The Slavery of Doctor Sally

Owned by a Stranger

One of my earliest pieces of erotic fiction, and still along my favourites. I loved Sally, and empathised with every last aspect of her.


Sally is a popular, and highly acclaimed, consultant surgeon; she is respected, financially secure, with a seemingly perfect life. But her personal life is a disaster. She is a mass of unfulfilled perverse desires, and failed relationships. She is unhappy and frustrated, plagued by her twin demons of insecurity and low self-esteem.

..and then an intriguing text from an anonymous man changes that life forever. She finds herself pulled into a series of humiliating and degrading tasks which take her out of her pampered everyday world into a sordid world of sexual exploitation and servitude with complete strangers. Choice is removed from her and Sally learns the hard way that she is not the person she always thought she was.


Sally looked up at the clock. She had seven minutes. She felt her nipples stiffen; an inward stab of shame. Jesus.

She glanced down at the report and then up at the patient before her. This was always the difficult part. The woman was her own age, and had two young children. It wasn’t good news.

‘…well, I’ve received the reports back from both the path labs and the expert panel. They have examined the gland that I took out of your neck last month…and… their tests are indicating a lymphoma…’ No point in sugar-coating it.

She knew at that point that whatever she said afterwards, about not knowing anything really concrete until the lymphoma had been typed, graded and staged would not be listened to. She knew all the woman had in her head right now was: ‘I have cancer.’

She saw the woman’s eyes brim with tears. And fear. She knew she was a single-parent. She could almost see her mind running ahead, towards cancer, towards a painful, lingering early death, towards the orphaning of her children; and then beyond to their sufferings in state orphanages or foster care. The woman’s face was a mask of anguish.

Six minutes.

‘…and so I will be passing you over to another consultant who will do the more detailed tests which will tell us how we can proceed…do you have any questions?’

At this point they all did. This woman was no exception. It was the usual one; and so was the answer.

‘…well we can say this, we have a range of treatments available, which lymphoma is responsive to. Just how responsive we can’t say until the more detailed results are in. But we are a very long was from saying it is something which might threaten life.’

The woman stared at the desk, glassy-eyed.  She showed no sign of moving. Sally glanced at the nurse with her eye brows raised. As much as she felt for her at that precise moment Sally just wanted the woman to go; to disappear, to wander away, to just fuck off. She was beginning to feel panicky. She could feel her skin breaking out in prickles. She looked at the clock. Three minutes. Her nipples felt diamond hard. She needed to go. Go now.

The nurse laid her hand on the woman’s arm. ‘Would you like a minute in the room next door where it’s quiet?’ The woman was all thanks and gratitude as she was shepherded into the side consulting room. Shock written all over her features.

Quickly Sally discarded her white coat, throwing it over her desk. She still had three more consultations but she had to be there by twelve noon. She walked quickly down the corridor to the back stairs, ran up to ‘Orange’ level and then entered the car park. Red Jaguar; she had the plate number pounding in her head. Red Jaguar.

She ran down one line and then the other. She was in the last minute now. She had only seconds to spare when she saw the one she wanted. She could see a figure sat in the rear seat. She remembered the instruction, ‘At no time will you say a word. Just do exactly as I have told you and leave. No talking.’

She knocked on the window and then pulled the door open. What she saw was a middle aged man, around fifty or so in a pinstripe suit. She climbed in. She was out of breath and panting. Her lungs were taking in great gulps of air.

She pulled her sweater up and over her head; she had gone intentionally braless that day. With her smallish breasts no-one else would have noticed and so she sat sideways on to the man topless. His eyes looked her over. His eyes were like fish eyes, unfeeling, dead. His whole face was without expression.

He lifted a hand and touched each breast in turn, tugging on her nipples, and kneading each for a few seconds before sitting back and pointing to his crotch.  She knew that this was what she was here to do. She leaned over and unzipped him. After a few seconds she released his cock. It was already semi-hard and she rubbed it up and down a few times. It felt hot between her fingers. Hot and hardening.

She leaned over and took it into her mouth, deep between her lips and felt the bell end touch her throat. She heard him moan gently and he started to run his hands through her hair, pushing her head down on his now fully stiff cock. Suck it you bitch’, he was saying. ‘Suck it. Suck it you fucking bitch…’ And suck it she did. Pulling her head up in long slow strokes her lips pulling on his shaft; and then pushing down, lips tight around him. ‘Bitch…bitch…fucking…fucking bitch…’

She could feel him starting to judder, his hands started to impale her head more forcibly on his cock, and then she felt his spunk spurt. She continued to pump his cock with her mouth until she was sure she had it all. She had been told very specifically what to do with it.

She sat up and deposited the spunk into her open palms, making sure she got every drop out. It was quite a load. Then she slowly and very deliberately rubbed it into her breasts, putting on a show, massaging and kneading them until the stickiness became dry; until his spunk was a part of her skin. Part of her was exhilarated by this demonstration of sluttiness, but part of her was disgusted; appalled.

Why am I like this?

To download this title from Amazon, please click HERE:

Nonconsensual sex fiction. Doctor Sally forced to fuck

Other posts you may enjoy:

My Schoolgirl Exhibitionism is the story of the budding of my lifelong urge /need / habit of exposing myself, especially by breasts. as they say, it takes all sorts…

This post describes my female exhibitionism as an adult, where my real need was go give up control over who saw my body. About the feeling that ‘just anyone’ was welcome to have a look.

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