Dr. Gregory's Seduction

by Serena Jones

They had more data on Mr. Brown’s erections and ejaculate than they needed at this point. But although Mr. Brown’s usefulness as a laboratory assistant was growing, he maintained certain eccentricities that Gregory found extremely irritating.

  The lesser of the two was his tendency to employ ridiculous euphemisms. Gregory had tried to teach him the proper terms, and Miss Fortescue had once, in exasperation, offered to make him a glossary. Mr. Brown had become rather indignant at the suggestion. “I know the words,” he’d declared stoutly. “I knew them before I came here. I just find them very crass and embarrassing to say.”

  Gregory didn’t understand how pearly joy was less embarrassing to say than ejaculate or semen, but he had soon discovered an even bigger problem with Mr. Brown. The young man had an aversion to touching himself for anything other than urination or cleaning, apparently having been conditioned into this state by his mother. While many boys were told that masturbating would lead to blindness (or whatever dire ailment the mother chose), very few believed this canard all the way into adulthood. Mr. Brown was an exception. “How do you know it won’t?” he had demanded when confronted on his belief.

  “Because there is no mechanism by which it can happen!” Gregory had tried to explain. “Your body does not know by whose hand it is pleasured, and even if it did, there is no connection between sexual arousal and eyesight!”

  Mr. Brown, however, could not be convinced. “I just don’t see how it’s worth it to take the risk.”

  Gregory had, for the time being, given up trying to persuade him. If the boy had a phobia against touching himself, it would take more than a logical argument to overcome it. Therefore, although it would have been more expedient for Mr. Brown to relieve himself in the washroom with the aid of some photographs—as Gregory planned to do tonight—the scientist allowed the young man to use the laboratory equipment which would enable him to reach climax without the direct use of his hands.

  After Mr. Brown had departed to seek his own pleasure, Miss Fortescue turned to Gregory. “You seem reluctant to engage a fallen woman for this purpose,” she said. “Perhaps I should remind you that by the measure of society, I, too, am fallen.”

  His eyes flicked briefly over how her attire left her breasts on display and her legs exposed. What she said was true, but also vastly unfair. “I have no criticism for these women’s morality,” he said. “That would be hypocritical of me. There is a role for sex workers in our society, whether society wishes to admit it or not. I can say, however, that I hope my work will someday reduce their need by making men and women happier and more satisfied within their marital bonds.”

  Miss Fortescue was now attaching and buttoning the missing parts of her garment. She smiled wryly. “So we are hiring a prostitute in order to put her out of work. Was that what dismayed you?”

  Gregory opened and closed his mouth. The truth was, he had an inherent dislike for the uneducated lower classes, but he did not want to say so. Miss Fortescue looked up to him; he saw that in her eyes. He did not want her to think badly of him, and in that moment, he thought rather badly of himself. His initial reaction to Mr. Brown’s suggestion had been small-minded and petty. “I was merely startled,” he said, “but I saw the logic of this solution immediately.”

  Miss Fortescue nodded, although Gregory wasn’t sure she believed his explanation. “Most of these women do not choose this profession,” she said, “but come to it as a means of not starving. Be kind to her.”

  “Of course,” he murmured and was saddened to think she believed that he would not have been.

  ***

  The “fallen” woman entered the laboratory two days later. She was petite in stature, with thick, glossy brown hair and large brown eyes. The first sight of her gave no one any doubt about her profession. Her dress was too bright, too garish, and quite worn. Her hat was too showy, but also shabby. Her face was heavily painted.

  Elspeth mistook her age at first, over-estimating it by nearly ten years. Then the young woman—girl, really—spotted all the equipment in the laboratory. Her eyes grew wide, her face turned pale beneath the powder, and she looked like she was going to turn tail and run. At that moment, Elspeth saw through the subterfuge and realized the girl was no older than she was, and quite possibly younger. Wipe that face clean of rouge and powder, and surely they would find innocence on the other side.

  Before the girl could flee—and while Dr. Gregory and Mr. Brown stood speechless like unhelpful and awkward blocks of wood—Elspeth stepped forward with a bright smile, her hand outstretched. “Good afternoon! Welcome to Dr. Gregory’s laboratory. I am Elspeth Fortescue.”

