I’m Anya, an up and coming tennis star in my young adult division.
At 19 years old, I’m on top of my game with magazine covers calling to spotlight my tight and tanned physique, beaming smile, and signature high sleek ponytail.
I’m soon-to-be the best tennis star in the nation.
Why?
Because I religiously follow these three rules:
1. No drugs
2. No alcohol
3. No sex
It’s no secret I’m a virgin. I’ve been focused on the game since I was 4. It’s actually been published in a few magazines. You must have known that when you took the job as my newest sports therapist.
Dr. Greg Rainer, a highly sought after sports therapist who had just finished a contract with the Lakers.
You shoved your hands in your pockets and smiled at the ground as my head coach listed off your many accomplishments. Two deep dimples gave you a boyish charm; two sharp canines and a devilish grin gave you a slight predatory look.
I could have sworn that your gaze lingered on me just a little longer as you scanned the room of my doctors, trainers, and marketing team. It was adorable the way you stood so still, nodding in appreciation during your introduction to my team. I caught your gaze and for a second I felt your eyes on my heaving chest. Electricity sparked between us.
Those sparks stayed with me every time I thought of you in the days that followed. I touched myself to the thought of you at night, knowing you were in a hotel room. Being just doors down from me made me nervous. How could I perform well on this tour if all I can think about is your hands all over me?
I’ve never been consumed with this much lust before. Your confidence. Your muscles. The way a vein in your neck pops out when your massaging kinks out of my thighs during breaks on the court. Are you nervous? Are you thinking of touching me higher? Slipping my tennis skort to the side and massaging me a little deeper?
Tomorrow is the final game. I can’t believe I’ve made it this far as distracted as I’ve been.
I toss in bed. I can’t sleep tonight. I’ve tried touching myself; it just won’t cut it. I need your hands on me. Tonight.
“Are you awake?” I send the text before I lose the courage.
“At the hotel bar having a drink. What are you doing awake? Tomorrow is a big day. I told you to go to sleep early.”
I bite my lip and pinch my nipple as I recall your stern voice earlier as you gave me your recommendations. “You have bags under your eyes, Anya,” you said, “Make sure you drink plenty of water and get to sleep early tonight. 8 hours minimum, do you understand?”
“Yes, doctor,” I had whispered. Did you hear the desperation in my voice? I would have done anything you told me to in that moment. Absolutely anything.
“Can’t sleep.” I text “My legs are too tight. I think I might take a hot bubble bath.”
“No. That’s not enough. I have a key card to your room. I’ll be there in 5 to work it out. Take off your clothes and get under the bed covers.”
My eyes widen as I read your text, it was unexpected. I bite my lip, not sure how to feel about this. It feels … wrong. Scary.
I sigh. Surely I have it all wrong. “He’s a doctor. He’s a professional,” I assure myself. I slip off my nightgown and look over my body in the mirror. A tight, tan little stomach. High, perky a-cups, each with a little pink kiss at the tip. I’m much smaller than the average player, but that just makes me faster across the court.
I light an anti stress candle, dim the lights, and play Dr. Rainer’s preferred massage playlist. I slip under the covers and settle face down into a small groove in the middle of the king size, plush bed. I close my eyes. I have so much anticipation. My heart is beating wildly as I hear heavy footsteps down the hall.
I hold my breath. The door opens and a tall figure casts a shadow across the bedroom. You cross the room and come over to my bedside.
You place a gym bag next to me. “Are you undressed?” Your voice has an edge to it.
“Are you drunk?” I wonder. My heartbeat quickens. I swallow and nod my head hesitantly.
Your dimples deepen and your smile turns into a slow sadistic grin. You run a finger down the nape of my neck, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind.
My thoughts are racing. I’m not sure what to do. This just doesn’t feel right.
“Sit up and drink this. It’s a tonic that’ll help relax your muscles.” You pull a small blue bottle from your gym bag and a second clear bottle of water. You hold them both out. “Finish them both,” you order.
“He’s a doctor. He’s a professional.” I tell myself. I sit up and do as you say.
Taking the empty bottles from me, you tell me to lie back down face up. This doesn’t make sense as we usually do massages face down. “He’s a doctor.”
I do as you say. I have no energy to fight it as my head is getting a little fuzzy.
My body feels warm, electric, heavy. I hear you rustling next to me. It takes every last ounce of strength to turn and look over at you. The image is fuzzy, coming in and out.
A brief moment of clarity breaks through, and to my horror, you’re unpacking objects that couldn’t possible relate to sports therapy. I search your hard blue eyes, but you’re focused on the task at hand. Black rope, black tape, a black whip, and flavored massage oil.
