Scent of Ginger Ch. 07

Ch. 07: Compromised

The Doctor and I had reached a turning point. He referred to it as a 'breakthrough.' I would call it the point at which I compromised –or was compromised, depending on how one sees it. At any rate, I realized for the first time that if I could please him enough, I might be able to convince him that I was recovering from my 'dysfunction,' and persuade him to grant me the pleasures I desired. What sort of pleasure I actually wanted still eluded me. My body yearned for bondage and liberation at once, a contradiction which confused me endlessly. Still, it seemed to me that submitting to the Doctor's program offered me a way to work through my confusion. At the very least, I could offer my obedience in exchange for certain small concessions.

"Sir," I ventured when next we met, "since our conversation in the forest, I am beginning to understand a little of the nature of my treatment. Its necessity, for one such as I."

"Is that so, Hannah?" he smiled, humouring me. "Pray tell, what have you understood?"

"I have long sought to cure my night-voice and... and other behaviours myself, through writing. But for me to cure myself in this way is like a dog trying to cure itself of fleas by biting its back. It only causes more damage, in the end. The dog must be cleaned and collared, so that it will not harm itself while it heals. Your efforts to teach me restraint in handling my body are quite like this."

"An apt image, my girl."

"I see that you are teaching me not to bite. And I truly don't wish to harm anyone, myself or you. I wish to be good. I wish to be healed. And so" -here I took a deep breath before forcing myself to continue- "I will cooperate with you fully in my treatment from now on."

"Splendid." His skeptical amusement, I fancied, held a note of genuine approval. I drew on this in broaching my next request.

"I will not bite any more, sir, if I can help it. And yet, the dog that is starved snaps at meat instinctively. The dog that is whipped flinches and snarls, unable to help itself. If I am to be docile and obedient for you, I too must be sated and soothed in some ways."

"What is it you're angling for, Hannah? Put aside your roundabout feminine metaphors and speak plainly."

"Yes, sir. What I propose is a compromise. I will be obedient to you in every respect when it comes to my treatment. But I should like access to my own sources of pleasure as well, when it is acceptable to you."

"Such as?"

"Books, sir. Paper, ink. And your permission, sometimes, to explore my own body as I see fit."

At this he looked thoughtful. He deliberated a while before answering.

"Your desire for these things is a symptom of your condition, I think. We will need to test your ability to practice restraint and decorum, and to find appropriate releases, before you can be trusted to take your treatment into your own hands again."

"I will agree to be tested. Whatever conditions you set, I will meet."

"And if you should fail, and it becomes necessary to punish you again?"

"I will accept that as well. Please, punish me when I deserve it. I will learn."

"Then it's decided. We shall find out what you can do."

***

Throughout the spring and summer, the Doctor and I worked intensively on my training, or as he called it, my 'therapy.' He had other patients to attend to, but I could tell that he put me first. He met with me several times a week for sessions in which my mind, voice, and body all were subject to his program of discipline. As part of my duties I wrote out detailed descriptions of all the sessions afterwards: a full record of my treatment would span volumes. As I flick the edges of these pages, however, some seem to catch my fingertips and stand out, like the flash of brilliant leaves falling scarlet and gold among the greens of a kindling autumn.

Among the scarlet memories I have are the times I failed to control my impulses, the times I was punished. All of my punishments were somehow symbolic, reflecting my transgression so that I could better recall the slips and discipline myself in the future. At first, it could be something as simple as wearing a gag to correct an interruption or impertinence in my speech. I was also literally collared at times, to remind me of the figure of the collared dog I had used. This he did especially when I pulled away from being touched or refused to touch him. Though I have always had an aversion to anyone touching my body, he said that I needed to be tamed to it in order to one day do my duty as a wife. The feeling of the leather band clasped around my sensitive throat, the sensation of him pulling it as he stroked my breasts and belly from behind, was at once a gall and a strange sort of pleasure for me.

But these were fairly minor incidents. At other times, the punishment itself became a major test of my ability to control myself under pressure.

I had been arguing with him about a point of my etiquette training. He wished me to demonstrate that I could properly set a formal dinner table, but I insisted that I had learned this material as a servant already. I stated that I wanted to learn useful new skills, implying that what he taught me was useless. I admit that I was pushing the limits of good conduct that day. I had not been allowed a release in quite some time, and even the prospect of punishment was beginning to seem increasingly appealing.

