I? 

I so desperately wanted to please Michael; the feelings he evoked threatened to devour me as I lay there. But this hurt!

Tears in my eyes, and now my throat was thick and tight as I choked on my sobs..

Michael sat on the bed beside me, peering into my reddened face, as Kate treated my poor ass to a steady cadence of wicked blows. She smiled sweetly. She was enjoying this as much as Michael.

The skin on my buttocks was burning up. I was sweating freely, soaking the sheets beneath me. I wept openly now, no longer even trying to dodge Kate's punishment. I went limp under the weight of the pain, turning my head and looking at Micahel with tear-bright, desperate eyes.

Huh? What was this? 

As I relaxed, I felt another sensation take the place of the pain... overriding it. I shifted, parting my thighs. The heat from my backside seemed to flow inward, centering pleasantly in my crotch. I found my hips undulating as I rubbed myself against the bed, loving the sweet warmth of the fabric against my swollen clitoris.

"Ooh..." I sighed tremulously.

Michael leaned over and gently, lightly, cupped my damp cheek in one hand, running his thumb along the line of my jaw.

"Good girl," he murmured. "Now you got the idea. You stop fighting; it feels good." 

I kissed Michael's outstretched hand, straining for his touch: a portrait of submission almost frightening in its purity.

Michael chuckled. Taking his hand from my face, he moved it between my thighs, tickling my labia... teasing, stroking. 

I moaned, spreading my legs wider, gasping incoherently.

Yes, do it. There.

Michael slid one finger into my vagina, liberally coating his digit with a generous dollop of my lubrication. He withdrew his finger, slowly, and began to massage my clitoris in slow, gentle circles.

Kate continued to smack my buttocks.

I felt orgasm building, now, coiling tightly in my belly. I moaned, thrashing my head from side to side.

Michael stroked my hair with his other hand, trailing gentle fingers along my neck and clavicle.

(Please, please... I need to come.. please...)

"M-Michael!" I gasped, snapping my hips with each blow of the hairbrush.

Michael chuckled softly. "You want to come, baby? Want me to send you right over the edge?"

I nodded weakly.

"Hmmm...." he mused, continuing to stroke my swollen bud. "I dunno. Whaddaya think, Katie?"

Kate stopped smacking me, mercifully, for a moment.

"Why don't you fuck her?" she said, casually. "I think she's ready. This slut's dripping wet. You want his cock, Miss Pigtails?"

"Y-yes!" I gasped. God, yes.

I felt the bed shift as Micahel climbed on and straddled me.

"Whatever," he said, seemingly bored. He snaked one arm around my waist and jerked me to my knees. I struggled for balance, impeded by my bound wrists.

"Hold still," Michael snapped. "This is for me, not you. Remember that. And don't you dare come."

And then he was inside of me, hard and fast. Michael's cock slid in and out smoothly, sweetly, bathed with my slickness. It stabbed and it hurt and it felt wonderful. God, he used his cock like a weapon.

Warmth now, and delicious friction, and I felt my uterine muscles begin to thrum. I groaned.

"Uh, uh," Michael cautioned breathlessly. "Don't you fucking dare. You come, and I'll make that spanking Kate just gave you look like a fucking Sunday school picnic."

And suddenly, Kate bent her head and kissed me, sweetly, hotly, full on the mouth.

"Aw, Jesus, yeah," Michael moaned, grabbing Kate by the hair and forcing her mouth hard, against mine, never ceasing his wicked, brutal thrusting.

Oh, it was too much, all of it. My gut tightened. I couldn't help it. My pussy flexed and shuddered and I came, crying out against Kate's warm, sweet mouth, bucking against Michael's hard stomach, and I knew I was lost.

I felt Michael stiffen, felt his cock spasm, felt him explode inside of me in a thick, hot stream. 

Michael collapsed atop me, breathing hard. Kate took her mouth from mine and rose, bending over me to kiss Michael.

