Doctor Gassner's Greatest Scheme Ch. 04

Henry was a man of few words. He had always preferred deeds to words. Right now, he had no words because the woman he had served for more than a quarter century—the women whom he had loved and desired for almost that long—was moving her mouth lower on his body, kissing him and laving her tongue on his navel, then moving lower.

Her hands preceded her mouth, finding his manhood hard and risen.

"Oh, my Henry!" she whispered. "You are so much larger than he was! How can I ever take you into me?"

Finally, finally, finally, her mouth found his shaft and Henry couldn't help but groan as she licked and kissed him. After a few moments, Frances looked up, meeting his eyes. "Henry, when we are in our marital bed together, you must make me yours. Not only your wife—but your harlot as well. I will give you anything you desire of me—anything! Just ... take it from me. Never ask; never beg me. Just ... take me like a harlot, like a whore. For in this bed, I am your whore." She lowered her mouth on him, taking in more than half his shaft and sucking hard.

"Fuck!" he hissed as she sucked him, her hands milking what could not fit in her mouth. His words seemed to inflame Frances, as her head bobbed faster and her hands milked him faster. Soon, Henry's hips were thrusting up in time to the motion of her head on his prick.

"Fuck! I'm going to spend!" he cried out.

Frances paused her motion, looking up to catch his eyes once again. Henry swore she winked at him! Then she returned to her sucking and milking. She managed to take another inch of him into the warmth of her mouth before he gasped, swore, and filled that loving mouth with streams of his spunk.

When he was done, she licked him clean.

She returned to the crook of his arm as his panting calmed down. "See," she murmured into his ears. "I can be a whore for you. Charles never wanted that. He never wanted much of anything, to be honest. He would have me open my legs and cum into me, never caring a whit for anything else. But you will be different, Henry. I can feel it. You've been with whores before—you must have."

He nodded.

"Teach me how to be your whore."

Henry cleared his throat. "Well, that was a good start."

He could feel her smile of pride.

"What else can you teach me?" Frances whispered.

Henry was not a young man. He needed time before another round could begin. Still, he thought he had something to teach his fiancée. He rolled over so that he was nearly on top of her. She helped him pull off her nightdress, revealing lush breasts with huge areolae—large brown areolae with small nipples slightly protruding. He started by sucking on those nipples, licking around them, exploring Frances' large breasts. He spent some time there before his fingers roamed lower, pushing open her thighs to allow him access to the thick forest of hair between them.

Henry explored that forest. It started just south of her belly button and covered both inner thighs. It continued down between her legs, extended to her arsehole. The forest of hair was thick and full, yet it offered scant protection from his hands and fingers.

"Oh, God!" Frances gasped as his finger entered her cunny and began to thrust in and out. "Dear Lord above!"

After a few minutes, her cunny was wet with juices. Henry left her breasts and moved his face down between her legs, placing her plump thighs over his broad shoulders as he kissed and licked her wetness. His tongue probed her canal as she writhed against him, gasping, fervently uttering both prayers and curses.

Henry had learned this in France. He knew what to do. He found her pleasure nub, lashing at his with his tongue as he thrust two fingers deep into her cunny. It was a matter of minutes before her curses grew in volume, filling their bedroom.

"Fuck!" she cried, over and over. "Fuck me! Oh, God, you're fucking me with your tongue!"

Henry gave a final lashing to that nub of hers while he pulled it into his mouth, sucking on it as he had her nipples. His fingers pounded into her forcefully, over and over.

"I'm ... I'm ... I'm spending!" Frances wailed, and inundated Henry's mouth with her fragrant juice. The spasms lasted for nearly a minute before she fell back and he lifted his head.

Frances just looked at him, shaking her head silently. Then she smiled.

Henry was now ready again, so he forced open her legs—treating her roughly as she had requested of him—and plunged his manhood into her, hilting at once. She was so wet that he slid in easily; yet, if she had not been wet he would have still done the exact same thing.

Frances wailed again, this time from the feeling of being impaled and filled by Henry's thick prick—so much longer and thicker than her husband's had been. She wailed loudly and spent immediately, clenching against him over and over as her juices swelled and overspilled.

"Oh, my dear God above," she moaned. "I never knew.... Oh, dear Jesus!" She kissed him with all the passion she had in her. "Fuck me now, Henry! Take me like a whore!"

