Lucy and the Doctors

by Ava Sinclair

  The line of hair ended at a darker thatch of hair than what Thomas boasted. And the manhood rising from its midst was not so thick, but was longer. Lucy’s eyes widened as Benedict’s hand wrapped around the base of it. The hard shaft in his hand seemed to increase in size as he pulled on it.

  “See how it grows, sweet Lucy? It’s in response to you. Just as your pussy aches to be filled, our cocks ache to fill it. That’s why you get wet, to ease the way. It’s your body’s way of welcoming us.”

  “Oh,” she said, staring. Her tongue darted out and she licked her lips as she looked from one man to the other. Their cocks were so… big. How would they possibly fit?

  “Don’t fret,” Thomas said as if reading her mind. “We’ll fit very nicely inside of you. You’ll see.”

  “And we’ll make sure you’re more than prepared.” Benedict walked over and scooped her up in his arms. Gently, he laid her on the sofa. Both men were kneeling beside her now.

  “Do you trust us, sweet Lucy?” Thomas asked.

  She nodded, suddenly as nervous as she was eager. She was stepping into the unknown, and her body trembled now with trepidation and desire. Benedict was opening her legs and kneeling between them. She watched, transfixed, as he hooked first one of her legs and then the other across his shoulders. Then he lowered his face between her thighs and…

  Oh, God! Was this right? What was he doing? She wanted to ask, but the only thing that came from her mouth was a cry of surprise as his tongue laved the swollen folds of her pussy, the sensation so intense that it nearly took her breath away. His hands were under her bottom cupping her cheeks firmly as she was tossed on wave after wave of pleasure. And just when she was beginning to shudder with the most powerful orgasm of her young life, Thomas leaned over and captured one of her nipples in his mouth, drawing on it so fiercely that it hurt. But it was a different kind of hurt that only enhanced what was going on between her legs and she cried out loudly, her sweet voice echoing off the walls of the fire-lit room.

  “She’s ready.”

  “Yes.”

  She heard the words drifting to her from her vortex of desire. A moment later, Thomas lowered his body to cover hers.

  “Do you trust me?” he asked again. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

  “Yes. And yes,” she said, as her hips rose up to meet his. Her pussy throbbed fiercely, aching to be filled. She could feel something pressing there, something warm and smooth and hard. His cock. It was going to happen!

  “Lucy, look at me. I need you to look at me.” She raised her gaze to his, her green eyes fixed now on his blue ones. He continued to press, and then stopped. There was a slight stinging as his cock tested her virgin barrier. And then he pulled back and plunged in, his mouth covering hers to swallow the scream that rose from her throat.

  Light. Blinding white light. The pain was intense, but it began to recede almost immediately. He was fully seated in her, and whispering for her to wait, to wait, that it would soon be all right—better than all right—because the best was yet to come.

  “I’m going to move now,” he said gently, and she felt him slide his cock back, as if retreating from her body. And despite the mild sting she felt a desperate disappointment. But then he pushed back in, and she understood. He began to move rhythmically now, his hips thrusting as he pushed into her again and again. And she realized that she was moving, too.

  “Oh,” she said, and then “Oh!” The sting had completely receded, leaving her with a feeling of blissful fullness. She could feel her pleasure swelling with each thrust of his cock. It was different than all those times that she’d touched herself or had been touched. This pleasure was coming from deep within her core. She began to shudder and cry out as the wave crested and broke. She could feel something warm pulsing into her, and before she could even comprehend what it was, Thomas had pulled out and Benedict had taken his place, his hard length seeming to touch her very womb.

  “Oh, sweet Lucy. How very wet and tight you are…”

  He moved harder and faster than Thomas, and Lucy felt as if she was being driven mad with passion as he pushed her up that second peak. Her legs wound around his waist, pulling him to her, pulling him into her. She cried out, and dug her small teeth into his shoulder as he squeezed her bottom. A moment later, she felt the same warm flooding sensation as she’d felt with Thomas, and Benedict cried out his passion along with hers.