"Hey, you," Michael said, as he kissed Kate, "You think I don't know you came?" He laughed delightedly. "Honey. You are in trouble now."



Clarissa & The Doctor



The girl would jump up, clutching her open dress across her magnificent chest. "I don't know," she'd say, the picture of innocent indecision.

Michael would laugh. "I do. Now take off your clothes."

Clarissa would comply. Michael knew she would.

Michael would circle the girl, stripped of her clothing, looking her up and down. She'd be beautiful, of course, perfectly proportioned. She'd watch him, nervous but obviously quite excited. Michael would stand in front of Clarissa, looking down at her, enjoying the fact that she was naked while he was clothed. He liked the power it gave him. Reaching out, Michael would cradle the girl's soft cheek in one gentle hand. With the other he would caress her breasts, trailing his hand down to her flat belly, running his finger lightly around the edge of her navel. Finally, Michael would cup Clarissa's mons in his hand and begin to stroke her labia, gratified that her pussy was already soaked and slippery. 

Clarissa would moan: music to Michael's ears. He'd insert one finger, then two, in her vagina, and begin to probe, to explore. His practiced fingers would quickly find her G-spot, which he'd gently massage. Clarissa's hips would swivel instinctively as she'd lean against Michael, breathing hard, eyes closed, lost. Michael would put one arm around the girl, supporting most of her weight, and she'd snuggle immediately into his embrace. Michael would stroke her faster now, his fingers still inside her, kneading her G-spot, rubbing her rapidly-swelling clitoris with his thumb. He'd smile as he felt her approacing orgasm, her vagina beginning to contract around his digits. "You want to come, honey?" He'd ask, softly. Clarissa, beyond words, would only nod.

"Tell me," Michael would say. "Beg me to let you come. I want to to hear you say it."

"Please," Clarissa would gasp. She'd be having a hard time concentrating.

"Please what?" He'd make her say it.

She'd open her huge black eyes and look at him imploringly. "Please make me come! I- I can't stand this anymore, please--!"

Michael would grin, and rub Clarissa's clitoris harder. Oh, this was it; she was coming. He'd feel her contract, beautifully, time and time again, as orgasm finally overtook her. She'd cry out, twisting on his fingers, grinding her pelvis against his hand. Michael would keep his fingers inside of her as she recovered, enjoying the aftershocks. Satisfied that she was finished, he'd remove his hand and bring his fingers to Clarissa's lips. "Taste yourself," he'd whisper, smearing her juices around her mouth. He'd kiss her, then, running his tongue lightly around her lips. She'd look at him adoringly and smile.

"Did you like that?" Michael would ask.

Clarissa would nod.

"Good. Now fair's fair, honey. My turn."

Michael would step back, unbuckle his belt, unzip his pants, and pull down his boxers. His cock would rise, rock-hard, curving up slightly, from its nest of dark curls. He'd stroke himself, enjoying the girl's growing excitement and his own building anticipation.

"Get on your knees," he'd order, snapping his fingers again. "Here, in front of me." 

Clarissa would walk over, stand in front of Michael, and drop to her knees. She'd look up at him, her dark eyes huge in her pale face. 

"Suck my cock," Michael would say. "I want to come in your mouth."

"Yes, doctor," the girl would whisper, and, taking Michael's cock in her hands, place her lips around the head.

She'd start slowly at first, tentatively, gently kissing the head and shaft, licking, tasting. She'd become bolder, beginning to suck in long, slow strokes.

"Tongue the glans," Michael would instruct. He'd grab her hair in his hands and move her mouth up and down on his engorged cock. It would be exquisitely slick with her saliva, and she'd moan from time to time, her mouth full of him. Her tongue would feel fantastic, flicking along the sensitive underside of his prick, while Michael shoved himeslf deeper into her mouth, snapping his hips. He'd feel her throat muscles working as she took him all the way down, her pretty little nose nuzzling his pubic hair. Her mouth and throat would be warm and wet and tight.

"Tickle my balls," Michael would say. "And look at me. I like eye contact." 

