The Mammoth Book of the Best New Erotica Page 20

  And so it was arranged that Madam Gray, the most upright and responsible citizen in Victorian England, would visit with the thirty-three-year-old doctor. She would report back every movement of the physician’s healing hands.

  At the appointed hour, Madam Gray swept through Dr Lorean’s cosy parlour and into his adjoining surgery. Such haughtiness was her usual mien. Dr Lorean rose gracefully to his full five foot ten, then he bowed low. “Welcome, Madam Gray. I am at your service,” he said.

  Lucinda Gray gave a half-hearted curtsey in return. The half-heartedness was partly due to her tightly lacing corsets. She glanced at the man’s neatly trousered groin and suppressed a shudder. The city fathers had given her a little bell that she could ring if his attentions became too great.

  Male attention was an unvisited land to Madam Gray. She had never been betrothed, had never known a suitor to take liberties. But she utilized her time by keeping house for her father (who had one of the largest estates in the country), so didn’t feel the lack. It was her duty, however, she told herself as she gazed around Dr Lorean’s dispensary, to save other gentlewomen from an unseemly fate . . .

  The introductions over, Dr Lorean again seated himself behind his desk. He picked up his pen. “Are you well in yourself? What brings you here to me this August morning?”

  “My last doctor has gone into retirement,” Madam Gray said sagely. “And I’m brought low with a general malaise.”

  “I take it the two are in no way related,” the physician said with a slight amused smile.

  Was he suggesting an improper relationship? The twenty-five-year-old fingered the cameo brooch at her throat and felt a low pull of excitement. “He was an elderly gentleman, but he gave me sterling service,” she said.

  “As I profess to do too.” So saying, the suave surgeon stood up and bowed again. “A full examination is called for,” he announced.

  How full did he mean? The virgin stilled into watchfulness. Outside the very birds quietened down. The silence was broken by a horse and cart clip-clopping and rattling along the road outside.

  “We must shut out the world to safeguard your privacy, dear lady,” the physician murmured, walking to the heavy Prussian velvet curtains and closing them fast.

  Adult to adult, they faced each other in the centre of the room.

  “Remove your outer garments for me,” the doctor ordered.

  Madam Gray stared into his eyes as she slid her crocheted ivory-coloured gloves from her wrists, then unpinned her jade green hat. “I shall be glad to rid myself of them. It is much warmer out than I anticipated,” she said breathlessly. As she removed her headwear, a few tendrils of polished chestnut hair escaped their clasp.

  “My dress?” she confirmed in a husky voice, her eyes darting around the oleographed walls as if in search of solace.

  “Indeed, ma’am, for I have to examine every inch of you,” the wide-eyed physician said.

  Slowly Madam Gray undid the pretty glass buttons of her muslin bodice with its becoming drop shoulders. She undid the satin rosebud ribbons, then let the bias-cut garment fall to the floor. She forced herself to confront the fellow’s unblinking gaze for a moment before turning her attention to the removal of her jade satin shoes.

  “Now your petticoat,” the physician bid.

  Swallowing hard, Madam Gray removed the silken garment that covered her bustle. Then she removed the bustle itself.

  “You can see more of me now,” she said in a small voice. “Enough to examine?”

  “It is my duty to see more yet.”

  “You mean me to remove my corset cover?” the younger woman clarified, her extremities tingling at this exceptional situation.

  “Indeed, for how can I investigate your flesh when it is so covered?” the surgeon said.

  The young woman took a sudden interest in the baroque design wallpaper as she removed the protective shroud.

  “Now unlace the corset itself. Let me know if you require my assistance.”

  “I can manage,” Lucinda Gray said firmly, though in truth it had taken two maidservants to lace her that very day. Now she glanced nervously at the impassive male observer, then looked down at the stem-waisted and overbust-style boned band.

  With effort she unfastened and removed the constricting ties and unfastened the front, doing it as slowly as possible to stave off the moment of near-nakedness. At last she stood vulnerably, in her pantaloons and chemise.

