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Patience returns to work
The following Monday Patience was back at work at the medical practice as normal. Of course, her friend and colleague Flora was keen to know how the previous Friday’s experience had gone. Flora listened with rapt attention as Patience recounted the adventure. How there had been thirty observers and not all were doctors. How she had been undressed and examined naked. How she had been restrained for the procedure and, finally, how the hateful gag had been forced upon her.
Flora listened with interest, interjecting with support or horror as appropriate. The two women had grown to be good friends over the last few months, and Flora could empathise with Patience in a way that only two women can. She was not shocked by the way their employer had treated Patience. She had worked for him long enough to know what he was capable of. She gently probed Patience with her questions, trying to gauge the depth of her trauma and concluded that Patience was resilient enough. Yes, she was young; yes, she had little experience of the world; and yes, she was an innocent. But she was quick to learn, she was keen to analyse, draw conclusions and move on.
“Shall we do your treatment?” Flora asked. Monday morning was the time set aside for Patience’s treatment. The practice was quiet on a Monday morning and this was an ideal time. It was a benefit of employment here that treatment would be provided free of charge for both women. Indeed their employer, Dr Cranshaw, made it a condition of employment that both must be treated once a week.
“Yes. Yes I think I would like that,” Said Patience.
“We can do it later in the week if you want.”
“No — I’d like you to…”
“Ok then you go next door and get yourself ready. I’ll be there in a minute.”
Patience walked towards the door, she glanced back at her friend and smiled.
Alone in the treatment room Patience began to undress. She undid the broad belt and removed her long skirt, folding it carefully and placing it onto a side table. She unbuttoned and slipped down the underskirt before starting on her blouse. With buttons at the back it was a little awkward, but it too soon joined the pile of discarded clothing. Now for the corset. Reaching behind her, she pulled open the bow and slackened the ties. By twisting and wriggling her body a little she could slacken it enough to squeeze the sides together and unclip the hooks at the front.
Unconfined, she needed to stretch, elbows back, chest arched. The corset was new. The fashion was to flatten the breasts — a boyish outline the magazines called it—all very well but not very comfortable. It was good to take it off. She caressed her liberated breasts through the cotton fabric of her chemise. Reaching down and fumbling under its folds she removed her drawers. She was ready.
She welcomed these treatment sessions, particularly if it was just Flora and her. It was gentler, less mechanical than with the doctors. A patient had once commented about Flora’s caring touch, and that was true. She cared, through her hands.
Flora entered the room, and turned the key in the lock. They were the only ones in the building at this time but somehow it was comforting to know no one else could enter.
“Come on slip that off,” Flora indicated Patience’s cotton chemise. “Is that new too?” Patience pulled it over her head.
“Yes. I spent some of last week’s earnings. I bought loads of clothes.”
“Good for you — you deserve it. You are a pretty thing you should have nice clothes.”
Their eyes met, an unspeaking connection. Flora dressed in her uniform, starched white apron, sleeves rolled up, and ready for work. Patience completely naked, but completely at ease with her friend.
“Let’s be having you. On your front please.” Flora indicated the treatment couch, over which she had just spread a white cover sheet.
“You are tight here.” Flora massaged her shoulders and neck in long strokes. Patience knew she didn’t need to reply. Every now and then she gave an involuntary grunt as the skilful hands found and eased away knots and tensions. Flora was in no rush. Over the course of half an hour she worked her hands down Patience’s back, then her buttocks and then her legs. Patience was completely relaxed, or at least her muscles were. Relaxed save for the anticipation of what was to come.
Both women were ready for the next phase. Gently she moved her hands to rest on Patience’s bottom. She paused and counted to 5: the signal. Leaving one hand resting on Patience’s bottom, she slid the other between Patience’s legs, and with gentle pressure indicated that Patience should open her legs. Patience complied.
With measured strokes Flora began on Patience’s left buttock, kneading deeply with oil soaked fingers. Flora moved to the other side, the same measured strokes. As her strong fingers compressed the flesh she could see Patience’s sex, its fleshy folds tidily folded inwards, neatly closed, awaiting her attention. Her firm strokes moving casino siteleri nearby flesh and muscle, but Flora was careful not to make direct contact. This was about building anticipation. An aching anticipation both in the mind and in flesh.
