When I returned back to the office and went to room b I kept waiting for him. Wanting to be tucked in again. But he didn’t come. I sighed, getting into the blanket, putting on my own mask, eventually. Getting into bed an hour later. And then I did my stupid little sleepless dance for a while.
And I did… Try again, as suggested by him. Unfortunately thinking about how good looking he was, his hand on my scalp and on my face and how gentle and precise he was. Orgasm kept slipping away. My hand kept going still. Giving up, I threw my hands over my head. Frustrated, I turned on my side. Then the other. Kicking. Disrupting the blankets. Flopping and punching my pillow.
“Bee?” suddenly echoed through the room.
I shrieked breathlessly.
“It’s Teddy…” came right on the heels of the question. Very softly, very apologetically.
“Hey Doc,” I said, panting. And then, “can you just come in here? I hate talking to the wall.”
The intercom clicked off. After two or maybe even four minutes I heard his usual soft knock on the door.
“Come in,” I said.
“Hey,” he said, almost whispering into the darkness.
I thought about taking off my mask but didn’t.
“Are you just unsettled or is something wrong?” he asked.
“Um,” I said, and left it at that.
“Bee?” he said again.
“I was trying to… And uh… Not effective… I’m fine… If you saw a… whatever, heart spike, I’m okay just–” Well, just what I asked myself.
“Do you need a hand?” he asked.
Now I lifted my mask off. Trying to find him in the darkness. Maybe I saw the light color of his shirt, but I wasn’t sure. Then I heard him moving forward, just a few feet off to the right of the bed.
“Really?” I asked.
He moved closer.
“If you think it will help,” he said.
“Yes, please,” I whispered, breathless.
The bed creaked suddenly, the mattress shifting under his weight as he sat on the edge, like he usually did. Panting, I listened to him getting comfortable, going down onto his side, propped up on an elbow. Reaching to my forehead he gently settled my mask into place. Pressing the weight into the cup of my eyes with his palm. He reached beneath the covers without disrupting them. Running his hand down from the center of my chest very slowly. Hand resting on my lower stomach. I lifted my hips helplessly under his hand.
“When you masturbate,” he said, sounding somehow gentle and professional. “Do you do so on your back?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Okay then,” he said. “Don’t move.”
I went still, his fingers easing under the waistband of my shorts. I groaned, because he kept up that softness. Stroking me, not making direct contact with my clit. For a long while he just let us get acquainted with each other. I reached out with my arm closest to him, to touch him. Maybe to hold onto his working arm.
“Be still,” he said. Still gentle but definitely a command.
When I stopped moving, settling, arms at my side he went to work in earnest. He kept up a great rhythm. Seemingly gauging how wet I was as he went. I was almost embarrassed by how soaked his hand must have been. He slicked over my flesh easily. It was only a matter of minutes until I came. Almost crying.
“I’m going to tuck you back in now,” he said.
I felt him moving off the bed. I was still panting. Sticky, my thighs slathered in wetness. He settled the blankets back on top of me and then he was just as suddenly gone. And almost as quickly, I was too.
I woke up, this time for real. A real wake-up. Not just a slog back to full consciousness. Listening to my alarm ring. I looked for him at check out. But I didn’t see him. I supposed that was okay. I wasn’t ready to see him.
Just another random person at the desk.
“Hey,” he asked. I looked up at him as I was signing out the book, checking my watch to see when I was leaving.
“What?” I said. Usually I wouldn’t have been so rude but there was something in his face or tone I didn’t like. Something lecherous. I couldn’t imagine why. Just in my usual clothes.
“How’s the sleep study going?” he asked.
“About what you’d expect,” I said, spinning the book back toward him and leaving.
I practically skipped back into the office that evening. And this time, Teddy was in my room waiting for me. Still, shyly, I changed behind the curtain. Today however, I was wearing one of my few nightgowns. And I eschewed underwear. Generally I wore pants or shorts but I didn’t want them in the way tonight.
