Книга - Lust Ever After

Lust Ever After
Rose de Fer


London, 1881. The brilliant Dr Frankenstein has a thriving practice in the city, treating ladies for ‘hysteria’ and seducing them along the way.Through his pretty chambermaid, Justine, he spies the perfect opportunity to create what he has always dreamt of – a truly liberated woman. When Justine wakes in the laboratory she has no memory of her former life. All she knows is that she has a ravenous sensual appetite and she will let nothing stand in the way of her desires, least of all Frankenstein. Soon Justine finds herself drawn into a world of forbidden delights, first with her female friends, and then with a mysterious young man named William, with whom she feels a strange and unearthly bond. An unbreakable connection that her creator will do anything to destroy.









Lust Ever After

Rose de Fer





(http://bit.ly/KqDOG3)


Table of Contents

Title Page (#ua491fff7-1407-5d65-ac7b-e198f2fa4259)

Chapter One: The Anatomy Lesson (#ueff3118a-042c-56ee-9fb9-529ed4da1ce7)

Chapter Two: Justine (#u8c685a8f-e97e-5ab8-bae1-0c2b4946dfaf)

Chapter Three: A Curious Visitor (#ude88722b-6419-535c-8599-a57fcf763a04)

Chapter Four: The Perfect Opportunity (#ubaf29c61-26e5-585c-9fda-1e262c93ac38)

Chapter Five: Justine Unbound (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six: A New Life (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven: Friend (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight: Frustration (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine: A New Acquaintance (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten: Pleasure Slave (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven: Questions (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve: Secrets (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen: Female Treachery (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen: Revelation (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen: The Bride (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue: 130 years later (#litres_trial_promo)

More from Mischief (#litres_trial_promo)

About Mischief (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)




Chapter One

The Anatomy Lesson


‘And so, gentlemen, although this is a purely scientific demonstration, you can see that the subject is nonetheless displaying clear and unequivocal signs of arousal.’

The girl, Daisy, was indeed very flushed. She lay naked and splayed on the rugged wooden table in the centre of the room, her skin glowing in the light from the paraffin lamps. Some two dozen young men in frock coats and cravats peered down into the arena of the small operating theatre. Daisy heard the creak of floorboards and the rustle of fabric as they shifted to get a better view. Although she was quite warm, gooseflesh rose on her skin as Dr Frankenstein trailed his fingers over her body, pointing out various features of her anatomy. She was finding it very difficult to remain still, despite his frequent admonishments.

‘This specimen is particularly responsive,’ Frankenstein said, his voice crisp and cultured, his hands adept and precise. ‘Observe how her nipples react to even the slightest stimulation.’

Daisy felt them respond just as he described, stiffening instantly. His fingertips gently touched the hard little peaks and she gasped, throwing her head back and pressing her thighs together around the hot pulse she felt quickening there. She trembled, fingering the leather restraints on either side of the table.

As though reading her mind, the doctor said, ‘If you can’t be still, my girl, I will have to use those.’

Her eyes closed and she blushed deeply, struggling to obey. She was unaccustomed to the sensation of being fully naked, let alone so exposed before an audience. A group of gentlemen at that. It created a heady mix of feelings within her: guilt, titillation, fear, excitement.

She reminded herself of what the doctor had told her when he had recruited her for this demonstration. She would be helping her fellow man, assisting in the advancement of medical science and the understanding of human anatomy. There was nothing untoward about his proposal, nothing for her to feel ashamed about. On the contrary, she should be proud of the service she would be providing. And he would give her a gold sovereign for her trouble. She couldn’t hope to make that in a week selling books in her father’s shop.

‘It is of vital importance,’ he had told her, ‘that students of medicine should have a complete understanding of the form and physiology of the fairer sex. Should they really be expected to make guesses based on vague sketches or genteel allusions to “down there” by embarrassed female patients?’

‘I’ll do my best,’ she had told him at last, both frightened and exhilarated by her decision. ‘Er … there’s no need to inform my father, is there?’

Another jolt of nearly unbearable pleasure brought her back to the moment and she gripped the restraints tightly, secretly wishing she were bound. That way she could pretend that this was all against her will. In fact, the idea made her even more lightheaded with desire.

‘Very sensitive indeed,’ Frankenstein was saying. Now he was pinching her tender nipples, rolling them softly between finger and thumb.

Daisy panted and writhed on the table, her body arching lewdly. She couldn’t help its wanton responses, nor the positively obscene thoughts she found accompanying them. She imagined the students crowding round to examine her themselves in even more intimate detail. A dozen pairs of hands stroking her thighs, her breasts, her bottom. Curious fingers exploring and invading every orifice. Strong arms holding her down if she struggled too much.

‘Hysteria is a pervasive underlying condition, gentlemen, present only in the female of the species. It disorders the mind and frustrates the body. You can see for yourselves how easily it is manifested, even in such impersonal surroundings as these. I believe that all women suffer from it to some degree. Fortunately, with the technological advancements of our modern age, it is quite treatable.’ He paused to smile up at his audience. ‘Not to mention extremely lucrative.’

The room hummed with polite laughter and a few murmurs of admiration. Daisy didn’t fully understand what they were talking about. Naturally, she had heard the term ‘hysteria’ before. She had once seen a lady swoon in her father’s shop, having caught sight of the volumes he kept behind his desk for private subscribers. It hadn’t occurred to her at the time that the lady was in a state comparable to the one she found herself in now. But she had peeked at those volumes later herself and the doctor was right; the experience had left her feeling quite inflamed.

‘A lady clearly cannot function in such a state,’ Frankenstein continued, ‘and the mental turbulence must be released by physical means.’

‘And this device you spoke of can actually cure it?’ came a voice from somewhere above her.

