Doctor Gassner's Greatest Scheme

Chapter 3: Pieces in Motion

Oxford, England - 1869

Winter laid her cold hands over the country, forcing a retreat to the indoors. The new Lord High Chancellor of Great Britain—Baron Hatherly, recently elevated and the first of his line—was warmly ensconced in his home, protected from the chill outside. His wife, Charlotte, fussed over him as he peered at some official documents.

"Gladstone wants to end the Church of Ireland," he muttered to no one in particular. "That's not going to help the Fenian situation at

all.

"

"Pardon, my love?" his wife asked.

"Nothing, my dear," he replied. He looked up from his papers as she bustled around the house. "What are you doing with such industriousness, if I may inquire?"

She smiled at him. He smiled back with warmth. Their life together had been damn near perfect for the past few years.

"Just neatening a bit," she replied. "Doctor Gassner will be coming out tomorrow. It's time for another session."

He nodded. Gassner's miraculous powers of the mind had transformed his marriage—and given him a pathway to political power. With power came the associated trappings, such as elevation to the Peerage. Gassner had even been responsible for his son and heir. Without Gassner, he and his wife.... Well, the alternative did not bear thinking. Together, they had created a wonderful, loving marriage. Now he had an heir—one day to be the Second Baron of Hatherly and a member of the House of Lords. He could not ask for anything more than he currently had.

"Excellent news," he told his wife. "It has been too long since I've seen the good Doctor."

She nodded back with a smile.

"Before he comes," she said in that voice he had come to know meant that she wanted physical intimacy, "might the two of us ... share a few moments together?"

He smiled back. If she was willing, then so was he. Always. "Of course, my love. Of course! Where are William and the nanny?"

"She took him out to play in the snow. I swear—she bunded him in eight different layers! I think they'll be out for some time." She winked at him.

He stood up and, together, they walked up the stairs to their room. When they reached their chambers, she closed the door and sought his lips. Moving slowly—as if to tantalize him with desire—she slowly stripped him until he stood naked before her. Then she dropped to her knees in front of him, to worship him as a wife worshipped her husband.

But she didn't let him finish. As he neared his spend, she moved her lips away and held him at bay.

"Finish me," he moaned. "I beg it of you!"

"I have a special treat for you. One I believe you will enjoy far more than my mouth."

"What? What could be—"

Charlotte turned from him and lifted her skirts, revealing only skin underneath. He stared as she leaned far over the bed, her plump buttocks making an irresistible target.

"Take me in the arse," she said. She rested her head on the bed and opened her legs. "Take me in the arse. You know you want to."

He did want to. William, Baron Hatherly, reached between his wife's thighs to gather juices for lubrication—though his rampant prick currently dripped with his wife's saliva—and put his finger between her large buttocks, probing deeply.

"

Yes!"

she expostulated. "Yes! Do it to me there!"

He could hardly restrain himself as his pushed the head of his prick into her arse. Her tightness resisted him for a moment before he firmly pushed through and into his wife's body. Between her soft buttocks and her tight arsehole, he was in Heaven. She moaned as he began to thrust into her, his hands grabbing at her hips for traction.

The bed creaked as he worked her. One hand reached around and found her furry cunny, warm and dripping wet. Soon, they were both in a frenzy.

"Fuck, William! Fuck! Fuck me in the arsehole!" she cried out.

He didn't have any words to reply. Instead, he kept pumping into her, going as deep and hard as he possibly could reach. He could feel the sweat drip down his body.

Charlotte spent first, loudly crying out. His hand felt her creamy juices as she yelled. He kept moving without a pause, until he felt his own cum rise up and spew out into her body.

When they were done, he kept his prick lodged in her arsehole. She didn't seem to mind a whit.

"You need to do that to me more often," she said. Her voice was filled with joy. William smiled, knowing he had made his wife happy, as she had made him happy.

"Not as much opportunity for this sort of thing, now that I'm in London all the time."

"How are your meeting your needs—your needs as a man—when you are in London, so far away from your loving wife? Have you taken another mistress?"

He shook his head. "No. You are all the woman I need, or desire. I cannot imagine anybody who could make me as happy as you do."

Charlotte rolled her hips; William found him growing stiff once again.

"Nobody?" she teased. "What about Rose? She seems ... desirable."

"The nanny? I should think not."

Charlotte hummed as he began to thrust into once again. He started slowly; they both understood he would speed up again very soon.

"I think you should seduce her," she said in a matter-of-fact voice, as he rogered her arse for the second time. "Seduce her by guile or force. Then, when you have conquered her, take her to London with you to service your needs while you are so far away from me. I'll find another nanny for young William."

