Behind closed doors The House Fan Fiction Archive Home Quicksearch Search Engine Random Story Upload Story   Behind closed doors by snark_bait and phineyj House She's asked me on more than one occasion and I always say no. I'd have thought she'd have got the idea by now. She has enough control over me as it is, but the really disconcerting aspect to her suggestion is the admission of trust it would take on my part. I don't trust anybody. We're at her place, watching baseball. She's in a filthy mood, making not so subtle sexual comments to get my attention off the game. It almost always works. We've both been drinking; wine always makes her horny. She keeps suggesting the dirty things she could do to me if I would just let her... It probably would be fun; I've never done it before, and in fact it's quite surprising how many firsts she's introduced me to. First time outside, in the john, first time I've gone down on my boss in her office. By the time we've downed the second bottle of wine her hand is resting suggestively on my crotch and I'm horny and tipsy enough to agree, maybe just to shut her up. She smiles triumphantly and leads me into her bedroom. I sit down on her bed and she stands in between my legs. We kiss each other for a few minutes as my hands slide up and down the back of her thighs slowly. She's wearing a tight pair of jeans that hug her ass perfectly, and I can't resist a gentle knead of each butt cheek. She encourages me to lose my T-shirt. I pull it over my head and she takes it from me and tosses it behind her. "Hey, that's a classic Rolling Stones shirt," I say irritably. I don't really care, I'm just trying to delay the inevitable for a bit longer. The idea is making me nervous, my heart is racing. "Get into the centre of the bed," Cuddy says, telling me not asking. She knows that dominant behavior is going to affect me downstairs, I don't care who's on top in the bedroom as long as I get laid. But what she wants to do next is taking things one step further than normal and it's asking a lot of me considering I don't trust her motivation. She's been very insistent about this for some reason. I swallow nervously and stare at her for a few seconds. I get a sickly feeling in my stomach but then I don't want her to think I'm prudish. It just seems that way because she's being so forward. I reluctantly do as she says and move into the centre of her bed, watching her as she reaches into the bottom drawer on her bedside table and pulls out a set of metal handcuffs. No fluff on them I notice, they look like the real deal. I'm not surprised she has them; I just have no idea why I'm letting her put them on me. Maybe it's because the idea is making me really fucking horny? "Hands above your head," she demands with a cheeky smile on her face as she turns to face me. The command goes straight to my cock, and my breathing is starting to speed up. She seems very relaxed about the whole thing; I wish I could feel the same way. "Shouldn't I take my jeans off first?" I ask; logistically that would seem like a better idea. "Leave that to me," she says boldly. I stop unbuttoning my jeans, she takes hold of my hands and raises them above my head. I'm ridiculously nervous, and if I'm not sure about this I need to do something about it right now. I have a feeling I might regret this but I don't stop her. I take a deep breath and allow her to place my hands through the thin metal poles on the bed frame and then let her clamp the cuffs on my wrists. "Not too tight," I say anxiously. They're not exactly comfortable. She rolls her eyes at me like I'm being a complete wuss. I am so fucked now if she gets any clever ideas. I wonder if she can tell I'm shitting myself a little bit. I swallow a few times to get some moisture back into my mouth. She smiles at me like she has me right where she wants me. Then she trails a finger down my torso slowly, it's light - almost ticklish and it makes my spine tingle as my upper body rises off the bed slightly. She climbs onto the bed and carefully straddles my hips, keeping away from my bad thigh, thankfully. Then she eases her butt down carefully onto my groin and wiggles it to and fro ever so slightly. The action makes me breathe in and out quickly because it feels really good. My dick twitches inside my jeans and I can feel myself getting hard. "All right?" she asks. I nod, I suddenly feel very sober. She sits back slightly using my general groin area as a seat and starts to open the buttons on her tight white shirt. Moving her delicate fingers very slowly one by one, she carefully opens it up. She's watching me as I stare at her chest expectantly. She's doing it slowly to tease me. I'm not sure if I like being teased. Then she gently moves her butt side to side again, and my breath