Doctors Orders Ch 03 4

first, thank you so much for your comments! they've helped enormously! i needed the validation, seriously!

parosysm is a period accurate word used in porn of the time (if you like stepsister hentai, you will love victorian porn)... its root is similar to paroxysm but it is a separate, if antiquated word... i do have a thing about trying to balance historical speech without awkwardness but nit using modern idiom too much!

lastly: this is histfic, the characters live before safe bdsm practices exist. please do not take them as a role model couple, this is fantasy, make sure any bdsm relationship is based on the absolute trust that safe words will be obeyed, that the sex is safe, and that the dynamic is healthy! do not isolate yourself! stay safe and happy, my loves!

anyway, onto what you're here for!

***

Chapter Three: An Assignation

"A letter, m'm," their household servant, Fanning, set it down beside her plate and Dorothea smiled up at her.

"Thank you, Fanning. Do you know if Mama has plans today?" She bent and then broke the wax and unfolded the page, curious at the handwriting.

Her eyes dropped to the signature, but it was absent, so she started to read and her world seized. Time stopped and her blood drained from her head and then rushed back to her cheeks.

Anthony.

"--, miss."

She raised wide eyes to Fanning and managed a word of thanks and assurance that she was fine with her tea and crumpets. Her hands shook as she watched the upright woman leave the room, calling to their footman to help her with a pre-arranged task.

Dorothea spread the page on the tablecloth, her hands were shaking too hard to read it and she was desperate to know he had not rejected her letter. Desperate to know what he thought of her. As she read her body throbbed with heat. His words made her trembling turn to shivering delight and the images he conjured made her squirm in her seat, feeling her own wetness between her legs as she thought of him pleasuring himself -- however a man did such a thing alone -- because of her and her words. Her mouth gaped, her tongue feeling too big within it as she reread the beautiful way he described her. Her breasts felt heavy and almost swollen against her chemise.

He was glad. He had given his address so they could continue their naughty letters but left off his name to spare her potential scandal. He wanted her body, the body she had learned to despise from a lifetime of comparison to others and a lifetime of tacit rejection from the men she interacted with, the body she now revelled in as it shook and melted and tingled.

For the first time in her life she understood what it meant to be naked beneath one's clothes. To be so aware of her own body that she could imagine his fingers on every inch of her skin. She only wished she could know what it felt like to have his tongue where his fingers had been. She put her own fingers to her mouth and touched her tongue, tracing the middle valley to the almost pointed tip.

I want you, Dorothea.

His raw-boned, bearded face came to her mind with one of those reassuring, polite, but arousing smiles. To know that he had been fighting his desire for her all that time made her so utterly, blissfully happy. She would have been honoured for any man to feel as he did, but that a man so handsome, so big and strong with his barrel chest and broad frame, his brown eyes that made her feel centred and his hands that had taught her to relax and let herself exist. God, she wanted his great weight on her, pushing her down, anchoring her in place while he kissed and bit her breast as he had during their-- her last session.

She reread the part where he had been writing and holding himself and a breathy moan escaped her, brushing past the fingers that lingered at her lips.

"Good morning, my sweet!" Her mother's arrival made her jump and she snatched the letter away from the table without thinking how guilty that made her look.

"Good morning, mother!" Her voice shook and it drew a frown.

"You sound anxious again, dearest," her mother's enquiries had always had the power to make even the slightest nerves accelerate. Cold, clammy anxiety began to swamp out the burgeoning desire.

"A little, mother," she folded the letter and slipped it into one of her capacious pockets. "What are your plans for today?"

A man had pleasured himself to the thought of her body, and said body was thrumming with need and want and memories of his fingers delving deep within her even if her mind was enerved, and coming down from that to talk calmly to her mother about the charity meeting Dorothea never went to -- choosing to contribute but not debate and chatter at the social gatherings -- was herculean. She did not want to focus on anything but the letter. She wanted to skip ahead to her mother's absence when she could touch herself and write to him again. She wanted to not have to feel wanting again.

Then her mother gulped her tea and waved a finger.