William gave her a particularly robust thrust when he heard those words.

"You would permit—"

"I insist on it. She's young and pretty. I bet her maidenhead is still intact. Take it, William! Take her maidenhead as you have taken mine! Suck her teats! Lick her cunny! Stick your stiff manhood into her tight cunny!"

William groaned out loud, now pistoning roughly into his wife's plump arse.

"That's it," she moaned. "That's it. Fuck me hard—but think of Rose. Think of Rose when you're fucking me! Her tight cunny, her hard pink nipples. Think of her crying out with joy as she spends on your stiff prick!"

William lost control and filled his wife's arse with his warm spunk for the second time in less than 30 minutes.

She pushed him away and turned to look at him, a loving smile on her face. "I love you, William. You must have your needs met at all times."

"And what of you?"

"You are all I ever need," she said. "But if you found a nice necklace the next time you are in Londontown, I wouldn't say 'no' to a present."

"I shall do it! A beautiful necklace for my beautiful wife! My word on it!"

"Thank you, my Lord and husband." Charlotte smiled slyly. "And what of Rose?"

"I shall, uh, consider the matter."

"I will help you."

"What?"

"I will help you seduce her. Between the two of us, she will be powerless to resist your advances."

"Uh...."

"Imagine the sight, William. Imagine two willing women in your bed ... your

slaves.

Eager to do your bidding. Eager to do

whatever

you might demand of them." She smiled and kissed his mouth. "Two women at the same time, my love. My husband. My Lord. Let me help you seduce Rose, then we shall both be yours to do with as you will.

"All you have to do is to pay for Rose to have a session or two with Doctor Gassner."

*****

Scotland - 1869

Charles Henry Gordon-Lennox, 6th Duke of Richmond, 6th Duke of Lennox, 1st Duke of Gordon, KG, PC, and former President of the Board of Trade in former Prime Minister Disraeli's Ministry, had fallen on hard times in the past year, ever since Disraeli had been defeated in February's general election. He had retreated to his estates near Aberdeen, to lick his wounds and to help raise his granddaughter, Violet.

The Duke's wife—Frances—had not taken the news of her unmarried daughter's pregnancy well. Not well at all. She had accused her husband of the most dastardly behavior. Her accusations were true, of course—but as she had no evidence other than her womanly intuition, it was easy to dismiss them as being unfounded. Eventually, she had departed Scotland in anger for their Canadian estates near Banff, where she would repose until she saw fit to return to civilization—and to her husband. Exactly when that eventuality might transpire was, quite frankly, anyone's guess.

In the meantime, Charles had Caroline and she had Violet. Disraeli being out of power now, Charles was out of the public eye. Their family was far away from the society gossips. They were thus free to find what happiness they could in whatever manner they choose.

They chose to couple frequently. He had only to speak the phrase Gassner taught him, and she instantly became his wife, willing and eager to sate his basest desires.

Charles became intimately familiar with his daughter's body. He learned about the effect of laving and sucking her sensitive pink nipples. He learned how much power his tongue held when it parted her thick, dark, thatch of hair to search her tunnel. When he did that, she grew heated and wet for him, her hips humping against his face. When he sucked on her nether lips as he inserted a finger into her tight canal, she invariably cried out, her body contorting in spasm after spasm, as she spent wildly.

Then, when her paroxysms ceased and she was a bit calmer, she gratefully—eagerly—welcomed his stiff prick into her body. He fucked her whenever he wished, however he wished. She denied him nothing. She even granted him access to her arse whenever he desired. Sometimes she even commanded him to take her that way. It was a command he was happy—dare one say eager?—to obey.

They were happy. Charles could hardly believe this life he now lived; it was as if he were living in a dream—but he knew beyond doubt that his elder daughter made him happy. Their daughter—his "granddaughter"—also made him happy, though he had very much wished for another son. They made a family of their own; they were happy together. Even if no one else would understand—or condone—their relationship, they made each other so very happy.

In Lady Frances' absence, Caroline became the chatelaine of their estate—Goodwood, it was called. She became the hostess of the few occasional dinners they had with outsiders. During those dinners, she was gracious and in all ways the epitome of British nobility. After the dinners were over and the guests departed, she once again became his wife, eager to warm his bed. Considering Charles was now out of power and lacked his former influence, this life he now led was a more-than-acceptable alternative.

