Doctor's Orders: The Complete Series Read Online Free PDF

fucked nearly unconscious while tied up and strapped in a harness, just after he told me some things I needed to know about myself, but I think it might be about more than the sex. About more than my desire for the Doctor.
    That was our first appointment, anyway.
    I have no idea what he has in mind for our second appointment, but I’m already turned on by the soft breeze against my mostly exposed skin, and by the thought of the Doctor. Wherever he is.
    An old woman passes me on the street and mutters something that sounds disapproving. I feel myself start to blush again, and I’m glad for the growing darkness. My schoolgirl embarrassment must clash terribly with this outfit.
    Just as I’m starting to fret that maybe I’ve got the wrong street, that I mixed up the time or something, a black limo with dark windows pulls smoothly up to the curb. It would be cheesy if I weren’t thinking about how hard I came last time. There’s a pause, as though someone inside were looking me over. Instinctively my hand goes to my hair and tucks a strand behind my ear. I want to kick myself for making such a childish gesture. But then there’s the audible click of the door unlocking, like I’ve passed a test or something, and I’m only a little embarrassed by the relief that I feel.
    I open the door, and try to slip in with as much grace as possible.
    The interior of the limo is only dimly lit. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the soft, uniform light in the car. But there he is, looking out the opposite window.
    The Doctor.
    He’s wearing the same sort of outfit that he was the last time I saw him. A stylish suit, a nice crisp shirt, and slacks that crease just right. He must get everything custom tailored; it’s the only way a man looks that good in clothes.
    Did I mention that he’s beautiful?
    He’s still looking out the window as the limo pulls away from the curb, so I get an eyeful of the corded muscles in his neck, the salt and pepper hair curling softly at the nape of his neck. Nothing ridiculous, but very trim, very masculine. I’ve dreamed about him since that first appointment in his office. I want it to be him who fucks me this time. I want him .
    He’s the first thing I’ve really wanted for myself in a long time.
    I want to speak – I want him to speak to me – but the game has already started. We have our respective roles. I tug at the hem of my dress, marveling again at the deep, dark red against my very white thighs, and wait for him. I’ve never been good at sitting still and waiting. I can’t help but look around, curious. I’m drinking in the surprisingly understated interior, the leather seats, the full bar, when suddenly I see that the divider is down and there’s a flash of smiling eyes in the rearview mirror. It’s the driver, getting an eyeful.
    “Give me your leg,” the Doctor finally says.
    I hesitate for just a moment, knowing I’m visible to the driver, but I push forward. It’s about trust, I learned the last time. I trust the Doctor, so I shift in my seat, spread my legs slightly, and hook my left leg over his right. He puts his warm hand on my exposed leg. Casually he traces the curves and hollows of my knee with his thumb, and my skin starts to come alive in his wake.
    “What is the thing that you feel most often, Claire?”
    His hand is slowly inching up my leg, each caress pushing gently further up my thigh, defining a new border, a new line that I want him to cross. I don’t know how he does this to me. Already I feel wetness leaking between my thighs. As instructed, I’m not wearing any underwear.
    “Claire, I asked you a question.” He says. I grip the leather seat with my open hand, and try to calm my breathing. I can’t help but check the rearview mirror again, and my eyes meet the driver’s. He doesn’t look away.
    “What?” My voice shakes a little.
    “As you go about your day, Claire,” the Doctor says with an air of tested patience, his hand pushing at