Hysteria (2 page)

Doctor’s other hand descends upon my nether lips and
he starts to manually manipulate me.

I would be unaffected, but he knows what pushes me
beyond my bounds. Doctor does not stop the slow insertion and
withdrawal of the instrument, but adds to this delicious torment by
cupping his hand around the base and rubbing my spot with the heel
of his hand.

My knees fall to my sides and slick pulses start to
overpower my fortitude.

“Almost.”

No…please no, but I can’t stop them. The spasm
overtakes my body and I bite my tongue.

Doctor grunts his approval and slips the instrument
out of me before I am even done and I want to kick him.

“You took long today Constance and I fear my ability
to cure you with my treatments.”

Fear spears me. No, he cannot deny me my treatment. I
would go mad for sure.

Doctor walks the instrument over to a glass jar with
blue liquid and drops it in. “There is another Doctor I feel may
help you more. His treatments are a bit different and I feel he
could greatly improve your…disposition.”

Trepidation and excitement war within me.

“He has just graduated medical school, and his name
is Doctor Drake. Will you consent to his treatment? I will stay, of
course, while he examines you.”

He pins me with his expectation. “Yes sir,” I say as
my mind imagines who this Doctor is and what he will do to me. I am
no fool, I know it is my familiarity with Doctor that enables my
treatments and I justly fear how much a new Doctor may change my
appointment outcomes.

Doctor nods. “Right then. I’m proud of your pursuit
of health and I will inform Doctor Drake that you will allow his
treatment of you.” He pauses, brows drawn together. “You know if
you manipulate yourself you run the risk of deformation of your
sex. I have warned you before.” Doctor walks to the door and slips
out, leaving me stunned immobile on the table.

I ease myself up onto my elbows and slide off. The
room is now chilly or maybe it is my languor. My clothes are coarse
on my skin as I dress myself and I wonder if I will sleep for the
next seven days.

And I know him to be a liar for if it would deform me
so I would be by now.

#

On the evenings after treatments I find it hard to
keep from falling asleep during my dinner. Most times mother
expects me to take dinner in my room now, maybe so that I am not a
continual embarrassment to her.

Mayhap Mother should seek treatment herself. She
thinks it for my demented thoughts and I do not turn her eyes
towards any truth or she would not hesitate to thwart my ease. If
it be for demented thoughts, verily she has twice as many as I and
might need to be seen thrice weekly! She would be mortified and it
serves her right for she is as twisted as a hundred year tree.

Tonight I run from the carriage to my room and slam
the door behind me, turning the key fiercely in its lock then turn
and rest on the door.

It is all I can do but to strip my clothes off now
and complete what the Doctor had not time for. Three paroxysms and
he knows it. Wither he stopped to coerce my compliance in his idea
for another Doctor I care not. He would have had my approval no
matter, but now I am left not fully eased.

I do not have an instrument myself, only what God
gave me, and I cannot produce the same effect. Still desirable, but
most definitely not the same. But tonight it will not matter.
Imagining what new ways this Doctor Drake will treat me will
suffice it all. The worst that can happen is that he is disfigured
in some way, but still it matters naught. My only goal is paroxysm
and if he can produce it than that is all that matters, even if he
be hunchbacked with six fingers.

My button is throbbing between my legs at the thought
of it all and my drawers are steel bindings that keep it from
me.

Fie! Where is that damned maid when I need her?

I push off from the wall and ring for Clarice, then
unlock the door. I spin myself on the bedposts and relish how the
bumps of wood slip under my hands. I have heard they make tools
such as the same for instruments of personal use. Perhaps they are
thick and smooth and knobbled. Perhaps the new Doctor would advise
I purchase one. Oh, how I wish it were so. But it would still not
suffice. I cannot do for myself the same way in which the Doctor
does for me.

And how might it be moreso with a man as nature
intended.

Such is not my path, and I know it, I do not fool
myself. But I am a woman, and I know my body and mind and I cannot
help sometimes but to wish even though it cannot be.