  Elspeth had worn one of her most demure gowns today and was looking the part of a proper lady. This girl gave her the briefest of curtseys. Her fingertips brushed against Elspeth’s own, but she didn’t shake hands properly. “Pleased, I’m sure. I’m Daisy.” Her eyes once again traveled the room, taking in things like the Infernal Machine in the corner and the numerous metal cylinders, glass appendages, and occasional puffs of steam.

  “Do not be alarmed by the machinery,” Elspeth said quickly. “None of it will be used on you.”

  The girl brightened a bit. “Oh, that’s a relief, I say. It gave me a bit of a turn, seeing all those cogs and sharp bits!” She looked past Elspeth to the two men. “Which of them will I be doing? I’ll have to charge extra if you want me to do both.”

  Mr. Brown turned bright red, and Dr. Gregory flushed as well. “You won’t be doing—that is, you will not be having sexual intercourse with either of us,” Dr. Gregory said. “However, I can pay you well for half an afternoon’s work.” He named an amount.

  Daisy cocked her head and tried to nod as if she was accustomed to being offered such a sum. But inside, her heart pounded. It was more than she made in a week. Too much for fucking both of them, let alone for no fucking at all. There was something very wrong here, or they were utter fools, wanting to pay that much merely to look at her or have her fiddle with their bits.

  “I think it would be best if Miss Fortescue explained to you what we want,” the taller, older man said.

  The lady launched into an explanation, which Daisy only partially followed. There were many long words and even longer sentences, but the gist of it seemed to be that they wanted to try and make her cum by tickling her on the inside of her cunny instead of the outside. Fiddling with her bits it was, then. And yes, they seemed a trio of fools, willing to pay far more than the going rate for that.

  She was certain she could give them what they wanted. Daisy rarely climaxed when she was with a john, but she was supremely talented at faking it.

  “All right, then,” she said brightly, unpinning her hat. “D’you want my clothes off?” The sooner they started, the sooner she could collect her money and be out of this strange place.

  The bloke with the gray hair at his temples cleared his throat. “Enough so that we can do what needs to be done.”

  “Right.” Daisy unbuttoned her bodice and slipped her arms out. Then she loosened the drawstrings at her waist, and let the entire gown fall to the floor. Stepping out of it, she was left with only her corset, stockings, garters, and shoes. “Will this do?”

  “I need to see your nipples,” the gent said.

  Of course he did. Rather than unlacing her corset, Daisy yanked down on the bottom half of it, lifted her chin, and wiggled a bit. Her breasts were small and firm. They popped right out.

  By now, she’d expected the young lady to blush, avert her eyes, or leave the room. But she did none of those things. This made Daisy suspect that Miss Elspeth Fortescue, for all her pure face, auburn curls, and very large words, was no better than she ought to be. Mark my words, Daisy thought. She’s done both these gents.

  The older fellow turned to the younger, blonde one, who’d been staring at Daisy with his mouth hanging open this whole time. “Mr. Brown, please tell Miss Daisy what she needs to do.”

  The young man, who must have been a friend of Richard Upto
n, the bloke who’d sent her here, managed to close his flycatcher and approached Daisy like he was afraid she might bite him. “All right, um, if you could step up here on this platform. So we can see you better. And, um, you can lean against that back part, if you like. And then, if you’d just put your wrists into these restraints …”

  “What?” Daisy exclaimed. She’d stepped onto the platform willingly enough, thinking that her fee made more sense if she was supposed to let this one fellow fiddle her bits and put on a show for the other two—even though they were still paying too much—but now she was alarmed again. “I’m not letting you buckle me in there!” Daisy only occasionally let johns tie her down, and only those she’d grown to trust.

  “But—” Mr. Brown quailed under her glare and said no more.

  She was about to step down and call the whole thing off, when the older gent held up his hand and strode forward. “Miss Daisy,” he said. “My apologies. I’m Dr. Ivan Gregory. I should have introduced myself before now.”

  Behind him, the woman, Miss Fortescue, nodded.

  “Charmed,” said Daisy, not feeling charmed at all.