Flora paused to get more oil; she poured a few drops across her fingers. The oil, guided by her fingers, dribbled into the cleft of Patience’s bottom, running slowly slowly down, down to her sex. Patience shuddered. With three fingers, she spread the oil along the cleft, up towards her back then down almost to her sex. With her middle finger she traced the puckered rim of Patience’s anus. She pushed her finger against the opening, not enough to penetrate, that was not the intention. This was about teasing and sensitising.
“Turn over for me.”
Patience shuffled herself over to lie on her back. Flora poured some more oil into the palm of her hand, and allowed it to warm there for a few moments. She rubbed her hands together before spreading the oil across Patience’s upper chest, deliberately avoiding the girl’s breasts. This too was still about anticipation. Her fingers massaged outward tracing inter-rib furrows. Down the sternum, between the girl’s breasts, a flattened hand following flattened hand. Beneath the breasts, outward to the sides, then up and back to repeat. Still not touching.
Perfect white hemispheres, pink mounded areola, tightly erect nipples. Patience’s breasts were aching to be touched and Flora knew this, had engineered this. Slowly and with a feather’s lightness she traced her fingertips downwards to the nipple’s edge, then again from the side, and again from underneath. The pale skin taught with small goose bumps betraying arousal.
And having built the tension, Flora relieved it. Cupping strokes gently lifting then compressing patience’s breasts.
Flora paused, her stationary hands pressing lightly on Patience’s chest, silently counting to herself. Patience read the familiar signal, she felt her body’s Pavlovian response, a physical premonition, a spasm somewhere deep inside: like a silent gasp.
As Flora re-oiled her hands, with no communication necessary, Patience re-positioned her legs: Feet together, sole to sole, knees apart.
Flora’s expert hands moved up the inside of Patience’s thighs. Hands rotating at the top of their stroke, fingers almost brushing Patience’s sex. Flora could see it was working, could see her subject swelling and opening, could see the thin inner lips starting to show through. Flora changed her stroke. Using thumb and fingers she gently squeezed together the puffy outer lips, and then with the lightest touch she stroked the protruding inner. Moments later, when Flora released her, Patience was gaping wide, pink and glistening. Flora stretched the thin lips, delicately easing and stretching with finger and thumb, before replacing them neatly. Each time the tips of her thumbs almost entered Patience. And each time Patience felt them there, she pushed upwards, craving more.
She was definitely ready. Palm upward, Flora slid two fingers deep into Patience’s vagina. Bending her fingers upwards, she felt carefully for the spot. Patience gasped loudly. Simultaneously Flora’s thumb felt for the girl’s clitoris, it was swollen and engorged, too engorged for direct contact. It required a more subtle indirect approach: she moved her other hand closer. Like a cellist, she placed her fingers carefully, ready for to perform the final movement. She judged the correct pressure and the correct tension, so that the fleshy hood might transfer her fingers’ motion. Then she played the note: sustained, rapid, vibrato.
Patience could feel it starting, and feared for an instant it might escape, but no, it was going to happen. She cried out, her muscles clenched, breath expelled, and it was there, rushing in like a wave, in another instant she was overwhelmed. Patience flopped back: limp and spent.
It took a few moments for her to return to full awareness. When she did she found Flora close by brushing stray hair from her face. Patience smiled up at her friend, and reaching out took her wrist. She pulled her in until their faces were close, and she kissed her.
“Thank you. Thank you,” she said.
Flora pulled away. “You are welcome. But you know this, all this, it’s just work. We are friends. You know that. Good friends. But this is work — your treatment.”
Patience looked embarrassed. “Oh I am sorry. I shouldn’t have. I don’t know what…”
“Hey. It’s OK. It’s all fine. Good friends yes? The treatments: I love giving them to you. But we are not lovers. Jack is my lover. Come here.” Flora held out her hands to Patience and reassured, Patience, took them. Flora drew her in and embraced her in a long hug, and as they released Flora drew her back kissed her again.
“Good friends — yes? Special friends.”
Patience was enjoying her job; she loved seeing her Grey patients respond to her treatment. canlı casino She enjoyed the company of Flora. 1910 had turned into such a momentous year. So much had happened. So much had changed.
