Lena’s Journey, Volumes One through Seven Read online

  Contents

  Copyright

  My Submission to the Doctor

  Punished

  My First Oral Exam

  My First Deep Cleanse

  Punished Again

  Trained by the Doctor

  Learning to Nurse My Master

  Milked in London

  Schooling the Teacher

  Elizabeth, His Lordship’s Demure Body-Servant: Volumes 1 through 5

  Unusual Passions

  Taken by the Warlord

  Copyright @ 2015 Alex Carlsbad All rights reserved.

  No part of this text may be reproduced, in part or in full, without express written consent from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote short passages in a review. All characters depicted are above the age of eighteen. This is a work of fiction and in no way condones acts of violence, sexual or otherwise.

  Adult Reading Material

  The material contained within this book is for mature audiences only. It contains graphic sexual content. It is intended only for those aged 18 and above. This book does not portray sexual intercourse between blood relatives.

  Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental.

  My Submission to the Doctor

  Lena:

  My name is Lena. I am twenty years old. I enjoy walking barefoot in the rain. I’m not in college. I don’t have time for it yet. No money either. At five foot seven I am not exactly small, but I still come in a good foot bellow Dr. Branigan. My eyes are blue and come across as very striking in contrast to my jet-black hair, or so I’m told. I suffer from congenitally bad set-esteem. Maybe it is borne out of my indecisiveness.

  I just cannot help it.

  Dr. Branigan, says it even shows in the way I walk. He once told me that they ought to put my photo under the term “indecisive” in the dictionary. Harsh, I know, but I also know he didn't intend for it to come across that way.

  He cares for me, you see. He always has, since that first day I saw him in the park. It was the day after my eighteenth birthday. Since then he has always interested me and conversely, always taken interest in me. Sometimes he calls me his Little Lola. At first I thought it was just another example of the eccentricity of an older man. You have to understand, when I first met him, he already had a full head of thick white hair. At first, I wondered if it wasn't just extremely pale blond, but no: his hair was white like snow.

  My mom was with me that day. We were out walking the dogs. I love dogs. She has a black Labradoodle and the cutest little shih-tzu. Bonnie and Clyde. I was there, helping her walk them because she has multiple sclerosis. It tears me to bits to watch my mom, that indomitable grab-the-world-by-the-scruff-of-the-neck woman slowly slide into a helpless doddering shadow of her former self. Good thing Dr. Branigan is a world-renowned expert when it comes to multiple sclerosis. We are so lucky that he also happens to be our neighbor. Now he takes care at both of us, you might say.

  *

  Master:

  My name is Jack Branigan. I am almost seven feet tall, I have brown eyes that many people seem to find unsettling. I suppose my flaring temper and thick muscles might help bolster that impression. Arguably, I happen to be the world expert on multiple sclerosis. Phhht, I don’t know about that, there is a lot I don’t know, we don’t know about the disease.

  At forty-two, I've no time for idiots. Life in general is too short and I only have half of it left to live.

  Lena’s mother is my neighbor. Really nice woman, her mother that is. So sad about her MS. Yes, I have pulled out all the stops. I do what I can to try and help her, but I don’t have high hopes. I have even had her sign up for the latest experimental treatments at the hospital. I don't think anything will come out of it. I've told her as much. She appreciated my candor. I think she has also come to the same conclusion as me about the brevity of life. No time for bullshit.

  Too bad about Mrs. McCarthy, and too bad about her daughter Lena.

  I like to think of her as my little Lola. She's so much like a tiny bird: fragile, indecisive. Weak?

  No! Not weak. However, she would be much stronger, if she actually had someone to lean on. Someone strong and decisive. Yes, Like me.

  *

  Lena:

  It is almost two years since I first met Dr. Branigan. Yesterday they admitted mom into hospice care.

  On my way back from there, my entire body was shaking like a leaf. I lost control of our small VW Jetta and veered off the road into a ravine! I was fine. No injuries. The car was totaled though. Sitting there, on the grass, by the crushed and useless ball of glass and steel that was my car, I let the waterworks flow until no more tears remained. Finally I looked at my phone that I was clutching uselessly in my hands and realized there is only one thing I could do. My back ramrod straight, I wiped my face dry, cleared my throat and made the dreaded call. How often do you hear of a lamb seeking out the wolf? It ought to happen though. Every now and then. I know because I called for Dr. Branigan.

  “Lola?"

  “Dr. Branigan," my voice faltered.

  “If you are calling about your mother, you have nothing to worry about. I just stopped by her room at the hospice. I know the doctor on call there. Real nice guy. We both agree, she will get the best possible care there. She is doing fine." His voice sounds almost mechanical, as if he's reading off some manual on the proper thing to say to a grieving relative of a patient. I know he's trying. Probably squeezing his fists, his knuckles white, as he stares off into the distance, Jack is trying to be patient for my sake.

  "It is not why I called,” I say quietly. "I know you, Jack. You are going to take good care of my mother. Because it is what you do. You are a good doctor. One of the best probably."