Clarissa's hand would cradle Michael's balls as she gently massaged his scrotal sac. She'd gaze up at him, transfixed, sucking, licking, tonguing. Swallowing his dick to the root. 

"You like sucking my cock?" Michael would ask, punctuating each word with a particularly enthusiastic thrust of his hips. 

The girl would nod, her eyes never leaving his.

"That's my girl," Michael would chuckle. "Suck harder. And keep your tongue going."

Clarissa would do as she was told, making her lips tighter around Michael's cock, moving her tongue up and down the underside of the shaft, swirling it around the head. She'd unconsciously reach one slender hand around his waist to steady herself, and, parting his buttocks, begin to stroke his anus with her forefinger.

"Good girl," Michael would say, approvingly. "Such a quick study. Didn't even have to tell you. Now, take my balls in your mouth. Gently now, no teeth." 

Clarissa's lips and tongue would caress Michael's balls as she sucked, slowly, lovingly, her hand working Michael's cock, slick with saliva and pre-come. 

"Put me back in your mouth, baby," Michael would order. "Make me come."

Clarissa would close her wet, hot lips around Michael's dick, sucking and tonguing, up and down, in and out, like it was the last cock she'd ever get, her finger continuing to probe his anus, her other hand tickling his balls. She'd suck harder, making a little vacuum out of her slippery, hot mouth, saliva and pre-come glistening on her lips and chin. 

Christ, it was too much. 

Michael was breathing hard now, eyes closed, muscles tensed, lips parted. He stroked his cock hard and fast, slicking generous drops of pre-ejaculate up and down his stiff shaft. "C'mon, honey," he moaned, softly, actually feeling the girl's mouth on him, and groaned as he felt his balls contract, and his belly tighten and tingle. "Oohh..." Michael sighed, as several bursts of creamy white jism shot in a wide arc out of his wildly jerking prick. He imagined Clarissa swallowing as he shot, knowing that she'd love it, lapping up every last drop. 

Michael stood, breathing hard, still holding himself. Crud, he'd gotten come everywhere. God only knew where most of it had landed. Gross. He'd find out tomorrow and clean it up. For now, he mopped himself up with a bunch of Kleenexes and tossed the damp wad at the wastebasket in the corner of the room. It missed.

"Fuck it," Michael muttered, and threw himself into bed. 

*************************

I sighed, shifting from foot to foot. Another exciting Saturday night in line at the grocery store. It was bad enough that the woman ahead of me had had fifteen coupons (I'd counted), two of which she'd spent five minutes trying to find. Now she was writing a check.

"Don't you hate it?" said a familiar voice at my back. I turned around, instantly nervous. 

It was Dr. Hanlon. At least, it resembled Dr. Hanlon. This Dr. Hanlon, however, wore an expensive, multi-patterned shirt, close-fitting faded jeans, a longish black leather jacket, and scuffed boots. I mentally calculated that he was sporting roughly a thousand bucks' worth of clothing. He smelled good, too. He looked great, and he looked like he knew he looked great. For some reason, his arrogance made him even more attractive. I felt an unexpected heat between my legs and blushed. He was carrying a small basket of groceries. 

"Doctor Hanlon," I said, smiling way too hard, "I didn't know you shopped here." Way to go, Clarissa, I thought. Always right on the ball with the scintillating conversation! 

Dr. Hanlon smiled. Wow. I'd never had that smile directed at me before. No wonder all the nurses swooned. "I was in the neighborhood. This your store of choice?"

"I, um---" I stuttered, blindly handing my stuff to the cashier. "I live right up the street. I walked here. You know, to enjoy the weather? It was such a nice evening. It's awesome weather for this time of year, don't you think?" Great; I was babbling.

Dr. Hanlon smiled again, turning up the wattage. "It has been nice." He checked out my huge pile of food. "Cook a lot for yourself, huh? I almost never cook. Just me, you know. Not even a houseplant." 