But the New Year was to bring even more change, and the biggest was to concern her and Dr Grey, Cranshaw’s lecture colleague. He was coming to work at the practice, taking over some of Cranshaw’s case load. Patience was to be his personal assistant.
Patience was cautious of him at first. She could not forgive him for his underhandedness during the first lecture: the hateful gag and the speculum. But as time went on, he proved to be very pleasant and easy to work with. He was good with the patients, and had a natural charm. And there was a lighter side to him too: he was not averse to sharing humorous observations about a patient with Patience once they had gone, and sometimes he gently teasing her making her smile. This was quite new to her. Cranshaw was from an older school, from a different class of doctor. But Grey treated her as an equal. She grew to like him.
She was not sure when they started walking out together. It had started in a very mundane way. He was a stranger, she showed him the town: where to find the post-office, a good barber’s shop and a place to buy a winter coat. At the latter he had sought her opinion while he tried on several, and afterwards, he insisted on buying her tea as a thank you. If pressed, she would say it started that day in Brown’s Tea shop on Fish Street.
He had been very attentive. He asked her about her family, what she had done before, what she liked doing. She’d talked and talked. He made it so easy. His smiling blue eyes seemed to elicit more and more.
Then they started going to the music hall each Wednesday evening, she loved the variety acts. They saw all the big names together: Marie Lloyd, Harry Champion and her favourite, Sam Mayo. It was here, in the theatre, with the lights down, he had reached out and taken her hand for the first time. That evening he had walked her home, and as they said their goodbyes, he’d kissed her. It felt so good.
“You are thinking about him aren’t you?” said Flora. It was Patience’s treatment session, and as usual she was naked on the treatment table.
“You know who. Your young man, Dr Grey or is it Alfred now.”
“Alfie,” Patience whispered. Flora smiled at her. “how did you know what I was thinking?” Patience asked.
“I have my methods.”
“What? Tell me.”
“It’s obvious. I have been massaging you for 5 minutes, and look.” She moved her hand down between Patience’s legs. “You are as wet as a fish. What were you thinking about?”
“I was, I was…” Patience was blushing, a deep red stain all the way to her breasts. She could feel the heat of her skin. “I was thinking what it would be like. You know: to do it, with him. If you must know.”
“Shut your eyes,” Flora commanded. Patience did as she was told. “I am going to be him.” Patience nodded. “First he will kiss you here.” Flora gently stroked her fingers down Patience’s neck, “Then here.” She touched Patience’s face with her fingertips. “Then your neck again here. Then maybe he will kiss your breasts.” Flora’s fingers indicated where the kisses would fall: her breasts, her neck, her stomach, between her legs. Patience groaned.
As ever, it took Flora almost no time to bring Patience to her paroxysm. An intense, explosive paroxysm. Patience drowned in its intensity.
“Are you going to do it, with him?” Flora asked as Patience dressed.
“I can’t let him do it to me, if we are not married, can I?”
“But you want to?”
Patience thought hard. She did want to, she badly wanted to, she badly needed to. But it was wrong, she knew it was wrong. How could something she needed so badly, be so wrong.
“I want to, but …you can’t, can you?” was all she could say.
“Sounds like he’d better make an honest woman of you then, and quickly. Before you explode!”
Doctor Grey did finally propose, though it was many months after Flora’s observation, and many treatment sessions later. Patience was overjoyed.
He had picked the day especially, 22nd June, coronation day, and the two off them had set off early to London to see the procession. Grey had a friend with a place on the Strand, and they had a perfect view of the procession from an upper floor window. Grey had pointed out all the dignitaries: King George and Queen Mary, the cousins Czar Nicholas and the Kaiser Wilhelm, then all the other crowned heads of Europe. Later, when crowds had cleared, they walked along to the Savoy, Grey had reserved a table, and after the meal he proposed. She accepted at once.
They decided to on a short engagement and a date was set six months hence. It would not be a big affair: neither came from large families. Grey was in the process of buying a property, in which they could both live and, he hoped, set kaçak casino up his own medical practice.