“Same as last night?” he asked, tapping his clipboard.
“Please!” I said, bouncing into the bed, quite childishly. He put on the cap. Settled my mask over my head. Turned off the lights and joined me in bed just as he had last night. Laying on his side beside me. But inches away, no other point of connection. His chin resting on the palm of his other hand. Once more reaching beneath the blankets he lay on top of. I shifted my nightgown above my belly button. Just as last night, he moved slowly. Just circling around me. Stroking the insides of my thighs. Breathing easily, hardly sounding excited.
“Do you think that two would perhaps be more effective than just a single application of–” he asked, once more, sounding professional.
“It’s not an application!” I cried. Though my indignation hardly rang true, as I kept humping into his hand.
“Allow me some measure of medical detachment,” he said.
“Ugh,” I groaned.
He stopped touching me and I groaned louder.
“Yes, I think two would be better,” I said.
After a few more minutes I finished, but he didn’t. He continued pretty much exactly as he had. I was tender but I wanted it. Swelling up again under his fingers and chasing after it.
“Do you need–?” he started asking.
“Will you get inside me?” I said, frustrated again.
“You know I can’t,” he said. And at least he had the decency to sound disappointed. Then he suddenly penetrated me with three of his fingers, thumb still working on my clit. I arched violently into it. God, it felt good. Only his cock would feel better.
Now at least, I could hear him breathing harder.
He dropped his head from his upraised arm, his face alongside mine on the pillow.
“But if I could, I would,” he whispered. “You feel so good inside. I bet you’d feel… so fucking good wrapped around me.”
I cursed, growling, coming, the sound ripping low in my throat. And just as quickly he was sitting up, swinging his feet back onto the floor.
“Doc,” I cried, indignant.
“I’m tucking you in now,” he said.
“Fuck,” I sighed, flopping back into the mattress.
And I was frustrated. I was pissed. But I was also very quickly asleep.
I was in the study for a total of seven nights. I only had a few more evenings with him. I sincerely doubted he’d want to see me outside of this space. I hardly thought he’d make ‘home visits’ either!
I wasn’t sure what my gambit was going to be. But I wanted more than I was getting. Because, yes, I had slept. I’d sleep again tonight, even if all I got was his hand. Though I knew it was self-defeating, I didn’t think I would be sleeping any better once I got home though. Not without him. So I wanted to have him, really have him, all of him, before this was over.
I managed to get into the office a little early. Skipped straight to my room and got nude. When he knocked I called out, and he said it was him. I sat on the end of the bed, hips angled out, arms above my head. Coming in he stopped. Clipboard against his hip, the skullcap on top. He rapidly kicked the door shut behind him.
“Bee,” he said, warningly.
“Evenin’, Doc,” I said, wriggling at him.
“It can’t be like that,” he said.
“Why not?” I asked, playfully pouting. “I want you. I’m not going to tell on you or anything. Also, I dare say, any ‘medical distance’ has long since gone by the wayside. You could just give me what I want.”
“No I cannot. If you don’t behave, and get dressed, or at the very least lay down you’ll get nothing from me at all,” he said firmly, setting the clipboard down on the desk, hands on his hips.
“Hmph,” I muttered, flopping down onto my back.
“Pajamas?” he questioned.
“Mmph,” I grunted again, kicking into the sheets.
He sighed, but came over. Fitting on the skullcap. Tucking me in. Going to the light. I waited to hear him just leave. But I didn’t. His dress shoes shushing back across the tile to me in the bed. When he got in beside me, once more on top of the covers, and on his side, I flashed my hands out. Grabbing his upper arm and pulling him into me.
“Naughty,” he admonished, sitting back up. Going back to the lights. Flickering it on and blinding me. I thought for sure he’d leave now, since I’d seemingly ‘misbehaved.’ But instead he roughly put on my sleep mask.
“Be still,” he growled.