"By the by, I am out again tonight, my dear. I was thinking of taking my evening bodice to Mrs Cattering's as I am to dine with her before we head to the Mainwarings together. You are of course--" Her mother met her gaze and smiled understandingly, only a little pityingly. "You know I must offer. I do not mean to pressure you. I know you do not like to be out with people!"

She would be in front of a room of strangers and not mind a bit. After all, there was a whole galaxy of difference between polite conversation with judgemental socialites and not having to say anything but perhaps please, thank you, and yes, Mr Halloway.

"I shall be fine, Mama," she promised, her mind daring her, challenging her to prove the sessions with Dr Bridger and Mr Halloway were working. "I might even visit a friend this afternoon. It will save Cook the trouble of making dinner for just me."

Her fingers danced, twitching and flickering under the table. She could do this. She could absolutely do this.

"I have some letters to write, Mama, may I abandon you?"

Once in her room she locked her door and flew to her davenport, drawing out the letter once more and smoothing it on the leather surface. She had no wish to divest herself of all her layers in case one of her mother's maids entered or the woman herself, and the risk of telltale creases in her skirt made her twist her mouth in frustration. Then she paused, her head tilting. Perhaps... would he like that?

Sir,

I wish your letter had arrived while I slept, since I am fully attired and my corset, petticoats, bodice and all prevent me from the 'prep' I wish to practice. I do so wish to be a good student for you. Your letter--

She stopped, rereading the incendiary words and forcing a good half of her fist into her mouth to stifle the whimpers of pleasure not being satisfied as even thinking what she wanted to write sent a bolt of electricity up from her seat.

--has left me both strengthened in resolve and relaxation and utterly shattered in peace of mind. My body, sir, it shakes. A fever burns my cheeks, my throat, my breasts. Weight settles between my legs as I feel the wetness you evoke preparing me for your hand. You are not here.

Another shiver wracked her. She would go happily mad for the chance to keep these letters going.

But since I am alone this afternoon and this evening--

She stopped. Anxiety finally did rise and she forced her arousal to front of her mind, thinking of his hands, his eyes, knowing now that he had wanted to take her body under his perhaps for months while she had been dying for want of him. She would not be nervous. She would not back down from this challenge. She wanted it.

She deserved it.

I thought to make use of the address you foolishly allowed me. How silly of you, sir, to teach me confidence and then tantalise me with a place I might visit without being overheard by my mother's servants. A place where I might prepare for the exhibition. In truth, sincerely, I am a little nervous of doing something wrong or asking foolish questions before D. B.

And I want you too, sir. Desperately.

I fear that everyone I pass will see my desire. It tingles through me like electricity through lightening. I am hot and ready for whatever you deign to bestow.

It was not as passionate, but she had to trust that he knew her well enough to read both her nerves and her attempts to quash them. Feverishly, she tapped her left hand against the davenport, her nerves not as unpleasant as they usually were. Was this, perhaps, anticipation? It was!

Thinking of you and anticipating tonight, however long I must wait for your return to your lodgings.

She hesitated. He had not signed his letter, though her name had been scattered throughout it. Was that the way such letters were written? Or was he perhaps so wrapped up in thinking of her that he had merely not thought to sign off?

A penny paid to a post boy and she was stuck waiting for either a response or nightfall, so she threw herself into household chores, forcing her way through the accounts that she struggled with but had taken responsibility of to spare her mother's eyesight. Dorothea spent the rest of the morning on edge, but she kept her demon of panic at bay with thoughts of brown eyes and calloused hands that could be both gentle and implacable.

Shortly after two o'clock the footman brought her a scrap of paper, sealed.

Wear your new combinations. A.

Dorothea's knees gave way but her heart soared.

She pressed one hand against a wall and the other against her stomach, glad she had worn those lacy delights for her own sake that morning. He would see them.

Pausing as she left, hat on head and coat closely buttoned, she wondered suddenly if he would kiss her.

