The Doctor's Rough Treatment (Historical Medical Smut With A Side Of Story)

by Diana Quippley

  The red head bent over with one leg bent and cocked up just so as she tongued the balls and ass. That plump little ass on the red head was so perfect that Olivia wished she had a cock so she could climb behind her and give it a nice fucking. Olivia made a note that they should invent such a device that women could strap on for such a moment like this. She thought that maybe she could take just a little while to eat that pussy and ass. They could be a little late to their demonstration.

  Olivia shook her head to clear her clouded thoughts. “Would you ladies excuse us? I need to discuss an important matter with the Doctor.”

  They laughed at her and continued working him over.

  “I’m awake,” Droll said. “Go ahead.”

  “You look passed out and drunk, Doctor.”

  He shrugged without opening his eyes. The woman using his hand on her pussy moaned with the motion. He said, “I am drunk, but I wouldn’t miss out on this. I’m being fucked by three French girls for God’s sake.”

  “We have a demonstration. We need to go. Save some of that cock for science,” Olivia said.

  “It doesn’t matter. If I’ve learned anything on this trip,” Dr. Droll said, “it is that no one is ready to learn what we have to teach them and if three French girls are willing to fuck your brains out, you do not interrupt them until your brains are fully fucked out.”

  “We worked for this moment, Doctor.”

  “Are we talking about the French girls still?” he asked.

  “No, the demonstration.” Olivia shook her head.

  “They will still be looking for the G spot hundreds of years after we are dead and gone, Olivia.”

  “Doctor Droll, we do not give up because people don’t accept. We tell the truth with more evidence and greater fervor. Get up and show them the G spot for your mother Gi Gi that you named it after. Get up and make me squirt for science.”

  Droll sat up and pushed the fat ass French girl off his cock. He gave her a gentle kiss on the mouth and then one on each giant tit.

  “How do we convince them when they don’t want to see though?” Droll asked.

  Olivia looked over the pouty French girls. She said, “Would you girls like to help us fuck for science?”

  They looked at one another and giggled. The red head with the absolutely fuckable ass said, “We just like fucking. We don’t give a shit about science.”

  Olivia waved a hand. “Not a problem. Here’s what we need you to do …”

  ***

  Dr. Droll sat on the stool and bounced Olivia on his cock facing out toward the attentive audience.

  The French girls worked their way down the rows sucking one cock after another. The other men watched Olivia get fucked on stage as they stroked themselves keeping it hard as the girls worked their way down to give them a slurp. A few of them shot off early staining the back of the seats in front of them.

  Olivia watched the audience watching her as Dr. Droll working over her G spot with his cock from the inside. She was growing to enjoy the sex in front of large audiences more than any other kind. She wondered if that might not be a problem.

  She caught sight of the red head’s bent ass as she bobbed her head in one of the scientist’s laps. She started to pull away to suck the next man in line, but the man in her mouth gave a couple wild bucks. His eyes rolled back in his head. She sucked him harder and faster drinking down every drop of his load as he came down her throat.

  Olivia had a great view of the red head’s pussy. Her ass moved in time with the motion of her head as she sucked down the French scientist’s load.

  Olivia felt a shiver as she watched the red head’s ass work. Even before Droll had a chance to pull out, she started squirting out across the stage. It was a wide arc and caught the glimmer from the lights as it went.

  The men’s jaws dropped open and they began to applaud, but quickly went back to stroking themselves.

  The Doctor kept jamming up inside her and reached around to use his fingers on her outer button. He wasn’t finished with the demonstration by a far cry.

  Olivia turned her head and held his face as she kissed Dr. Droll on the lips. Droll kissed her back as he fucked her like only he could. She wondered what it might all mean.

  The End

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  His Unlikely Bride

  The last streaks of the sun’s dying light faded over the western skyline as the tall warrior tethered his hulking warhorse to the post outside the tavern. The crudely painted banner on the ramshackle door read ‘The sign of the times’ and times were rather hard for him right then. He looked into the leather pouch tied to his belt, all that was left were the six coppers he had earned the day before rescuing a lost cow from becoming wolf dinner for a farmer. The man was too poor to pay him anything of value, but the six copper coins and a side of roast beef was better than nothing. He shook his large head ruefully at the state of his affairs as he walked up the rickety stairs of the insalubrious place. It was an odd place for a meeting; the mission had to be of the utmost secrecy for his mysterious patron to have arranged for a convention there, at the outskirts of the city walls.