Patience was very happy to be marrying Grey, as his wife she could work in his new practice. She would miss her old job though, and definitely miss her friend Flora. She also wondered about her treatment, it would surely have to cease when she stopped working there. But, would discontinuing so suddenly after such a time have detrimental effects? She resolved to raise the matter with Flora next time they were alone.
It was one Friday. The patients had gone. Patience and Flora were tidying up and generally getting the place ready for the next week, when Patience asked her.
“Flora, when I am married. Do you think that I will need to continue—you know—with my treatments?”
Flora smiled, “I don’t think so. You’ll have your husband, won’t you?”
“Yes. But, he won’t be treating me. I won’t be his patient.”
“But, you will be his wife; you will be together and know him.” Flora sensed that Patience was not getting her point. “You will be doing it— together.”
“Yes I know about that, but the treatment, that’s different…” and she broke off mid-sentence as various thoughts and ideas suddenly coalesced in her mind. “It is different, what we do, isn’t it? We do medical treatment: whereas that is, well, that is marital relations, they’re not the same. Are they?”
Flora paused before replying, “If all the married men performed as they should, their wives might not need the treatment we provide, put it that way.”
“But, my Alfie, he should know, he’s a doctor, he knows what to do, how to…you know.”
“I don’t think you two will have any problems,” Flora smiled.
“But what about me, I don’t know anything about men. I have only touched women. What if I don’t know what to do. He won’t want me. I’ll turn into one of the women that needs to come here for treatment. Teach me. Teach me what to do with men. You taught me about women. Please.”
And that was how it happened. Flora saw her friend, her naïve, inexperienced friend. Desperately worried about how she would manage as a wife. Driven mad by the anxiety of both wanting him so desperately, and a fear she would not know what to do and so be found wanting. Flora knew that in reality she would be fine, but this was not about reality, it was about poor Patience’s confidence. Flora had an idea.
“Jack, this is my friend, Patience. Patience, this is Jack, my young man”. She smiled at him.
Patience looked at the man who had just entered. He was handsome in his soldier’s uniform, tall, with a fair complexion, weathered by exposure to the elements.
“Pleased to meet you.” He said, fixing her with a smile that seemed to come as much from his blue eyes as from his mouth. He leaned forward to shake her hand, and she could see by the way his body flexed under his tunic he was a muscular man. His handshake was firm and steady.
“Pleased to meet you too, Flora has told me so much about you.”
“Not all bad, I hope.”
Patience started to reply, but realised, to her horror, that she was blushing: Flora had told her all sorts of things!
“Jack, ” Flora flicked her head sideways at him, some sort of indication to him. “we’ll be back in a minute”.
It was Monday morning, as usual there was no one else in building. But, it was to be an unusual day. Flora filled Patience in on the details of her plan.
When the two girls returned Jack was naked, and was sitting on the edge of the examination couch.
Flora had agreed she would train Patience, and Jack was to be their model. Flora would show her what she needed to do with a man, a kind of practical training session. Patience had enquired if Jack would mind two women handling him. Flora had just shaken her head, and assured her he was a man: he really wouldn’t mind. So, Patience agreed, after all Jack was a handsome young man, and Flora was there, what did it matter.
“Come here and take a look what’s what.” Patience joined Flora next to Jack,
“Come on Jack open your legs, let Patience see your tackle. You can touch it,” she nodded in the direction of his groin.
Patience tentatively reached out then touched the flaccid member with her fingers.
Flora affected the educated, upper class tones of Dr Cranshaw, “This is the penis, though most men call it their cock, and down there, that is the scrotum, go on feel it.”
Patience moved her exploring hand lower to the taught wrinkled flesh.
“What can you feel?”
Patience was not sure, she pressed harder.
“Like a sack. Oh there is something inside, like gooseberries.”
Flora laughed. “Never heard them called that before. They are his testicles, but more commonly known as balls. Have good feel. Do you notice anything, about his cock.”
Patience looked, she was not sure but it looked like it was straighter, not flopping over so much.
“Is it getting bigger?”
Flora laughed again. “Let’s try something. You hold his cock with one hand and his balls with the other.” Patience did as instructed. Meanwhile, Flora moved to stand close behind her. Then to Patience’s surprise Flora reached round and squeezed Patience’s breasts in her hands through her clothing.
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