"Has it occurred to you that I may have a better sense of what I know and what lessons I need than you?" I asked boldly.

"Don't presume, Hannah," he warned, brow darkening.

"Is speaking the truth presumption?"

"Questioning my judgment is presumption, and I will not have it. On your knees, now."

"Yes, yes sir."

I could barely keep my breath from going shivery. I hoped for the gag. The feel of his fingers brushing back my hair, the metal bit smooth and hard between my lips. My perverse body was reacting already, flushing wet at the thought.

I must have betrayed myself by my blush or the wildness in my eye. The Doctor, catching sight of me, suddenly paused.

"Ah. I see how it is." He dropped the gag back into his desk drawer and shut it with finality. I bit back a groan.

"This will not do. You've gotten quite good enough at releases. Now you need to learn your lesson before you take your pleasure. But how to make you see that?"

He gazed at me with that disturbing abstraction of his, until a wicked gleam came into his eye. He had an idea.

"Get up, Hannah. Return to your room, and study your volumes on household management well. In three days' time, I will require you to prove that you can lay and serve a formal dinner for myself and a guest of my acquaintance. And you will do it under conditions that require your utmost concentration. I warn you now: take care and do not treat your task lightly. Your failure would be an embarrassment to this institution, and your therapeutic sessions with me would necessarily be at an end. I will not hesitate to commit you to an asylum for incurable cases. Understood?"

He had never set me such an intimidating task, nor threatened me with such grave consequences before. I rose, curtseyed, and whispered, "As you say, sir." I vowed to do my best.

***

I studied hard. I honestly did. So when the time came to prepare the dinner table, I was fairly confident in my abilities. I had, after all, served the high table in Ravenscourt many times when Clara was alive and her doting uncles and aunts came to visit. The etiquette had not changed greatly since then. I had reviewed thoroughly and was certain of my skill.

Just as I was preparing to dress in the maid's clothing I had been given, however, there came a perfunctory knock at the door, and the Doctor entered. I hastened to cover my half-naked body out of habit. But with a gesture of his hand he commanded me to stand still, so I straightened and stood before him, my breasts bared, with just my bloomers on.

"Before you dress, there is one additional item you will be required to wear during the evening's service." He spoke in a tone that brooked no argument. "You will find it familiar, I don't doubt."

'The corset. Oh no. Oh, yes! I can work with that!' I thought rashly.

But I was wrong. He had an earlier memory in mind.

"Lower your bloomers and spread your legs," the Doctor ordered. Then, from his doctor's bag, he brought out a harness. A harness worked in leather with something long and pale attached to it. The sharp, rich scent of ginger filled the room. I began to tremble but didn't dare protest. I had agreed to be tested, and he knew my weaknesses through and through. My desires, my torments, oh, how he knew them!

Obediently I lifted my bare feet and stepped into the harness as the Doctor held it before me. He pulled it up. The root glistened, slick with juice and seemingly massive. With deliberate cruelty he slipped the shaft in just lightly between my lips and tilted it up, spreading its oils into my delicate folds so that the entire length of my sex would feel it when the burn began. My nipples grew taut, and my entire body quivered minutely with the effort of standing still and holding my moans in. He centered the ginger directly over my hole and pressed in with agonizing slowness, half-penetrating me and then withdrawing. Again. Again. I held my breath—

Then, with sudden, shocking violence, he thrust the root entirely in, filling me inside with its shaft of heat. He pulled the harness tight and buckled it in the back, the same kind of locked buckle he had used on the corset. I couldn't get it off. I was bound tight.

"Your task tonight is twofold, little Hannah. You must lay the table and serve my guest with all due etiquette, as you claim to be so adept at doing. And you must maintain perfect control of your carnal impulses. Should you slip, we will all see you for the incurable masochist that you are, and I will have no choice but to send you to an institute more suited to your condition. Understood?"

My voice cracked as I replied, "Understood, s-sir."

"Now, now. You will have to do better than that at dinner. Until then."