The man was being friendly -- not at all his usual self-- and it was freaking me out. I wanted to leave before I said something really stupid and paid for it on Monday.

I paid the cashier and started to pick up my food, suddenly realizing that buying six bags of groceries without a car to carry them home in had been a bad idea. That's what comes of grocery shopping when you're hungry. I sighed. Lugging the stuff a half-mile up the long, steep hill to my apartment wasn't going to be fun. At least I'd get some good cardiovascular stimulation. 

Dr. Hanlon put a hand on my arm, sending a small shock of pure pleasure zipping along my nerve endings. I almost gasped. An image of him touching me in lots of other places lit up my neurons. I blushed again.

"Are you going to walk home with all of that?" He asked, frowning. 

I shrugged, faking composure I did not feel.. "It's really not far."

Dr. Hanlon reached over and hefted the groceries easily. "Come on. I'll give you a ride."

A ride?? This from the man who probably thought I should be studying cosmetology instead of medicine? I wondered, fleetingly, if Dr. Hanlon had mistaken me for someone else. 

We walked out onto the sidewalk in front of the store. 

"I can't," I stammered. "I don't want to inconvenience you." 

Dr. Hanlon started across the parking lot. "I'm walking to my car, Miss Blackwood, and I'm taking your groceries," he called back over his shoulder. "If you want to see them again, I suggest you join me." 

What could I do but follow? 

I walked up to his car, stopping to admire it as he opened the trunk and deposited the groceries. It was gorgeous, just like I'd heard. I'd never seen it this close before; med students and doctors don't park in the same lot.

"Nice Mustang," I said, momentarily forgetting to be nervous. 

Dr. Hanlon closed the trunk and walked around to the passenger side of the car. He unlocked the door and opened it, motioning for me to get in. "Sixty-nine.You like cars?"

I got in. Dr. Hanlon got in beside me, buckled up, and started the engine. Unlike his office, the car was immaculate. 

"I really don't know much about cars," I admitted, "but I've always loved Mustangs. Old ones for sure. Did you do this yourself?"

Hanlon nodded as we turned out of the parking lot and onto the street. "Little at a time. Took awhile." He grinned the grin of the total enthusiast. "She kicks pretty good. Wanna see? Take a little detour?"

I hesitated. "Now?"

"Why not? You got somewhere to be?"

"Uh, no," I said, slightly nettled by his correct assumption that I would be without plans on a Saturday night. "But my ice cream is melting."

He laughed, shifting gears and gunning the engine. "We won't be long."

**********************

Michael Hanlon drove, wondering what the hell he was doing. This wasn't wise; the girl's nearness to him had already given him the usual raging hard-on. He was just giving her a ride home, he reasoned. Showing off the car. No harm in that. He stole a glance at her. For once she was actually dressed attractively: a tight green sweater accentuated her luscious breasts; form-fitting jeans hugged her shapely legs. She'd foregone her usual tight pigtail for two loose braids resting on either shoulder. She looked all of nineteen. Jesus, Mary and Joseph. Michael suddenly found himself in the middle of a war between his Finer and Baser Selves. Conscience and better judgement were firmly on the side of his Finer Self, and they were valiant. But Michael's libido had a lot more troops, and they fought dirty, and they were fighting for the opposite side. Michael had a feeling his Finer Self was going to lose, but his Finer Self was determined to go down bravely. Michael debated the issues. He looked at all the angles. He weighed the consequences. The war was mercifully short. Ultimately, the bad little devil on his left shoulder kicked the good little angel square in the ass off of his right shoulder. Conscience and better judgement bit the dust, as they are wont to do when battles like this are lost. Fuck professional ethics, Michael thought, his cock throbbing, and decided once and for all that Clarissa Blackwood would spend this evening, and many evenings thereafter, impaled firmly on his prick. 

**********************

We sped onto the highway. Dr. Hanlon had us in the fast lane almost immediately. There was an awkward silence. Awkward for me, at least. I picked at my cuticles, stealing furtive glances at him. God, he was handsome, and the smell of his cologne was intoxicating. And I was alone with him in his car. 

