After the Lecture

She went to him and he opened her arms to her, and with the softest of sighs she fell into his embrace.

“Doctor, please…” she began, but his lips came down on hers again, silencing her words.

He kissed her and she didn’t resist. Again he felt the feverish heat build up in her body. She melted against him, her body molding to his, and the feel of her need and her soft vulnerability made his cock brutally hard. He had no compunction about thrusting himself against her firm thigh, letting her feel his own need for her, and he smiled inwardly as he heard her groan submissively deep in her throat, her body responding to the exciting pressure of his member against her. He slid his hands down to her tiny waist and held her against him as they kissed and he feasted on her mouth. The only sounds in the room were the ticking of the clock, the rustle of her dress under his hands, and the soft, pleading mewls of entreaty that issued from her throat.

When he let her go she was panting, and her voice shook as she said, “Whatever you want, Doctor. Whatever you say to do, I’ll do. Help me, please. I’m on fire.”

“Come with me.”

He led her from the room and down a corridor to large locked door near the pantry. He unlocked the door with a key from his ring, lit the kerosene lantern that stood nearby, and, taking the lantern in one hand and her wrist in the other, led her through the door and down the ancient stone steps to the basement below.

“My laboratory,” he explained. “Where I do all my research. In cases like yours, there’s only one effective treatment. It is difficult, and you must obey me implicitly, but it is the only thing that is sure to work.”

He led her through the basement, past rooms that contained scientific instruments and chemist’s glassware. She caught sight of books and strange things in glass jars, a skeleton, bunches of dried plants hanging from the beams in the ceilings; strange charts and occult diagrams on the walls. Apparently, research into the female orgasm was a recondite and complex undertaking.

He stopped by another door and had her hold the lantern high in her trembling hand as he undid the double locks. He opened the door, took the light, and led her inside.

The room was large, windowless, and paneled in dark wood with a Persian carpet on the floor. The Doctor lit the gas lamps on the wall and April looked around in disbelief.

She had never seen furniture like this before: there was a bed with a metal frame that she recognized well enough, but also a straight-backed, very heavy chair with straps attached to the arms and legs; a sort of pillory padded in black leather; frames and stools upholstered in leather and set with chains and silver eye-bolts whose use she could only wonder at. There were candelabra set about the place, and tables bearing lengths of rope and chain and other hardware, clips and pulleys and small clamps. He led her to a wall and her eyes widened to see manacles affixed to the paneling on short, stout, chains.

“Doctor! My God! What is this? It looks like a medieval torture chamber.”

He stopped and caught her with his eyes, intense now. “Do you trust me?” he asked.

“Yes, of course. But…”

“Then give me your hand.”

With a sharp click he closed the manacle on her wrist, pinioning her hand to the wall at shoulder level. Then he did the other.

He stood back and looked at her with a critical eye, then took off his coat and threw it over a chair and took a moment to run his fingers through his thick hair. April saw his broad shoulders, his powerful chest beneath his white cotton shirt. His eyes gleamed with a hunger that combined with her total helplessness to bring her emotions to a sudden, seething boil.

“In all my years of work, I’ve never met anyone like you, April,” he said. “I have seen women in every type of sexual distress, but never anyone with your level of complete, consuming arousal. Are you aware of that? Are you aware of how special that is?”

April couldn’t speak. A warm lethargy seemed to be taking possession of her limbs. She knew what she needed now: the feel of his hand on her sex, the pressure of his body against hers holding her tight, and yet that was not all she felt. The manacles on her wrists were like a lover’s hands, holding her against her will, exposing her body to whatever depredations he might wish to inflict on her, and suddenly she found a part of her mind wishing for the most cruel and delicious tortures to be applied to her. Just what, she didn’t know, but she ached to feel some wild and violent sensation, some physical version of what she saw in his eyes.

He turned and walked to a massive wooden armoire, which he opened wide. Inside April could just glimpse various things hanging within: implements of leather and chromed steel, black and silver gleaming in the glow of the subdued gaslight. The Doctor selected a black riding crop, thin and wicked, and laid it on the table, and April felt a sudden thrill of delicious fear in the pit of her stomach.

