The Doctor's Command Page 4

  He pulled out the enema bag, a simple saline solution warmed by the ambient temperature. It was pretty warm in the tent. The weather was good for their exercise, at least, so far. He hung the bag from a hook in the pole at the top of the tent and uncoiled the line of plastic tubing that culminated in a thick, long plastic nozzle down toward his reluctant patient. Her breathing was coming shorter and quicker; he could see her chest rising and falling as she took shallow breaths, her brown eyes still locked on him with concern and appeal for clemency.

  Paul couldn’t help but pause briefly to take in her beauty as she lay curled on her side with her leggings rolled down around the middle of her thighs. She was wearing far too much makeup for his tastes, but he understood she came from an industry where appearance was everything. It wouldn’t count for a whole lot out here, but she’d figure that out soon enough.

  “Deep breaths,” he instructed. “Try and breathe out longer than you’re breathing in.”

  “That’s not possible,” she argued. “Besides, what’s breathing got to do with where that thing is going?”

  “Just trying to help you calm down a little. Don’t want you tense. If you’re tense, it will be more difficult working the nozzle in.”

  She blushed and her dark eyes darted away from his. “I can’t believe you’re doing this,” she muttered under her breath. “It’s so unfair.”

  Her words were rebellious, but he noticed that she did not move from the position he’d asked her to stay in. In spite of all her complaints, Chloe’s bare bottom was still very much on display and vulnerable to his ministrations.

  Paul picked up a tube of lubricant and a pair of gloves. Chloe made a barely audible squeaking sound as he slid his hands into the gloves and dabbed a generous amount of lubricant on the index and middle fingertips of his right hand.

  He put his left hand on her upper cheek and spread it, reaching around for the tight little bud of her bottom. Chloe covered her face with her hands and let out an embarrassed little moan as his middle finger found her anus and gently dabbed and massaged the lubricant against the tight aperture. Some medics would have simply pushed the lubricated nozzle in, but the problem with that was that much of the lubrication would be squeezed off the nozzle as it passed through her tight bottom hole and not do very much for easing its passage at all. Better to work her bottom into a state of relaxation first.

  Paul circled his finger around her anus, feeling how tightly it resisted even the most gentle pressure.

  “You have to relax, Chloe,” he reminded her.

  She made some little mumble-y incoherent sound and tightened her lower muscles even more. Paul responded by lifting his left hand and giving her bottom a light tap.

  “Relax,” he said in more authoritative tones.

  “I can’t!” She whined the response.

  “The longer it takes for you to relax your bottom, the longer this enema will take,” he warned her. “Nice slow deep breaths, and let your muscles relax.”

  “I can’t relax with you touching me there,” she gasped, no small amount of drama in her feminine tones. She peeked out between her fingers and Paul found it impossible not to smile at her antics, which were beginning to verge on the naughty.

  “I think you can relax a little more than you are now,” he said, returning his finger to the task of gently pressing against her resistant bottom hole. The tight ring of muscle did give a little and allow his middle digit to begin to penetrate her. “Good girl,” he praised. “Very good.”

  * * *

  The doctor’s finger was inside her. Chloe felt his thick digit sliding slowly into her bottom in a way that was medically intimate. He was providing ample lubricant, twisting slowly as he pressed through the barrier and penetrated her bottom.

  Her clit was tingling, her pussy was getting wet. She was aroused as hell and she knew she wasn’t meant to be. This was a medical procedure. Closing her eyes, she tried to will her way into not liking how his strong hand felt on her bottom, holding her cheek apart from the other as his finger plunged slowly in and out of her.

  “There,” he said, both at long last and entirely too soon. “I think you’re ready now.”

  “I’m not ready!” She said it quickly, without thinking.

  Paul chuckled. “Does that mean you need a little more lubricant?”

  “No, I mean, I’m not ready for any of this,” she said. “I’m not…”

  Her protestations were wasted as his finger slid from her bottom and the probing nozzle was pressed to the same hole. Thanks to the digital explorations, the tip of the nozzle slid smoothly into her bottom, but it was longer than his finger had been and hard too, unyielding in a way his finger wasn’t.

  Chloe winced and wriggled as he settled it inside her bottom.

  “You’re going to feel this trickling inside you,” he said. “It’s a slow flow, but it can be a little uncomfortable. Let me know if it’s too much and we’ll slow it down more.”

  He toyed with the tubing and Chloe let out a little yelp as she felt the liquid start to flow into her bottom. It was quite a strange feeling, the slow rivulet flowing quite the wrong way inside her. Paul held the nozzle firm inside her bottom, one calming hand on her hip to keep her in place. In essence, she was pinned down, if she’d tried to squirm out of the situation, she probably wouldn’t have been able to.

  Chloe tested the theory by shifting under his hands. As expected, he let out a little tutting sound and clamped the hand on her hip harder.

  “Stay still,” he said in gentle, but very firm tones.

  “It’s uncomfortable!”

  “You’ve only had about ten mils,” he said with a smirk. “I’d be surprised if you’re uncomfortable yet.”

  “Yet!? You mean I will be?” There was real panic in her voice.