catches in my throat and I close my eyes tightly. I make a stupid little noise that makes her smile at me when I open my eyes again; I look away quickly - out of embarrassment. I don't want her to know how much of an effect this is having on me. Her hair falls in her face so she moves the mass of brown curls over her shoulder then continues to undress until the shirt is open and her torso and breasts come into view. She places a hand on my stomach and carefully walks her fingers down to the waistband of my jeans, watching me all the time. I can't seem to look her in the eye. I either stare at her breasts or watch what her hands are doing. She stops for a moment so she can lean down and kiss me. Her sex becomes pressed hard against my own as I gasp into her mouth. Our tongues do a brief dance, then she bites my bottom lip when we break off, and I groan, because it stings. "I'm not into pain," I inform her worriedly. My voice sounds croaky and nervous. It didn't hurt that much but I don't want her to go any further in that direction. "I'm not going to hurt you," she says tilting her head to the side, giving me another look that suggests she thinks I'm being a wuss. Then I notice a strange expression come into her features, as if she's disappointed I didn't already know what she just said. I look away again, and she starts things back up again by grinding her butt against my rapidly stiffening cock. She pulls off her shirt and tosses it lightly onto a chair near her bed, then quickly unhooks her white lacy bra and throws it in the same direction. She places a hand on each breast and massages them slowly. Probably because if I had my hands free, at this point that's what I'd be doing. It's a very nice visual. I can't take my eyes off her and I feel myself getting even stiffer. I'd like to like to bury my head right in between them. I lift up slightly and then fall back down because she's pinning my lower half to the bed and I can barely move my arms. We're both clad in denim from the waist down and naked from the waist up now, although we're still wearing far too many items of clothing for my liking. She inches along me, sitting on my chest so she can lay a hand on the lump in my jeans; she rubs it and my breath chugs in and out of me as I try and grind my dick against her hand. I wish she'd take me out; I desperately want her to, so I wiggle my butt slightly to try and get some more pressure onto my cock, but she moves her hand away. I groan loudly out of frustration. "Cuddy...be a good girl and jerk me off," I say, breath catching in my throat soon after, as she quickly slides down and grinds her butt back onto my groin. "I think you'll have to ask more nicely than that," she says around a dirty smile. "I'm not begging you, so you can..." She shuts me up quickly by grinding again against my cock again. Jesus Christ - I'm going to explode if she doesn't stop doing that. I groan, take a sharp intake of breath and bite my lip. I'm getting painfully hard now and I wish she'd just take me out and suck me off. But I know she's having way too much fun teasing me right now to put me out of my misery. Well I'm not going to beg, I can hold out. She rolls off me then and lies by my side; her finger traces random patterns on my stomach for a few moments before she flashes me a very dangerous smile and slowly moves her head toward my nether regions. Oh please tell me it's time for the blow job. "Please suck me off Cuddy," I say in a voice slightly more desperate than I was pitching for. She smiles, takes hold of my zipper in her teeth and starts to pull it down. "Fuck," I say quickly at the sight of it and lean my head into the pillows, staring at the ceiling so I can concentrate on not letting the cork pop too early. That would be far too embarrassing. Then I feel her take hold of me through my boxer shorts with her mouth. And I feel slightly relieved because it's got to be blow job time now, and when I find my voice I'm going to let her know we can definitely do this again. She sits up slightly and I watch her hand as she cups me completely and starts to rub my erection roughly through the material separating the skin of her hand from my cock. It's starting to feel really good, when she stops again. I try and grind against her hand but she pulls away. This is really fucking frustrating me now. I close my eyes and try and get a better control on my breathing. I'm very relieved when she slowly starts to yank my jeans down my legs. "About time," I say breathlessly. She then does the same with my boxers and my dick jumps free, happy to be no longer confined. Okay, take hold of it...yes. She grips me strongly then gives the head of my dick a powerful suck. I make a really embarrassing high pitched sound, but I don't care because