Page 10 of Doctor Hardy and the Hysteria Machine (The Doctor’s Pleasure #1)
Chapter Nine
A week passed, and Beatrice arrived promptly at ten o’clock again for her treatment.
This time, Agnes greeted her like an old friend.
“It is lovely to see you again, Beatrice! I trust you’ve been well?”
“Indeed, thank you,” she answered with a shy smile. Judging by Agnes’s knowing look, the doctor’s assistant knew exactly what she spoke of.
“Splendid! Doctor Hardy will be so pleased to hear.” They entered the familiar examination room. “The doctor will be with us shortly. He’s preparing for your treatment.”
Just like a week ago, Agnes helped her out of her coat and dress, until the patient wore nothing but her thin shift. This time, Beatrice rushed through the steps with sure fingers, her heart pounding with excited anticipation in the absence of nerves.
What was Doctor Hardy preparing? She wondered. The mysterious beautifier from his advertisement?
Her face flushed crimson at the memory of Imogen's crude remark. What if her friend was right? What if this ultimate treatment—this unconventional method which he was sure would raise more than a few eyebrows—was indeed his manhood?
Beatrice was shocked to realize that she would not mind if that were the case.
And what a magnificent manhood it was! She saw the doctor in her mind’s eye, his teeth clenched, his self-restraint pushed to the limit as Beatrice explored his length and traced his veins… The memory was branded on her mind, and never failed to make her soaking wet between her legs.
“For today's treatment, Doctor Hardy has requested that I stay and assist,” Agnes said, gesturing for Beatrice to sit on the examination couch. “As long as the arrangement is amenable to you, of course.”
Beatrice answered in the affirmative, grateful for Agnes’s consideration as well as her company. The assistant wore the same light blue dress, her white bonnet and nurse’s apron spotless and starched.
“How long have you worked for Doctor Hardy?”
“It’s been a while,” Agnes smiled and said. “I think I hear him now.”
“Good morning, Lady Beatrice,” the voice she'd heard in her nightly fantasy greeted cheerfully. “Have you thought more about what we discussed last week?”
The man took a few long strides and towered over her. He was only wearing shirtsleeves today, tucked into indecently well-filled dark trousers. Beatrice squirmed on the couch, already wet and ready.
“Yes. I’ve started tempering my shame for pleasure.”
“I am pleased to hear,” he praised and winked at her. “That will make your doctor’s job easier today.”
With a nod at Agnes, the doctor turned to the wooden box at the back corner of the examination room. It looked quite heavy, Beatrice noted with curiosity. He picked it up by a pair of wooden handles and carried it towards the ladies.
The doctor unlocked and removed the lid, and its four wooden sides fell away to reveal the strangest machinery Beatrice had ever seen. Interconnected parts and rotating gears were joined by chains along its polished metal body. A row of copper switches and a clock-faced meter lined its side. The machine was connected to a miniature steam engine, and Agnes was busy connecting its exhaust tube to the examination room’s slightly opened window.
The strangest thing, though, was what could only be described as a rubber replica of a cock. It jutted out proudly from the front end of the machine, bright red and erect.
Even without Doctor Hardy's lesson on the male anatomy a week prior, Beatrice would have recognized the shape from its accurate craftsmanship. Realistic veins ran along its impressive length of eight or nine inches, and the flared end—expertly rendered down to the small indent at the tip—was a perfect rendering of a cock head.
The doctor watched as Beatrice took in the sight of his invention, apparent pride radiating from his body. He smiled indulgently when her hand reached to feel the rubber cock. Beatrice traced the rim around its head, then the little hole where a man’s seed would spurt out.
Then it struck her.
“Is this…?” She raised a questioning eyebrow and looked up at the doctor. Her heart pounded hard with the question she couldn't bring herself to finish.
“Very good,” he was pleased by her keen observation. “It’s an exact replica of my own manhood.” With a meaningful glance at his assistant, who had finished setting up the machine for their use, he added, “We decided it made sense to work with what I have, rather than sculpt one from scratch.”
That small pinch of unwarranted jealousy reared its head once more. In its wake, the outrageous indecency of the whole situation felt unimportant. For a moment, all Beatrice could think of was Agnes and the doctor, limbs tangled and writhing together on the crimson velvet of his examination couch.
At her silence, he went down to one knee before Beatrice and lifted her chin, gentle concern softening his sharp blue eyes. “I know this type of procedure is unheard of, and I would not blame you if you wish—”
“Treat me, Doctor Hardy. I’m ready.”