"I've heard a lot about this car," I finally blurted, looking for something, anything to say.

He turned to me, smiling. "Like what?"

"Like, how great it is, how much you probably spend on it, stuff like that. Most of the male med students would give their right arm for a car like this."

Dr. Hanlon looked at me again, still smiling. "What else do you students say about me?"

I hesitated. Dr. Hanlon had to know that most of the med students at St. Stephen's, while they respected his medical skills, thought he was a class-A prick. 

**********************

Michael grinned, watching the girl squirm. He knew exactly what his med students thought of him, but he was enjoying this. 

"Miss Blackwood?"

Clarissa turned red again. "I don't know, sir."

Michael decided to go for broke. "What do you think of me, Miss Blackwood?"

The girl twisted her hands in her lap, fighting her own battle. Finally, she took a deep, trembling breath, and turned to Michael. "I think you're a great physician and a brilliant man and just absolutely incredible in every way and why do you hate me so much?"

She paused, realizing what she'd said. "Oh, God..." she groaned, turning away quickly, and hid her burning face in her hands.

Michael burst out laughing, surprised and delighted. This was almost too easy. "Honey," he said, gently pulling the girl's hands away from her face and stroking her cheek, "I don't hate you. I want you."

*********************

I gasped, turning halfway around in my seat to look at Dr. Hanlon. I couldn't believe it.

"What?" I squeaked. "Then why do you give me such hell at the hospital?"

Dr. Hanlon sighed. "Jesus, Clarissa, think about it! I've been trying to keep you at arm's length. I wanted you to hate me, but it obviously didn't work. I mean, I get a hard-on every time I look at you. Do you know what it does to me to watch you day after day, sucking on those stupid lollipops? Thinking I can never have you? I jerk off every night, imagining you on the end of my cock. I want you more than I've ever wanted any girl in my life. And it's mutual, isn't it?"

I nodded, feeling very warm between my legs, feeling my nipples grow hard. "But you could have anybody you wanted," I said. "I mean, look at you. You're handsome and smart and---"

"Yeah, whatever," he said, dismissively. "So I picked you. I like you. I want to fuck you, honey; what do you say?"

Goodness, he did get right to the point.

I swallowed hard, strangely excited by such a blunt proposition. "You're my Attending Physician," I began, nervously, not knowing remotely how to proceed. My God, of course I wanted to sleep with him; I'd wanted to for months. But a crush is one thing; a cat can always look at a king. Making it a reality, however, opened up a whole different can of peas. Did I want to go to bed with Dr. Michael Hanlon? You bet I did, but I knew in my heart that it just wasn't ethical. And we were taught that being a doctor is as much about ethics as it is about medicine. Believe it or not, I knew I had to walk away from this. I took a deep breath and said what I most definitely did not want to say. "I'm flattered, Doctor Hanlon," I said sadly, "But I can't. It wouldn't be right. It's a question of ethics. I mean, I only have another couple of months at St. Stephen's. Maybe once I leave--?" Michael Hanlon was a doctor. Surely he'd understand.

Dr. Hanlon shot a me an amused glance, his dark eyes flashing. "No? You turning me down? Hope you're kidding, because you really don't have a choice. Remember, I still haven't done your evaluation. Hate to see you lose out so close to graduation."

I turned to him, shocked."You wouldn't," I said.

He reached over and tweaked one of my braids. "Aw, sure I would. And you're thinking, 'I'll tell.' Go ahead. Your word against mine. You haven't exactly been batting a thousand during this rotation. Everybody knows we don't get along. Let's see who they believe. I mean, come on, honey," he continued, grinning, "I'm a Board-Certified Cardiologist at a major metropolitan hospital, cum laude graduate of Washington University, and you're, uh, what? Correct me if I'm wrong? A fourth-year med student from a third-rate school somewhere in bumfuck, Dominica?" He chuckled.