I could barely walk without stumbling as I set the table to prepare for the Doctor and his guest. The ginger inside me caused the most intense sensations of burning arousal possible –and yet, just as in my fever-dream, I was not able to find release without some more direct stimulation. I had to walk very carefully to prevent my undergarments from chafing my swollen clitoris, a difficult task given that even the lightest touch of linen there seemed amplified a hundredfold by my heightened sensitivity. I gasped on the edge of climax several times, and had to stop against the wall to collect my bearings.

I sensed that the Doctor was watching me from somewhere, but I could not tell where. I hoped that he was not counting this private struggle against me. Imagining myself under his gaze, I straightened my skirts, stood tall, and tried to turn my slowness to a swaying grace. Swinging my hips made the ginger burn more than ever, but the way I wanted to move, in coltish leaps, was ridiculous. I had to conduct myself properly. I could already hear the door-bell sounding, imperious echoes in distant corridors. I stationed myself in the servant's niche between the table and the passage to the kitchens, took a deep breath, and composed my face into an expression of pleasant blankness.

It was a lucky thing that I had such a firm grip on myself by the time they entered, because had I not I might have exclaimed in surprise. The Doctor's guest was no stranger at all, but someone known to me: Lord Ravenscourt's youngest brother's son, Goderic. I had seen him a handful of times in my childhood. He was a boisterous youth who acted as if he owned Ravenscourt when his father Godfrey brought him to visit Clara. It had been some ten years since last he saw me at her funeral, however, and he showed no sign of recognizing or even noticing me. He and the Doctor were deep in familiar conversation.

"Wine," the Doctor's tone of command suddenly rose out of the stream of discourse. I stepped forward as quickly as I dared to pour the wine, first Goderic's, then the Doctor's. As I stood beside him, the Doctor trailed one hand up my inner thigh underneath the high table. With one finger, then two, he stroked between my legs, pressing my sensitive flesh through my dress. I splashed a gush of red wine into his glass, pouring far too fast. It was only by luck that no drop spilled onto the white cloth. I stepped back as smoothly as I could to return the decanter to the centre of the table. I quickly learned to brace myself when approaching the Doctor, for he took every opportunity during the meal's many courses to fondle my unbearably aroused body unseen. I could not even glare daggers at him, for Goderic, seated across us, could plainly see my face if he chose to look. My humiliation was complete, and completely intense.

My mind was taken up with many things, then. And yet even in this state, I could not help but hear the conversation of the two men. It was intriguing for one so sheltered as I: gossip from the surrounding manors, allusions to scandals in London-town whose true meanings I could only guess at. Finally, Goderic brought discussion around to a matter that concerned the Doctor.

"You have of course heard of our dear friend the Countess of C—'s daughter, eh, Theo?"

Theo. The Doctor's given name was Theo. I grasped it like a feather plucked from the gale.

"Ah, yes. What has our poetess been up to now?"

"Causing a bother, apparently. Seems she fancies herself quite the Ophelia of late."

"Been mucking about in lakes, has she?"

"Oh, I say, it's all quite dramatic. Half-drowned, she was, when they found her. A taste of your therapy might be in order, what?"

The Doctor frowned.

"Is that why you came to dine, Goderic? You needn't have bothered. Such cases are not within my purview."

"Ah, well. It may interest you to know that her beloved Hamlet is by all accounts a 'Hamlette.' Devotees of Sappho, the both of them. So I've heard."

"Ah. Perhaps, then. Do give Countess C— my card. I will consider the case."

"Good man. Now, how about some brandy?"

"Certainly. Brandy!"

There was a long pause. The Doctor looked pointedly at me and said, "The brandy, girl."

I jumped, my attention suddenly returned to my service –and the state of my body. I cursed myself for the slip and scurried to obey. I had to go to the sideboard for the brandy, and the brisk walk brought the ginger's fading glow to life again. I was flushed as with fever by the time I returned to the table.

"Your maid blushes prettily," Goderic remarked.

"She does, doesn't she?" the Doctor replied with a small, knowing smile.

"Best to keep this one away from Countess C—'s daughter!"

Both men laughed. I moved discreetly to the wall, returning only to refill their snifters. I suffered in silence there until finally, the chime sounded midnight and Goderic took his leave.