  “Your chemise, if you please,” the physician said.

  Madam Gray breathed in the scent of rosemary and geranium from the medicinal gardens outside and reminded herself that healing the sick was a rightly revered profession. The doctor might well be a wholly virtuous man.

  She took off her chemise, then stood there, breathing heavily, clad only in her white cherub-embroidered pantaloons.

  “You ladies wear so very many clothes that it is a wonder you ever become pregnant.” Dr Lorean smiled.

  Madam Gray glared at this retort. “I am not married, sir, so it is imprudent of you to discuss pregnancy.”

  The doctor stood up and walked towards her. “On the contrary, my dear, I have to determine that your female parts are all in good working order. After all, you shall one day want to give your father an heir.”

  “Perhaps,” the younger woman replied. In truth, the young men of the parish found her somewhat imposing. And, far from being a generous dowry-bequeather, her father was a mean and unapproachable type.

  “So remove your pantaloons forthwith, so that I may begin a full and thorough exploration of your womanly contours,” the physician said.

  “As you wish.” But did he wish this for the good of her health – or the corruptedness of his appetite? Madam Gray pondered the ethics as she undid the ties which held her pantaloons firmly around her small waist. Truth to tell, she felt somewhat breathless at the thought of being naked before a man for the very first time.

  Slowly she let her unmentionables slide down her smoothly rounded hips to the floor. She stepped out of them and stood with her arms by her sides, her bosom heaving. For the first time since early childhood she was in the presence of a clothed adult whilst she had on not a stitch. The exposedness of her situation was not lost on her – indeed, was uppermost in her imagination – but she consoled herself with the thought that she was a spy, who was really in charge.

  “Now for your measurements,” the good doctor said. He reached smoothly into his leather bag and brought out a tape measure. He proceeded to hold it against the back of her head, then run it all the way down to her unshod feet. On the way down his hand brushed her spine and her buttock cleft and her virgin thigh-backs. It was a featherlight sensation which nevertheless was felt by Lucinda as a very heavy rush. Surprised at the sudden exquisite sensation, the maiden swayed and let out a little moan.

  “Be reassured – your height is fitting for the times and you carry yourself impressively erect,” the physician murmured.

  Madam coloured slightly at his choice of words and stared straight ahead.

  “And now I will check your skelature,” continued the man. He measured her shoulders from one silken arm-top to the next, his fingers soft and gentle. “And now your breasts.”

  The woman blushed more fully at this last word – a scandalous word. Why, even that part of the chicken was only referred to as “the white meat”, lest it give offence! “You may want to loosen your stays each day to let your bosom move more freely,” said the medical man, sliding his cold rule across both nipples before weighing the appendages in his smooth palms. “It will assist your body to breathe.”

  “I can breathe very well with my garments fastened,” Madam Gray gasped in a strangely air-starved tone. Her breath faltered further as the physician thumbed the underside of her heavy round mammaries with his sensitive thumb-pads, and she gasped so harshly that the doctor asked if she were having an asthma attack.

  “I take the air at Brighton and the waters at Bath. My constitution should be good,�
�� the naked young woman assured him.

  “Then,” said the doctor, “it only remains for me to examine your inner folds.”

  “Shall I lie down?” Madam Gray asked, for she was feeling quite light-headed.

  “Not yet,” said the man. “Just turn your back to me and lean your elbows on my examination couch. Then push your nether parts outwards, if you please.”

  “My nether parts?” the younger woman repeated haltingly.

  “Yes. That reminds me – we must check your hearing at the end,” the physician said. He walked forward and patted the surgical couch with his palm. “Just rest your head on your arms and part your legs a little for me that I may the better examine your buttock cleft.”

  “What could possibly go wrong in that region?” Madam Gray stalled. In answer, the doctor reeled off a string of Latin phrases. “Oh, I see,” the baffled woman said. She looked at the couch, then looked back at the man. She must force herself to endure this new defilement. She’d have even more details to tell the city fathers at tomorrow’s meet.