it feels so fucking nice and I squeeze my eyes shut. But then the next thing I know she's not even on the bed anymore. My eyes pop open and I watch as she retreats into the bathroom. "Cuddy, get back here," I shout. Fuck fuck fuck. Hard-ons hurt when you leave them painfully unattended. How can she just leave him like that, I wonder, as I stare at my poor neglected cock. She comes back a few seconds later and I almost feel relieved until I realize she's holding something behind her back. Oh crap, here it comes. I knew this was a bad idea; she's got a very mischievous look on her face. I hear a tinny buzzing sound coming from behind her, then she produces an electric razor and smiles at me. I close my eyes and my head sags into the pillow - now I know why she wanted to do this and I can feel my neck starting to sweat. "Don't you dare," I warn strongly, raising my head up slightly to give her a firm warning stare. "Or else?" she says, raising her eyebrows and smiling broadly at me. "You don't think I can come up with something to match this? Transsexual rumors will be nothing by comparison," I say aggressively. She turns the razor off and places it beside me on the bed as she climbs back on. I squirm away from it, but it's not like I'm going very far. "It's okay, because you're going to agree to this," she says confidently. "No I'm not," I reply adamantly. She wraps her fingers around my erection and starts to stroke me gently. I groan despite not wanting to let her know how much I need this now. "Are you sure?" she says in a persuasive tone, then she lowers her head and licks the head of my cock a few times and then stops again. I grit my teeth and breathe in sharply through my nose. "Let me do this, and I'll finish the job," she says, holding up the razor for me to see. "No," I say. "Now blow me off," I demand. She shakes her head softly, then her fingers uncurl and she lets go of me. This is exquisite torture, but if she brings that thing near my face, she's getting war. She turns the razor on and holds it inches from my cheek to see what I'll do. I jerk my head away from it. And she shakes her head at me again. "It's only a bit of hair, it'll grow back," she says. "I like my face with hair on it, I look too preppy without it," I say. "House, I assure you, you could never look preppy," she counters. She then places her hand on my good thigh and slides one finger slowly up and down my erect cock. The smirk she's wearing makes me think she's enjoying this far too much. I hate her right now, but I really don't want her to stop touching my cock. She then goes one step further, cups my balls and slides her tongue over the head of my dick. She slowly starts to suck. I close my eyes and groan loudly, even though I know she's probably going to stop again any second, then the next thing I know she's placed the razor on my right cheek, I feel a buzz and then she's zipped a chunk of hair from it. "Cuddy," I shout loudly as I open my eyes again, but I'm totally fucked now, I can feel how much she's taken off. "Let me do this, then I'll finish you off," she challenges. Her hand begins stroking me roughly and I hate myself for bucking desperately into it, lifting my hips from the bed. But she stops again, and I squirm a little as she gets on top of me again, and my erect cock becomes nestled just behind her butt. "Deal?" she says "Bitch," I reply moodily. But then I sigh angrily, roll my eyes, let the tension go out of my arms and nod. Manipulative little bitch, this is war. She tilts my head to the side and starts shaving my cheek. I like my scruff; people at work will be staring at me, and I'm going to look weird. She's giggling now, I'm glad she's having fun because the revenge for this little stunt is going to be monumental. I can feel myself almost pouting as she slides the razor along my chin and brings it to a point just under my lip. She tilts my head the other way and before I know it, I'm clean-shaven for the first time for about five years. When she's finished she wipes a hand over my face and smiles. "Wow, you have a real face under there," she observes. "You are so fucked, Cuddy," I say, shaking my head. "Think I won't be getting you back for this?" She raises an eyebrow, smiles, then leans in and whispers into my ear. "I look forward to it," she says, then kisses me on the lips. "Blow me off, now," I order moodily. She gets off me and lies by my side again for a few moments stroking the hair on my navel whilst she just stares at my poor erect penis. Then - finally - she takes hold of me and starts working her mouth up and down my cock. Her mouth is wet and warm and I buck into it the best I can. She doesn't stop this time and it doesn't take long; she has the decency to swallow. When I'm done I lie still for a few