A flutter of mixed emotions scrambled in Lina’s chest. Dr. Doyle could not know that this arousal he spoke of had already been attained, that Lina could not believe her body and the way it betrayed her. But—she steeled herself—she would not let that betrayal come from her mind. She would not allow herself to be aroused by the words of submission. That was too far, too... too what?
She would not do it. She would retain her will, and escape.
Her lips trembled and she said nothing, as Dr. Doyle watched her with interest.
“You know that you will be disciplined if you are disobedient, Miss Blanchet?” he asked her at last.
Another cool finger of arousal wriggled inside of her lower abdomen, and she bit her lip. Her bottom burned again with the ghost of Mr. Blackstone’s hand, the tendrils of the leather strap he had used on her. Her breath had quickened, and she knew she could not hide it from Dr. Doyle.
Disciplined.
She was at a loss: in some ways, she craved Dr. Doyle’s discipline. In others, she longed to feel the sinking, stabbing, cold-burning “thing” that wormed inside of her, that she knew she would feel if she said the words he wanted to hear. Beneath all of these feelings simmered the fearsome prospect of Dr. Doyle’s unknown methods: howwouldhe discipline her? Or would he turn her over to Mr. Blackstone for that?
She chewed her lip for a moment. Dr. Doyle waited; there seemed no way of escaping the choice. Her silence would be submission to discipline, her words submission to his will. Either one, she knew, was something she craved, as much as she did not want to.
“Discipline it is, then, Miss Blanchet,” he said, almost tenderly. He drew his finger over her cheek. “I am not certain you have chosen as wisely as you might believe.”
* * *
Dr. Doyle’s surgerywas much different than the room Mr. Blackstone had taken her to, though he led her to it through a maze of corridors and passages much like those taken to exit Mr. Blackstone’s room. Lina despaired as he led through the twists and turns of the immense estate. While her body might be betraying her, she was determined in some part of her mind to keep her plans for escape alive, as an option. She was at moments quite uncertain of the idea, and then, at others, it would rise up inside of her.
The room had a stunning white marble floor, better suited to a grand entranceway of some of the museums and government buildings Ms. Tilton had pointed out to the girls when they were in London. Light entered through a glass window of expensive appearance, made of interlocking stained and frosted glass pieces that formed a garden scene, most of it light gray and white to allow the sunlight into the room while maintaining the atmosphere of privacy.
Inside the room there was another bed, this one smaller and without posters, and Lina recognized it, though she could not say why, as a sort of medical examination table.
Dr. Doyle shut the door behind him after guiding Lina into the room, but unlike Mr. Blackstone, he did not order her about gruffly.
He also did not avoid the light in the same way as his friend and confidant. A wild curiosity about the two men itched inside of her, but she guarded her words for the time being. Dr. Doyle did seem more likely to answer her questions, and she feared him less—somehow his demeanor was more warm. When he sent a chill through Lina, it was not as deep or frightening as Mr. Blackstone’s.
Dr. Doyle opened a large cupboard on the far side of the room as Lina waited, hands clasped, heart stirring with anticipation and nervousness.
“I had so hoped to attend to your training, Miss Blanchet, but you leave me no choice but to discipline you instead.” The cupboard was open, and a variety of mostly metal implements, organized neatly, stared ominously at Lina from the inside. The precise nature of these objects was naturally a mystery to her, but like the implements in Mr. Blackstone’s room, she sensed the general purpose of them, and her lower abdomen again turned to molten liquid, the snake of arousal slithering through her body.
Dr. Doyle selected a curious object, a round ball about the size of a crabapple, made of metal, attached to a very long metal arm which looked a bit like a shoehorn. Lina’s eyes went wide, for she could not imagine a use for such an item, except perhaps to beat someone about the head. She did not imagine that Dr. Doyle would do such a thing, or even Mr. Blackstone, for while the two men were certainly doing depraved things to her, she sensed somehow that they would not actually harm her.
“Do you know what this is, Miss Blanchet?”
She shook her head quickly. “I do not, sir.”
“Master,” he corrected, though a smile flickered at the corner of his mouth indicating that he not only knew she would not relent to him, but furthermore that he did not really want her to. Dr. Doyle, she could see, was desirous to discipline her, and she could not suppress the part of her, clawing at her chest, that very much wanted him to as well.
Doyle stroked the ball sensually. “You shall,” he said.
A shiver traveled along Lina’s spine. “Disrobe,” he said to her.
Lina’s eyes fell to the floor again, and a different kind of flush traveled over her cheeks.
She reached behind her to loosen the laces of the dress, though she knew she could not do it. “I cannot...” she said helplessly.
Doyle walked around her, the curious implement at his side like a riding crop. He tugged at the laces and the dress loosened around her, but unlike Mr. Blackstone he did not slip it from her shoulders. She stared at the cool marble floor as she pulled the dress down herself.
Doyle had come around her again and was facing her. She felt as though she could feel the touch of his sight upon her body, and her arms moved instinctively to cover herself.
Before she got the chance, however, Dr. Doyle commanded her to turn around.
Shaking, she obeyed, hands in front of her chest. It was chilly in the room and gooseflesh washed over her arms, though she was not entirely sure it was only from the cold.
“Bend over,” Doyle commanded her.