  He stepped into the tavern, his tall, muscular frame out of place and standing out like a sore thumb in his highland kilt and scant metal armor, a massive Claymore broadsword in its scabbard on his wide back. Men of all kinds and of all vices crowded the place, most of them of the shady sort. They eyed the huge mercenary with caution as he walked past them slowly. Several tables were arranged around the dirty dining hall, with roughhewn chairs scattered all around. Men ate and drank, and sang and argued, while others lay passed out on the tables or the floor. Serving wenches swaggered around, carrying large platters of pungent meat and flagons of ale, spilling some of it all around them. He sidestepped the rushing women and his keen eyes searched the tavern for the one who had arranged this meeting.

  He stopped midstride as a small shapely hand suddenly pressed against his massive chest. He looked down at the voluptuous blonde woman standing before him, her face covered in gaudy paint. One of her finely plucked eyebrows was raised questioningly. She pushed her generous near naked breasts up at him and her painted lips curled up in an inviting smile. With what he had in his purse at that moment, he couldn’t afford her even if he wanted to. Calmly he brushed her aside and moved forward; his eyes locking onto the only other figure there that looked as out of place, if not even more, as he did.

  The rather heavy set man sat in the far corner of the tavern, at a small round table with only two chairs. He had a heavy brown cloak over his shoulders and a large hood pulled down over his head obscured his features. He raised a hand and made a quick gesture. The mercenary slowly stepped up to the table. The hooded man motioned him to sit down.

  “One roasted partridge.” The mercenary said, softly as he took the other seat.

  “And its eggs poached.” The hooded man completed the coded message to confirm they were not making any errors of judgment.

  “What’s the job?” The mercenary got right to the point, not comfortable sitting with his back exposed.

  The hooded man slipped a hand into his cloak and brought out a small painted portrait, fitted in a gilded frame. It was the likeness of a young woman, breathtakingly beautiful, with fiery red hair, emerald green eyes and skin as lush as fresh cream. The mercenary recognized her immediately. There were very few who did not. The Princess Shania was not one to be hiding behind the palace walls, though she seldom ventured outside alone; she was well known
and feared all through the Western Kingdom and beyond.

  “Three days afore.” The hooded man said in hushed tones. “Towards the Dark Keep to the east.”

  “I know the place.” The highland warrior nodded, glancing over his shoulder as some drunk singing a ribald tune. “What is the purse?”

  “Twenty gold pieces, sovereign stamped.” The other replied, placing a small pouch before the mercenary. The thick golden ring on his middle finger gleamed in the flickering light before he swiftly pulled his hand away. “Five now, the rest when you have returned with her alive and unharmed.”

  “I need a manner of proof to convince her of my intentions.” The mercenary nodded, quickly palming the pouch. “So she may not fear me more than her captors.”

  “I understand.” The slouched man shook his head under the deep hood and fished out a small leather wrapped package from under his cloak, placing it on the table.

  The large muscular highlander picked it up, unwrapping the tight binding. His eyes gleamed at the ornate, jewel encrusted dagger within it. That alone could pay for a few years of his way of life. He wrapped it back up and slipped it inside his leather jerkin.

  “Why do you trust me with this, and with your precious cargo?” He abruptly asked the hooded man.

  “You were highly recommended, Cullen, and your reputation precedes you in such matters.”

  “You know my name,” Cullen replied gruffly, rising to his feet. “And I am yet to see your face. But no matter, your manner of speech and the signet ring on your finger that you have forgotten to conceal has already told me who you are.”

  “That’s why you are the man for this job.” The other nodded as the mercenary turned and walked away. “I can trust none other. And Cullen, be warned, for your patience is to be tested… as my precious cargo is not accustomed to ways below her exalted station.”

  ***

  Cullen stood in the light rain outside the high walls of the imposing structure. The Dark Keep was all it as called looked every bit of its foreboding nomenclature. It was well entrenched within the mountains of the Eastern Kingdom, three days ride away from the borders of the Western Kingdom. It was the fourth day since his meeting with the hooded man in the unsavory tavern, whom Cullen knew was the king himself, and he had ridden his warhorse hard through the vast forested landscape. The rain refreshed him and the horse. He had it tethered to a pole beside a few pitched tents outside the walls, of merchants and other men seeking to make money for their wares inside the walls of the Keep.

  He had found their company welcoming. Being traders and merchants they had travelled the lands and a sight like him was nothing out of the ordinary for such men. He had to wait until dark to make his move, a few hours wait also did well to get him some rest and prepare for his rescue attempt. Mostly as a mercenary, Cullen had been hired to slay, to fight against others like him, and even assassinate a powerful rival to some king, noble or chieftain. This was his first attempt at a rescue and that too of a woman, and a princess no less.

