Page 4 of Doctor's Orders

The last thing the other nurse did was to reach into a drawer on the credenza behind them. She put the jar she had retrieved down directly in front of Darcy's nose, so that there was no way she couldn't see what it was.

Tiger Balm.

Darcy began to struggle more violently against her restraints, despite the fact that she already knew they were as unforgiving as the two people who were in the room with her. Then, before she'd had a chance to come to grips with it, she had to watch helplessly as her coworker dipped a long nailed finger into the jar and drew out an obscenely generous dollop of the viscous ointment before returning to her prior position behind Darcy as she continued to try to work her way out of the restraints.

When Angine would have applied the salve without further delay, the doctor reached out and grabbed her arm. "Wait. Use your other hand and see how wet she is right now. This one is a gusher. She's always wet, no matter what I do to her."

Within seconds, Angine's naked finger was rudely molesting her private parts, rooting around there as if she had no idea of her anatomy, brushing her clit, pinching her swollen lips, then, finally, driving a slim finger up inside Darcy's leaking quim.

"Jesus, she's a faucet!"

"Isn't she just?"

The satisfaction in his tone and the incredulity in hers only made Darcy feel more humiliated and embarrassed, especially since Angine had yet to withdraw her probing finger, and then the doctor prompted, "Why don't you just leave it in there while you slather her with the balm? I bet she'll get just that much wetter while she tries to convince us that she doesn't love it."

The instant that first, barest glob of goo touched her already shamefully engorged clit, the whole area began to throb and burn, and not in a good way. Not in a good way at all. And she had seen the size of the finger full that Angine had taken, and she knew that every last bit of it was going to be transferred onto that very delicate spot.

When she'd finished, the two of them just stood behind her and watched as she did her best to twist and turn and heave and wiggle, trying get away from those horrible sensations—certain that the most sensitive spot on her body was being burned slowly away. Darcy was certain that there would soon be nothing left of it at all. Of course, she didn't—couldn't—escape. There was no hope of that, not that the knowledge of that slowed her efforts down in the least.

Darcy was so involved in her own misery that she missed the fact that they were preparing for her actual punishment, and before she knew it, Angine put a paddle down right in front of her.

"Now, Nurse Hanson. What naughty thing did you do to find yourself in this position?" the doctor asked, pacing in front of her like some disapproving principal.

This was one of the parts of the entire ritual that she hated the most—having to confess her sin, whether or not she thought it was one. She was a good girl. She'd always been a good girl, always tried to follow all the rules, usually succeeding. But the doctor never let her win—he always found some reason, some fault, that landed here right here.

But she knew better than to delay her response, regardless. "I wasn't paying attention during Mrs. Rose's appointment." As she knew it would, her spanking commenced the very second she finished her sentence.

And although he only started with his hand, that was quite bad enough for her. Despite the fact that she considered that there was more than ample space back there, it seemed that, even when he'd just started, every inch of her skin was set aflame, and therefore, each swat hurt just that much more. He was extremely fit—and Darcy had a sneaking suspicion that he concentrated on his upper body strength when he made his frequent trips to the gym for just this reason—and there was a tremendous amount of power behind each sizzling smack, enough that it almost succeeded in distracting her from the fire that Angine had set on her clit, but not quite.

Instead, it simply added to her misery. And she knew that this was only the very beginning, because the paddle he intended to use next was right there for her to gaze at through almost instantaneously teary eyes.

Sometimes, he lectured—usually, he lectured—but other times, he didn't. This morning, he let Angine do it for him.

She came to hunch over right next to her ear so that she couldn't miss a word, whispering softly enough that it seemed almost too intimate, but loud enough that the doctor, as he diligently worked over Darcy's bare bottom, could hear her, "The doctor is very disappointed in your behavior, and so am I. You know better than that, or you should, by now. The doctor needs everyone on their A game at all times, especially when we're with a patient. You embarrassed yourself, and much worse, you embarrassed him, and in front of a patient who has been with this practice since it began. Shame on you, Nurse Hanson. And when he's through, you're going to thank the doctor—with all sincerity—for taking valuable time out of his schedule to discipline you. I'm sure he intends to make enough of an impression that we won't have to all meet here again—at least, not for this reason."