A fluttering very like anxiety made her heart feel like a trapped sparrow for just a moment. She reached into her coat pocket and gripped the letter and note. Drawing them out, she tucked them into her left glove so she could be constantly reminded that he wanted her there, that he expected her.

***

Sitting, watching his door, Anthony let his heart pound and his fingers twitch with impatience and anticipation. He felt odd. Giddy. Filled with a satisfied joy he had not experienced since he was a student. A feeling that life was manageable, worth the effort. Bridger had helped, finding Anthony through the rumours surrounding his dismissal while lecturing. The wrong woman had caught his attention. Snared his attention: she had been so very determined. And she had loved every moment they were together until she sank into his arms in bliss, naked and slick with sweat and their jism.

Only for her brother to return to the house. An absent brother. She had panicked, accused him of defiling her, and the argument and bitterness that had followed resulted in her pretending the flogger had been his and not hers, and him struck from practice of medicine.

With her it had been mischief. Fun and exciting mischief.

With Dorothea?

With Dorothea there was a deep, deep undercurrent of passion. With her it was not about technique and the scientific application of pressure to the body's natural switches, it was about watching her face and listening to her cries.

And tonight, God and the girl willing, he would kiss her. He would finally taste her. In every way she would let him. A shudder passed through his body and he took a sip of his tea. He should probably have a glass of brandy but after that event alcohol had become an expense, a luxury, and a temptation. While working as a labourer for an architect who shared his proclivities and still occasionally invited him to the Molly clubs where their people mingled with those whose own tastes made them unacceptable to society, the temptation to share gin to ease the aches had been overwhelming. It would have been far too easy to sink into the life of a drunkard, to give up. Had he done so, Bridger would have arrived too late. Instead he had been given this second chance. He might not be the doctor, but he gave peace and pleasure to women tangled up in their lives' cruelty and coldness.

And he still tasted the power that made play so enjoyable, a little.

Still, he had been bitter at his own fall, angry about the strings pulled to have a consensual act turned into something deviant and selfish. He had been weary often, unable to sleep with the anger to clear his name to men who would never understand. But that was before.

Before Dorothea.

Before her anxious posture and drumming heel while her mother talked. The slow revelation of how much her soul suffered once they had her alone. The brilliant revelation of her exultant climax and the thankful, wondering expression on her face when she looked at him after that first parosysm, they had been the first strings that wound about him. He had started looking forward to her appointments above all else. Waiting in the hall for her like a lover, not a practitioner.

None of that anticipation could compare, however, to the breathless excitement he felt now.

As the door resounded with one confident knock, and two subsequent quieter ones, as though she had startled herself with her own boldness. He soared from his chair, cup abandoned without conscious thought as he strode across the room with a gust in his wake.

Pulling open the door, Anthony looked down the couple of scant inches into her face. She had drawn in a breath, lips slightly parted, and looked up at him with a wide-eyed excitement and fear that fed the beast inside him.

"Mr Halloway," she whispered.

"Come in," he stood aside, the fist holding the door gripping it tightly as if he could feed his celebrating heart's energy into the wood and stop himself dancing her around and around in sheer delight. He could not have said whether the greeting was a command or a votive, desperate plea. "You came."

And she looked up at him, the saucy confidence he had helped her find twisting her lips.

"For you? Of course I did. These combinations deserve to be shared!"

He gave a contented little hum of approval, reached out, and pushed her back against the now closed door to his appartment. She squeaked, her eyes now devoid of fear even if she shook a little, and the door sent her hat into disarray.

He whet his lips, and he finally kissed her.

Her answering hum of relief and joy sent a quivering pleasure through his body, lifting him to the sky while standing. Her lips were still until he nuzzled a kiss against her bottom lip and she returned the movement. He rubbed his lips over hers and she mirrored him. She learned fast and she was happy to please and he was torn between getting her out of her hat and coat or staying here, kissing her, for at least an hour, maybe forever.

Then she retreated, hands on his chest and pushing him away. His heart turned over in an odd little panic, and he lifted his hands from her, showing her his palms, worried that she might be afraid of him. But it was not fear that was crumpling her face, it was doubt. He had learned to read her expressions like an expert reading brushstrokes on a painting. She was so very brave, even in uncertainty. God, he loved that about her!