Yet I still do.

The door bursts open and my Mother rages in, calling
me all kinds of a foul child and devious. She pummels my shoulders
and I do not hide my face from her. I stand straight and hold my
chin high. She pauses at my boldness but rips the key from my hands
and collects herself. She goes on to say she is ashamed at my need
for a new Doctor and swears that this is the last season I will
have treatment. I do not doubt her, but I restrain myself and
listen. Doctor told her of his idea, and she will not allow me food
on the days I go for my visits. Fine. My self control has grown
immeasurably and I have no doubt I can withstand her siege.

Mother turns on her heel, storms out of my room
slamming the door behind her and I hear the click of the lock.

Last year had she done this I would have cried,
railed at the door and mayhap bled my fingernails at the lock. But
I know better now. Nothing will sway her. She believes her actions
to be for my good and what parent with such pure motives ever
rescinded their sentence?

Not that I care anymore. I can withstand.

I sit on the edge of my bed for a moment and try to
find a shard of remorse within me. Even one mote so I can chastise
myself for being the wretched child my mother calls me, but I
cannot. If I had to confess all for my soul’s sake I would not tell
of one sin, for I am all together too glad of my situation.

I unbutton my dress and take off all but my corset
and drawers. My bindings are too tight to find any measure of
comfort but I smile as I lie down and pull the covers over me.

I do not care of my discomfort, I am all too happy I
confess. Excitement pours through me igniting every energy within
me.

Six nights and seven days.

I smile and close my eyes. I cannot wait.

My hand snakes down between my thighs as if it is of
its own mind and slides open my nether lips which are still wet
from the doctor’s ministrations. I want to laugh at his stern
admonitions. How I will deform myself. I wanted to laugh in is
face. If it were to deform me than he would have seen the
consequence of it by now.

I flick my bud and the quiver radiates throughout my
limbs and I tighten my legs so the sharpness of its bite lingers.
Slowly I stroke myself to the beat of my heart and clench the
muscles of my nethers. My excitement is now sure, and my fingers
slip slide around my sex, pausing over my pearl to tease. My corset
abrades my aroused nipples and now they throb along with my pearl.
Both together serve to make me frantic with wanting to paroxysm.
But I hold myself off; it is how I trained myself to such control
after all. Now though it is fully shredded by the imaginations of a
new Doctor, and what treatment he may employ on my body.

I roll onto my stomach swiftly so the edge of passion
leaves me. It works for a moment, but my fingers are now frantic
thinking of the Doctor ordering me onto the horse and the renewed
storm of passion pounds at my body. I brush my pearl and it is a
done thing. Lightening shatters over me and pulses through my
veins, ebbing as my breath reenters my body.

I lie here, my hands still between my legs, my cheek
pressed to the sheet and am in awe of the power of my orgasm. How
languid I now feel only serves as counterpoint to my previous
frenzy.

It will be the new Doctors unspoken challenge to live
up to my daydreams. My eyelids burn and feel heavy and I fall
asleep.

#

Like a bride about to be taken to wife, I sit and
wait for my name to be called. Mother is outside taking air and if
I have slept mere hours this week past it is an exaggeration. I am
nervousness and excitement warring together and if any Doctor can
beckon a pleasure fit from my taut body he would likely be able to
raise Lazarus from the grave also.

I have not been this anxious since my first therapy
and I cannot calm myself. And shallow I may be, but I am concerned
about the person of this new Doctor. If he is too handsome by far I
am as unlikely to have relief as if he were grotesque, neither a
good outcome.

At least Mother let me bathe last night and I am as
appealing as I can make myself. Not that it will matter, but I
would not have a Doctor repulsed to treat me. It is one thing that
eases my mind some, but all that I cannot control threatens to
bring me to tears.

Doctor opens the door and calls my name. I startle
and jump, snatching my wandering mind back from its terrors. His
voice is polite, but had he bellowed it, it would not have affected
me less.