I start to whimper and you look up. You laugh and search in your bag. A small spritz of a sweet tasting spray in my mouth and I’m back in that ocean of heavy electricity. Something about all of this feels wrong but it almost feels … familiar? I’m overwhelmed. I know that I wanted you, but this feels just…
You run a knuckle under my eye and wipe away a tear, bringing it to my lips as you rub them gently. I taste salt. My skin is so sensitive I wish I could scream, but I’m completely frozen. I whimper.
“Shhhh…just let the muscle relaxers take hold of you, Anya. Your body will be released of all this stress and you’ll be ready for your game tomorrow. You’ll feel better in the morning, and you won’t remember a thing. You never do. Shhh… just trust me, Anya. I’m a doctor. I’m a professional. You trust me don’t you?”
“A doctor. A professional.” The words float around me and settle onto my skin, burning hot. Or is that your mouth?
“A doctor. A professional.” I can feel hot rope around my wrists. Tight knots keep my hands bound. The delicious pressure of it all makes my nipples harden. I’m embarrassed to admit to myself that I’m wet as my breath comes in shallow, shaky pulls.
“Time for your massage.”
I feel my legs being spread and a trail of hot kisses up my thighs. I gasp; you’re so close to my center.
“A doctor. A professional.”
I close my eyes as I suddenly feel hot desperate kisses on my pussy. My body tenses and I can see stars as pleasure floods through me.
Just when I think the pressure can’t get any tenser, your finger slides into me and I’m instantly a puddle in your hands. Your tongue curls inside and around my cunt and you whisper things like “sweetest” and “stress relief.” An orgasm rocks through me, and you tease every last drop from me as you’re focused on your goal to make my loosely-conscious body cum. Despite the drugs and the feeling that this is all wrong, I moan. I can’t help it. This electricity running through my body combined with the idea that this intense pleasure has been forced onto me multiple times without my knowledge is just … fuck. It’s hot.
I’m not a virgin anymore. You’ve already taken that from me. I’m completely yours. Has my body known that all along? Is that why I’ve been craving you?
I struggle to wake myself up as you start to undress.
You notice me stirring and reach for the spray bottle.
“Please,” the words come out small and groggy. “Please I want to stay awake. I … I want this, and I … want you.”
You freeze and your eyes narrow. I can’t read the expression on your face. I’m terrified that you’ll say no, and I’m terrified of what you plan on doing (what you’ve been doing) to my body if you say yes.
You reach for the whip next to my head. It comes slicing across my ribs, shocking me further into consciousness.
I blink and a tear runs down my face. You bend down and lick it up before whispering in my ear, “Are you sure you want to stay awake for this?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, doctor,” you demand as you slap my pussy with your hard cock. You threaten to push yourself inside.
“Yes, doctor.” I whisper as you force yourself inside of me.
Sharp strands of pain strike me as you bring your whip down. You sigh and shake your head when I cry out. You’re disappointed in me.
A sliver of duct tape across my mouth satisfies you that I won’t wake the coaches in the rooms close by with my screams.
You turn me over onto my stomach. My legs are dangling over the edge of the bed. Standing, you thrust yourself into me, pushing into my dripping wet cunt from behind.
Your roaming, rough hands squeeze my nipples and spank my ass. You laugh when I wince and cry into my tape. “You wanted to be awake for this. So take it, little miss star tennis player. I know what’s best for you and your body. Trust me.”
My body shudders as another orgasm rushes through me. You respond by pounding into me harder. My back arches violently as I feel your veined cock thrust deep into my pussy. I can feel your dick throbbing, releasing streams of white hot cum into me. You stay deep inside me as your body continues to contract. “Trust me. I’m your Doctor.” You growl into my ear as you pull the tape from my mouth. My lips are raw.
I sigh deeply as mixed feelings of deep satisfaction, guilt, fear, and relief course through my veins.
“I do trust you. You’re a Doctor. A professional.”
You smile and lie back onto the pillows. One hand behind your head, the other inviting me in for a cuddle. “Good girl. These treatment sessions are good for you. They’ll be even better now that you can stay awake and participate in them. Trust me.”
I nod and curl into the crook of your body. I smile knowing that you’re now in control. That you’re going to push me. You’re going to make me great.
“Thank you, Doctor.”
You kiss me my head. “Get some sleep, little miss tennis star. We have a big day tomorrow.”
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/f1i39d/my_doctor_knows_best_straight_mf_bondage_nondubcon