This was crazy. This was wrong. But the very fact that Michael Hanlon had so much power over me, such unquestionable control, coupled with the attraction I already had for him, was making me wet. I could feel it. I couldn't fight it. And I hated myself for it. I tried one last time. "Please don't do this," I said. "Not like this." 

"I'm going to fuck you whether you like it or not, honey," Hanlon grinned. "So you can make this easy or hard. Up to you. Look, I know you want this, Clarissa. I'm just relieving you of the burden of responsibility. You really ought to thank me."

I crossed my arms protectively over my chest and looked straight ahead, glaring. In a way, he was right, and that made me even angrier. I stewed for awhile in silence. That crack about where I went to school had stung. "You really want to know what your students think of you, Doctor?" I said, finally. I was furious. "We think you're a prick."

Dr. Hanlon laughed.

*********************** 

"Come here," Michael Hanlon said, crooking his finger at me. He patted a place beside him on my couch. He swigged deeply from a bottle of bourbon, alternating mouthfuls of liquor with drags from a cigarette. I stood across the room, watching him, fascinated. I think I was still in shock. Doctor Hanlon, sitting here in my apartment, drinking. Smoking. Boy, did I want one of those cigarettes.

"I said come here." He frowned. "What the hell are you staring at?"

I walked over and sat down beside him. "You," I said. "You're, uh, kind of different than I thought."

"Meaning I'm human?" Hanlon chuckled. "You think I sleep in my white coat? Actually, I sleep naked. Speaking of which, get undressed. I want to see you."

"You could ask nicely," I said, annoyed. I really wasn't sure how I felt about all of this, at this point.

Michael stubbed out his cigarette and put the bottle on the table. Gently, he took my chin in one hand and turned my face to his. He looked sad. "Aw, honey. Are we gonna start out like this? Do I need to teach you a lesson right away?"

I gasped at his words, and a warm, shuddering thrill shot through me. God, this man was so sure of himself. So completely in control. He'd made it abundantly clear that I was his to do with as he pleased. I wondered just what kind of a lesson he'd teach me. I closed my eyes and moaned, a totally automatic response.

Michael laughed softly at my reaction. "Wow. Touched a nerve, didn't I? Take off your pants."

I stood, shakily, and shucked my jeans and panties. Before I could stop him, Michael grabbed me and tossed me over his knees. I struggled, but he pushed one arm across my back, pinning me to his lap. "If you don't hold still," he said, quietly, "I'll start with my belt instead of my hand, and believe me, you're not ready for that."




Clarissa & The Doctor



Oh, God. I believed him. I stopped struggling. I lay in his lap for a moment, out of breath, wondering what I had gotten myself into. I felt Michael's erection, huge and hot, against my side.

Michael's hand grazed my buttocks, gently, and I tensed my muscles immediately.

"Relax, Clarissa," Michael murmured, kneading the flesh of my ass with one hand and grabbing my braids with the other.

I felt his fingers slide up and down the lips of my vagina, gently teasing. There was no denying that it felt good, and I sighed softly, spreading my thighs slightly. I felt the undersides of my breasts brushing against his muscular thighs, and I shifted, rubbing them back and forth along his legs. Michael dipped one finger inside of me and drew it out, trailing the wetness along the crack of my ass. 

"Gee, you're awful wet, honey. How gratifying." He plunged his finger back up inside me once more, probing, and stroked me. I moaned and shuddered as he found my G-spot. Suddenly, he let go of my hair and brought his other hand down, hard, palm flat, across my ass. I cried out, startled, grinding against him, unexpected heat flooding my loins.

"You've been naughty, Clarissa," Michael said. "Been making all kinds of stupid mistakes during this rotation, haven't you? Know how bad that makes me look? Do you?"

Crack! Came his hand again, harder this time.

"But," I gasped,"you make me so nervous--"

"Oh, so it's my fault, is it?"

Crack!

"Yes! I mean, no! I mean--"

Crack!

