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.Master Mistress	By : keithcompany Category: G through L > House Views: 2760 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own House, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Master Mistress
- 1
More Disclaimer: This work is my own. Do not repost this story beyond the limits of the Fair Use standards of Copyright Law (quotes, examples, ‘you gotta read this’ excerpts, the usual).
Martha stormed into the team room and threw herself into a chair. The doctors barely looked up from the references they were searching.
House came in a few steps behind the young medical student. "Someone, by which I mean a person with goal-oriented morals, not someone who filters necessary behavior by covering his or HER metaphoric ass, needs to have a heart to heart with our patient."
"Got it," Foreman said. He slid his book in front of Masters and stood.
"Take Taub," House said. "The patient always feels paranoid with a Jew in the room. Use that to your advantage."
"So what's my role, now?" Taub asked whimsically as he stood. "The Jew? The threat? The patient heart rate multiplier?"
"Your role is to stand behind me and let me do the talking," Foreman said.
"Stand in profile so he can see that nose," House said as they exited. "Results?" he asked Chase.
"None so far. All the recorded cases are discussed posthumously. The good news is, if he does have it, we'll be really well placed to identify it during the autopsy."
"Keep looking," House growled and limped out.
"He's only angry because that was his line," Chase confided to Masters. Then he went back to searching through the documentation.
After a few moments of silence, Chase stood. He drew a glass of water and placed it beside Masters. He also offered her a handkerchief. She nodded thanks and wiped her eyes.
"Why are you here?" he finally asked.
"House thought I had told the patient that-"
"No, no, Martha," he said. "Why are you in this fellowship? Are you trying to prove something?"
She stared at the other doctor for a quiet moment. "I did something to a friend of mine and I have to learn how to fix it." His first reaction was to smile. "What? What's so funny?"
"Oh, well, when you start dealing directly with more patients, when you do clinic hours, you'll see. Every doctor, when they hear 'a friend' assumes it means 'I did something to myself and I'm afraid to admit it.'"
"That's not-"
Chase held up a hand. "That's okay. It's just something doctors see. All the time. In everyone, except you. And one friend of mine..."
She smiled despite of her anger. "Anyway, if I can learn how House does...what he does, maybe I can do it. To help fix my friend. Who isn't me," she finished with another small smile.
"Hmmm. Maybe you should tell House," Chase said. "He thinks you're a moral tight-ass because you haven't lived in the real world yet.
"If he found out you're overcompensating for a real-world mistake you already made..." He shrugged. "Well, he'd just find something else to torment you with."
------
Martha was a lot less upset by the time they finished diagnosing the patient. He was responding to the latest treatment and House was even bragging about another victorious fight against the forces of informed consent.
But her mood darkened on the way home. Chase was right. He was tormenting her for the sake of tormenting her. Push to see what happens, poke to see what breaks.
How dare he? He knew nothing about her, about her situation. When she pointed out that his behavior was errant or immoral...it was!
She entered her apartment, dropping her bag on the chair by the door. A few steps down the hall and she was in the bedroom.
The man she'd taken to calling Test Subject One looked up at her. "Get undressed," she snapped.
She kicked off her shoes and crawled onto the bed. TSO stood naked by the door of his cage. She leaned over to the table, opened the cage and lifted him over.
Flat on his back on the pillow, he looked up at her as she regarded him. One hand held her face up by the chin, the other traced one finger along his body.
Tonight was bones. She recited each one as her touch passed it. "Fibula, tibia, patella, femur," she said. The tone was clinical though the touch was intimate.
Unsure of her mood, Subject lay without protest. He flinched a bit as she fingered his ribs but he couldn't help it.
She speared her hand under his torso, lifting him bodily as she rolled onto her back. One hand dangled him over her bosom while the other pushed her panties down.
Martha finally lowered him to her belly, atop the skirt rucked up around her hips. He crouched on the folds of fabric and looked towards her legs. Other than her panties and shoes, she was fully dressed.
Subject was never seduced, just ordered. Ever since the day he came into her possession, she'd used him as an ego crutch. When others dismissed her for age or her social awkwardness, she came home and dominated him.
Now she started once more. "Traverse my abdomen and approach my genitals." Her voice was flat and clinical, firm and unemotional. He obeyed quickly. She was not tolerant of delay.
Her pubic hair scratched his hands and knees as he 'approached her genitals.' He hesitated at the top of the cleft, technical terms running through his mind.
She'd used him as a living flash-card to study in premed and med school. He gazed on her wet, slippery flesh, swelling and throbbing. Her pulse was visible to him from his tiny vantage point. He gazed and tried to see its natural reactions to stimulus.
Orders started to come, slowly at first, rapidly increasing in frequency. The pace was slow and her body lay still. He slithered over and against her, reaching and stroking as directed.
The proximity never failed to excite him. But he was never sure if she felt his erection, rubbing against and poking at her. Was it helping finish her off or distracting her? Or beneath her notice?
He knelt sideways in her vagina, one arm plunged as deeply as it would go.
As she approached orgasm she dropped the clinical terms for more basic orders. "Higher, higher...right there. Push. Harder. Rub that. Rub it. Make a fist. Push... lift it."
He strived to make her happy. A disappointed Masters took the day's angry out on him. But if he satisfied....
There was a sharp intake of breath, the only reaction she'd allow herself. A finger came to rest on his shoulder and he stopped pushing at her. Slowly and gently he removed himself from contact.
She found her panties on the bed and lowered them over him. He used them to dry off with. While he was doing that, she lifted a leg over him and rolled out of bed.
He watched her take her hospital clothes off to change to a clean pair of panties and her slightly less formal study clothes.
She assumed he was done, lifted him up and lowered him gently to her lips.
His penis was addressed by oral action and quickly brought him off. He lay limp in her hand as she slipped him into his cage.
She wiped her chin with the panties and dropped them in her hamper. "I think," she murmured as she walked out of the bedroom, "I think...virology tonight. Yes. Viruses."
Test Subject One wished her well with her studies. She'd end up saving a lot of people. He'd lost hope that she'd ever restore him, but he still wished her well.
But was a wet-wipe completely out of the question?
- 1
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.Master Mistress