  “It can get a little crampy,” he said. “Nothing too bad, and nothing that won’t go away once you toilet.”

  She let out a little moan of embarrassment as the water kept flowing into a crevice of her body she’d really thought would remain untampered with. His hands were still on her bottom, keeping her still and keeping the tube in place. In spite of everything, his touch was comforting. His hands were large, warm, and sturdy. She could feel his confidence and his competence through them, which made accepting her watery fate a little easier than it might otherwise have been.

  As the water started to build up, she couldn’t help but squirm. Her bowels were cramping and she was beginning to feel like Paul’s personal water balloon.

  “Are we done yet?”

  “Just a little more,” he soothed. “You’re doing well.” His hand slid from her bottom down to her tummy and started to rub gently. “Does that help?”

  It did help a little. What did not help was the way the tips of his long, strong fingers were brushing near her panty line. Caught between embarrassment and a growing arousal she did not understand, her bottom hole clenching around the tight nozzle delivering the enema, Chloe was utterly vulnerable.

  “Okay,” he said after a few more minutes. “I think we’re done. I’m going to take the nozzle out, you stay where you are and hold it in.”

  The feeling of the thick plastic nozzle slowly sliding its lubricated path out of her bottom made her lower regions quake. Her clit was fully erect beneath the silk of her panties, her lower lips flooding with juices of shameful arousal she could only hope were hidden as Paul pulled the nozzle all the way out.

  “How long do I have to hold it for?”

  “A couple minutes,” he said. “That should do it. Then you can scoot around the back of the tent to the latrine.”

  She was so full and her stomach was gurgling so much, Chloe really wasn’t sure that she could last a couple of minutes. Every second ticked by with an agony of embarrassment that made her want to sink into the ground. She couldn’t go anywhere though, because Paul was still holding her in place, his hand on her bare bottom, keeping her steady.

  “Please?” She whined the qu
estion when she could stand it no longer. “I gotta go.”

  “Okay, the latrine is out back.” He lifted his hand with a smile and gave her a light slap to her bottom. “Off you go.”

  Chloe scuttled to the wood latrine behind the tent, which turned out to be a chemical toilet. She sat on it, unsure if it could contain the volume or the pressure of the torrent that left her bowels. He’d filled her up nicely with the enema, and it seemed to have been very effective. She really had been stuffed up inside, she realized with embarrassment.

  She did feel better afterward. She felt much lighter; the knots that had been in her stomach seemed to have dissipated. That didn’t really matter though. The most pressing question was how could she go back in and face him after… that?

  The thrill of the intimate touch had faded, leaving her feeling very small and very embarrassed. She skulked out of the little box that stood for a bathroom and walked around the tent, where she found Paul standing over the small pile of suitcases Chase had discarded before leaving.

  “Feeling okay?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “Fine, thanks.” She didn’t look him in the eye. She was pretty sure she was never going to look him in the eye again. Five minutes into knowing the man and he knew her body better than anybody she’d ever dated.

  “We’ll do the blood pressure again in a bit,” his deep voice rumbled from above her. “I don’t think you’re any calmer right now than you were when you came in.”

  He was right about that. She was on edge, wondering what he had planned for her next. Paul apparently didn’t have any limits at all when it came to doing his job as he saw fit.

  “So this is all your stuff?” He mercifully changed the subject away from her thoroughly washed-out bottom.

  “Yeah,” she said, glancing at the large suitcases Chase had dumped out of the back of the car. They’d fought over that too. Chase had insisted it was too much. She’d pointed out that it was less than half of what she usually took on location.

  “Pick out a couple pairs of underwear and socks, and the warmest sweater you have, and we will stow the rest of it. You can have it back in two weeks.”

  “Excuse me?” Chloe’s voice rose to a very pointed pitch. A couple pairs of underwear and some socks were not going to cut it.

  “We didn’t have three suitcases of clothes and product and kitchen appliances when we were on the run from the rebels,” Paul pointed out with a dimpled smile that was no less stern for being warm.

  At least he wasn’t making her dump her stuff in a ravine, she figured. Or set it on fire. Or something else the rebels would have done. This method acting stuff was overkill in her opinion. Not that her opinion mattered anymore.

  “Okay, so I’ll just have a smaller bag,” she said. “Because I have my underwear and…”

  “Two pairs of panties,” he said. “You can wash one when you’re not wearing it, or go without.”

  Chloe narrowed her eyes at him.

  “Be glad for being able to pick out the underwear and a sweater,” he said. “Jodie only had what she was wearing for two months.”

  “Gross.”

  “Life can get gross,” he agreed. “Come on, let’s get this stuff put away.” He flashed a smile at her that was almost bright enough to make her forget she was willingly walking into two weeks of deprivation.

  They hauled her suitcases into the tent and Chloe opened three of the most important ones on the bed. Underwear, socks, and a sweater? Okay, but what ones? And really, one sweater. How was she supposed to pick just one!

  “What’s taking so long?” Paul tapped his fingers impatiently against the tabletop, making a drumming sound that set her nerves on edge.

  “I can’t pick from all these sweaters,” she said. “I mean…”

  “You have five seconds to choose something.”

  “Ugh!” She looked at him, appalled. “Five seconds, why?”