I heard him shuffling around. Heard the cabinet door of my nightstand opening and then closing. Then his hand took mine. I let my fingers fold into his, thinking he was just taking his hand in mine, just holding me. Some kind of padded cuff was wrapped around my wrist. I heard the rrripp of hook-and-loop fabric. Snapping my hand above my head he had me suddenly restrained, wrist to the metal bed stand. I gasped as he scooped my second hand up, similarly trapping me.
“These are the soft-restraints used for sleep walkers,” he said, back to gentle professionalism. “Will you behave or do your ankles have to be done too?”
“Tie me spread wide,” I said, still baiting, lifting my hips.
He made a sound of exasperation through his nose. I squealed a little when he did as he threatened, another cuff around first one, then the other ankle, tying me spread-eagled to the legs of the bed. Then he rejoined me, back in his usual position. But I was wildly turned on and already on edge. When he finally touched me directly I came viciously. He chuckled, settling closer and more relaxed to me. I shook the bed frame. The second one took a little longer and was torn from me even worse.
His mouth very close to my ear he suddenly lifted his hand from me. I mewled. Stopped whining to listen to him. The sound of him licking and sucking something.
“I’m tasting you,” he said, almost directly into my ear. “You taste good, little Bee.”
I cried out, trying to flail and hit him in my frustration. If they’d been designed for anything besides what they’d been designed for I’d almost certainly be bruised or fabric burned. As it was, I was just endlessly fighting against softness.
“Please, Doc,” I panted. “Just please–”
“Hush,” he said.
I threw out my hip and with my violence and suddenness managed to make contact with him. Feeling that he was painfully hard. Now it was my turn to chuckle.
“You want me too,” I said.
“Last chance Bee,” he warned. “Go still or I stop.”
I went ramrod straight in the bed. Relaxing into the restraints. He gave me my third. Almost making me cry when he leaned over, kissing my temple. Of course most of it got lost into the wires and sensors. But he felt good, and close, and warm.
“I’m tucking you in,” he said.
“Good night,” I said.
He tucked the blankets up around me. Then very gently took away the restraints. Tucking them into the cabinet from where they’d come. I sighed, and I did fall asleep.
The next night was almost exactly the same. But to begin with I threw my limbs akimbo, letting him know I wanted the cuffs again. He chuckled, and pretended to make a note.
On the day after that, however, there was no Doctor Teddy. He didn’t come in to put on my cap, it was some other girl. Perfectly pleasant but not Teddy. And I lay in the bed waiting for him. But he didn’t come. I was staring up into the dark ceiling when the door opened. No knock, but then, I didn’t need him to knock. But the lights were turned on– that was also unlike him.
“Subject B?” was snapped into the room as I blinked up into the big overhead lights.
“Yes?” I questioned, sinking deeper into the blankets. Definitely not Teddy, a woman’s voice instead.
Doctor Bitch was standing by the side of my bed. Glancing around she found the stool that was alongside the little prison sink. Another wheeled doctor’s stool. She brought it over to the edge of the bed.
“Well,” she said impatiently, waving toward the quilt. “Get out of the blanket.”
“Um,” I said, clutching it up to my chin.
She sighed and flung them from me with one hand. I gasped, trying vainly to cover both my breasts and pubis in my hands, and of course failing. Very business-like, she was snapping on gloves.
“Doctor Jones has already–” she began to say.
“Who?” I squeaked, trying to tug the sheets back off.
She ripped them to the end of the bed, so they puddled on the floor.
“Your attending physician,” she said, feigning patience badly. “Has already told me of the pursued method of insomnia coping. He can’t be here tonight, I’m doing it.”
“Oh,” I squeaked again, still trying to cover myself. “You don’t have to–”
She sighed heavily. I thought she likely would have pinched the bridge of her nose had she not already put on the gloves.
“Spread your legs,” she said, snapping her fingers at me.
I did, surprising myself. My thighs shivered, and the rest of me shook. I could have gotten up, and even left. Or just said ‘no’ or that I was done with the study. But I didn’t. Still sitting on the stool she leaned forward. I jumped a little when her rubber glove touched me.