  After that, she drifted off into something of a daze as two sets of strong arms wrapped around her, holding her in their tight protection. When she came around, she lifted her head to look at her thighs, which were slick with pink-tinged fluid.

  “That’s your virgin blood,” Benedict explained when he saw her curious expression. “It’s mixed with our seed.”

  “Seed…” She looked at them both. “Does this mean I will get pregnant? I don’t want a baby.” Her tone was adamant. “It may seem awfully selfish, but I want to be your little girl. Perhaps someday I can raise a child. But not yet. I’m not ready.”

  “We are physicians, my dear,” said Thomas. “We have treatments that can prevent you from becoming pregnant. We will see to it tomorrow, however. I believe your little body has been through enough today.”

  “I would do it all over again,” she said, lifting her hands to stroke the faces of her guardian lovers.

  “And you shall,” said Benedict with a cheeky grin. “Believe me, you shall.”

  Chapter Ten: A Visit to St. Bart’s

  Nathan Stiles untangled himself from the arms of the flaxen-haired woman beside him, and immediately regretted the absence of her warmth as his feet made contact with the cold floor of his room.

  She had been a good lay, and more than eager to share a bed with the well-dressed gentleman who had been so kind as to bend Judge Bonham’s ear for the sake of her husband. The man would be released today, thanks to his wife’s ample charms.

  He shaved quickly in the cold room and then dressed, checking his reflection in the looking glass before departing. He wore a well-tailored black suit with a brown vest. He could have easily passed for gentry owing to his heritage. He was, after all, the bastard son of an aristocrat whose name his mother had kept hidden from him. Early on, he realized, she divined her son’s cunning nature enough to understand that Nathan would have made trouble for the man if he discovered his paternity. She’d only told him that he was of good stock, and it showed in his good looks and intelligence, both of which he’d parlayed if not into power itself, at least into its close association.

  It had been a struggle, for though Judge Bonham had no way of knowing that his deeply loyal secretary hated him with every fiber of his being, in Nathan Stiles’ estimation his portly employer represented everything he hated about the gentry. Archibald Bonham was arrogant, entitled, and cruel. But Stiles knew those were the traits of successful men, and it had been with calculation that he curried favor and eventual employment with the judge he’d carefully planned to bring down.

  He was so close now. Nathan Stiles was a charming man, and far more popular in social circles than the man he served. As Judge Bonham’s secretary, he was well liked by the judge’s colleagues. This was ironic given that Archibald Bonham’s arrogance was wearing thin in his social and professional circle. Stiles knew there were a number of powerful men hoping for some scandal that would bring Bonham down. He believed that scandal was sitting in St. Bart’s Asylum.

  It wasn’t that Bonham didn’t have plenty of other sins Nathan Stiles could exploit, but his union with a diseased nymphomaniac now languishing in an asylum would be a dream story for Fleet Street reporters, especially when it was revealed that the girl had been put into his care by a dying friend who trusted Bonham to see to the girl’s moral education. Stiles suspected that the girl was no more a nymphomaniac than he was a virgin, but for Bonham to deny the charges would admit the truth—that he’d banished her to St. Bart’s for punishment over his own inability to perform. Either way, the information he had wou

ld surely end the judge’s career.

  He’d already positioned himself well with the man who would be Bonham’s likely successor on the bench, a younger and smarter lawyer who’d set his eye on Parliament. With Bonham disgraced and off the bench, he’d be in position to attach himself to an even more powerful vehicle to the top levels of government. And his reward would be the appreciative affections of the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen: Lucy Priven.

  Stiles had been in contact by letter with the asylum, and Dr. Litman had assured him that Lucy remained in solitary confinement. Today was the day he would fetch her and prepare her for presentation to Judge Bonham’s enemies. The judge would suspect nothing, and Stiles would be careful to keep his name from the ‘discovery’ of the scandal.