"Very good, Angine. I couldn't have said it better myself," the doctor praised, and compliments from Dr. Brackett were very scarce on the ground. He much preferred to employ negative reinforcement, frequently, and with great conviction. Of course, neither the lecture nor the compliment distracted him from his intent. He continued to lather poor Darcy's behind, leaving evidence of his conviction in the myriad reliefs of his handprint on her formerly ivory skin.

Normally, Darcy was a very dignified person. She wasn't given to making any kind of display of herself and preferred to blend into the woodwork as much as possible. But the type of training the doctor used on his staff didn't allow for that, pretty much from the moment a punishment was assigned, which was usually ahead of time, to allow the miscreant to stew about it for a good long time. And Darcy was the type who stewed the most, absolutely dreaded it the most, even when it was just him.

But now it was Angine, too, someone who was supposed to be pretty much her equal, although with more seniority. They both had the same level of education and degree and about the same amount of experience. How was she going to face the woman all day every day when she had watched the doctor give her a spanking like a five-year-old child? And had heard her wailing and weeping and begging him not to, to stop, to please, please, please stop as she sobbed pathetically, even though everyone in the room knew that he would only stop when he felt she had truly learned her lesson and not a millisecond before?

When the doctor thought the appropriate time had come, Angine had even handed him the paddle with such an evil grin that Darcy almost wailed out loud, even though she hadn't yet felt it.

"I think, before I apply the paddle, Angine, that Darcy could use a refresher."

That stumped the both of them, until Angine all of a sudden realized what he meant, and reached for the Tiger Balm again, which she had conveniently placed back on the desk by Darcy's head, so that Darcy was again forced to watch as she—this time, using two fingers—again scooped a more than generous dollop out and immediately applied it to Darcy's still sizzling—and, surprisingly, still very swollen—button.

Her yowl at that indignity, not to mention the very real singed stinging, at the fact that her fellow nurse wasn't content this time to merely apply it to but, also, rubbed it around and into her clit to make the uncomfortable sensations just that much worse became legendary—animalistic and savage and completely unconscious—like the many more of them she issued, to the point of becoming hoarse, as the other woman withdrew and the doctor began to apply his own method of searing her flesh.

He saw to it that that paddle made the rounds, crisply covering every inch of her generous backside, making it cringe away from each loud smack and wobble just slightly with the impact just before the next swat landed, keeping up a terrible consistence as the unyielding wood connected with her quickly crimsoned flesh with the timing of a metronome—unrelenting, constant, and unfailing. They came so quickly and powerfully that Darcy had no time to react to any individual smack, but instead, she found herself screaming as best she could throughout, unable to throw her head back as it was strapped down, but ruining her voice further with the attempt to give voice to her misery.

And when he finally stopped, leaving her quite thoroughly stripped of any shred of dignity she had ever laid claim to, raw and swollen and sore in more ways than one, he wasn't quite as finished as she had hoped.

Chapter 3

She was released from the cuffs but led through a secret door to a very private exam room that only the doctor and his employees knew about. This was where staff "physicals" were conducted. The entire room—with the exception of the floor but not the ceiling—was nothing but mirrors. Darcy used to wonder what his contractor must have said at that, but then, perhaps his contractor shared the doctor's tendencies.

She found herself put into pretty much the same position that Mrs. Rose had been in, on her back, only without the drapes and with her upper body much higher in the air, so that she could almost slide right off the end of the table. Even her stockings and garters were stripped away by an oh so efficient Angine, but her arms were immobilized and her legs were spread just slightly past the point of discomfort. And since she had been a gymnast in high school and college, that was pretty wide. She couldn't not see herself and how shamefully exposed she was, nor could she avoid looking at her tormentors—and she knew if she closed her eyes against all of those obscene images, it would go that much worse for her.

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