The Doctor’s Girl by Emily Tilton – Extended Preview

A sob welled up from my chest. From my chest and, emotionally speaking, from some place inside me I hadn’t known was there. The wrenching sound and the tears that filled my eyes emerged as if to confirm Doctor Platonov’s words, and I kept sobbing, pulling back against the nurse’s leading me, naked to his knee, but letting her do it because what choice did I have?

I looked at his big right hand, resting on his thigh. I admit I hadn’t had a girlhood subject to too much fear, but I had never seen anything so frightening in my life. The idea that he, a doctor, meant to use that hand to… to punish me for failing to follow his instructions… I wanted it to seem outlandish, impossible.

It didn’t. I had done something very naughty, in failing to tell Brad that I didn’t think I could marry him long before we got to the altar. In leaving the church without a word.

Most recently, in failing to accept Nurse Georgia’s and Doctor Platonov’s words about what I had to do, here in the doctor’s office. No, I didn’t like having to take all my clothes off for this examination, and the idea of training made me feel anxious and strange.

But I had taken the subsidy, and I needed to keep getting the subsidy. The people in charge said I had to have this special examination. I had failed to follow the instructions the nurse gave me, and even if she had given them in a rather nasty way she had only been doing her job. Now she was still only doing her job, even though her job involved walking a naughty, naked girl over to the doctor’s knee for a spanking.

Doctor Platonov flexed his hand, the long, thick fingers curling into a fist and then relaxing as if he were loosening his muscles to get ready for what he had to do to my bare bottom, to teach me the lesson I needed. I let out a little whimper, and tried to pull back harder against the pull of the nurse’s strong hands.

“Please,” I begged, turning to her. “I’ll do what you say. I’ve… I’ve never…”

“That doesn’t surprise me, Anna,” the doctor said, drawing my attention back to him, to his handsome face and the determined expression that somehow didn’t obscure his basic kindness or the idea that he meant this horrid scene to constitute some part of caring for me. “Unfortunately a lot of girls even in Emmeline get well into adulthood without experiencing real discipline. A lot of people think that’s largely responsible for the mess the world is in right now.”

My lips parted, and my resistance lessened as I tried to take in his meaning, and the way his words affected me, especially in his musical Slavic accent. The idea that he came from a place where they understood how to give naughty girls their just reward came into my mind and made my forehead crease and my cheeks blaze up with heat.

Nurse Georgia drew me another step toward the stool. Doctor Platonov patted his left knee again. I was only three or four feet away, now. He reached up with his right hand, as if to take my left—the one with which I still strove to cover myself between my thighs though that effort impeded my ability to struggle against the nurse’s forward pressure.

With a little cry of fear, I tried to run away. I pulled at Nurse Georgia’s grip, and I felt as if I almost managed to twist out of her hands. I had no idea of course what I would do if I managed to leave the room; I just needed not to be about to get a spanking naked over the doctor’s knee.

The nurse must have been ready for precisely this kind of attempt at escape. The fleeting moment of almost extracting myself from her grip on my right arm vanished immediately, and she used the shift in my balance to propel me straight toward the doctor.

He reached up to catch me before I fell straight into him. I heard him cluck softly as he guided me deftly—skillfully, I thought with mortified dismay—to his left side, so I fell over his knee as much as he put me there. I cried out as I felt the lurching sensation, and then at how I had ended up, with my backside hoisted and my face down. My fear grew, and my shame increased a hundred times, as if to join it, my whole body shuddering with those emotions as I understood my position—that, yes, Anna Cascardi was about to get spanked like a naughty little girl, because she couldn’t follow instructions.

I thought the doctor would pause, before he started. I knew he wouldn’t begin spanking me right away, that he would give me a moment, would say something like This is going to hurt me more than it hurts you.

He didn’t. I cried out again as I felt his right leg, clad in denim, come across the naked backs of my knees, and his left arm clamp down across my back. Then I heard the smack of the first spank and I felt it on my bottom, without further warning. I gasped, and I began to struggle, but Doctor Platonov seemed intent on making it clear to me that he had more important things to do and meant to get my punishment over with in as businesslike a way as possible. He kept spanking me, his huge hand rising and falling hard and fast, the sharp sounds ringing off the walls of the examination room over and over, despite the cries for mercy and sobs of agony I emitted from the beginning.

I kept struggling, because it hurt so much, but the doctor merely made a dissatisfied noise in his throat and held me more tightly in place. Nothing I did stopped the hand from falling sharply first on one bottom-cheek and then the other, the same spots on each cheek, over and over. I felt like he was holding a hot frying pan to my backside, teaching me a terrible lesson, making sure I couldn’t sit down for a week so that I would remember to do as he or anyone placed in authority said.

