Page 13 of Doctor's Orders

She had overheard them talking once about the fact that Nurse Carson was going to be taking over Crawford's reeducation, and Darcy allowed herself to be mean spirited enough to hope that she could get to see even just a small part of that.

And she got her wish much sooner than she had expected, although she was sitting on a freshly blistered bottom while doing so.

The Nurse Manager informed all of them two weeks ahead of time about a meeting that was going to be conducted after their regular hours and attendance was mandatory—there would be no exceptions. Darcy remained quite apprehensive—understandably, considering her previous experience—that she was going to end up being the star of another show, but it never came to that, even though she knew she was the subject of much speculation by her fellow employees.

She originally took a seat in the back of the gallery, but when the lights slowly went up as the curtains were automatically pulled back, and she saw who was going to be on the receiving end for a change, she moved to an open seat in the front, so that she wouldn't miss a thing. Darcy thought she'd feel vengeful through the whole thing, considering what Angine Crawford had done to her, but as soon as she saw the helpless woman spread wide on the table, unable to prevent or even much protest what they were going to do to her, she was disappointed to realize that she felt more empathetic than vengeful, and then she felt ashamed about feeling disappointed.

Especially when Nurse Carson blindfolded the poor shaking, begging girl, and then looked towards the doctor, who nodded just slightly, and Angine had a large roll of bandages pressed into her mouth, too, held there by a thin strap.

The begging stopped, but the whimpering began.

Another nod from Doctor Brackett and Carson rose to press a button on a small electrical panel, and suddenly, those in the gallery could hear what was being said on the exam room floor, which played right in to the doctor's tendency to wax eloquent. He loved to hear himself speak. "Now, I know that at least one of you watching has found herself here in exactly this spot once before, only she was on the other side of the speculum, but I wanted to mention that any of you could end up here if your behavior warrants—not just those three who are currently on the low rung of the ladder. Neither Nurse Carson nor I are willing to put up with misbehavior of any kind, as I'm sure you all realize."

Darcy watched, rapt, entirely unable to look away from the scene below no matter how abhorrent her mind found it as the vulnerable girl's nipples were clamped with what must have been horrible force, based on the urgent, keening tone her moans took on once they were applied with casual ruthlessness. And the torture didn't stop there; it was literally just beginning. They were the type of clamps that were on chains that could be used individually or linked together between the subject's breasts. But this time, they were kept individual, and the end of each chain was attached to a tripod that would normally have been used to help someone sit up in bed.

Instead, it was hoisted up in the air until the tension was such that there was a constant tugging on Angine's nipples. Everyone could see just how far that actively bitten flesh was being stretched. Speculation ran rampant through those watching as to whether they were the types of instruments that, as they were pulled, clamped down that much harder on their captive.

Darcy would have expected nothing less.

"Why, yes, yes, they are," the doctor confirmed, nodding his head.

The crowd drew a collective startled breath, having not realized that their conversations were being monitored, then the soft buzzing of speculation began again, only this time, everyone was wondering for how long they had been eavesdropped upon, wondering if they'd said anything that was going to get them into this type of trouble, specifically.

But it was impossible to tell, really. Everyone had a reasonable idea of the rules, but not necessarily how stridently they would be enforced.

Darcy didn't participate in their murmurings. Her hand had found its way over her mouth, and she wasn't sure whether that was to keep her from cheering the doctor and his overly willing assistant on or to keep herself from crying out in sympathy for the way Angine was being treated. She was still fixated on the sight before them—feeling almost as if she was the one stretched out, writhing, on the table, instead of Angine.

Then a picture appeared on two huge plasma TVs that had been mounted on opposite walls of the room, showing, in high resolution—and in excruciatingly intimate detail—exactly what the doctor was seeing as he looked at Angine's most private places. She was unable to interfere with his view in any way, because her legs were held, pried fully apart, by some sort of contraption that fit over each acutely bent knee, preventing her from closing or stretching her legs in any way, and holding them so far up and out, if she could turn her head to lift it a bit, she'd probably be awfully close to being able to kiss her knee cap.

And it was that extreme vulnerability—and extreme exposure—that got to Darcy more so than anything else she was seeing. She knew—better than anyone else in the room—how it felt to be on display like that, to be lying there, having things done to you against your will. As much as any of them might have agreed to the doctor's rules, something like this was always going to be against anyone's will.

She wanted to go down there and help her, to make them stop this, but when she heard the doctor say her name in that autocratic tone of his, every bit of the bravado she had worked up deserted her completely in an instant and all she could do was freeze.

"Nurse Darcy Hanson, are you up there?"

Just the utterance of her name had Angine trying futilely to scream.

"Y-yes, sir," she answered hesitatingly, not wanting to earn herself another punishment that would make her end up like the poor unfortunate below and knowing that he had only asked in order to manipulate her. There was no way he didn't know she was there.

She needed her job—and the generous bonuses she was receiving—too much to skip a mandatory meeting, even one like this.

"Come down here."

White as a ghost, Darcy stood, but that was as far as she could get. As she did her best to convince her body to do as she bid, tears streamed down her cheeks, making her plight just that much worse.

Finally, one of her coworkers, in front of whom she was standing, gave her a shove and she shuffled out of the relative safety of the gallery, down the stairs and into the room. She didn't remember much about it from her previous appearance there. She had been much too concentrated on what they were doing to her, rather than her surroundings. It was bigger than she'd imagined, but, then, it wasn't the room that had held her attention, as it wasn't now.

It was Angine and the blatant, awful sight of her.

And the fact that—to her surprise and dismay—her hand itched to hold a paddle in her hand to swing down onto the other woman's trussed up nates, as had been done so many times before to her by the woman who was going to have to endure an experience that was much like her own.

Darcy would have been willing to bet that idea had never so much as floated through Angine's mind.

Chapter 7

"Nurse Hanson, come here and describe for us—and for those who might be too far away to see the details well, what's on the table," the doctor ordered.

She complied, stiffly, robotically, her feet propelling her slowly forward. She could hear Angine's muffled, frantic protestations as she neared where she lay. Darcy knew that she wasn't saying anything for or to the doctor, the nurse, or the crowd. She was going to be telling Angine what she could expect to be punished with.