  “This is a scientific experiment, not an act of sexual desire,” Dr. Gregory continued, “so I think the circumstances must seem very strange to you. I assure you—you are safe, and you can call a halt to our experiment at any time and walk away, with your fee. We do not need to restrain your hands, but perhaps you would simply hold the restraints to keep your arms out of the way. You can let go if you are uncomfortable. You can say stop if you wish to end the experiment. We will abide by your wishes.”

  Daisy wouldn’t have believed him—except for the way Miss Fortescue looked at him. When he spoke to Daisy like a person instead of a whore, when he told her she was safe, when he said that she could stop at any time and still retain her fee … the young lady beamed at him as if he were sainted. She believed him, was proud of him, and that was enough to make Daisy tolerate the situation. For now.

  “I suppose I could hold on.” She took the leather cuffs in her hands and looked expectantly at Mr. Brown.

  He swallowed uneasily. “This is what I will use,” he said, holding up some sort of leather, stuffed penis.

  Daisy felt rather offended. “I’m clean,” she told Mr. Brown. “Your friend Richie Upton wouldn’t put his Jolly Roger in me if I wasn’t.”

  Young Mr. Brown flushed. It was the older one, Dr. Gregory, who said, “It’s part of the experiment, Miss Daisy. He needs to use that device.”

  “Just Daisy. No need to call me ‘miss.’” She turned to Mr. Brown. “You can get on with it.”

  The very nervous Mr. Brown tried to smile. “All right then. I’ll use this first to get you ready.” He lifted up some horrible thing that looked like it might electrocute her, and she shrieked.

  “Stop!” she called out, testing Dr. Gregory’s promise right away. “Stop right there.”

  “It’s only to get you aroused,” Mr. Brown said.

  “Don’t worry ’bout that,” she replied. “Just stick the other thing in.”

  “Miss Daisy,” Dr. Gregory called out loudly. “What can we do that will cause you to become lubricated?” When she looked at him blankly, he said, “Wet, Miss Daisy. What will make you wet?”

  Oh, is that what they wanted? “He can suck on my titties for a bit,” she suggested. That was usually enough to make her slick enough that things didn’t get irritating. Not every gentleman asked. Not most gentleman, to tell the truth. But some did.

  “I, um, what?” Mr. Brown looked terrified and hopeful at the same time.

  She was still holding on to the straps, which extended her arms over her head, displaying her small breasts to advantage. The poor boy looked as if he’d never touched a woman’s titties before. Perhaps she was wrong about Miss Fortescue. “Give ’em a squeeze,” she urged him. “Lick, suck, whatever you want. I like that.”

  That was all the encouragement he needed. Mr. Brown practically lunged at her, cupping one breast in each hand. He ran his fingers across them and sucked in his breath when her nipples hardened. His tongue came next, tasting each nipple in turn. Daisy sighed. This part was real for her, although usually the limit of excitement she got out of a john. But that was all right since they weren’t usually concerned about her pleasure and she had to keep her mind on her job even if they were.

  When Mr. Brown locked his lips around one of her nipples and began to suckle like a babe, Daisy leaned against the support behind her and gazed at the two voyeurs from behind her lowered eyelashes. Miss Fortescue had finally averted her eyes, her cheeks flushed. Dr. Gregory watched with his brows hunched up, making notes on a clipboard. He was a tough bird, that one, and an observant one, she guessed.

  Because of him, as soon as she felt the warm surge between her lips, she reported it. “There you go. I’m wet now. Mr. Brown? Mr. Brown?”

  “Huh?” The young man raised his head, blurry-eyed with lust. Daisy smiled at him. She thought he was the only person here she completely understood and sympathized with.

  “Mr. Brown, she is ready for the test,” Dr. Gregory said loudly.

  “Yes. Right. Of course.” Elliot Brown pulled his attention back to his job with great difficulty. Why, he had just been nuzzling and sucking on a woman’s breasts! It had left his brain a confused jumble—and as for Archie, his penis, why the poor boy was bobbing around in his trousers in absolute misery. Elliot wished, with every fiber of his soul, that he could put Archie into Miss Daisy instead of that blasted leather penis, and he fantasized for a second what would happen if he did. Miss Daisy would exclaim, Oh, what a miracle this is! I have never felt a manhood as firm and valiant as yours! And then Dr. Gregory would say, You’re sacked, Mr. Brown. And finally Mama would say, Could you not manage to keep your employment even to save your wretched father from Debtor’s Prison and your own beloved mother from the Poor House?