“Lubricant,” she called, snapping her free hands at the screen.
I frowned, closing my legs on her still massaging hand, confused. Gasping again when a light went on behind the screen, revealing four faces. And then suddenly someone was coming through the door, bearing a pump bottle. One of the disinterested interns who I’d seen wandering around on my first night. Staring down at me quite comfortably.
I cried out, trying to wiggle away from her. She pinched me ferociously between the legs. Then snapped and sighed at the intern.
“The lubricant,” she said, as though he was a particularly recalcitrant idiot.
He jumped to, looking embarrassed at his mistake, and pumped several loads of far-too-cold lubricant onto her working fingers. It slid down me uncomfortably. But eased her movement. Horribly, it started to feel good. And then I remembered the people behind the screen. When my eyes snapped back to it, it had gone dark again.
“Relax,” she said. Hardly sounding relaxing. Unfortunately, she knew exactly what she was doing.
“Those others,” I panted, pointing to the screen.
“This happens to be a very good method for a variety of mental issues. Most people have bad technique, or little practice. Visuals are vitally necessary for practitioners. How do you think Doctor Jones learned?” she said.
I cried out then, coming.
I tried to roll away, and close my legs. Horribly shamed, body still quaking.
“Relax,” she snapped again. “You’re a subject who requires multiples. There’s nothing wrong with that but I am busy so make this easy for me. Jones said after your first you usually desire penetration. Do you need that?”
“I uh, I um…” I stuttered. Chasing after her fingers. Almost sort of wishing she’d pinch me again. She sighed once more, fingers locking around my clit and milking me with incredible indifference.
“Oh, please, mommy,” I said.
As soon as I said it I started crying miserably.
“She doesn’t even understand why she said that,” Doctor Bitch directed to the window, rolling a little further down the side of the bed. Reaching her free hand into the pocket of her lab coat she withdrew something like a test tube, but solid.
I came, still caught halfway between crying and moaning deliciously.
“Big enough?” she asked, flashing the glass bar at me.
I hauled in a breath, wiping tears from my cheeks and nodded.
“I have larger,” she said, cocking her head at me, like I was lying to her.
“I don’t want bigger,” I said.
Whipping it between my legs she slid it in slowly. A little cool, but not cold. I felt myself spasming around it. Almost sure that whoever was watching could see inside me.
I came again, and started fighting away from her, and the punishing glass, toward the head of the bed.
“There we go,” she said, patting my pubic bone with her gloved hand.
Snapping off her gloves she tossed them into the trash can beside the sink. Then tossed the blankets that had tangled on the floor back at me. I got under them immediately, burying my face under them as well. Sticky and filthy between my legs. And almost hungry enough for round two.
“Not every subject requires penetration. And as you can see, subject b only wants it after her first or second orgasm. This is a good rule of thumb to stand by in general– never just begin to whale away–”
I peeked out from under the blankets. She was standing in front of the screen and it was reopened again. Six faces all nodding and taking notes and listening intently. I watched her lift the glass dildo, or whatever it was. Seeing it shining with my cum under the lights. I moaned under the blankets.
“This tool is drenched, a good sign,” she said. Then I started to hear her walking toward the door. I covered my eyes with my elbows. And then the lights were off and I was left alone.
I stared up at the ceiling for a long time. But I did, eventually, fall asleep. Too tired to be awake any more.
I woke up with a start, covering myself. Gasping, I sat up. Wondering if I’d had a nightmare. I wrapped a sheet firmly around myself and walked over to the screen. Knocked on it. It rattled like a window, not like a television. I knocked again, harder, with the side of my fist. But it didn’t turn back on. Slinking behind the curtain I got dressed.
I almost raced to the check out desk. Desperately unhappy because I was pretty sure I recognized the man behind the counter as the one who brought in the lube last night. But if that was the case he didn’t react to me like he’d seen me nude and crying.