Henry was happy to oblige. He pounded into her cunny as hard and as fast as he could. Neither of them were youngsters, but he remembered being a youngster once. He remembered fucking whores around the world—hard and fast. He remembered, and he brought those experiences into their bedroom tonight.

Five minutes later, Frances cried out and spent yet again. Still, Henry was not ready for his spend. Instead, when she had caught her breath a bit, he pulled her up and turned her around. Now she was on her hands and knees, head facing the bed's headboard. He got behind her and thrust back into her cunny from behind.

Henry gripped her hips tightly—leaving marks that would not quickly fade—and pumped into her, reaching his former pace within seconds. With every thrust, Frances gasped and moaned. Soon Henry was grunting with effort, the sweat pouring off him, as he fucked Frances as hard as he could.

"You're my whore," he grunted, nearing his completion.

"I'm your whore," Frances gasped out. "Take me—fuck me like an animal! I'm your ... Oh, God! I am spending again!" She shrieked into the pillow as her juices fell on the sheets of the bed.

Henry felt her spasms and could not hold back anymore. He rammed his prick into her cunny one final time, gasping as he filled her, spending for the second time tonight. When he was done, he left his prick where it was, using his hands to pull on Frances' teats and to rub her cunny from the front while his prick rested in it from behind.

Her hips began to move in response to what his hands were doing. He felt a tremor in her cunny. Her hips and cunny evoked a response in him; they both felt his prick rise up in her.

"Oh, God!" she whispered. "What a man you are, Henry! I wish I were a younger woman—then I'd show you a trick or two."

"Neither of us are young, my wife," Henry replied, starting to move inside her again. "But perhaps we have a trick or two to show each other."

With those words, he pulled out of her wet cunny and inserted the tip of his stiff prick into her arsehole, pressing against her small brown hole.

Frances stilled for a moment—perhaps in shock at this unprecedented intrusion—then relaxed. She leaned her head back down to the pillow. "I'm your whore," she murmured. "Take me like a whore."

"I will," Henry promised. Then he pushed forward firmly, until his well-endowed prick was firmly embedded deeply into her arse.

*****

The next morning, the two lovers took their breakfast in bed.

"Honestly, Henry," Frances confided when the maid servants had departed. "I don't think I could walk to the dining room. I can still feel you inside of me." She looked at him, smiling coquettishly. "I don't think I'll be able to sit down for a week without feeling you."

Henry smiled. He leaned over and they kissed gently.

"I love you," he said. "I hope to prove that love each day and every night."

"I love you, as well," she said. "I have never ... well. Let us just say that last night was the best night of my life. You have nothing left to prove, sir."

Henry smiled again. "I just wish...." He sighed. His smile faded a bit.

"What is it, my beloved? What is it you wish?"

"I wish we was younger; that's all. I feel as if we've wasted so much time!"

Frances nodded. "I feel the same way. To think—I had my true Lord and Master under the same roof with me for more than 25 years—and I did nothing about it!" She shook her head. "How stupid of me."

"Not stupid; loyal. We was both loyal to your husband. We had to wait 'til he was gone to find each other. When we did, it was with honor. We didn't sneak around like so many do. We was both of us loyal and we denied ourselves because of our loyalty." Henry shook his head. "It's just that I wish we was younger 'cause I want to make a baby with you. I want to have a child we can raise together, with love. A boy or girl doesn't matter. Just ... a child we can love and raise—together. That's why I wish we were younger."

Frances looked at the man next to her and lay her head on his chest. "Then I wish that, as well, my beloved Henry. I wish I was thirty years younger so that I could give you the child you desire. I would give you a dozen children!" She smiled against him. "The way you treated me last night, I would give you a score of children."

"Aye, last night was wonderful." He kissed the top of her head.

"Still, I wonder if there might be a way to raise a child of our own," she mused.

"I don't see how, my love. We're just too old."

"Violet," she replied.

"Caroline's girl?"

"Yes. You know she won't name the father. I had thought—"

"You thought it was your husband. We all did."

France took a deep breath. "Yes. Which is why I fled to this cold, Godforsaken land."