"Tell me... please, Mr Halloway, tell me you do not think less of me for coming?" She raised her eyes to his briefly before dropping them once more to his chest.

His own hands dropped to his sides, even though his arms from shoulder to wrist ached to hold her close.

"I am delighted that you have come here, Dorothea," he took possession of her name for the first time aloud and the taste of it on his tongue gave him a quivering, delicious sensation. "I am ecstatic. Touching you each time you visit Dr Bridger has been wonderful but also the greatest test of my resolve and most agonising torment of my life. Not being able to kiss you, to taste your skin as a lover might, has been interminably difficult. Worth it, but oh so difficult. May I touch you again, Dorothea?"

He could say her name with every sentence he spoke and never tire of the lightening strike of pleasure that hit him in the heart at getting to use her first name. The tightness in his chest, however, he did not like. It would not do for them both to be nervous. He wanted to be everything for her, wanted to be her teacher in this world that was new to her, and a stalwart friend if she wished it. He could not do that if he started stammering and shaking.

She nodded, and then shuddered a breath, raised her head and showed him eyes that shone with relief but glittered with tears.

"I was worried," she admitted. "That you would return my letter or write to my mother or sever our connection..."

He was still standing there, fighting anxiety he was starting to realise came from a need to satisfy her, to chase away that doubt. Then she reached up to frame his face with her hands.

"Please, do touch me again, Mr Halloway."

He pulled her to him and kissed her gently, a poignant kiss for her esteem's sake. Then passionately because he couldn't resist her. Could not resist devouring her clever student of a mouth.

"Gladly," he groaned, a hum of noise from his chest to his lips. And as he spoke he was drawn to set his lips to her over and over, rubbing and tasting and coiling his tongue against hers. "I may couch this in terms of preparing you for... for the exhibition..."

She was learning fast, mirroring the sweet kisses and the hot, messier ones and giving him oak the like he had never felt. Knowing he was going to get her body to himself was a delight. Knowing that he was going to show her that her one lover had been a fool and a failure, that he would get to pleasure her until she was shaking and pleading for respite from the onslaught, was driving his poor balls to madness. He could feel his own heartbeat at the base of his cock and had the fashion for tight pantaloons continued he would have been utterly disgraced by her.

"But Dorothea," he remembered to continue speaking through the onslaught of sensation, "I have wanted the chance for your body since the moment you gripped my hand and asked me to forgive you for being hot and wet for me."

She turned her head down, knocking her forehead against the side of his neck, her breath hot and teasing against his skin. Her hat an annoyance he raised a hand to remove pin by pin.

"I was never wanton before you," she accused, flashing him mock accusation. "I... the things I... the things I dream about do not reflect a woman of manners or enlightenment. The curiosity I feel about so many things, Mr Halloway..."

He ran soft fingers up and down her back as he let the hat fall to the ground.

"You can call me Anthony when we are alone, Dorothea," he said, hoping she felt comfortable enough to do so despite the thrill hearing sir and mister from her lips gave him.

"I..." She pushed away again and he longed for her instantly, missed her mouth. "I know that, but... I... I enjoy saying... I enjoy calling you Mr Halloway. It reverberates in my soul and..." Shyly, she held his gaze and bliss flooded his veins. "It makes me... hot and wet."

Anthony growled, strode to her as she dipped past him into his receiving room with a grin on that beautiful face. His own face split with a smile he felt to his toes. She stripped off her gloves and dropped them on a battered sidetable. He caught her elbows and steered her past a couch to the shuttered windows alongside his davenport. He snatched her bare hands and lifted them above her head.

The shutters rattled. Deep, animal groans shook his throat as he devoured her throat above her jacket's collar. She cried out softly, her body rippling between him and the creaking wood panels. He ground his body against her, his hard cock against her hip, her curving flesh pliant but with enough firmness to torture him through layers of cloth. Her breath was already coming hard, and she moaned when he licked up along her pulse.