  He stood up, reached into her bag, grabbed a handful of socks and panties, and tossed it on her bed. “There,” he said firmly. “Done.”

  “But… you said I could have a sweater…”

  “That was before you decided to try to argue with me,” he replied as he shut all her suitcases and stacked them in a corner of the tent. “There are no arguments, Chloe. There are orders. You follow them, or you pay the price.”

  “Fuck, settle down,” she said, dropping all pretense of friendliness. “You don’t have to be such a control freak.”

  “Yes, I do,” he replied simply, unfazed by her shift in mood. “That’s about 99.9 percent of my job.” He pointed at the suitcases. “Don’t go into these again,” he ordered. “You won’t like the consequences if you do.”

  “You already stuck a hose in my butt,” she grumbled under her breath. “What else can you do?”

  “I’ll think of something.”

  He’d not only heard her mumble, he wasn’t going to let her get away with being passive-aggressive, apparently.

  “Do we have an understanding, Chloe?”

  “Yeah,” she said; a word that meant basically nothing in the context of their conversation. As hot as Paul was, she was starting to feel really anxious about the whole situation. His attractiveness wasn’t enough to distract her from how much everything sucked in that moment. “So, uh, this is everything? There’s not, like, a secret second tent somewhere? Maybe behind a ridge? Like maybe one of those Bedouin tents that are like a whole house?”

  “This is us,” he said, dashing her hopes. “It’s simple, but it’s more than we had in the field.”

  Chloe’s heart sank. She’d known she was in for something basic, but nothing this basic.

  “I can’t live like this,” she said, her face crumpling as a sense of being overwhelmed washed over her. “I mean, I really can’t. I shouldn’t have signed up for this.”

  If she’d said that to Chase, he would have reminded her that it was her fuck-up that had resulted in her being in the situation. Paul didn’t do that.

  “You can,” he said, touching her lightly on the shoulder. “I’m here to help.”

  It occurred to Chloe that Paul was pretty much the only person on the planet who didn’t seem to be inclined to give her hell for her tweets and things. He’d barely acknowledged them when the director and producer were talking about them, and he didn’t seem inclined to bring them up either. She was grateful for that at least, but it didn’t make things any better.

  She sighed and sat down on the simple cot bed, which was really nothing but some canvas stretched between steel poles raised about five inches off the floor.

  “Fuck,” she swore, putting her head in her hands. “Fuck my life.”

  Chapter Four

  As he watched the pretty young woman collapse under the weight of her own self-pitying misery, Paul felt a twinge of sympathy for Chloe. Maybe she was spoiled and maybe she was a bit of a brat, but she was also in way over her head. The sort of conditions they were living in weren’t too extreme by military field standards, but to someone used to living in the lap of luxury, it was probably incredibly daunting.

  He sat down on his bed, reached over and patted her knee. “Hey,” he said. “It’s not that bad.”

  There were tears in her eyes when she lifted her head. “It is that bad,” she said. “You don’t understand. You don’t understand. How could you understand?”

  He understood more than she thought he did. He understood that this was about the worst thing that had happened in her relatively short life. She’d been spoiled in every way possible and now she was faced with what would be the hardest two weeks of her life. He didn’t intend on making it easy on her either. Not because he wanted her to suffer, but because what Chloe needed, more than anything, was to learn that she could survive on her own terms.

  He’d heard of her before meeting her, of course he had, but he’d never paid any attention. She was another one of a parade of faces and names that were yapped over the airwaves and never came tangential to his reality. Rig
ht now, he didn’t see a star. He saw a scared girl about to melt down.

  “If I fuck this up…” She took a deep, shaky breath. “If I fuck this up then my career is over. My life is over. They’re going to take everything I have. Everything I’ve worked for. I’m old. I’m so old now. Oh, my god!”

  As he watched one of the most beautiful, sought-after young women in the world break down under the weight of her own expectations, Paul was torn between wanting to pull her into his lap and comfort her and take her over his lap and spank her for believing her own nonsense.

  “Why don’t you relax,” he suggested. “Read the script. It will give you some idea as to what life out here will be like.”

  Her eyes were welling with tears just barely left uncried, but she nodded and picked up the sheaf of paper on her bed. Paul had grabbed another copy for her, figuring she wouldn’t have read it.

  “I’m guessing you didn’t have a chance to read it yet,” he said, letting his voice drop into a lower register. “You came here without doing your homework, didn’t you, young lady?”

  Chloe glanced up at him, her mood shifting in response to his censure. Some people would have felt even more sorry for themselves being lectured while on the verge of tears, but Chloe wasn’t an average girl. As he watched the mischievous little smile begin to establish itself on her lips, he knew he’d learned something important about his charge. She enjoyed being naughty more than almost anything else. All her worries about the stark nature of the camp, her career failings, the media backlash… it was forgotten in the glee of being gently, but firmly taken to task.

  “I don’t get as much time for reading as I’d like.” She flashed him a charming and unrepentant smile. He smiled back, knowing that this was likely the calm before the storm. She was a spoiled little brat who thought that being cute would get her out of almost anything. She was more wrong than she’d ever been.