  Slowly the Victorian matriarch assumed the buttock-exposing position. “Is that high enough?” she asked, thrusting her firm, small derrière back.

  “A little higher yet,” said the man, tapping at the top of each arse-cheek with his fingers. Madam Gray complied, wondering inside at the increasing sense of pleasure her interiors felt. There was nothing wrong with being as naked as Eve had been in the Garden, she told herself in a moral tone. She must just be glad to be free of her bustle and stays.

  “You have excellent muscle tone,” said the man, beginning to squeeze each proffered hemisphere. “Do you perhaps go riding, my dear?”

  “No, but our house has many stairs and large gardens and I walk them every day,” the lightly perspiring Lucinda said.

  “Well, I recommend horse riding too,” the surgeon prescribed. “A proper gallop, mind, and not side-saddle. It cures my other ladies of their sore heads.”

  “I have felt migrainous of a morning,” Madam Gray admitted faintly, as he continued to explore her small bottom with his large, caressing hands.

  “Evacuating fully is also important,” Dr Lorean said, beginning to pull on a thin white rubber glove, one of those newfangled inventions. “We’ll just make sure that there’s no blockage there.”

  He reached for a small tub of gel and smeared it around the woman’s most puckered parts. Madam Gray buried her head in her hands more fully as she felt his gloved and gelled fingers tracing their way around her secret pink entrance. She’d suffer in silence, she told herself stoically, then yelped with enjoyment as a digit was inserted into her rectum a little way.

  “Relax,” said the doctor as the poor woman almost shot over the couch. “We’ll just widen you out ever so slightly. Easy voiding is of the essence, I always say.”

  Madam Gray shifted her weight from silken foot to foot, then tried to think of England as her backside was invaded a little further. But she ended up thinking of the strange sensation between her thighs instead. It was a sensation she’d known before, when she washed herself or woke up from disturbing night dreams. But now the sensations were much stronger, and growing all the time.

  “Good, good.”

  Lucinda felt a sense of loss as the finger was withdrawn. Dr Lorean took off the glove and threw it into the bin, then washed his hands thoroughly. Madam Gray stood up and faced him without being told to and put her hands across her breasts.

  “No need to be shy about your nakedness. You are like a fine horse to me, and I am a horse farrier,” the man murmured.

  Madam Gray snorted, then realized how equine she had sounded and changed it into, “As you say.”

  “Now, lie on your back on the couch and part your legs for me,” said the man, “whilst I conduct the final parts of the exam.”

  “It will soon be over?” Madam Gray breathed.

  The empty hours stretched out, out, out ahead of her. She wasn’t due to report back to the city fathers till tomorrow, and had no further appointments for the full day.

  “Oh, no, my dear, you must allow me to treat you fully,” the surgeon said, fingering his cherrywood pipe without lighting it. “The internal examination takes a very long time.”

  “And do you enjoy your work?” Madam Gray asked archly as she clambered naked onto the low, long surgical examination table.

  “Of course, for I make people better. It’s a rare patient who doesn’t leave my practice with a smile.”

  With a loss of maidenhood, more likely, the woman thought. She shivered at the thought of a man putting his . . . whatever it was that he put in to create a pregnancy. It sounded such an unseemly act, even if it was proper for the planet to survive. “How would a general malaise in myself manifest itself in my . . . in my female parts?” she asked as the doctor gently nudged her thighs apart with his scholarly hands.

  “Well, you might have a psychic blockage, or indeed a physiological one,” the doctor explained. He greased one hand, then placed the palm of the other on her lower tummy and palpated it gently. Then he slid his oiled fingers slowly inside her maidenly canal.

  “Aah!” the young woman moaned, then turned it into a little cough.

  “Are my hands too cold?” the physician enquired softly.

  “They . . . they will suffice,” Madam Gray said.

  “If you prefer I could withdraw my digits and repair to the fireside . . .”

  “No, don’t! I mean, you must finish looking for any blockage and not mind my discomfort,” Madam Gray said.