‘Alas, no,’ Frankenstein said. ‘The affliction is incurable. But with regular treatments one may at least provide temporary relief. As my thriving practice can attest.’

He went on to describe a steam-powered device called the Alleviator, which produced intense vibrations and very quickly achieved the curative ‘paroxysm’ that physicians found so tedious and difficult to administer by hand. As he explained the process, he gently prised Daisy’s legs apart and placed his hand against her sex, making her whimper with longing. She was extremely wet, an observation Frankenstein immediately shared with the watchers. It only made her wetter. If she hadn’t been hysterical before, she most certainly was now.

She couldn’t help recalling some of the pictures she had seen in one of those forbidden volumes – strange Oriental drawings of men and women unclothed, in astonishing positions, performing acts she wouldn’t have imagined possible. The pictures had made her blush and tingle and her sex had throbbed much as it was doing now. She felt herself drowning in the sensation as he described the procedure in more detail and answered several questions about the mechanics of the device.

The situation was dizzyingly erotic for Daisy. The doctor never once called her by name; he merely referred to her as ‘the subject’. And yet somehow his impersonal manner only enhanced her arousal. Her entire body felt inflamed, all her senses heightened. Frankenstein urged her legs wider apart and with his fingers he spread her open. She closed her eyes, awash with the sense of exposure and the peculiar pleasure it brought her.

She wasn’t sure she wanted to experience this ‘paroxysm’ if it would relieve her symptoms of hysteria. The physical hunger was itself wildly pleasurable and she didn’t want it to end. Indeed, every time he touched her, however dispassionately, she felt her heart race faster.

One of the students spoke up. ‘Sir, may we ask for a demonstration of how this device works?’

‘Ah, no,’ Frankenstein said. ‘Unfortunately, the device is too large to transport. I keep it in a special private chamber in my consulting rooms. The ladies must come to me, you see.’

Daisy tried to imagine the apparatus and found she grew even more excited by the picture her mind was creating. She saw herself standing before a huge contraption of cold steel, twisting her hands nervously as she waited to surrender her body to its treatment. At Dr Frankenstein’s instruction, she removed her dress and wore only her chemise. A hooded assistant, with smooth feminine hands, helped her up onto a wide wooden platform. She eased Daisy onto her back on a gleaming metal table and fastened her arms tightly above her head with manacles. Then she pulled Daisy’s legs wide apart, securing them with iron bands around her knees and ankles. The position left her sex completely exposed.

Daisy heard a deep rumbling as the steam engine roared to life and the entire structure began to throb around her. There was the low hum of voices as Dr Frankenstein and his lady assistant discussed various settings for the machine and moved around Daisy making adjustments. She heard the sound of a crank turning, the clank and rattle of a chain, and she looked up to see a strange mechanism being lowered into position between her legs. It too was made of cold steel and shaped like the male parts she had seen in the forbidden books. Unable to escape, she had no choice but to submit as Dr Frankenstein pushed the mechanism deep inside her, making her cry out. The assistant told her softly to be quiet and she bit back a cry as the device began to pump like a piston, in and out, in and out. She strained against her bonds to reassure herself that she was held fast.

She closed her eyes as a pair of soft hands untied the laces of her chemise, exposing her full breasts. Helpless and fully on display, Daisy surrendered to the exquisite sensations as the assistant caressed her. The cold machine ravished her while warm human hands cupped her breasts, tweaking the nipples. As had been pointed out to the roomful of students, she was highly responsive. The enormous engine bombarded her with pleasure so intense she wasn’t sure she could take it. Then the lady lowered her head to Daisy’s breasts, pressing her lips against –

‘But, sir, surely you don’t intend to leave the girl in such a state?’

The voice startled Daisy from her fantasy and she opened her eyes, surprised for a moment to find herself back in the operating theatre and not strapped into the steel contraption.

‘Certainly not,’ Frankenstein said, ‘but, given the state of extreme arousal in the subject, I don’t imagine it will prove very difficult to treat her by hand.’

Daisy bit her lip, desperately wanting relief now. He was right; there was no way she could function in such a disordered state. She needed his help. She looked up at him pleadingly, grinding her sex hard against his hand, completely unashamed of the copious wetness she knew he could feel there.

He smiled at her and began to massage the soft folds of her sex, first gently, then with more vigour. Daisy abandoned herself to the ministrations of his skilful fingers, crying out with no concern for her shameless display. She didn’t know what to expect but she knew it when it came. The powerful feelings seemed to spread out from her sex, flooding her whole body. Every muscle was tensed and trembling as she hovered on the brink of ecstasy. At last she reached a peak and a series of spasms overtook her, making her scream. She clamped her legs tightly around his hand as she succumbed to the internal battering that pounded her like waves.

She went limp as the violent spasms gradually faded to a gentle pulsing. She rolled onto her side and drew her legs up to her chest, curling into a ball. She heard the doctor’s voice as if from far away, addressing the room. Whatever he was saying, it had nothing to do with her. Any anxiety she had been feeling at the start of the demonstration was long gone. All she wanted now was to bask in the glow of the delicious relief.

Some time later, he helped her to her feet. The room was empty. He turned away discreetly as she dressed herself, her legs shaky from the experience. She was certain the evidence of what he had done to her was painted across her face for all to see.

‘You did very well,’ he said, ‘and you’ve more than earned your fee.’ He passed her the gold sovereign he had promised her.

‘Thank you, sir,’ she said shyly, too embarrassed to meet his eyes. She tucked the coin into her shoe and clasped her hands as she worked up the courage to ask him the question burning in her mind.

At last she spoke. ‘Sir? This device you spoke of …’

‘Yes, Daisy?’

‘If you ever wished to … Well, that is to say …’ She bit her lip and forced the words out. ‘Might you one day need someone for a demonstration of how it works?’

He smiled and touched her face fondly, as though he’d known all along what was in her mind.