  The dreary blight of St. Bart’s loomed just on the outskirts of London. Even on the gloomiest of days, the asylum seemed to have its own even gloomier weather. Scraggly trees that never seemed to come into bloom dotted the grounds. Rooks leered down from the stone edifices like menacing gargoyles and the cries of those who would never see the outside again filtered from within.

  Stiles had not announced his visit. He was certain from his correspondence with Litman that she would be safe until he could prepare an apartment for her. He thought back to the day he retrieved her for Judge Bonham. His heart had burned with jealousy as he’d sat across from Lucy in the carriage that ferried them back. She was so lovely, with her porcelain complexion, green eyes, and thick blond hair. And she was so prim. As soon has he’d been summoned the night of the wedding to find Judge Bonham in a rage, he’d put two and two together. Pious, arrogant Bonham had spoken often enough of his belief that God would grant him a pure and beautiful bride. Nothing short of a blow to his ego could cause him to fly into such a rage.

  Stiles had been tempted to save the girl then, but to do so would have put him on the outs with his boss, and he hadn’t been ready for that. Now Bonham would fall and he would rise, and he’d take the girl with him. He’d keep her as his own in town. Oh, he’d eventually marry some pinch-faced society woman for political convenience, but Lucy would remain his special, hidden treasure when all was said and done. His cock hardened at the thought of doing what his boss had been unable to do—take the young woman’s maidenhead.

  The carriage ground to a stop on the gravel outside the entrance to the asylum. In his hand, Stiles held an order reversing the order he’d had Judge Bonham sign handing custody of Lucy over to St. Bart’s. It had been easy enough to trick his employer into signing it. He’d just put it among a group of orders he handed his boss to sign each day. Judge Bonham would always hastily scrawl his signature without looking. Stiles had done the same with this order, which stripped St. Bart’s of custody. His next step would be to retrieve the girl, hide her away, and have one of Judge Bonham’s enemies transfer custody of Lucy to him.

  He smiled at his own cleverness, and realized he was likely the only one smiling in St. Bart’s. It was as bleak within as without, and the cries drifted down to him like ashes from destroyed lives. An attendant took him to Dr. Litman’s office, where the administrator was sitting behind a desk piled with yellowing papers. He looked weary and worn.

  “Dr. Litman?”

  The administrator peered at Nathan Stiles, as if trying to place him. After a few moments, a light of wary recognition went off in his tired eyes. “You’re Judge Bonham’s man.”

  “Yes.” Stiles started to sit in a chair across from the desk, but thought the better of it. Like everything else in this godforsaken place, it looked uncomfortable. The sooner he got Lucy Priven and left here the better. “I won’t waste your time.” He tossed the order onto Dr. Litman’s desk. “I’ve come for the patient Lucy Priven. I’ve been corresponding with you as to her wellbeing. But now I’ve come for her.” He nodded toward the paper. “This is an order reversing the one originally granting custody to St. Bart’s.”

  As soon as Stiles saw Litman’s expression, he knew something was very wrong. The hand that picked up the order was shaking as the administrator spoke.

  “Come for her?” Dr. Litman looked up, his face pale in the dim light of the small room. “I-i-it was my understanding that Judge Bonham never wanted to see his wife again.”

  “He’s had a change of heart,” Stiles said. “The girl. Fetch her.”

  “But I can’t.” Dr. Litman raised himself unsteadily to his feet. “She’s not here.”

  At first Stiles thought he’d heard wrong.

  “What do you mean?”

  The administrator nervously adjusted his spectacles then wiped his sweaty hands down the front of his grimy jacket before answering. “She’s not here. I transferred custody of her only days after she arrived.”

  Stiles was usually a calm, calculated man, but in that moment he could see everything he’d so carefully planned falling apart. Reaching across the desk, he grabbed the older man by the lapels and pulled him forward.

  “You let her leave?”

  “I had every legal right!” Litman protested.

  “Then how do you explain your response to my letters inquiring about her?”

  “I was surprised to get them,” Litman whined. “It was my understanding that Bonham was putting her away in every sense of the word! I was confused when I got the letters inquiring to her condition after the order giving me custody. I thought perhaps… well, I thought perhaps Judge Bonham was having the natural guilt of a husband who regrets putting his wife here. I’ve seen it before, this guilt. My replies were meant to be soothing to his feelings.”