breathless moments, a sheen of sweat covering my entire body. "You have to go down on me before that grows back," she says as she strokes my cheek again. I move my head away moodily. "In your dreams," I say sulkily. "I could just leave you like that until you agree," she says, reflectively. "Take them off now; you've had your fun," I say worriedly. She smiles and gets off the bed. I eye the keys in her hands, then she dangles them in front of my nose. "Are you going to be nice?" she asks. "Of course," I reply. "You don't need to worry about instant retribution. I'd rather make you sweat and spring it on you when you least expect it." She rolls her eyes at me. "It's a bit of fluff; it will grow back in less than a week." "That's almost a week of looking stupid. But don't worry, you'll be getting the equivalent. Now get these things off me," I say, yanking my hands a couple of times. My arms are starting to ache; this isn't the most comfortable of positions, when you've got to hold it for longer than a couple of minutes. She leans across me and I get an excellent view of her tits whilst she unlocks the cuffs. She then backs off and I sit up rubbing my sore wrists. Then I notice she's giving me a strange look. "You did it, if I look stupid it's your fault," I say defensively and then look away from her. "You don't look stupid," she says in a quiet, honest voice. "You look the way you did ten years ago," she finishes seriously. I tentatively stroke my chin; it feels smooth and alien. I still feel painfully incensed that she tricked me, and I will be exacting revenge, but she is right, it will grow back in a few days. She leans in to kiss me and I wait until we're finished before I bite down hard on her lip. "Ouch," she says, whacking me on the arm. "Oops, guess you're not into pain either," I reply, with a smirk. Cuddy House sulks at his place for the rest of the weekend, but I make sure I'm hanging around in the corridor when he walks in to Diagnostics on Monday morning. I want to see what his team think of his new clean-shaven appearance. I'm actually quite impressed he hasn't called in sick, but then again, perhaps his boss wouldn't believe his excuse. The corners of Foreman's mouth twitch but he keeps a good poker face. Chase tosses his beautiful hair but says nothing; perhaps he fears the competition. Then Cameron pipes up, bravely, "It's a good look for you." "I have no idea what you mean," House says, scowling, and turns to the whiteboard for what sounds like it's going to be a blistering differential. I overhear the three of them later in the dining room discussing whether he has a girlfriend. I'm honestly surprised no-one has worked this out yet. I'm really not sure I want them to, but you would think body language would tip them off. Although, thinking about it, neither of us has been behaving any differently to normal. We've always spent a chunk of our time thinking up ways to annoy, arouse and frustrate the other one; the only thing that's changed is the method. House keeps away from me all week, so I know he's plotting something. I tell myself it's fine with me - I've got huge amounts of work to get through, and I don't get home before eleven any night. But when I'm lying awake, I know if I'm honest that I've got used to having regular sex again alarmingly quickly, and I miss it. I don't want to be dependent on House for anything, but by Friday, I'm feeling more than a bit frustrated. I see him arrive for work in the morning, and I note his scruff is growing back nicely. I shiver, remembering what it felt like between my legs last week. So when he comes round to see me on Friday night, I'm happy to see him. I think he probably guesses from the way I'm kissing him before he's actually got in the door. Pretty soon we're in my bedroom, and House obviously remembers where I keep the handcuffs, because he's waving them at me and saying, "You're going to wear them this time." He still hasn't asked me why I have them. He'd probably be disappointed with the answer, which is that a police officer I dated for a while last year left them here. And no, I'd never used them before last weekend. I'm not afraid of him, and I'm prepared to do whatever gets this show on the road most quickly, so I strip off and get on the bed, and he cuffs me to the headboard. I am slightly taken aback when he then produces a scarf from his back jeans pocket and blindfolds me. I'm beginning to feel slightly uneasy about what he's got in mind, especially when I hear him disappear into the bathroom. Ah well, if he returns the favor from last weekend, at least I can cancel this month's bikini wax, I reflect. But when he come back into the room, he wraps something round my arm, and it feels a lot like the heart rate monitor I use when I go