"If you're a bad girl you know I can always take your favourite toy away for another month..." Sloane makes a good, quiet girl out of the patient with nothing more than a press of her gloved hand against the aroused, swollen vagina under the hospital gown. "Ah, there we go. That's my good girl, not feeling so fussy now?" She smiles, leaning over the railing of the hospital bed to peck Emily on the check.
"I'll try and be a good girl for you, Daddy," Emily whispers, and Sloane knows without a shadow of a doubt that it's a pretty little lie.
How she came into possession of Emily was neither here nor there, in the eyes of the board at least. They needed a chief for their struggling, fund-hemorrhaging excuse of a clinic. And Sloane, being the best of the best, required more than a slight sweetener in order to sign the dotted line and finally plant roots somewhere. It wasn't that Sloane couldn't go out and find a submissive if she wanted to, she was still fairly young, beautiful, in fantastic shape, respectable and more than financially secure, but life had afforded her very little time to find the submissive to compliment all of her darker, innate desires. Seven years of medical school, four years active service attached to the Marines as a trauma surgeon to pay off her debts, three years developing her groundbreaking research. It was worth it, of course, but it came at a personal sacrifice where her love life was concerned.
When the board called a few weeks after the initial sit down to say they had the profile of an unclaimed submissive who ticked all the right boxes, Sloane believed it was too good to be true. The best part was that the young woman, Emily, was more than entirely willing. Emily had just finished her master's degree and wanted a Daddy, a female one, mean and tough as nails too, either a military woman or a surgeon, according to her profile. In Sloane she found all of those things. Emily had already packed her bags and bought her plane ticket before Sloane had agreed to anything. An eager baby girl, if ever there was one.
A few handshakes under the table with the bigwigs upstairs, Emily was signed over to Sloane's claim and the board had their new chief. A year later, and the honeymoon period still hadn't even reached its twilight. Emily was an unruly little firecracker of a woman, and the novelty had not worn off yet. They drifted between periods of at home domesticity, and then, for a few weeks at a time, baby girl became her little inpatient. It was deliciously subversive for both of them.
"Get on all fours for me. Daddy needs to examine you and perform a few procedures," Sloane orders, authoritative and yet almost disinterested, as if this is any ordinary doctor-patient encounter. Her baby girl does as she's told, shivering in anticipation, aroused and nervous. "That's a good girl, can you pull your gown up for me?" Sloane snapped on a pair of black latex gloves.
The little troublemaker hesitates.
"Is it going to hurt, Daddy?" Emily peers over her shoulder with those big, glimmering green eyes.
"Only your feelings, so long as you're a good girl." Sloane smirks and lifts the gown up and over her submissive's small pale hips until the flimsy material bunches around her panting belly. The doctor buckles the restraints around her ankles deftly, quickly, the routine of it ingrained in both of their muscle memories. "There we go, nice and tight," she hums the words to herself and gives the leather cuffs attached to the railings a quick little tug.
The overhead lamp is pulled down and switched on, the hot bright light pointing directly at the patient's tiniest, pink, spread open crevices. The love between them, the playfulness, the pretense of it all, it escapes through the puncture wounds of the cracked open window until there's nothing left but method and structure. The doctor pinches the little labia hard, pulls them apart, like little wings, until they're almost translucent underneath the hot bright lamp, her thumbs rubbing the insides of each slick wet tiny labia until she is satisfied with her patient's whimpering response to the stimuli.
"Patient hasn't climaxed in a month, her external sexual features appears to be more responsive than normal." Sloane cranes her head towards the dictaphone in the pocket of her lab jacket. "Clitoris is far larger than normal for a young woman of her stature and ethnic background, the labia appear to be flushed and swollen, these may be physiological indications of arousal, or the patient might just be a big girl between her legs." Sloane smiles and pats her blushing patient's hip, aware of how much she hated any insinuation she was 'larger' than normal.
"Daddy can we do something different?" Emily whimpers and shifts away from the gloved hand resting on her hip.
Sloan smiles at that, already knowing the answer to her next question, "Does little girl want to stop or are you just feeling naughty?" she asks anyway.
"The latter, Daddy."
"Well, I challenge anyone to fault my little girl's syntax."
"Can you..." Emily halts and inhaled a short, sharp breath.
Here it is, Sloane thinks to herself with a smile.
"I want you to be nasty to me. I missed you so much when you had to leave for your meeting. Daddy, I missed you between my legs extra badly..." The memory makes her squirm and roll her eager hips.
"You didn't climax, did you?" Sloane asks accusingly, anticipating an incorrect answer and already on the brink of anger because of it.
Sloane is an optimist, not a fool. She knew Emily loved to bend and break the rules from time to time, mainly just so she had a reason to punish her in the ways they both liked, but this, the thought of Emily reaching between her legs and fiddling with a month's worth of research data? It leaves the clinician damn near seething.
But Emily shakes her head and bites her bottom lip, "No ma'am. I undid my gown and rubbed and pinched my nipples as hard as I could like you taught me to do when I feel antsy between my legs."
Sloane exhales a deep, relieved sigh, "Good girl—"
"And then I rubbed my kitten on the pillow and pushed my fingers as deep in my hole as I could get them." Emily's eyes glimmer as she takes in the furious, measured expression of the woman who calls the shots. "I sucked my fingers clean and pretended you were growling at me to gag on them, Daddy. I got three fingers all the way but it made my kitten ache so I pulled them out before I came."
"You fucked yourself in the twenty minutes I left you to hand over my paperwork?" Sloane doesn't even know where to start.
"Yes, but I didn't cum. Give me that much?" Emily pouts.
The response to the admission of guilt is swift and methodical, silent and pulsating with clinical anger. Sloane walks around and restrains each of her wrists as hard and tight as she can. Her gloved hand reaches underneath the moaning, warm, pushing chest and blindly rub and squeeze the puffy areola hard between the thumb and forefinger. There, she smiles to herself as the first little bud begins to stiffen and grow hard. The medical clamp is applied, the pressure tightened, the steel biting into the base of Emily's areola until her squeals grow high and warbly.
"Stupid games, stupid prizes." Sloane spares no sympathy as she clamps the other nipple.
Sloane sits back down on her stool at the bottom of the bed, enjoying the sight of her little submissive sobbing and trying her hardest not to rest weight on the sore, tightly clamped, stiff nipples. The overhead lamp is moved closer between the straining, separated legs. The light is so bright and hot between the patient's parted thighs, close enough to burn and sting her plump vulva. Though, that alone isn't enough, not for Sloane's big brave girl. The labia are forcefully parted, the hood of her clitoris tugged back, the fat little cunt bead examined with careful, methodical appraisal while a gloved finger rubs the tip until the tears start up.