“I could have made you come in the carriage,” He closed the doors and picked up the crop, hefting it in his hands.

“’Come,’” he said. “Are you familiar with that word? It means to orgasm. And that’s what you need so desperately, my dear: to come. And yet with a girl of such ardent temperament as yourself, I’m afraid such relief would have been minor and very short-lived. The roots of your sexual need go deep, very deep indeed, and to satisfy them, we must coax them to the surface. We must bring out the sexual animal that lives inside you, Miss Carnovan, bring her out into the light and force her into bloom like a rare and exotic orchid, that we may pluck it at its very moment of ripeness. Do you understand?”

The girl’s eyes were wide and staring, her lips parted and to dry for speech. Her breasts heaved with her deep but steady breathing, pressing against a bodice that seemed suddenly much too tight and confining.

The Doctor smiled. “No, perhaps you don’t. But you will. And you will trust me, April, that what I am about to do is for your own good.”

She watched him approach, her gaze flicking from his hypnotic eyes to the whip in his hand. She felt her legs begin to tremble again with a excitement she couldn’t explain, and her stomach seemed to turn to liquid within her body. The Doctor came up to her and reached out, seized hold of her hair and pulled her head back in a savage grip. He cut off her sudden gasp of surprise by sealing her mouth with his lips.

His kiss was fierce and possessive like pure electricity, and she almost swooned at the unexpected force of his passion. She couldn’t know that the drug he had slipped into her drink was helping sap her will, making her even more a slave to her body’s wild and forbidden desires which now surged unchecked through her blood with each beat of her fevered heart; but neither had she expected to feel this kind of desperate desire and consuming passion she felt from him, coming off him like animal heat. She had thought that she was the one who was out of control, who was barely able to contain her violent needs, but now she realized that he was every bit as excited as she was, and the idea that her own desire could inflame a man to this level of passion was almost more than she could bear. She felt weak; her hold on her very consciousness was slipping away.

But just when she felt herself falling into the swooning haze of her own illicit desires, he brought the whip up and spanked it sharply against her nipple, sending a flash of pain through her body that lit her up like a bolt of lightening over a storm-dark sea.

He spanked her again and April had to tear her mouth from his to gasp for sudden breath. The pain and sense of violation shocked her, but that was nothing compared to the burst of wild licentious heat that coursed through her body and made her arch her hips away from the wall, as if rising eagerly to this outrageous punishment of her tender body.

He let go of the whip and took her breast in his greedy hand, wrapped his fingers around it and squeezed, and the strength of his hand was just what she needed. Her breasts felt achy and full to bursting, and his possessive grip seemed to be the only thing that held her together. Her shock and modesty made her pull away, but even as she did she contrived to push her body harder into his hand, wanting more.

“Yes,” he said. “Perfect. Now we must get these clothes out of the way.”

“Doctor! Please! What are you doing?” she moaned as his fingers went to the buttons of her bodice.

He didn’t answer. His fingers worked swiftly, unfastening one button after another, and April was horrified. The kissing, the touching, even the whip she could stand, but despite the Doctor’s drug coursing through her veins she was still too much a child of her time to allow herself to be undressed without feeling a deep sense of shame and humiliation, albeit tinged with an unexpected surge of lewd excitement at the knowledge that her naked body would soon be prey to his hungry gaze.

The Doctor ignored her protests. He had trouble with the buttons over her breasts, as the pressure of her sumptuous flesh was such that it strained the fasteners and he had to compress her breasts in order to push the buttons back out through the slits. April groaned at the feeling of his hands on her excited flesh, but from then on it was easy, and he opened the dress all the way down the front, down to the very hem above her ankles. The feel of his fingers working over her stomach and below chased any lingering feelings of modesty from her mind, and when he uncuffed her hands and commanded her to remove the garment entirely, April complied, holding onto his shoulder for balance as she slid her gown from her body. She stood before him dressed only in her shoes, stockings, and thin white camisole

But when he took her wrist to re-attach the manacle, she suddenly resisted him, trying to pull her hand away. She looked at him from the depths of her near nakedness, feeling his hot eyes on her body.