"It's not too bad here. The mountains are beautiful. Game is plentiful. Beaver pelts command a dear price. I don't think this is a Godforsaken land. We have freedom here—freedom from the shackles that England would place on us. You know they would disapprove of our marriage there. To my way of thinking, in many ways Canada is better than Scotland."

She nodded. "I'm pleased to hear you say that, Henry. I really am. For ... what if we stayed here? I see no need to return home to be the scandalous widow who married her butler. What if we stayed here and raised little Violet as our own child? Would that be something that might answer your wishes?"

Henry thought about it for some minutes. Then he leaned over and captured Frances' lips with his own. "Yes," he said. "If Caroline is agreeable, let us take her child and raise it as our own. Teach Violet to call us 'Mama' and 'Papa'. Teach her how to ride, how to shoot, and how to fish and hunt. Teach her how to be a woman who can take care of herself so that she doesn't need to rely on a man."

Frances smiled. "Teach her to read and write, how to make music. How to sew and to cook. Perhaps even arithmetic, if we can find a suitable tutor. Teach her how to be a woman who can take care of herself in a man's world."

"Then we are agreed," he whispered.

"We are, my love," she answered, caressing his craggy face.

Soon the breakfast dishes had been placed on the nightstands or on the floor, and the couple sealed their agreement with another bout of passionate lovemaking.

*****

The winter snows were melting, the Spring rains lashing the snow pack into submission. Soon, the passes would be open to the West and to the South. But where would they go next? While the Lady Florence was engaged in the final preparations for their departure, the Lady Caroline took the opportunity to share a conversation with Doctor Gassner and his assistant, Mary, regarding their next destination.

The three sat alone in one of the smaller rooms, a fire warming them as they sipped tea. They might have been at a hunting lodge in the Highlands; yet they were in Canada at the moment.

"A very nice ceremony," Caroline mused. "Moving, full of love. I'm very happy for the two of them."

Gassner smiled. "They fit together very well."

Caroline smiled. "Because of you."

"My Lady—whatever do you mean?"

"Come now! I'm not stupid, Doctor! I know what you do. I may not know how you do it, but I am well aware of what you do. After all, your, uh, efforts led me to be with child."

"I see, Lady Caroline."

"No, you don't see. As intelligent as you are, you really see very little."

"Pray, continue, Lady—"

"And stop calling me 'Lady Caroline'!"

"What you have me call you, then?"

"Caroline is fine." She paused. "Or else ... wife."

Gassner hummed. Mary lay her hand over his, as if to calm him.

"I know what you do—both of you! You conjure emotions; you conjure beliefs. You create—shall we say—realities. Realities that ensorcel your patients. You can admit this to me. You may trust me."

"Why should we trust you?" Gassner asked bluntly.

"Because I know what you do and I have not yet betrayed you. I have told no one. I have no intention of betraying your trust!"

"Tell me more, Caroline."

"You have ensorcelled me, as well as my sister. You have ensorcelled us all—even my mother and Henry. Now they are together, believing in a reality where they love each other. With a word, my sister and I become your wives, grant you what a husband is granted." She smiled. "I don't mind, really. The pleasure is exquisite. The state you create is ... freeing. I am free to ignore what society tells me I must do."

Caroline sipped her tea. "You, who are so intelligent, may not fully understand the constraints of British society—its rigid traditions and codes of proper conduct. My sister and I were enslaved within that society for no reason other than our family's status. But make no mistake: we were both enslaved within. When we failed to make a suitable match within the allotted time, we were immediately outcast—destined for an unhappy spinsterhood or else a scandalous affair that would rain dishonor on the entire family." She shook her head. "My sister and I have been slaves. Your sorcery has freed us, given us happiness. Can you not understand why we crave it so?"

Gassner hummed for a few moments in thought, then responded to Caroline's heartfelt words. "There is no sorcery, Caroline. I do not create what is not already there, to some greater or lesser extent. In order to create the bonds of a husband and wife, there must first be feelings. Too often, the feelings are denied or buried, perhaps ignored. All I do is to part the heavy armor that concealed the feelings, to let them rise to the surface and be acknowledged. I tell you this in all honesty and truth."

Caroline nodded. "So, my mother and Henry?"

"Yearned for each other, though they did not consciously know of that yearning. The rigid rules of British society prevented them from acknowledging the truth of their feelings; my efforts simply tore those rules away."

"I see. And my father? What of him?"