Chapter Two

Justine


It was dark by the time the coach drew up outside the house of Frankenstein. The imposing gothic façade soared above the cobbled drive, its steep gables and asymmetrical roofline carving its outline against the moonlit sky. The horses stamped their feet and snorted, breath pluming in the crisp winter air. It had been a tiring day and Frankenstein was looking forward to relaxing in his study with a glass of brandy.

Justine opened the door for him and took his coat as he stepped inside the hall. The little maid was slightly out of breath, as though she’d run to meet him at the door. Like a pet, he thought with a smile. He handed her his silver-topped walking stick and she slotted it into the rack with the others.

‘Thank you, Justine,’ he said. As she turned back to him, he reached up to her face, fingering a wisp of dark hair that had come loose from her mob cap. He raised his eyebrows.

She blushed and began smoothing her hair back, tucking the loose strands up under her cap. ‘Sorry, sir. I was upstairs when I heard the coach. I was … blacking the grates.’

‘I see.’ He took her hand and peered closely at the fingers. They were spotless. ‘You can’t have made a very good job of it.’

Again she blushed, lowering her head. Unable to improve on her already poor fabrication, she was silent for several seconds. He took pity on her and laughed, gently smacking the back of her hand. ‘It’s all right, my girl,’ he said. ‘There’s nothing to be ashamed of. You were in my rooms again, weren’t you?’

She gasped and feigned innocence. ‘Sir! I –’

‘You know what they say about curious little pussycats, don’t you?’

She bit her lip, fidgeting where she stood as he tormented her, her fingers clutching the lace edges of her pinafore. He knew full well what she had been up to. What girl wouldn’t be curious about the mysterious devices he kept in his locked cabinets? Justine was the one who answered the door to his lady patients, after all, and saw them out again. They were always glowing and a little dishevelled when they left. She was bound to be curious about this special treatment of his that was so popular that these women came back to see him time after time. And he didn’t doubt for a moment that she’d stood outside his consulting room, ear pressed to the door, eyes wide with wonder at the sounds that came from within.

He wasn’t annoyed with her in the slightest, but she was so fetching in her discomfiture he found himself looking for excuses to chide her simply so he could watch her squirm. He felt himself growing hard whenever he teased her. He recalled watching the delicious battle between shame and excitement the day he had hired her, subjecting her to a thorough and completely unnecessary physical examination. What fun he’d had coaxing her out of her dress, her corset, her chemise and pantalets. But just as no man could hide the bulge in his trousers when aroused, no woman could conceal the telltale wetness. And Justine was no exception.

‘The demonstration went well,’ he told her breezily. Initially he’d thought of pressing Justine into service for it, knowing she’d have responded exactly as Daisy had. But then he’d thought better of it. Occasionally, students or colleagues came to the house and the girl would have a devil of a time opening the door or serving tea to men who had seen her in such a state. He had a cruel streak, but not even he could do that to his sweet little maid.

‘That’s good, sir,’ she said, relaxing now that the subject of her snooping seemed to have been dropped. But he didn’t intend to let her off the hook so easily.

‘Yes, the girl was very responsive and I’m satisfied that the students are better informed now as regards the intricacies of female anatomy.’

Her cheeks blazed scarlet again and she chewed her lower lip. ‘Oh.’

‘Indeed, they wanted more. They wanted a demonstration of the Alleviator, but I told them it wouldn’t be possible, as it was simply too big to transport.’

At that he saw her eyes flick to the door of his reception room and then quickly away again. Ah, yes, the little fish was hooked. She knew the machine by name only; she had never seen it.

‘Besides,’ he continued, ‘I didn’t think it fair to subject a girl to that kind of exhibition. It does provoke rather intense and extreme responses in a young lady and I didn’t want the girl to feel at all inhibited by the public setting. In private, they can let go fully, as I’m the only one there to see.’

Justine swallowed audibly as she pretended to make some adjustment to the scattering of calling cards in the little silver salver on the hall table. ‘Very thoughtful, sir,’ was apparently all she could think of to say.

‘So who’s come calling today?’ There were three cards on the salver, each bearing the name of a young lady doubtless suffering the malady he alone seemed able to treat. ‘Miss Anna Fairfax, Mrs Gwendolyn Merrydale …’

‘Yes, sir, they asked if you could please see them right away. That lady –’ she pointed to a familiar gilt-edged card ‘– said it was a matter of extreme urgency.’

‘I see.’

The card Justine indicated belonged to a Mrs Sylvia Leigh-Hunt. She was a wealthy widow he’d been ‘treating’ for several months. She was a few years younger than his forty-two, but still a handsome woman. There was nothing at all wrong with her, but that was hardly the point. He was an expert in the art of separating rich fools from their money.

‘How did the other two look?’ he asked.

‘Oh, Miss Fairfax was a lovely young thing,’ Justine said dreamily. ‘Flaxen hair, green eyes. Like a painting she was, sir.’

He nodded. ‘Mm-hmm. And Mrs Merrydale?’

Justine frowned slightly and shook her head. ‘I told her you weren’t taking on any new patients.’

He laughed. Ah, yes, she knew her master’s tastes. ‘Good girl,’ he said. ‘You’ve done very well. Do you know, I think you’ve earned yourself a reward.’

Her eyes widened as she looked up at him, her face open and trusting and entirely innocent of what he had in mind. She may have thought Miss Fairfax was lovely, but Justine was quite a picture herself. She was twenty-three, slim and petite, sylph-like. But what he found most striking was the contrast of pale-blue eyes and dark hair. It gave her an air of mystery. He had seen her naked, of course, but he had never seen her with her hair down. She always kept it pinned up and tucked into her cap. It would fall in loose wanton waves round her shoulders if she let it down, like that of a gypsy or a wild woman.