  Now he seems to be wondering what to say. Wind blows into the receiver of my cellphone filling the line with static.

  "Where are you Lena? Aren't you home yet?"

  His voice sounds so worried all of a sudden, it makes me want to hug him and tell him all will be okay. It has to be because I called him.

  *

  It is early in the morning and he is already in my room. I know there has to be a lot on his mind. God, why did I have to tell him all that stuff last night? The throbbing vein on his forehead tells me he hasn’t had much rest either.

  "Morning, Lena."

  "Good morning, Dr. Branigan," I try to sound braver than I feel but I can see in his sneer that he can see right through me. Gone is his initial shame. No, he is not here to apologize, or ask permission. He is here to exact… punishment. The word flits into my mind and lingers there like a big neon sign.

  “I believe we need to talk.” He says, his eyes never leaving mine.

  “Yes, sir." Oh gosh why is my voice so plaintive already?!

  "Very well. But first come on out of bed and join me for breakfast. You must be starving.”

  I am about to protest. But he steps in closer and takes a seat on my bed. “Humor me, Lena, and for a few moments at least do as I say. Okay?”

  I feel him move in closer. He reaches out slowly and places his arm on my shoulder. “You came to me, and after what you told me last night, the least you can do is answer some questions.” He whispers in my ear and I feel my neck burn as I can see his eyes scanning my face.

  “Yes sir."

  “Good,” I feel his hand where it rests on my shoulder. Slowly his thumb starts rubbing little circles against my naked skin. I ease myself into his warm palm. I steel my nerves for whatever lies ahead.

  “But first — breakfast, okay, Lena? You and I need some nourishment before we make any life-changing decisions.” His voi
ce is low and sounds laced with genuine concern, and for the first time he smiles.

  I shake my head unsure of my ability to speak.

  *

  I can see his eyes, they gleam in the early morning twilight.

  The breakfast is sumptuous. Toast, cream cheese, chocolate croissants, bagels of every sort and a bevy of assorted jams and preserves coupled with a tray of milk, coffee and tea, are all laid out in the center aisle of his kitchen. Did he set all this up for me? I look down to the floor and see the dusty footprints my bare feet left there.

  I eat in perfect silence and I catch his eye scanning me. His stare is hungry but he doesn't touch the food.

  "I must say I was surprised to hear you say what you told me last night," Dr. Branigan says. "In fact, I am willing to forget you said it, if you so desire." Oh God! Oh no! He's going to make me repeat my plea from last night! A deep blush settles over my pale skin as I demurely look down at my plate that is now empty. I fidget nervously not knowing what to say or do.

  "Look me in the eyes, Lena.” His voice is stern but not loud. Immediately I look up and blink away my tears of humiliation

  “You're free to walk out now. Rest assured, nothing in my behavior towards your mother will change.” His eyes exude a careful deliberation that makes me squirm. Suddenly I feel lightheaded and extremely fragile. "Your mother will continue to receive the best possible care at the hospital. I will make sure if it. I want you to feel no pressure. If I so much as suspect you are trying to somehow ingratiate yourself with me just so that your mom receives better care, it will hurt me more than you can possibly imagine." I nod, my voice faltering in my chest, as I realize he expects me to acknowledge his statement.

  “On the other hand," he clears his throat, “I have taken the liberty to draft a contract of service." He places a manila folder on the black granite across from where I sit. "Read it carefully. Take all the time you need. Feel free to delete everything you find objectionable, and write in anything you would like to be included.” Dr. Branigan stands and brushes away invisible crumbs from his dark trousers. “I am going to work now. I will be at my practice all day today. You're free to stay here for as long as you wish. There is food in the fridge." For a moment he stops as if deliberating something. "There are some rooms in my home I'd rather you didn't go into. At least not yet." He looks at me pointedly and I nod. I'm not exactly sure why, but it seems he expects my acknowledgement.

  “I should be done by about eight o'clock tonight. If you're not here when I return, I shall know your decision.” He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out an envelope. “Here is some money. It should be enough to get you through the next month or so until you can find a job.” I am about to say something, to protest, but he stills me with his hand. "It is the least I can do."

  *

  The passage of time slows down to a trickle as I sit and stare at the kitchen countertop and the thick manila folder resting there. Almost an hour goes by before I finally will myself to stand. Dr. Branigan has long since left for work and I feel so very alone. I reach out hesitantly toward the folder. Come on, Lena, it is just paper with some text on it! It wont bite! I crack it open.

  *

  Master:

  I cannot believe she actually wants to go through with it! My mind has been in turmoil since last night. She called me because she had crashed her car. I feel bad for her. At only eighteen, life is coming down on her fast. Without a father, and a mother permanently incapacitated, I am amazed how she is still able to keep it together. The stress in her life is already too much to bear for most.

  What she did when I brought her home last night…, the courage, the cold-mindedness, they make my heart skip a beat every time I think of it!