  Being part of a race of natural born warriors, Cullen was well versed in the art of warfare and hardship, owing to a life in the highlands, where surviving every day was a battle won. He glanced at the merchants around him, soft and compliant men for whom silver tongues were of more value than sharp steel. They had their uses too, especially when it came to a good meal and gambling.

  “And what are you here for, my large friend.” The short squat man standing beside him asked. “You are no trader or merchant, unless it is slaves you wish to buy or sell.”

  “I am here on a diplomatic mission.” Cullen smiled at the man, though it did not reach his steel blue eyes. “One that will ensure future trade.”

  “And whom do you represent, where are you from?” The tradesman pressed.

  “My people are from the cold highland hills of the North.” Cullen scanned the walls of the Keep, noting the guards on patrol.

  “The North?” The fat man laughed. “What do the people of the North have worth trading with the opulent Eastern Kingdom… animal pelts and dried meat.”

  “Our skills with the sword, Jessop.” Cullen adjusted the leather strap on his helm.

  “Why, is there a war brewing?” Jessop looked suddenly wary.

  “There’s always a war going on, my friend.” Cullen strode off toward the walls as the first few bright stars became visible in the darkening skies above. “Thanks for the fine lamb stew and for taking care of my horse. I will be back shortly.”

  “Fare you well, my large friend.” Jessop sighed. “In whatever diplomatic adventure you’re undertaking.”

  ***

  “Halt, who goes there, answer or die.” The harsh words yelled outside the wooden door to her cell drifted to her sharp ears as she stretched herself on the wooden cot, the only piece of furnishing there.

  Some fool had caught the guards’ attention outside making them raise a ruckus and now her sleep had been shattered. Seven days ago she had been kidnapped from the royal guardians of her father, King Gawain’s summer palace and brought here to this foreboding keep across the borders of their kingdom. She didn’t know what for, but being a princess was good enough reason to be kidnapped. She knew her father would pay any ransom for her, but she was not abducted for the wealth of the kingdom. Instead it was an attempt to stop her from marrying the prince of another kingdom to the south, thus making their nation even more powerful and a possible threat to this one in the east. She had never met this southern Prince before, never even heard of him and couldn’t really care.

  Princess Shania couldn’t give a hoot for such matters of state and politics. Though she was terrified at the abduction, she was so far not treated badly by her captors. Perhaps they knew better than to spoil their only means of leverage, whoever they were. She had been blindfolded and brought to the Keep to be locked up in the little cell, about two days ago. They had given her proper food and drink, proper for a commoner, but acceptable enough to quench her thirst and hunger for the moment. And now when she finally laid her head down to rest, someone was raising hell outside.

  She sat upright when a loud crash sounded right above her cell. Voices were raised in anger and the sound of scuffling ensued. Metal rang on metal, screams of men maimed or dying echoed inside. Then there was a sudden deathly silence as if nothing had ever happened. Whoever the fool trying to escape was must have been dealt with by the guards.

  Suddenly the door to her cell exploded in a rush of splinters as a large man wearing the helm and armor of the Dark Keep guardsmen came hurtling in headfirst, hit the hard floor and lay there very still, his glassy stare looking up at the ceiling of the cell. She stifled a scream, not knowing what to expect, but her heart was beating furiously. A huge shadow blotted out the torch light coming in through the shattered door, and then it ducked low to step into the little cell.

  Shania screamed this time as the largest man she had ever seen stepped into her little cell, a huge broadsword in his massive fist, dripping with fresh blood. He wore some leather and metal armor and his immensely muscular arms and shoulders bore the marks of many scars and ceremonial tribal tattoos. The large iron helm on his head had a visor covering his eyes, his grim lips were a thin line and his powerful jaw bore a few days’ worth of dark stubble. She pressed herself back toward the cold wall of her cell, her green eyes wide in terror.

  “Her hair be as brilliant as the sunset, and her dazzling eyes as green as the evening sea, she has the face to stay the gods and the body to make men kneel before her, ever ready to die.” He said, in a low guttural rumble that seemed to emanate from his deep chest. “You are the Princess Shania, of the Western Kingdom… heir to the crown of Gawain, the King.”

  She eyed him warily as he stood there, not willing to acknowledge him without knowing who he was. He stood there silently awaiting her response, throwing a furtive glance over his massive shoulder every now and then. Realizing that she was not certain about his intentions, he took off his helm. His long dark hai
r tumbled in sweat slick curls around his handsomely rugged face and she stared at the steel blue eyes that looked back at her intensely.

  “Princess, I am Cullen of the Northern Highland Clans, hired by your sire to return you to him.” He said urgently. “Come, we have to leave before they rouse the main army.”