Her delicate bone structure belied her low station and he had often toyed with the notion of dressing her as a lady and training her up. Teaching her manners, how to speak, how to walk, how to comport herself. He could see her clothed in a gown of vibrant silk, cut low across the bosom, jewels gleaming against her slender throat. He was sure she could pass for a lady given the right training. Ah, but a lady in public only. In private, he would teach her tricks that would make a whore blush.

Since entering his service, she had proven loyal and obedient. She had no family and no ties to the world outside. Until recently. In the past few weeks she had become sweet on the butcher’s boy Ralph, whom she saw whenever she went to the market to run errands. He was a handsome lad, but Frankenstein knew a bounder when he saw one. He’d seen the way the boy looked at her and he’d cautioned her against giving her heart away too readily, for it was bound to get broken. Still, even the brightest girl is made foolish by love and Frankenstein determined to keep an eye on his little maid, lest she be seduced. By someone other than him.

‘Would my curious little cat like to see what I keep in that locked chamber?’

A beautiful blush painted her cheeks and she fixed her eyes on the floor, where she nudged the toe of one boot against the other, in an agony of indecision. He spared her the misery of admitting her curiosity, took her by the hand and led her into the reception room. She lingered in the doorway as he withdrew a set of keys and unlocked his consulting room, then beckoned her further, as though into a sinister lair. He smiled at the thought, for in a way it was exactly that. Certain of the ladies he saw were under no illusion about what was really going on, but the majority of them had been so conditioned by prudish society as to genuinely believe there was nothing sexual in what he did to them. One day the world would catch on and his little speciality would come to an end. Until then, however, he intended to exploit it to the fullest.

Justine plucked at her skirt, nervously peering around at the cabinets and cupboards. He adjusted the gas lamp and moved deeper into the room, to the inner sanctum, the chamber in which the beast slept, awaiting another victim.

‘Sir, I’m not sure I should …’

Frankenstein returned to her and took her gently by the shoulders, offering her his most charming smile. Doubtless she feared he would persuade her out of her clothes again, a thought he couldn’t deny had crossed his mind. ‘Justine,’ he said, ‘we both know you’ve been in here before without my permission. Didn’t I say when I hired you that I needed a girl I could trust?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Now, I don’t mind that you’re inquisitive, but that doesn’t give you leave to snoop.’

A delicate frown creased her features and she bit her lip. ‘No, sir,’ she mumbled.

‘I’ve never expressly forbidden you to come in here when I’m away – you certainly know where the spare key is kept – but I shouldn’t have thought it necessary. Good little chambermaids do not go sneaking around in their master’s private rooms.’

Although he spoke softly, smiling indulgently all the while, the girl was writhing in a horror of delicious embarrassment. He wondered if she could see how hard it was making him, or indeed if she had sufficient knowledge to recognise such things. Ralph had surely tried, by less eloquent means, to manoeuvre the girl into a compromising position. If so, he had clearly been unsuccessful. Such a rascal would be gone like a shot afterwards and never seen again.

‘It was very naughty of you, wasn’t it?’

Mortified, she couldn’t meet his eyes. He was so close he was sure he could smell her arousal, soft and spicy. She trembled like a rabbit caught in a trap, vulnerable and completely available to him. The girl was so naturally submissive that the very thought of disappointing her master would be a torment for her. If he kept it up much longer, he would reduce her to tears. He caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger and lifted her head.

‘But we were talking about a reward,’ he said kindly. ‘Weren’t we?’

She relaxed at once, a sheepish grin spreading across her features. ‘Yes, sir.’

‘I trust you to look after my needs, so it’s only fair I should trust you with my secrets as well. And I think you deserve to know what goes on. What could possibly be improper about that?’

‘I just wasn’t sure that Ralph would approve of his future wife knowing about – well, certain things …’

Ah, so the scoundrel saw him as a threat, did he? Well, perhaps one seducer could recognise another, but Frankenstein was far more accomplished at this game than he was. There was no way he was going to allow that insolent pup to spoil his lovely Justine.

‘I see,’ he said sadly. ‘So it’s fine for a maid to nose around where she isn’t allowed but when her master trusts her enough to show her himself …’

Her hands flew to her mouth to stifle a little gasp of horror. ‘Oh no, sir! I didn’t mean … I just …’

‘Very well,’ he shrugged, returning the keys to his pocket and turning to leave. ‘I had no idea you had such a low opinion of me, Justine.’

He had to suppress a grin at the miserable sniffle he heard behind him as he walked away. If there was one thing an honest girl couldn’t bear, it was the thought that she had broken someone’s trust.

‘Sir?’ she said at last, her voice wavering.

He turned back to her, his loins twitching with the sense of imminent victory.

She offered him a meek little smile as she moved towards the door of the private chamber. ‘Please forgive me, sir. I was being foolish.’

Frankenstein smiled. Sometimes it was just too easy. He unlocked the door and led her into the darkened chamber.

After a long silence, she asked, ‘Is that it?’

‘The Alleviator,’ he said with pride. ‘Indeed it is.’

He could tell from her face that it was nothing like she had imagined. How often had ladies told him they’d been expecting something huge and fearsome? A massive steam-driven automaton that would violently pound the nervous energy out of them and leave them feeling plundered? He was fascinated by the wild fancies that seemed equal parts fear and desire. What strange creatures women were, really.

‘The patient lies here,’ he explained, touching the padded surface of the table, ‘and the motor is concealed beneath.’

Justine dropped to her knees to peer under the table, gazing at the device and trying to guess how it worked. He knew she would never ask him outright.

‘Would you like to see how it works?’

She jumped as if he’d read her mind and cast her eyes down shyly, her silence all the answer he needed. It was another thing he’d learnt in his dealings with women; they so often needed the illusion of coercion or even force to ease their sense of shame. He had become a master at such games and found that the intricate manoeuvring only added to the fun.