  It is not that she doesn't know what she is in for. Not after that terrible time when two years ago I gave her an autographed copy of Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov. I had included a complete and rather detailed explanation of my feelings for her. She was barely eighteen at the time!

  To call it an error of judgment on my part misses the point. I am no cradle robber, mind you. But she stole my breath away and has kept doing it ever since that first time I saw her walking in the park. Her fragile demeanor and quiet sensuality still make the tiny hairs on the nape of my neck stand on edge! I cannot pretend to understand Lena. All I can hope for is that she allows me to partake in her journey. After last night I may be starting to comprehend her better. She is so much more mature than I ever was at her age. I suppose growing up knowing there's nobody but yourself to rely on will do that.

  Last night, the moment she stepped into my house, she immediately knelt down. At first I panicked that the girl had fainted from exhaustion and worry. But even though she was shivering like a lamb, Lena was perfectly coherent as she looked up at me.

  "I am yours. Please make me yours."

  Those were the words I had used in my letter from all these years ago. Until last night, Lena had never even acknowledged having received the letter. She had kept her distance and were it not for the medical consultations with her mother, I hardly ever saw her again. I never expected to hear those words, especially not on her lips.

  I don't think I can do any work today. I pity the patient who would have me as their doctor in my state of emotional turmoil. Will she sign the contract and accept to be my submissive? Or is she just playing games with a man she knows to be infatuated with her? I have to use every last ounce of willpower to stop myself from jumping back into my car and racing home to see what her decision is going to be.

  *

  Lena:

  The contract. Line upon explicit line phrased in legalese. I flip from page to page that describe in excruciating detail my surrender to his will. I slowly slide to the cold ground as I read on.

  "I Lena McCarthy (the submissive), with a free mind and under no duress accept the submission of my will onto my master, Jack Branigan M.D., so that he takes me into his care and guidance so that we may grow together in trust, mutual respect and love. The satisfaction of his desires, needs, and whims correspond to my wish as a submissive to be found pleasing to him in every regard."

  I hear my own heart beating in my chest like a rabbit trying to escape its cage of doom.

  "To achieve this as well as fulfill my sexual, spiritual, emotional and intellectual potential, my master will have full and complete use of my body and mind anytime, anyplace, in front of anyone, to keep and give away as he wishes."

  I have to wipe the tears in my eyes. Does he know I am still a virgin? Does he know I have zero experience being with a man? Oh my God! I read on skimming to the next page.

  "Term: the submissive acknowledges that the duration of the contract will be until such time as the master chooses to terminate it, or she chooses to do so herself. This can happen with no warning, at any time and for any reason."

  It goes on to describe how my master is free to maintain relationships with whomever else he pleased. His pleasure is the one and only goal of my existence as his submissive. From the moment I sign the contract, I am to address him as Master or Sir, and all other men as sir. All women are to be addressed as Ma'am or any other manner chosen by Dr. Branigan.

  The last few pages lay out in excruciating detail the way he expects me to use my body. My choice of clothing, the food I eat, the exercise I get, and the duration of rest I get, are all up to him. “The submissive is to actively and enthusiastically engage in sexual intercourse (vaginal/anal/oral) with or without (depending on Master's choice) the use of a condom and receive any and every ejaculate when ordered to do so.”

  Suddenly I feel hot and find it necessary to unbutton my pajama top. I am sweating and as I stretch out on the floor leaning back against the countertop, I realize my pussy is sopping wet!

  It is as if my body has already made all the important decisions for me and is merely waiting for my mind to catch up!

  *

  Master:

  I park the car in the alleyway and walk in through the fro
nt door. I know she's probably long gone by now but oh my Lord if she hasn’t…

  I turn the key, open the door, and there she is!!!

  I can see her skin glowing with a delicate sheen of sweat as she shivers under my gaze. She is clearly uncomfortable and yet there she kneels – her naked thighs splayed on either side, she is looking straight at me. Her back is ramrod straight and her hands demurely rest by her side.

  My breath comes in ragged gasps as I close the door behind me. I have to be strong for the both of us now. I cannot surrender to the overpowering desire to gather her up from the floor, cover her beautiful face in kisses, and hold her naked body tight to mine.

  Instead, I step forward and slowly lift my left hand to her lips. Her nipples visibly tighten and her little brow furrows as she kneels forward and gingerly kisses the gargoyle on my heavy iron ring.

  A moment that will forever be etched in my mind until the day that I die.

  "Did you sign it?" I ask and feel a need to clear my throat.

  "I did," she replies and then quickly adds almost as if tasting the texture of the word on her lips, "Master."

  I nod and step down to the living room. I leave her kneeling facing the door and have to use every last ounce of will to stay my hand from caressing the gentle curve of her shoulders as I pass by her. I leaf through the folder scanning the pages that she has duly initialed until I get to the last one:

  "My surrender as a submissive is done with the knowledge that nothing asked of me shall ever demean me as a human being." This last line that she has added herself is followed by her name spelled out in print letters followed by her signature and date. She has left the pen by the folder on the table and I pick it up and sign my name as her master.