The instant Goderic was gone, the Doctor returned to the dining hall and gestured for me to follow him to his office. His face was grave. I was very nearly in tears, thinking that surely he would condemn me for my slowness to respond and my obviously flushed face. But once we got into his sanctum, he turned to me with a laugh and said,

"Ha! You've done wonderfully! He didn't suspect a thing!"

"But, my blush, he said–"

"Oh, Goderic says such things of all the pretty maids, the rogue. You were splendid!"

"I, I thank you, sir." I stammered. "Now, please, may I—oh, take it out!"

"Ah yes, the ginger, of course," he replied disingenuously, as if he had forgotten about it. He rose at a casual pace, watching me squirm desperately out of my uniform and under-clothes. He crouched in front of me and unlocked the harness by touch, reaching behind my back, so that he could watch as he drew the ginger out of me.

"So wet," he murmured. I very nearly convulsed at the sensation of the ginger slithering out between my lips, drooling strands of fluid across my full thighs.

"Oh please, please," I begged incoherently. At this, the Doctor smiled.

"Why, you're quite hysterical, Hannah. In cases like this, the most recommended treatment is the pelvic massage. Lean your backside against the desk, here, and open for me."

I pressed my bottom against the hard edge of the table, leaning back with my arms braced on the desk-top. I spread my legs with shameful eagerness. The Doctor removed his fine evening-coat. Then, he began to run his hands down my abdomen to my thighs and back up. He massaged my flesh, stimulating circulation, and also the flow of my juices. With each breath I gave a little whimper, and with each stroke he drew closer to my slick, gasping sex, until finally his fingers found their way between my lips. He stroked into me deep, so deep, then pulled up to my weakest point, where it hurts and elates me the most. He squeezed my budding tissues hard. I cried out "No!" but I wanted more than anything for him to continue, so hastily I added,

"You too, I want to please you too! Show me how, my Doctor!"

"Mmm, you've been a good girl tonight, but there can be no scandal here, no child by any means, we can't--"

"Then do anything, anything else you can think of!"

"Let us try the Greek way, then," he said. "Turn around."

I did so, placing my hands palms-down on the table before me. With a rustle I heard him shed his waistcoat and trousers. Then, coming up behind me, he slid his cock in between my upper thighs. He did not penetrate me, yet he pumped the flesh of my legs and bottom in a way that stirred me beyond belief. As he held me to him, he twisted my nipples hard in his fingers, the pain lancing down my belly and sending a jolt not unlike the steam-machine's vibration through my sex. We were both gasping hard with one rhythm.

"Hannah, Hannah!" he called rapturously. At the sound of my name cried out in joy my heart and body soared. As my peak arrived, I called back to him,

"Theo!"

The first of my spasms wracked me, sweet and high. But suddenly the heat of his body against mine vanished. Glancing back, I saw that he had pulled out. He was still very hard, leaking fluid, but not the rush I expected to see.

"Never, NEVER call me by that name!" he wailed.

He collapsed into a chair at the desk, holding his head in his hands. At that sight, my eloquent night-voice burst from me unbidden.

"Doctor, Doctor, sir, I'll never do it again if it hurts you! But please, I want you, I want you to take me. If you have something, what the maids call a 'capote,' to keep scandal from our door, then use it. Only, we need release, both of us! We can't think in this state! Take me, and when we're calm again and the, the energies are dissipated, you can say whatever you need to me or send me away."

He looked up at me, his dark eyes burning, half-mad with lust and yet needing to regain control of the situation. I had never realized how harshly he must have been restraining himself until that moment. To show my absolute submission, I knelt down before him with tears in my eyes and said,

"I beg you. I beg you for what I cannot stand and have never wanted before. Penetrate me, use me. Then confide in me as I have in you. If your power over me can connect us, then you have the power already. My body is yours. Let us join over that."

For three, four, five heartbeats we were frozen in an engraved tableau: myself, naked and flushed, on my knees before him, and he equally naked at the desk with his sweat-damped hair in his eyes like the fallen angel of Paradise Lost, sunk in sensual torment.

Six beats. Seven.

"Yes." He said quietly.

He stood and approached me.

"Now, you will learn it all."