running. The bed creaks as he lies down and gets to work. "What are you doing?" I ask, intrigued. "I'd have thought that was blindingly obvious," he says, in a muffled tone. "Well, okay...but why are you monitoring my heart rate while you do it?" "Your resting heart rate is 50, when you're aroused it's 90 to 110, and when you're about to come it hits 120," he explains, "Honestly, you'd think a doctor would catch on quicker." And with that, he takes me to the edge and keeps me there. For an hour. Well, I'm estimating it's an hour. The passage of time pretty much loses all meaning when you have House between your thighs, using his tongue, lips and fingers to stoke every nerve ending to a state of red hot alert. My wrists are sore and my throat hurts from all the yelling I've been doing, but I will not give him the satisfaction of begging. That's until he gets up off the bed and I hear him wandering around the room, and I hope against hope that that he found everything of interest when Alfredo was sick. I still haven't forgiven him for that little piece of breaking and entering. He starts with my underwear drawer, obviously. "Ooh, I haven't seen all of these," he says happily. "House," I say warningly, "I expect to find the same number when you've gone." He closes the drawer and I hear him open the next one down; the one where I keep...oh crap. "Wow, this is quality equipment," he comments, and I hear a low mechanical buzz. "Fresh batteries too, so either you haven't needed them in a while, or I'm not trying hard enough." "You're very trying," I say, sourly. He comes back over and blows on my nipples, which I can feel are still painfully erect. "House," I say, shifting a bit on the bed and trying to get more comfortable, "Are you going to finish what you started?" "I don't know," he says, thoughtfully, "What's in it for me?" I decline to answer. "On the other hand," he continues, "The O.C. starts in five minutes." And he actually gets up and leaves the room, the bastard. "Okay, what do you want?" I shout. "You know that meeting we've got next week?" He can forget it if he wants me to let him off going. They need to see him in person or they'll cancel his malpractice. "What about it?" I ask. "I think we should take the train." He can't be suggesting...oh wait, this is House. He comes back in the room, accompanied by a swallowing sound. He's drinking my beer. I will kill him when he lets me out of these cuffs. He lays a hand gently on my stomach. "You feel a little overheated," he comments, and the next thing I know, there's an icy cold, glassy sensation against my clit. It's so unexpected that I shriek. I feel the bed dip again and then his warm, heavy tongue is lapping at me, and the contrast in temperature feels amazing. It takes all of about six seconds before I feel like I'm going to come - and then he breaks off again, and says, "On the train, then?" "Okay," I agree, weakly. "Finish me off now...please?" --- I'm going to have some explaining to do tomorrow, because I should think the neighbors will definitely have just heard me screaming. And I expect I hit my target heart rate all right. "House - get these off," I say. "Now, where did I put that key..." he wonders aloud. "Not funny. Now." He gets rid of the cuffs, and I yank the blindfold off and flex my wrists and rub them; I'm going to have bruises for sure. I look at him; he's only wearing his boxers, and his expression is aroused, amused, and just slightly impressed. I am absolutely exhausted. I collapse on the bed and close my eyes, and House wanders off into the other room. I hear him moving about in the kitchen, and a banging sound, but I can't muster the energy to ask him what he's up to. I figure I'll find out soon enough. He returns with a clean dishtowel wrapped round some crushed ice, and wraps it deftly round my wrists. He brings my hands to his lips, kisses them and then pulls me to him in an awkward embrace, and we neck slowly and carefully, like we didn't just spend the week testing each others' boundaries to destruction. And later, as he snores, I lie awake and worry about next week's train journey.   Please post a comment on this story. Legal Disclaimer: The authors published here make no claims on the ownership of Dr. Gregory House and the other fictional residents of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Like the television show House (and quite possibly Dr. Wilson's pocket protector), they are the property of NBC/Universal, David Shore and undoubtedly other individuals of whom I am only peripherally aware. The fan fiction authors published here receive no monetary benefit from their work and intend no copyright infringement nor slight to the actual owners. We love the characters and we love the show, otherwise we wouldn't be here.