He placed his hands around her waist and lifted her up onto the table. She uttered a little squeak of surprise but didn’t protest.

‘And now you must lie back,’ he said, pushing her down with a hand against her breastbone.

She resisted only for a moment before letting him lower her into position. If she was surprised that he hadn’t asked her to undress she didn’t let on. He had, after all, assured her that it was all entirely proper. A lady didn’t have to be naked to allow access and he was very careful about which ones he demanded it of. All it took was one knowing husband and the whole lucrative venture would be ruined. Today he merely wanted to give Justine a taste, enough to whet her appetite for more. He was determined that in time she would learn to ask for what she wanted.

She blinked in surprise as he gathered her skirt and raised it to her waist before she could object. But she was cowed by her earlier reluctance and, although she stiffened a little at the exposure, she lay still.

‘Good girl. And now if you’ll just part your legs, just a bit …’

She closed her eyes and did as she was told. Underneath she wore the customary open-seam drawers. The garment clothed each leg to the knee, but the legs were separately stitched to the drawstring at the waist, allowing for easy access to the exposed crotch. He had provided them along with her uniform, but he had treated her (and himself) to a fashionable frill of lace at the kneebands. A bit above a maid’s station, but who would ever see but him? Well, perhaps that wretched Ralph …

Justine trembled as he firmly pulled her knees a little further apart. Dampness glistened like dew on the dark thatch of hair at the branching of her thighs.

‘Dear me,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘This won’t do at all.’

The little maid looked instantly alarmed, fearful she’d done something wrong. ‘Sir?’

‘You are not appropriately prepared.’

She blinked, not comprehending.

‘All my patients must be shaved,’ he explained, ‘for reasons of safety and hygiene. You can hardly expect me to probe and stroke and treat the nether parts of you in anything like the detail you need if they are concealed.’

Without waiting for a response, he fetched his shaving things. Of course, the procedure wasn’t necessary at all; it was just his preference. He liked to see everything. Most women found the experience highly erotic, although naturally they tried to pretend they were merely obeying his obscure orders.

The shaving also served another purpose. It ensured that a lady would show herself to no one else, not even another physician. It was as good as a mark of ownership. In this case it would give Justine extra incentive to see that Ralph kept his hands to himself. At least until the hair grew back. Then he would have to contrive an excuse to shave her again.

Justine’s eyes widened as she saw the straight razor. ‘Will it hurt?’ she asked.

He smiled. ‘Not if you’re a good girl and hold very still for me.’ Then he set about daubing her with shaving soap.

She jumped a little at the first touch of the brush but after that she didn’t move. He coaxed her legs wide apart and painted her sex with lather. He couldn’t resist pressing the soft bristles well up against her, which elicited a little moan. Her thighs relaxed and her legs opened wider still, like the petals of a hungry flower spreading itself for the rays of the sun.

‘Now I want you to be perfectly still, Justine,’ he said. ‘You will be still, won’t you?’

‘Yes, sir,’ came the breathless whisper.

Oh yes, she was ready.

He bent over her and slowly drew the blade down over her pubic mound, carving a path through the lather. She gasped and he placed the fingers of his left hand firmly on the vulnerable pink skin he had just revealed, a silent command not to move. Gooseflesh rose on her thighs and she shivered slightly. He wiped the blade clean and swept it through another patch of foam.

This was an especially intimate ritual among the many in his repertoire and he took his time over it. He loved the entire process of unveiling. For him it was more art than science. As the blade rasped and the dark curls fell away he was treated to a sight few men ever got to see – a woman’s sex, wholly uncovered and exposed for his eyes, his hands, his instruments. The ultimate submissive offering.

Holding her skin taut, he slid the razor up each inner thigh, angling each stroke in to the centre point of her sex. He carefully trimmed away everything that might obscure his view. Nothing must remain but her perfect mound, silky and smooth.

It was over far too quickly, both for him and for Justine, whose breathing had grown fast and shallow. Once, she had lifted her head to peer down at what he was doing, then blushed and looked away, clasping her hands at her breast. With all the hair removed he could easily see the reason for her embarrassment: she was exceedingly wet. It was all he could do not to dip his finger inside. Instead he made do with towelling her dry and dabbing at her in such a way as to produce more of those charming little gasps and sighs.

‘There,’ he said triumphantly. ‘That’s much better.’

She glanced down and her mouth fell open in mute surprise as she saw herself clearly for the first time.

‘Now we can proceed.’

He pressed a button at the end of the table and the engine whirred to life, rumbling beneath it. Justine jumped a little at the vibrations and then began to smile.

‘It’s very pleasant, sir,’ she said. ‘Like riding on the train.’

He smiled at her naïveté. ‘Oh, that’s not all.’

He allowed himself a final lingering look at her before proceeding to the next step. The business end of the machine was a small device, about the size and shape of an egg, attached to a hinged metal arm. He lowered the buzzing attachment and rested it against Justine’s bare sex. She gave a little cry of surprise as the powerful vibrations began to pulse through her. No, she hadn’t been expecting that. None of them ever knew what they were in for.

Adopting his most soothing voice, he told her to relax, to submit to the device. Her face took on a familiar dreamy cast as her body realised what was happening and she sank into the pleasure. Everything was centred on that one small part of her and it quickly became her whole world.

How delightful it was to watch the play of emotions across a woman’s face the first time she felt those vibrations! Naturally, some ladies were too repressed to let go, despite his constant reassurances. There was no impropriety, he was a medical man, it was all for their own good. Sometimes none of it could break through the barrier. Such women seemed determined to suffer, to deny themselves pleasure, even in the form of alleged clinical relief.