  “Soothing? You call your lies soothing?” Stiles shoved Litman away so hard that the older man fell back into his chair. “You throw a patient out of this institution and call that harmless?”

  “I did not throw her out!” Dr. Litman responded, cowering in his chair. “I would never do that. I transferred custody to someone who could properly see to her care far better than I.”

  “Who?” Stiles slammed his hands down on the desktop.

  “I’m not at liberty to…” But before he could respond, Stiles had the administrator by the lapels once again, jerking him forward. “Who?” he repeated in a dangerously low tone. “Let me remind you that I represent a very powerful interest who will not be at all pleased to hear of what you have done. A few strokes of the pen, my good man, and you could end up out of this institution. Or worse, among its residents.”

  Litman was nodding now, and once released from the stronger man’s grip he began feverishly rifling through the papers on his desk until he came to the one he was looking for. His hand was still trembling as he handed it to Stiles.

  “Doctors?” he said. “You transferred custody of her to doctors?”

  “Two of them, in North London,” Litman said. “I know them both. They are good men, honorable men.”

  “And why did they want her?” Stiles demanded to know.

  “R-research,” Litman replied. “They were doing a study on nymphomania. Judge Bonham said she was afflicted. They wanted her to observe her privately. It meant one less mouth to feed, one less sickly patient. We’ve had to move three to the tuberculosis ward this week. So chide me if you want; it may have saved the girl’s life.”

  Stiles fell thoughtfully quiet, pondering the information as he tucked the paper into the inside pocket of his coat. “I’ll be back,” he said to Litman. “Should I return, I’ll have some other papers for you to sign. Until then, not a word of this to anyone, understand?”

  Dr. Litman nodded, and satisfied, Nathan Stiles turned to head from the office. He’d thought to retrieve Lucy this day. Now he’d have to take additional steps before that could happen. Damn Dr. Litman! And damn the two men who now held the golden-haired key to his future. But all would be remedied soon enough. He’d have her and make no mistake. Just a bit more time.

  Chapter Eleven: Special Medicine

  Dr. Thomas Allard prided himself on being a moral man and an ethical doctor. The morning after he and his friend and colleague had taken Lucy’s virginity, he lay in the cold morning light wondering why he wasn’t feeling remorse or even guilt. After all, wouldn’t polite society condemn two men sexually claiming their unmarried virgin ward? Even if she was of age, it was hardly proper.

  His friend always saw things through a more progressive lens, and while he often found himself frustrated by Benedict’s progressive ideas, he begrudgingly admired the man’s ability to see things outside of convention. This morning was the first time he truly understood the value of not being bound by social mores.

  They’d all moved to Thomas’ room after the incident in the parlor. Lucy was curled up tight against his best friend. Benedict had his face nestled in Lucy’s golden hair, and her arm was thrown around his neck. Thomas smiled. Hang convention. They were a family, and it had taken Lucy’s innocent perspective to convince him to understand that love could not be defined by societal dictates. True, they could not publicly reveal their romantic alliance, but it did not matter. They could all live happily just as they were.

  However, Lucy had raised a relevant point. A pregnancy could ruin everything, and so he quietly shook Benedict awake and asked him to bathe and feed himself and Lucy while the exam room was prepared.

  His friend and their little lover were starting to stir when Thomas left the room. Grabbing a scone and a cup of tea from the kitchen, he downed both quickly and headed to the small room where he mixed tinctures and tonics for patients.

  Contraception was not something he or other doctors marketed, but it was available, and one of his interests was in the development of herbal preparations to prevent not just pregnancy, but monthly bleeds as well. He had prepared several large boluses with this medicine, and would insert one in Lucy on this day. But she would need a cleansing first.

  Everything was prepared when Lucy arrived in the exam room. She looked apprehensive, and Thomas surmised that Benedict must have told their ward what to expect.

  -->