Rose Fer - Lust Ever After

She relaxed at once, a sheepish grin spreading across her features. ‘Yes, sir.’

‘I trust you to look after my needs, so it’s only fair I should trust you with my secrets as well. And I think you deserve to know what goes on. What could possibly be improper about that?’

‘I just wasn’t sure that Ralph would approve of his future wife knowing about – well, certain things …’

Ah, so the scoundrel saw him as a threat, did he? Well, perhaps one seducer could recognise another, but Frankenstein was far more accomplished at this game than he was. There was no way he was going to allow that insolent pup to spoil his lovely Justine.

‘I see,’ he said sadly. ‘So it’s fine for a maid to nose around where she isn’t allowed but when her master trusts her enough to show her himself …’

Her hands flew to her mouth to stifle a little gasp of horror. ‘Oh no, sir! I didn’t mean … I just …’

‘Very well,’ he shrugged, returning the keys to his pocket and turning to leave. ‘I had no idea you had such a low opinion of me, Justine.’

He had to suppress a grin at the miserable sniffle he heard behind him as he walked away. If there was one thing an honest girl couldn’t bear, it was the thought that she had broken someone’s trust.

‘Sir?’ she said at last, her voice wavering.

He turned back to her, his loins twitching with the sense of imminent victory.

She offered him a meek little smile as she moved towards the door of the private chamber. ‘Please forgive me, sir. I was being foolish.’

Frankenstein smiled. Sometimes it was just too easy. He unlocked the door and led her into the darkened chamber.

After a long silence, she asked, ‘Is that it?’

‘The Alleviator,’ he said with pride. ‘Indeed it is.’

He could tell from her face that it was nothing like she had imagined. How often had ladies told him they’d been expecting something huge and fearsome? A massive steam-driven automaton that would violently pound the nervous energy out of them and leave them feeling plundered? He was fascinated by the wild fancies that seemed equal parts fear and desire. What strange creatures women were, really.

‘The patient lies here,’ he explained, touching the padded surface of the table, ‘and the motor is concealed beneath.’

Justine dropped to her knees to peer under the table, gazing at the device and trying to guess how it worked. He knew she would never ask him outright.

‘Would you like to see how it works?’

She jumped as if he’d read her mind and cast her eyes down shyly, her silence all the answer he needed. It was another thing he’d learnt in his dealings with women; they so often needed the illusion of coercion or even force to ease their sense of shame. He had become a master at such games and found that the intricate manoeuvring only added to the fun.

He placed his hands around her waist and lifted her up onto the table. She uttered a little squeak of surprise but didn’t protest.

‘And now you must lie back,’ he said, pushing her down with a hand against her breastbone.

She resisted only for a moment before letting him lower her into position. If she was surprised that he hadn’t asked her to undress she didn’t let on. He had, after all, assured her that it was all entirely proper. A lady didn’t have to be naked to allow access and he was very careful about which ones he demanded it of. All it took was one knowing husband and the whole lucrative venture would be ruined. Today he merely wanted to give Justine a taste, enough to whet her appetite for more. He was determined that in time she would learn to ask for what she wanted.

She blinked in surprise as he gathered her skirt and raised it to her waist before she could object. But she was cowed by her earlier reluctance and, although she stiffened a little at the exposure, she lay still.

‘Good girl. And now if you’ll just part your legs, just a bit …’

She closed her eyes and did as she was told. Underneath she wore the customary open-seam drawers. The garment clothed each leg to the knee, but the legs were separately stitched to the drawstring at the waist, allowing for easy access to the exposed crotch. He had provided them along with her uniform, but he had treated her (and himself) to a fashionable frill of lace at the kneebands. A bit above a maid’s station, but who would ever see but him? Well, perhaps that wretched Ralph …

Justine trembled as he firmly pulled her knees a little further apart. Dampness glistened like dew on the dark thatch of hair at the branching of her thighs.

‘Dear me,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘This won’t do at all.’

The little maid looked instantly alarmed, fearful she’d done something wrong. ‘Sir?’

‘You are not appropriately prepared.’

She blinked, not comprehending.

‘All my patients must be shaved,’ he explained, ‘for reasons of safety and hygiene. You can hardly expect me to probe and stroke and treat the nether parts of you in anything like the detail you need if they are concealed.’

Without waiting for a response, he fetched his shaving things. Of course, the procedure wasn’t necessary at all; it was just his preference. He liked to see everything. Most women found the experience highly erotic, although naturally they tried to pretend they were merely obeying his obscure orders.

The shaving also served another purpose. It ensured that a lady would show herself to no one else, not even another physician. It was as good as a mark of ownership. In this case it would give Justine extra incentive to see that Ralph kept his hands to himself. At least until the hair grew back. Then he would have to contrive an excuse to shave her again.

Justine’s eyes widened as she saw the straight razor. ‘Will it hurt?’ she asked.

He smiled. ‘Not if you’re a good girl and hold very still for me.’ Then he set about daubing her with shaving soap.

She jumped a little at the first touch of the brush but after that she didn’t move. He coaxed her legs wide apart and painted her sex with lather. He couldn’t resist pressing the soft bristles well up against her, which elicited a little moan. Her thighs relaxed and her legs opened wider still, like the petals of a hungry flower spreading itself for the rays of the sun.

‘Now I want you to be perfectly still, Justine,’ he said. ‘You will be still, won’t you?’

‘Yes, sir,’ came the breathless whisper.

Oh yes, she was ready.

He bent over her and slowly drew the blade down over her pubic mound, carving a path through the lather. She gasped and he placed the fingers of his left hand firmly on the vulnerable pink skin he had just revealed, a silent command not to move. Gooseflesh rose on her thighs and she shivered slightly. He wiped the blade clean and swept it through another patch of foam.

This was an especially intimate ritual among the many in his repertoire and he took his time over it. He loved the entire process of unveiling. For him it was more art than science. As the blade rasped and the dark curls fell away he was treated to a sight few men ever got to see – a woman’s sex, wholly uncovered and exposed for his eyes, his hands, his instruments. The ultimate submissive offering.

Holding her skin taut, he slid the razor up each inner thigh, angling each stroke in to the centre point of her sex. He carefully trimmed away everything that might obscure his view. Nothing must remain but her perfect mound, silky and smooth.

It was over far too quickly, both for him and for Justine, whose breathing had grown fast and shallow. Once, she had lifted her head to peer down at what he was doing, then blushed and looked away, clasping her hands at her breast. With all the hair removed he could easily see the reason for her embarrassment: she was exceedingly wet. It was all he could do not to dip his finger inside. Instead he made do with towelling her dry and dabbing at her in such a way as to produce more of those charming little gasps and sighs.