Lust Ever After

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.