Justine was an excellent subject. He had tricked her into it so there need be no guilt on her part. And she clearly had a sensual nature; shaving her had shown him that quite plainly. Now she was rocking her hips back and forth to get the most out of the experience. In time, he could introduce her to other devices, other pleasures. He had no doubt that she would prove a very eager pupil.

As he sensed her nearing the peak, he turned a knob to increase the speed. Her fingers clutched the edges of the table and she raised her hips, forcing her pelvis roughly against the source of the pleasure until she gave a wild cry as the wave of spasms overtook her. Then she collapsed, gasping and panting, dazed and spent.

Smiling, Frankenstein shut off the machine and tidied up while she recovered, her legs still splayed, her face flushed and blissful. When she still hadn’t moved after several minutes, he gently drew her skirt down, reluctantly concealing her charms. That seemed to wake her up. She covered her face with her hands as though trying to force her smile into hiding.

‘Well, my girl, I trust you feel suitably rewarded?’

She nodded, amazement painting her features. ‘Oh sir, I’ve never felt such … It was …’

‘I know. It cures all manner of ills. Now perhaps you understand why the treatment is so popular.’

‘I do indeed, sir. I had no idea!’

He helped her up and she stumbled a little as she tried to stand. It was another sight he relished. After soaring with euphoria, they found it a challenge to return to solid ground. Ah, such power he had! In some bygone era he would have been the village’s medicine man, the wise and mysterious enchanter to whom all the women were in thrall.

Justine gazed blankly around the room, still lost to the unfamiliar sensations. He’d awakened every nerve ending in her body, assaulting her with pleasure and now she seemed overwhelmed.

He decided to give her the evening off, even though he knew she might waste it on the butcher’s boy. In fact, Frankenstein rather hoped Ralph would see a change in his little conquest and realise that he was a poor second to whatever her master had done to her.

All in all, it had been a successful day and Frankenstein was delighted with the progress he’d made with Justine. He led her back to the hallway and smiled as she made her unsteady way upstairs.

His eye fell on the salver and he pocketed the calling cards, doubly pleased that his list of patients was growing. Some gossipy lady must have put the word out. At this rate he would have the most successful practice in all of London. Not that any of that mattered to him; it was the money the practice brought in that was important. By the end of the month he should have enough to buy a crucial piece of equipment for the rooftop laboratory. Then he could bury himself in his real work. His life’s work.




Chapter Three

A Curious Visitor


‘Sir? There’s a gentleman here to see you.’

Frankenstein looked up from his desk, frowning. He didn’t like being disturbed when he was working and Justine would never have dreamt of it if the man hadn’t been so persuasive. She opened her mouth to explain but the visitor brushed past her and strode breezily into the room. To her surprise, her master’s face broke into a broad smile.

‘Pretorius,’ he exclaimed. ‘How delightful! I never thought to see you again, old friend!’

The visitor had introduced himself to Justine at the door as Doctor Pretorius, so she assumed he worked at the hospital. He was a handsome man with a soft, mellifluous voice and a pleasant demeanour and he wore a coat of extravagant purple velvet. Indeed, he had quite charmed his way into the house, despite Justine’s insistence that her master did not like to be disturbed.

‘My dear girl,’ he’d said, ‘I can assure you he’ll want to see me.’

And so she’d smiled sheepishly and let him in, hoping he was right and that Frankenstein wouldn’t tell her off for interrupting him. It was the only time he was ever cross with her. He spent hours up in his rooftop laboratory working with strange contraptions that she assumed he must intend for use in his practice and he got so consumed by his work that sometimes he even forgot to eat. She’d made the mistake of disturbing him one time when he was up there and he’d smashed a glass bottle on the floor and shouted at her to get out. Afterwards, he had brought her a little cake to make amends but she’d never dared to enter the laboratory again. Tonight, however, he was in his downstairs study. If Pretorius had wanted her to bother her master in the laboratory she’d have certainly stood her ground.

Pretorius set his case down on the floor and the two men shook hands warmly. There was clearly nothing more for her to do here, so she bobbed an awkward curtsey which neither man noticed and slipped quietly out of the room, closing the door behind her.

She listened at the keyhole for a few moments but they were drinking brandy and reminiscing about old times, nothing of interest to her. Apparently they had known one another at medical school and she gathered from the conversation that Pretorius was an expert on something called ‘nymphomania’. He said that his practice had been successful enough to allow him to retire early and devote himself entirely to research. Then there was a lot of technical talk that Justine couldn’t follow. She soon grew bored with eavesdropping and wandered off to the kitchen, where it was warm.

Her legs still ached from her exertions the other day, when her master had shown her the Alleviator. And shaved her. She blushed to recall it, although the memory excited her too. She wasn’t sure whether it was wrong to feel that way, but surely something that made one feel so good couldn’t be bad. After all, the procedure was meant to be a sort of therapy, wasn’t it? And ladies of good standing flocked here to the house and paid handsomely to receive it. In any case, he’d reassured her that there was no impropriety and she trusted him completely.

Justine was well aware how lucky she was. She knew of maids who toiled day and night for far less than she earned. Her duties were very light by comparison with stories she heard of other houses.

Indeed, Ralph had told her just the other night of one house he knew of where the maids were all got from the workhouse. He said that the master of that house was a high court judge who was on a crusade to reform ‘fallen women’ by his own unorthodox methods, which included tying them down and birching them when they displeased him. But that wasn’t even the worst of it, according to Ralph.

The judge had a special room in his house where the miscreant had to wait until he came to see her, to reprimand her for whatever she’d done wrong, and then she had to ask him very nicely to punish her. Ralph seemed to know the names of all these unfortunate maids and all the details of the elaborate disciplinary rituals they were subjected to, as though he’d somehow managed to insinuate himself into the house and watch. He had seemed especially fascinated by the plight of a girl called Sally, who had stolen some sherry from the butler’s pantry one evening and been made an example of before the entire household.