  Clearly taking his work most seriously, Dr Lorean slid his fingers further up her heated conduit. “Everything is as elastic and wet as it should be, madam.”

  “It feels alternate,” the younger woman admitted softly.

  “The laying on of hands can make a real difference,” the physician said.

  Keeping one set of fingers inside her, he started to palpate her pudenda with his other adept palm.

  “What are you doing now?” the would-be spy asked raggedly.

  “I’m stimulating the gynaecological perineum. It discharges nervous excitement and leads to better sleep and a clearer head.”

  Only one thing was clear – the growing sense of awakening between her spread thighs and the parts usually covered by her unmentionables. Madam Gray closed her eyes and gave herself up to the response. It really was quite exquisite, and like nothing she had known before. Such rapture made her forget the lazy servants she had to chide, the too humid day, the nights that stretched so futilely. It made her think only of her most private flesh.

  She whimpered as Dr Lorean continued to massage the triangle that made her tummy flutter so. The joy was journeying, striving. Madam Gray pushed her pudenda towards the ji

  digital source of delight. “Easy,” Dr Lorean whispered. “You can’t rush the treatment.” The young woman gasped as heaven on earth was almost realized. The sensations rose and rose and . . . as they peaked she cried out in guttural ecstasy, all thoughts of polite form deserting her. All she cared about was straining each sinew upwards in order to squeeze every last quiver of pleasure out.

  “Indeed, there was a psychic blockage. I have cured it,” Dr Lorean said quietly.

  Madam Gray heard him dimly through her orgasmic yodelling and post-orgasmic gasping sighs. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she eventually managed to cry.

  She rested. She briefly slept. When she awoke Dr Lorean gave her an invigorating rosemary tea, then rubbed her down with a medicinal wet towel that had benefitted from an acquaintance with lavender. As he brushed her nipples the maiden felt slightly tingly, and wondered if her blockage had returned again.

  “Perhaps I should visit you once a month, sir, to repeat the treatment?” she asked girlishly.

  “I shall look forward to fitting you in,” the good doctor replied. He had left the room jerkily, just before she slept, holding a clipboard down low over his surgical coat. Now she noticed that he looked much more coordinated and relax
ed. Perhaps he had rid himself of his own psychic blockage in his little parlour? He was obviously very good at it . . .

  The next day Madam Gray made her report to the city fathers.

  “Dr Lorean is an upright man,” she said.

  “Not a charlatan?”

  The Victorian matriarch smiled. “On my oath, he gives excellent service.”

  “There was no impropriety?”

  “I left his surgery well rid of the malaise that I had come about.”

  “In that case, the good doctor has no charge to answer. Let it be known that he is a man of stout reputation and conduct, who will not be investigated further,” the city fathers said.

  Madam Gray vacated the room, well pleased with her replies and the issue’s outcome. But as she reached the street one of the flower puff ribbons fell from her dress. She bent to pick it up and her pantaloons rubbed against her body most beguilingly. In the interests of science she repeated the movement, and the exquisite pull happened again. Oh, dear, she said to herself, perhaps this is some sign of organic irritation. I must consult Dr Lorean forthwith.

  Alighting at the doctor’s rooms, she found a considerable queue. “He cures my head pains,” one woman said.

  “He makes my neurasthenia abate,” offered another female.

  “Since his treatment, I have been entirely free of nocturnal spasms,” a third coy maiden chipped in.

  After a very long wait – and oh, how fidgety was the queue, how overzealous! – Madam Gray reached the esteemed medical doctor, who was lying on a chaise longue and mopping his brow.

  “Forgive me, madam,” he murmured faintly. “My reputation has spread and I am quite in demand, quite overextended. I can see no other patients today.”

  “Tomorrow, then?” the affluent young lady said.

  The doctor reached for his journal. “No, I fear that I—”

  “I will pay double.”

  “I am indebted to you for the compliment, but . . .” The physician stared at the many-worded page.

  “Make it triple,” Madam Gray rejoined.

  “Such largesse I can’t refuse,” said the doctor, who doubtless had many a bill to settle.