  Reluctantly, he reached for the lucky leather penis, all warmed with heated goo, and directed it between the legs of Miss Daisy. He had to shake his head twice to focus his sight on the girl’s nether region. Tell me again, Dr. Gregory, how lust doesn’t affect my eyes! He managed to work the head of the thing between her lips and into her opening. It went in easier than it had with Miss Fortescue, which made sense if Miss Daisy’s womanhood had been opened more regularly and for more sizes …

  Here Elliot’s thoughts smeared into a visual image he had no words for. With his brain in a state of high excitation, he worked the leather penis in and out, in and out, pure instinct guiding him.

  Meanwhile, Daisy was preparing to embark upon her act. She knew better than to start it too soon. Wait a few seconds and pant a bit. Wait longer and begin to sigh. Roll her eyes. Heave her chest. Daisy knew the steps, yet something was different this time. She actually felt a glimmer of pleasure.

  Yes, she felt full and stretched to the limit with the fake leather penis moving in and out of her. That was often pleasurable with a real penis. But now there was a pressure that was new. Not on her bladder, a sensation she was familiar with when she didn’t make water before taking on a john. And, oddly, it didn’t seem to be coming from that little nub at the opening of her cunny, the one she rubbed when she really did want to cum. It was a warm, building pressure somewhere inside her womanhood.

  Her eyes instinctively sought out Miss Fortescue. The auburn-haired young woman had returned her gaze to Daisy after Mr. Brown stopped suckling her breasts. Now Miss Fortescue nodded at Daisy with a questioning look. Do you feel it?

  Daisy nodded back. She felt it, to be sure. Daisy was used to cumming only four or five times a year and usually because she did it herself. Only once in a blue moon could the credit be given to an exceptionally talented or generous john. Right now, it looked like Mr. Brown was working his way into those ranks.

  She had planned on making some random exclamations at this point. But now they were real. “Oh! Oh! For St. Peter’s sake, suck me some more!” That was more blasphemous than she
usually got, but she couldn’t help herself. Releasing the leather straps, she grabbed the young man’s head and pulled him in, and he went right back to her nipples, good boy. She ruffled his blonde locks while he suckled her. Yes …

  Remembering how handsomely she was being paid for this, Daisy allowed herself to cum. She bucked and gasped and twitched, looking directly at Miss Fortescue and Dr. Gregory. Here’s your show. In the end, she was left hanging by those straps while her climactic spasms subsided.

  Dr. Gregory watched her with keen eyes. She gulped nervously, weak-kneed in a way that wasn’t usual for her. “Can you describe your orgasm?” he asked.

  “You mean, how it felt when I cum?” Daisy stared at him. “It felt good.”

  “Can you be more precise?”

  “It felt real good.” He seemed to expect more than that, so Daisy summoned better vocabulary. “All shivery and quakey-like.”

  The doctor grimaced and wrote on his clipboard.

  “Well done, Miss Daisy,” said Miss Fortescue as if Daisy had done something clever when really it was Mr. Brown who’d done all the work.

  Daisy looked at Mr. Brown, and the poor lad was standing there in misery with his cock poking up in his trousers like a broom handle. “Would you like me to spit polish his spindle?” she asked. “No trouble while I’m here.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Dr. Gregory asked.

  “Play his piccolo,” Daisy said. When the doctor still looked at her blankly, she spelled it out for him. “Give him a below job.”

  “I don’t understand what you mean,” Dr. Gregory said.

  Oh, for St. Peter’s sake. Daisy dropped to her knees, opened Mr. Brown’s trousers, took out his sweetmeat, and popped it into her mouth. The lad yelped like he thought she was going to bite it off, but his outcry turned into a moan when she started working her tongue around his knob.

  Gregory’s mouth dropped open. He had read about this activity in a report on Parisian whores, but at the time he’d thought it was apocryphal. Who in their right mind would put a man’s sexual organ into their mouth, and why would the man want them to? It seemed so … unsanitary.