‘The judge made her wear a special uniform after that,’ he’d said, ‘with her skirts pinned up and her drawers removed entirely. So the other girls could see the stripes he’d painted on her arse and know that they’d suffer the same fate if they got out of line.’

Justine had blanched at the thought of being whipped for such trifling offences as spilling tea or dropping a fork while laying the table, to say nothing of the added humiliation for a crime like stealing. Which of course Justine would never commit. But Ralph had seemed peculiarly intrigued by the whole business. He had asked Justine if Dr Frankenstein was ever so strict with her and what happened to her when she displeased him. He didn’t seem to want to believe her when she assured him that her master was nothing like that terrible judge, that he was kind and gentle and very forgiving of her faults. He had never raised a hand to her and she held him in very high esteem. He was a perfect gentleman.

Something in Ralph’s expression had disquieted her. He almost seemed disappointed, as though he’d wanted to hear tales of harsh discipline at her master’s hands. Later he’d tried to get her to lift her skirts and show him her quim and her eyes had widened with fear, which only seemed to confirm what he suspected about Frankenstein’s cruelty.

‘Come on, Sally, let me see the marks,’ he pleaded, his voice low and hoarse.

‘Sally?’

‘Sorry, I meant Justine of course. It’s only that I was just telling you about Sally and … Oh, let me see. Just a peek.’

Justine didn’t dare let him see what her master had done to her, however pleasant it had been. The embarrassment would have killed her. So instead she put him off with chaste indignation and he became annoyed and called her a tease.

But she didn’t want to be a bad girl like the kind who ended up in the workhouse to be spirited away by cruel judges. She would be happy to show him everything on their wedding night. Justine was a good girl and she was determined to remain so. Ralph had stewed for a while and then cooled off. And if he was a little less enthusiastic when he said he would call on her again in a few days, well, that was fair enough. Once married, she would never deny him. She knew he would understand.

Justine wasn’t worldly wise but she did know that men had needs of a kind that women couldn’t understand. Her friend Daisy had told her all about it. Once, she had even shown Justine some drawings in a book, when her father had left her in charge of the bookshop for the day. Now there was a girl who was overworked! And she wasn’t even a maid – just a shop girl. Justine felt sorry for her, shut up in that dusty, gloomy shop all day, never allowed out for a walk in the park. Justine’s life was one of leisure by comparison.

Her thoughts turned from Daisy back to Ralph. Perhaps by the time she saw him again, the shaved hair would have grown back. Dr Frankenstein had said it shouldn’t take very long. Perhaps then she would let Ralph see. Just a little peek. Surely there could be no harm in that. Not if it was true love.

Justine warmed herself by the stove for a while before becoming curious once more about the unexpected visitor. Dr Pretorius had had a strange sort of case with him. At first she’d taken it for a medical bag but now that she thought about it, it had looked more like a birdcage under a cloth. Yes, and hadn’t she heard a little squeak of some kind when he set it down?

Knowing full well that it was none of her business, but also knowing that there were unlikely to be any consequences if she were caught (no matter what Ralph wanted to believe), she tiptoed back to the study door and crouched down to peer through the keyhole. Dr Pretorius was just unveiling the case and she was right; it was a cage! But what it contained was certainly no bird.

‘What on earth –?’ Frankenstein gasped, staring down at what Justine first took to be a doll.

Pretorius beamed with pride as he unlocked the door of the cage and coaxed the little creature out. ‘I call her Cleo.’

Justine clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her cry of shock. What emerged from the cage was either a living doll or an extraordinarily tiny woman. Only a few inches high, she wore a filmy white dress that revealed more than it concealed. Her feet were bare and her long red hair cascaded down her back. She crept hesitantly towards Pretorius’s hand before climbing into it. He lifted her up and held her out for Frankenstein to see.

Her master shook his head in bewilderment and Pretorius gave a good-natured little laugh as he stroked the woman’s flowing red hair with a fingertip.

‘She’s a homunculus,’ he explained, ‘or homuncula, if you prefer. She is, after all, most assuredly female.’

‘But where did you … How did you …?’

Pretorius moved closer to the fire, presumably to warm the tiny creature. In doing so he provided Justine with an even better view of the proceedings. She could see that Cleo was quite lovely. Her minute hands and feet were exquisitely formed, as were the delicate features of her face. Around her neck she wore a gleaming gold band, very like a collar one would put on a pet. Justine was certain she could make out the glittering of a tiny gold chain attached to it.

‘Isn’t she splendid?’

Frankenstein simply nodded. He seemed quite unable to speak.

‘You see,’ Pretorius said with a touch of pride, ‘while you were skulking about in graveyards in the dead of night looking for specimens, I went to the very source of life itself. This little pet of mine was created wholly by me, grown in my laboratory as one might grow and tend a rare flower. Of course, in this case the flower has been given a rather special diet of aphrodisiacs. It is a formula I’ve been perfecting for years.’

Cleo wrapped her arms around Pretorius’s thumb as Frankenstein bent down for a closer look. She drew back as he reached out a finger to poke her.

‘There’s no need to be afraid,’ Pretorius told her. ‘Despite her fragile appearance she is surprisingly robust. And ever so … talented.’

Frankenstein blinked at him for a moment and then he broke into a hearty laugh. ‘You old devil! Are you telling me you’re corrupting this poor creature?’

Pretorius snorted. ‘My dear chap, she is no innocent maiden. She is as nature – and science – made her. Wholly in thrall to her baser urges and refreshingly uncontaminated by the strictures of this prudish society in which we live.’

Justine blinked in confusion, not understanding a word of what they were saying. If they meant that the fairy-like woman was some kind of animal, she didn’t understand why Frankenstein found it so amusing. And what was that about graveyards?