“Please, Doctor,” she begged breathlessly. “You know what I need. I’m naked before you without modesty or pride. Please, just take me now and end this torment. Do it, I beg!”

He ignored her, pulled her arm back and clipped the manacle around her wrist.

“You’re like a silly girl who goes around picking up bits of shiny metal from the sand when an entire gold mine lies just beneath the surface.” He fastened her other hand to the wall then picked up the whip. “It is time to mine the treasures within.”

He leaned over her, one hand on her bound wrist, and ran the tip of the riding crop along the line of her jaw as if examining her, down her throat, over the peaked hill of her breast and down her stomach. She gasped as he the whip slid over the gentle mound of her lower belly and prodded her gently between the legs. It was a gesture of ownership: a foretaste of what was to come.

“Besides,” he said. “You don’t even know what it’s called, do you? What common men and women call it. It’s called ‘fucking’. Can you say that? Can you ask me to fuck you? Go ahead, Miss Carnovan. Say it. Say ‘Fuck me Doctor. Put your big cock in my pussy and fuck me.’ ”

April hung her head to the side, hiding her face in shame. She couldn’t possibly say such words and she never would. She might suffer from an excess of all the sexual humours in the world, but she could not compromise her womanly dignity to that extent. Even as she stood chained to the wall clad only in her underthings, she clung to her pride, her sense of being a proper lady.

The Doctor grabbed her head again. Her stubbornness seemed to ignite his passion, and he kissed her savagely, running his hand over the silk camisole, warm from the excessive heat of her body, down over her side, till he reached down behind her and grabbed the globe of her ass and squeezed it as if he could express some rare juice from her flesh, some essence of divine female sexuality. April groaned submissively into his mouth, her little tongue fluttering against his like a frightened hummingbird.

“Let me show you,” he said to her.

He stepped back and smiled. “Look at your breasts, April. Go ahead and look at your nipples. They’re hard and erect. A sure sign of sexual arousal. You love this, don’t you? Deep inside you love what I’m doing to you.”

April looked down at herself and saw the peaks of her nipples projecting against the sheer silk of her undergarment, casting dark shadows beneath them. Even her areolas showed through the thin fabric. But she didn’t need to look at herself to know her state of sexual torment and desire. Her womanhood was aching and swollen and seeping with her own aroused juices in a most shameless and humiliating way. She had hoped that he wouldn’t notice these telltale signs of her own arousal. She had hoped to maintain a shred of dignity.

“But we can get you hotter than this. Watch.”

The Doctor grabbed the top of the camisole and pulled, ripping it down the center and allowing her sumptuous young breasts to spill free, proud and high on her chest, rising and falling with her excited breathing. She was burning with shame and excitement, and one seemed to feed off the other as both fed off the blaze of angry lust she saw in his eyes as he looked at them.

She still wore a pair of imported white French panties in the modern style, scandalously brief and sheer, her one naughty indulgence. She knew that they left nothing to the imagination: her little tuft of blond curls was visible through the exquisitely sheer fabric, which was now so damp with her own lubrication as to be nearly transparent. His eyes seemed to see right through them. Suddenly she had no secrets.

The excitement and the humiliation were almost too much for her, and she grew suddenly lightheaded. She thought she might pass out, but just when she felt herself falling she was startled awake by the wicked hot slap of the whip against her nipple: a sharp stroke that just brushed by her eager bud, kissing it with the harsh leather and sending a spear of lurid pain down between her legs and up through her bound arms, and before the pain had even died away The Doctor’s tongue was on her breast doing the most obscene things, licking away the pain, circling her erect areola and soothing it, coaxing it into even greater hardness, painting her with his own sexual heat.

April gasped. Again her hips thrust out reflexively, seeking some sort of contact, but this time she found the Doctor’s hand waiting for her. He reached out his fingers and slid them along her aching crease behind her thin panties and her stomach clenched into a paroxysm of needy pleasure that startled her, as if her hips had taken on a mind of their own.

The Doctor kissed her again, and this time April held nothing back, letting him take her and bear her down into the sea of her own passion. She opened her mouth wide, her tongue seeking his, trying to tell him with her kiss that she needed more of his hand between her legs, his punishing whip upon her suddenly yearning breasts, and what her kiss couldn’t say she said with her greedy hips, hunching them against his thrusting hand, crushing the aching softness of her need against his hard fingers.