The feeling that I could do absolutely nothing about it overwhelmed me, made me sob just at the welling emotion nearly as much as at the pain in my never-spanked-before bottom. Because I had left my high school football star groom at the altar, and then compounded my sin by showing reluctance to Nurse Georgia’s humiliating commands, I would receive this punishment over a man’s knee as long as he chose to give it. Doctor Platonov had taken charge of me, had taken me in hand, and that hand would train me, now. As a doctor and a representative of the program to which I had consented, he had the power to decide precisely how hot, and how red, to get my butt, for my good.

I felt my muscles relax as I thought these things. Somehow the knowledge that I had no choice, that my bottom would hurt as much as the doctor chose to make it hurt, caused a yielding in my limbs that I hadn’t expected. To my surprise, even as he kept spanking me—at a slower pace—he spoke to me again.

“The lesson I’m teaching you now, Anna, isn’t just for your own benefit,” he said, punctuating his words with hard spanks that made me cry out and ride his knee in a mortifying way that made me think of Nurse Georgia, watching from behind me. “It’s for the benefit of your community and your society as a whole, too. We need… more… good girls… and fewer… bad ones.”

I shrieked at each of the swats with which Doctor Platonov finished my first spanking: the rhythm, irregular as he fitted the punishment to the words as if in order to make me remember this message, made me even more conscious of the way my body responded to the big hand with which he sought to mold my behavior so very painfully. When he had delivered the final spank, he rested his hand on my bottom gently, squeezing softly with his fingers in a way that to my horror felt soothing. It made me dissolve into wrenching sobs, still held immobile over his knee, weeping piteously.

“I’m sorry,” I managed to choke out. I felt sorry, too, though another part of me understood that my remorse was really directed at my jilted bridegroom much more than at the doctor—and yet another part wasn’t happy about the apology at all. Why should I be sorry? The nurse had treated me scornfully and the New Modesty had railroaded me into a wedding I had just barely managed to avoid.

Somehow, though, Doctor Platonov had established a feeling in me that I wanted to do better—for him, though not for the nurse.

And for me.

I bit my lip as that thought floated into my mind. I hadn’t thought about what I wanted for myself for so long that the very idea seemed to come as a revelation. I pushed it away, though; I didn’t want to have it here, naked and placed humiliatingly over a man’s knee for my first spanking at the age of nineteen.

“You may stand up now, Anna,” Doctor Platonov said, taking his hand from my back and shifting his leg from the backs of my knees.

To my horror, the casual authority of his tone, along with the way he kept his right hand on my bottom even as I began to scramble off his muscular thigh, sent a thrill of shame through me that seemed to cascade from my burning cheeks to the place below my tummy that lay much too close to where the doctor had his hand. I stood as hastily as I could, taking a step back so that my backside would be out of reach and putting my own hands back in front of my private parts. My eyes darted from that right hand, which the doctor now replaced on his knee, to his face, which took on a disappointed expression, to Nurse Georgia, who had begun to shake her head.

Doctor Platonov sighed. “You’d better stand in front of me, Anna,” he said, “and put your hands at your sides. We need to deal with this reluctance to show your body to those who have a duty to take care of it, and you.”

“But…” I spluttered, very conscious of how red my face must look, and how my eyes must be swollen and even bloodshot. The soreness in my bottom also pressed itself on my consciousness, and I trembled at the sheer excessiveness, as it felt to me, of sensation in my body. I clutched my hands more tightly over my chest and my lap, and I looked beseechingly over at Nurse Georgia and then back at the doctor with a wordless plea.

He shook his head. “No, Anna. Georgia is here to take care of you too. Put your hands at your sides, please, or I’m going to have to take you back over my knee.”

Though my mind despised the rest of me for it, I emitted a little whimper of fear at the thought of being back under Doctor Platonov’s firm hand. My right hand, the hand covered my little triangle of fair hair, twitched, wanting to cover my backside defensively—and also, suddenly, to rub the little cheeks he had spanked so hard.

That impulse, so strong I had to will my hand to stay in place, made me swallow hard. It made my face scrunch up, too, as the welter of feelings and sensations inside me seemed to mingle into a new configuration that troubled me in ways I didn’t want to think about, terrified that thinking about them would only strengthen them.

“Put your hands at your sides, Anna,” the doctor repeated, his voice very stern. “I need to get a look at your body.”