‘Is she perfectly formed?’ Frankenstein asked.

‘See for yourself. Have you a magnifying glass?’

‘I have.’ He went to fetch it from the desk while Pretorius set Cleo down on the low table, between their brandy glasses. She could easily have fitted inside one. He whispered something to her that Justine couldn’t hear. But suddenly Cleo was undressing. She slithered out of the sheer garment and stood naked in the flickering light from the fire.

Frankenstein returned with a large magnifying glass and proceeded to look her over in detail, prodding her and turning her this way and that, while Pretorius looked on, smiling. Cleo seemed quite unconcerned by this intimate attention but it made Justine blush to the roots of her hair. The tiny woman did as she was directed, bending over, spreading her legs, displaying herself in a variety of positions. It almost looked as though she was enjoying herself, adding little flourishes to her movements. At Pretorius’s instruction she caressed her breasts, pressing them together to accentuate their fullness as she smiled up at both men.

‘You see she has no reservations about her sexuality,’ Pretorius said. ‘She is as free as you or I.’

Frankenstein quirked an eyebrow at his friend and grinned. ‘Free?’

‘Well, of course not “free” in the sense that she may go anywhere she likes. She is my creation and she therefore belongs to me. Don’t you, my pet?’

Cleo stood on tiptoe and stretched her hands up to her master. She bounced happily on her heels by way of response, like a puppy.

‘But she is happy. And she keeps me happy. Her arms and legs are just the right length to fit round – well, I’m sure you can picture the scene. Naturally, I cannot have her in the normal way, but I’m working on a device that will allow me to alter her size at will.’

Frankenstein laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘You were always the more decadent of the two of us.’

‘Yes,’ Pretorius said. He took a sip of brandy and his eyes glinted in the firelight. ‘And just imagine what we might achieve together, Victor! Your first experiment was not, after all, a complete success.’

‘You are too kind, old friend. A wretched failure would be more accurate.’

‘Whatever became of the creature?’

‘I never found his body. My old laboratory was completely incinerated, along with all the equipment. It has taken me years to replace everything but I’m nearly ready to begin again.’

‘And this time,’ Pretorius said, as though making a grand announcement, ‘you shall have my help. Together we will achieve goals undreamt of by the little minds of men who dare to call themselves scientists.’ As he spoke he swept Cleo up into his hand and slipped her into his coat pocket. Her head peeked out and she gazed contentedly up at Pretorius.

Justine pressed her thighs together, suddenly struck by the fantasy of being small enough to fit inside a man’s pocket. She thought of the fun she could have with ordinary objects. For some reason the image of a butterfly collection came to her and she pictured herself spread and displayed behind glass, one of many tiny specimens to be admired.

What would Ralph think if she were suddenly only six inches high? He could bathe her in a teacup and dry her with his handkerchief. And she could wrap her tiny naked arms around his cock and not be ashamed to let him peer at her charms through a magnifying glass. Her face burned as she imagined all the possibilities.

Pretorius raised his brandy glass to make a toast and Justine decided it was a good time to slip away. She had no idea what the two men were talking about or what experiment had gone so horribly wrong for Frankenstein. It must have been before she entered his service. But what little she had understood, not to mention the extraordinary reality of Cleo, had set her mind spinning with what her master in his professional capacity would call hysteria. She knew a way to relieve it herself but she didn’t dare. If he should ring for her and she arrived looking flushed and dishevelled before them both … Well, the possibility was too embarrassing to consider.

As she crept back down the hallway, she heard their glasses clink together. It seemed to herald the beginning of a new world.




Chapter Four

The Perfect Opportunity


A few days later, Frankenstein stood in his laboratory admiring the water tank. It had taken eight men to manoeuvre it up the stairs and into the laboratory but now that it was in place it seemed as though it had always been there. A heated pipe had slowly filled it with snowmelt from the roof. Now it awaited an occupant.

Just imagine what we might achieve together, Victor!

Frankenstein was in no doubt about the genius of Pretorius; the tiny Cleo was proof of that. She was also a reminder that the creation of strange new life was within his grasp. But strange new life of a more appealing kind than that wretched first experiment. From the very start the monster had resented its creator, rebelling against every instruction and every attempt to civilise it. Where he had gone wrong was in using a male subject. Females were far more submissive and malleable. Not to mention physically weaker and therefore easier to control. Pretorius’s homuncula had all the qualities her creator had desired in a woman: beauty, obedience and – perhaps most importantly – a powerful sexual appetite. With his friend’s help, Frankenstein would create his own perfect woman. He could almost see her floating in the tank now, drifting like the promise of triumph.

‘Victor? Is anything the matter?’

He shook himself out of his reverie, surprised for a moment to find himself in his bedroom and not the laboratory. Sylvia Leigh-Hunt stood before him in her red silk corset and petticoats, frozen in the act of undressing. The widow’s face bore a faintly wounded expression.

‘Forgive me, my dear,’ he said, reminding himself whose patronage he was indebted to for quite a lot of his equipment. He arranged his features into a lover’s smile and kissed her hand. ‘I have taken a strange fancy into my head and I was merely wondering whether it might shock you too terribly if I were to suggest it.’

Sylvia’s face brightened at the prospect of a new game and Frankenstein was again struck by her beauty. The years had been kind to her, and her wealthy husband’s untimely demise had been kinder still, for mourning truly became her. An alluring woman, her face bore few signs of her fortyish years, and her black garments and crepe veil suited her surprisingly well. He supposed it was somewhat perverse of him to find her widow’s weeds erotic but then, what was his entire practice if not institutionalised perversion? Most of his lady patients were innocent of what was really going on but Sylvia was a shrewd woman who knew a good thing when she found it. It had taken Frankenstein several ‘treatment sessions’ to realise that neither was fooling the other. Now there was little pretence about why she really came to see him.





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