Again the whip slapped against her breasts, and still his fingers slid against her, forcing her to respond. April was torn between the outrage and indignity of having her sweet and tender breasts slapped with the evil leather crop, and the rapturous pleasure of having her pussy stroked and played with by a hand that seemed to know her most secret needs. It was almost more than she could bear, and she twisted in her bonds, her hands opening and closing, fingers spread wide, then clenching into tight little fists of impotent excitement and humiliation. Her entire body was on fire: the orgasm she needed so desperately was there, just barely out of reach, and coming closer with each slap of the whip against her burning flesh.

It was so right. She knew instinctively in some deep, unexplored part of herself that this was what she deserved, to be tied up and whipped even as her deepest sexual desires were satisfied by the obscene touch of his hand. In her female soul the pleasure and the pain, the shame and the triumph were inextricably bound up and tangled together, and she only had to glance at the feral gleam in the Doctor’s eyes to know why she was being beaten. She was too beautiful, too desirable, too sexual, and so she had to suffer.

But the suffering was glorious. He began to hit her harder, so that each slap made her breasts bounce and jiggle on her chest. She groaned with shame as her body betrayed her, pressing up off the wall looking for more of this delicious punishment. He changed the target from her red and aching nipples to the soft undersides, and as he slapped her he licked and sucked the nipples he had just whipped, playing his tongue around them and nipping them softly with his teeth, setting off fireworks in her body.

The effect was electric. April howled and her hips began to make the most lewd and obscene humping actions against the Doctor’s plundering hand, the soft skin of her belly clenching in spasms of raw feminine hunger. In one part of her mind she knew she was making a shameful spectacle of herself, but with the other she felt the blessed relief of her orgasm thundering down upon her like a herd of wild horses, not far now. All this tension of these last weeks and months was all coming to a head, blossoming within her, ready to burst forth, and she knew that the Doctor was right: there was a sexual animal inside of her, a shameless and wanton whore who longed for the worst and most shameful things to be done to her. She knew it now, and her shame was like an exalted thing, something that lifted her up and out of herself into a realm of pure sexual lust, brilliant and almost cleansing in its ferocity.

It was the whip, the terrible indignity of being tied to the wall and beaten and loving it, the way the pain melded into the maddening pleasure of his fingers working at her cunt, driving everything else from her mind. He was demanding she let go, demanding she give in to her most obscene and salacious desires and show him the whore she was within, and she didn’t care any longer. Her dignity, her self-respect, none of that mattered any longer.

“Fuck me!” The words burst out of her, and she hardly knew what she was saying in her sudden delirium. “Yes! Whip me and touch me there, Doctor! Hurt me! Make me come! Please! Make me come!”

The Doctor smiled, the look of intense sexual hunger on his face giving his grin a wild and evil cast.

“Show me what a slut you are,” he hissed at her as his fingers poked and probed at her through her sopping panties. “Let me see how a little whore comes from having her tits whipped and her pussy played with. Because you are that whore, April, and I want you to let her out. Give it to me. Give me all your hot come, bitch.”

His words were horrible, and yet they inflamed her blood. She opened her mouth to cry out in protest, to tell him to stop, that she couldn’t take any more, but just then his fingers pushed the soaked crotch band of her panties to the side and he opened her up with his fingers, spread her pussy apart and exposed the soft and tender flesh inside to the humid air of his sexual torture chamber. His thumb slid upwards till he found the engorged bud of her clitoris and slid in greasy circles around it, pushing it this way and that while his middle finger slid into her virginal pussy, touching her just where she needed it most and easing the terrible congestion she felt there with its savage insistence.

April slammed her head back against the wall, clenched her eyes shut and screamed. Her orgasm seemed to come boiling up from the very soles of her feet, shooting sparks along her legs and her body convulsed in a wracking spasm of release, her hips jerking upwards towards his punishing fingers in a savage lurching motion. She yanked hard against the chains as her belly flexed so tight with each wave of savage trembling joy that she thought she might snap her own bones like twigs.