Gassner took a deep breath.

For the first time, Mary spoke. "You needed a man in your life. It's as simple as that, Caroline. You needed a man and his stiff prick to fuck you. You needed to spend. Your body knew that, yet your mind—conditioned by British society—denied it. The conflict between your body and your mind created ill-feelings. Your so-called 'hysteria' was but need; the need a woman has for a man. All we did was allow your mind to receive what your body demanded."

"But ... my father?"

Mary's voice was sharp. "Who else would you have chosen? A stranger from the street? One of your brothers? Would that have been any different?"

Caroline closed her eyes, considering Mary's words. Finally, she shook her head. "No," she whispered, "it would have been the same. Either way it would have been the same."

"So, you see," Gassner interjected. "We but gave you what your body craved, though your mind knew it not. Without society's rules in the way, you were pleasured. Your body was sated. And your father ... he received great pleasure as well. Both of you received what you truly desired." He smiled softly. "And your 'hysteria' abated."

Caroline took a deep breath and let it out before nodding slowly. "I see. You but reveal the mind's true desires?"

"For the most part, yes," he smiled. "I cannot create in a person what is inimical to their true nature. I cannot create love where there is hatred."

"That is good to hear, Doctor. I know—I know it, sir—that your magic words give me peace. They give me freedom. They take me to a wonderful, happy, reality."

"That afternoon, when you saw me with Florence—"

Caroline nodded. "I saw you both. I couldn't control myself. You hadn't even spoken your magic words, and I pleasured myself in front of you!"

"As I said, I cannot create what is not already there, if buried deeply and otherwise hidden."

Caroline nodded. She leaned back in her chair. "What next, then? What next for us ... husband?"

"Yes," Mary asked, "what is next for us all?"

*****

The departure was bittersweet.

Caroline kissed her Violet goodbye for the last time, wiping away a few tears. "You'll take good care of her?" she asked the couple holding her daughter in their arms for the twentieth time.

Henry and Frances nodded, arms around each other. Frances held the baby tenderly as if she were a precious thing. In fact, she was.

"We'll deny her nothing," Henry said in his gruff voice. "She shall have all the love she could wish for. We'll raise her as our own; love her as ... as we love each other."

"We will," Frances agreed.

"Goodbye Henry. Goodbye, Mother." Caroline turned away to hide the rest of her tears. Mary comforted her as she walked to the wagon that would transport them to Calgary.

Florence hugged Henry and Frances tightly. "You'll take care of them both?" she asked Henry.

"Of course," he replied. "My word on't."

"Your brother has agreed to send a bank draught of 2,000 pounds each quarter," Frances added. "We shall want for nothing. Neither will our Violet."

Florence joined Mary and Caroline in the wagon, leaving only Doctor Gassner to make his final goodbyes. He doffed his hat to the couple, and to their new child. "May you both find the joy and peace you deserve," he intoned in a somber voice. Had they been in church, it would have been a benediction.

In return, he received two smiles. Baby Violet cooed from her warm nest between her two new parents.

"Well," Gassner said, "let us be off. First to Calgary and, from there, to the United States. Montana Territory first. Perhaps followed by the Utah Territory. From there? We shall see. California beckons, if we have the will to attain her." He smiled. "I have sufficient funds for the journey, and to give us all a solid start wherever we may end up."

He didn't mention the large bank draught that Lady France had handed him last night. "Their dowries," she said to him. He nodded and said nothing more.

"Be well!" Frances called out as the party got into their wagons.

*****

The train from Calgary was bumpy; the air smelled of burnt coal and foul smoke. Yet the journey was so much more pleasant than the wagon ride from Banff! The four of them had a compartment to themselves. For a long time, they rode in comfortable silence. Then Caroline spoke.

"I think it's time," she said.

"Hmm?" Gassner responded.

"For the words."

"Oh. Are you—"

"Yes. As I told you in Banff, I very much enjoy hearing them."

Florence nodded at Caroline's comment.

Gassner cocked his head, searching their eyes. "Ahh, yes. The words. Indeed. But how long do you wish to remain—"

"Forever. Once you speak your magic words, I do not wish to awaken. I have left my beautiful daughter behind. I know she will be well raised—better than I could ever do alone—but my heart aches at the thought of it. Take me to that other reality and let me live there—forever."