I swallow and try to stand up but catch my heel and
totter. At the last moment I right myself and manage to bring my
feet under me enough to walk to the door as Doctor pushed it open
all the way before me so I can walk in.

Like a panicked rabbit I search the room for the new
Doctor, but it is the same room with the same scent. The old
curtains hung from the ceiling with a chair behind it. For once I
would love to see them taken down and washed. Black and white tile
floors and plaster walls that would do well with some sort of
decoration and an examination table in the center like a
sacrificial alter.

And today, I do feel like lamb being led to the
slaughter.

“Doctor Drake will be here momentarily. You can
undress behind the curtain as usual.”

I nod silently and do as I’m told, happy to take
direction. At the same time I worry. I trust Doctor, only I cannot
help but feel anxious. I will be meeting Doctor Drake all but
naked. I do as I’m bid anyway and take my clothes off.

As I am behind the curtain the door opens and closes
with a soft click and I listen ever so hard to the tempo of the
footsteps that have entered the room. They are not shuffling or
mincing, but gentle and sure and I take a breath I didn’t realize I
held but I can’t let go of the curtain. Now I know why a confession
behind a screen is so appealing for I would much rather not see
this Doctor Drake face to face.

“Constance, Doctor Drake is here to see you.”

I clutch the curtain.

“Constance?”

I clear my throat and slowly poke my head out keeping
the curtain around me as a wrap. Doctor Drake has his broad
shouldered back to me, but turns.

He is strikingly handsome. His face is chiseled, a
large jaw with dimples in his cheeks, his hair a dark chestnut
smooth waves and golden flecks. But his eyes strike me the hardest.
They are a dark brown, almost black as a moonless night but they
are lit from within with a curious gaze which he levels on me. I
look away but feel his eyes on me like a warm breeze on a spring
day.

I do not want Doctor Drake’s treatment now. I want to
leave, now, I wish I’d never come but I am caught and must be
brave.

“Come Constance, let me help you,” Doctor Drake
says.

His voice rolled over me like a hot flush on a
summer’s day. I want to run, to make my feet fly under me, to leave
to never come back. Never once did Doctor make me feel like a
puddle with only his voice. Doctor is sterile and cold, but
capable. My treatment with him has been more work on his part, and
he has never provoked more than a professional reaction from
me.

But this Doctor Drake—I do not know if my feet will
obey his order.

I take a trembling breath and grip the curtain with
both fists.

Doctor Drake sees my hold tighten and walks in his
gentle way towards me, like he is trying to convince a cat out of a
tree. My heart beats louder in my breast with every step closer he
takes, until I can see his eyes are a dark chocolate brown, and
they are securely focused on me.

“Would you let me help you?”

I cannot tear my eyes away from his, and I mutely
nod.

His smile lights his face and I bask in it, drinking
it down like the finest brandy. He does not take my hand, but
instead pulls the curtain from me and offers the table with a sweep
of his arm. I walk over like the meekest of lambs.

Mother has tied my corset tight again today and I
wince as the steel jabs into my hip while I ease myself up onto the
table.

Doctor comes over to me with a clipboard and a pen in
his hand. “I have spoken with Doctor Drake and we feel that if
today goes well, he should take over your therapy from now onward
if you agree.” He looks at me expectantly and I nod again, which
seems to be the only response I can muster. “Would it make you feel
more comfortable if I stayed?”

No? Yes? Doctor is so like a patient teacher, and I
am afraid I will shame myself if he watches me with Doctor Drake. I
muster a voice, “I would be agreeable to a private treatment
today.”

Doctor shows no judgment of my decision and leaves
the room, taking all of my air with him. Even though Doctor Drake
is across the room, I can feel him as if he stands right next to me
and his presence is a tangible thing pressing the air out of my
lungs.

“Allow me to touch you?”

“Yes,” I say with a rasp.

His hand is warm and dry, soft even, but his firm
touch is authoritative and my body follows the pressure with which
he leads me to lie down. I begin to tremble, shaking that I cannot
control but I am not afraid.