Louise Taylor has brought along my kind of book: Victorian hanky panky!
The doctor has one cure for a disobedient patient – a good spanking!
The Ruttingdon Club Series Book 4: Do As The Doctor Orders
Lady Cassandra Martinbury has a big problem – her spendthrift father has bankrupted their earldom and left the two of them nearly penniless. The only way to save what is left of the family estate is for her to marry a man of means, but she draws the line at being forced to submit to the vicious Marquess of Radcliffe, her only suitor.
Feigning illness to avoid wedding Radcliffe, Cassandra comes under the care of Dr. Henry Sutherland, a Ruttingdon Club member and a specialist in the treatment of female hysteria. He can tell immediately that she is faking her symptoms, but the thought of a week with the beautiful woman at his private sanatorium is just too tempting to resist.
But Cassandra needs a decent, agreeable husband, not a week at a remote therapy spa, where there are few people at all to be found, let alone any unattached men of good breeding. Still, that is where she ends up, although she has no intention of remaining there. Her repeated escape attempts from the place find her over the handsome doctor’s knee three times before she realizes that the man to save her and her father might just be right in front of her!
She moaned as he began his careful manipulation of her. Each of his patients was different. Some only needed the very lightest of touches, while others demanded a firmer application of his hand. Lady Dawson preferred a light touch to start with, but a firm rub of her clitoris was necessary to actually bring her off. She was tight; her marriage to old Dawson had not brought about any children, which wasn’t surprising when one considered the man she had married had been in his late sixties while she had been a youthful nineteen. Ten years on, her husband was frail and infirm while his nubile wife was in her prime and completely unsatisfied in her marital bed.
She was soaking wet when he fingered the entrance to her channel, but he applied a liberal amount of lubricant to his fingers anyway. His hands were strong and large, and his fingers thick. She could take two on her own, but if he were to get three of them up inside her he’d need the slickness.
She was gasping and pulling at the straps now, but Henry was careful not to rush the treatment. He would bring her to the edge twice or three times before he allowed her to orgasm – or experience paroxysm, as his smartly bound collection of medical textbooks that lined the walls of his office called it. All the texts recommended bringing forth paroxysm as soon as possible, so that the patient did not confuse this necessary medical treatment with anything as distasteful as feminine sexual pleasure. Henry preferred to draw out the experience and make his patients shudder and beg for his touch because it pleased his dominant nature to have women so completely under his control.
Why more men didn’t specialise in female medicine, he had no idea. They clearly had no idea of the fun they were missing out on!