It stung and it hurt, but somehow felt good. I arched my lower back, moaning, raising my buttocks to meet Michael's hand. My vaginal lips were swollen and wet; Michael's finger moved easily in an out, tickling, caressing. He smacked me again. I squirmed and moaned, bucking my hips.

"Christ, look at you," Michael breathed. "You really need this, don't you?"

"I don't know!" I gasped, awash in a tide of physical and psychological sensations that left me reeling.

"I do," he said, softly, giving me a series of flat-handed, stinging blows in quick succession while his finger continued to work my G-spot.

My ass was on fire; the pain was rapidly becoming more than I could bear. "H-hurts," I gasped twisting, trying now to escape. "Please, no more!"

Michael continued his gluteal assault. "Uh, uh, honey," he said, breathlessly, between slaps, "Not til I say so. Go with the pain, Clarissa. Take it for me. Understand how happy it makes me. You want to make me happy, don't you?"

"Yes, Michael," I said, humiliated, confused, yet aroused as never before in my life. I felt the spanking intensify the feeling in my vagina, enhancing the internal heat. "Ooh..." I felt myself contracting, building toward orgasm. Michael felt it, too.

"There's my good girl," he crooned, still smacking me, stroking me. "Give in. It's what you want, Clarissa. You gonna come for me?"

I felt my clitoris swell, felt my belly quiver, and I cried out, my hands in fists, as a white-hot ribbon of pleasure shot through my cunt. I twisted and squirmed and snapped my hips and rode wave upon wave of orgasm for what seemed like forever. Ultimately it subsided, and I lay across Michael's lap, finally, spent. Slowly, he withdrew his finger and rubbed my ass gently with one hand, stroking my hair with the other. 

"Honey? You okay?"

I shifted in his lap. Ouch. "My ass hurts," I said, facedown in the couch. 

Michael chuckled. "I bet it does. It looks remarkably like a large tomato. But you liked that, didn't you?"

Michael pulled me carefully into a sitting position, facing him, straddling his lap. It hurt, but it was bearable.

"Nobody ever did that to me before," I said, shakily.

Michael smiled. "Nah, I didn't think so." He tapped my forehead. "But it's always been a part of your little psyche."

"How did you know?"

Michael laughed. "You practically ooze it, Clarissa. You're a natural born submissive. Body language, mannerisms. You might as well wear a sign."

I digested that, still unsure as to how I felt. This had been a very strange evening. "Doctor Hanlon-- Michael," I said, "what are you really going to do with me?"

Michael cupped the side of my face in one hand, rubbing his thumb gently across my cheek. His touch was electric; I couldn't get enough and I couldn't help myself. I closed my eyes and moaned softly.

"Jesus, you are so responsive," Michael murmured. "As I see it," he said, answering my question, "I get to do whatever I want with you, which in your case, honey, will undoubtedly involve many hours of intensive instruction. You're an exceptionally stubborn and naughty girl." He laughed. "But I've always liked a challenge."

Michael slipped his hands around my waist. I opened my eyes and looked at him. His dark eyes were huge: two inkspots in the half-gloom. I wondered, fleetingly, how many legs those eyes had parted. 

"You going to be a good girl and do what I say?" he asked softly.

I nodded, unable to look away.

" 'Cause I was serious about fucking up your evaluation.You belong to me, honey. I want you to remember that. Especially at the hospital. It'll make work so much more fun from now on, dontcha think? Just knowing that you're mine, that in a few hours I'll have you flat on your back, fucking your brains out."

I gasped, shuddering, simultaneously hating and loving the way I reacted to Michael's words. I loved what he did to me, how he made me feel.

"You're very sure of yourself, aren't you?" I said. I reached out and ran my hand through his hair.

Michael smiled. "Always. Mind if I take you to bed now? I really wanna fuck you."

He turned me around in his lap, and standing, scooped me up easily in his arms.

Tune in for Part Two as Michael finally has his way with Clarissa. More sex and less exposition.