Yet now his younger daughter, Florence, had turned eighteen. She turned eighteen without a husband or even a suitable potential match. Once again, Charles had a daughter who suffered from the same symptoms as her elder sister: melancholia followed by euphoria, convulsions, acting out as if she were possessed by a demon. There was only one possible solution: Gassner.

He must come to them in Scotland. He must take the long train ride from London and stay for some days while he treated Florence. Florence needed Gassner's therapy. When the Duke learned of Gassner's price for such a "house call" he gulped; he paled. Yet he nodded and agreed to the price. Gassner's expertise was worth an exorbitant sum of money—especially if it preserved the family's harmony.

*****

On the second day after his arrival, after settling into the household, Gassner held his first session with Florence. He looked at the young lady in front of him, seeing her thick red hair curled in ringlets that framed her pale face and emerald green eyes. She was of medium height. Perhaps a bit too well proportioned, with large plump breasts, wide hips, and an ample backside. Her green eyes flashed fire during their first session together.

"I can't imagine why Father called you here," she began. "I have no need of your parlour tricks, 'Doctor' Gassner."

He nodded. "Did you enjoy your bath, my Lady?"

She scoffed. "We're not barbarians up here in the North! We bathe regularly! I had no need of your special bath, sirrah!"

He ignored the gibe. "Yet ... you did enter the bath, did you not?"

She nodded. "At my father's request, I did. I obeyed his wishes. That was the reason I entered the bath, and not because I needed to cleanse myself."

"I understand. You found the bubbles sweet-smelling? The hair oil to your liking?"

Florence nodded again, as if against her will. "I did, sir. Wherever did you get them?"

Gassner ignored her question as he had ignored the earlier gibe. "Very good, my Lady. Now, let us get to know each other a bit."

The questions and answers followed. At first, Florence was short with him, almost insolent in her responses but, as the questions proved harmless, much of her defensiveness faded. If it took a bit longer than usual to achieve a state of suggestiveness, the state was eventually achieved. Florence's eyes closed and her breathing calmed.

She was ready.

Looking at Florence, Gassner could barely restrain himself. She called to him as none of his other patients did—not even the Lady Charlotte. Florence drew him towards her as the sirens lured poor Odysseus, tied to a mast while his men's ears were filled with wax to protect them. Gassner had no such protection from Florence's siren song.

It was the work of but moments to have her naked, lying on the covered couch, her large breasts before him, the thick patch of fiery red hair between her legs calling to him in a siren song he simply could not resist.

He, who had observed scores of naked women over the past few years, had never seen breasts such as these. Her areolae were large and round, and of the palest colour. Her nipples were pink and innocent, yet when touched gently they stood up, thick and proud, begging to be suckled. When he stroked those beautiful nipples, Florence moaned.

Gassner couldn't help himself, he suckled Florence's young breasts until they were both panting. When his fingers crept down to part the thick red hair between her thighs, he found her already sodden and welcoming of his touch. He forced himself to let go of her magnificent breasts so as to replace his fingers with his mouth and tongue.

Damn but she was hairy! Her carrot-red hair reached almost to her navel, and down between her legs to her arse. Her hair covered her mound and nearly hid her pale pink cunny lips. Yet Gassner was not put off by the sight; instead, he found it irresistible. If Florence's breasts had called to him, her hairy cunny called to him even more. He must taste her!

Florence gasped at the initial touch of his tongue; her hands flew down to the back of his head to push him close. Her hips rose up and fell in time with the thrusts of his tongue into her tight canal. When he found her nub and sucked on it, she gasped even louder—her gasp then going silent as her mouth and eyes opened wide though no sounds emerged. She silently screamed and doused Gassner's face with copious juices, then held him in place until he had performed the same duty twice more.

"Ahh, God!" she whispered after her third spend. "Lord above!"

She welcomed his stiff prick, making not a sound as he pushed through her maidenhead. Her legs wrapped him as his hips pumped into her without restraint. He, who was proud of his carnal prowess with women, didn't even last a minute. He groaned and spilled into her canal, filling her womb with his seed.

When it was over, she smiled serenely; they kissed passionately.

When he finally pulled away, he saw Florence's elder sister, Caroline, had been watching them fuck. Her skirts were up above her waist and her hand was rubbing urgently on her dark-haired cunny. He watched as she gasped and spent, then sagged against the wall.

He cleaned Florence and dressed her, then he dressed himself. He looked over at Caroline, who was smiling back at him, her skirts now back in place.

"Say it to me," she said. "Say the words."

Gassner nodded. "The French are coming tonight."

"

Ahh,

yes. There you are. I see you now—my husband. I see you and I see you have been enjoying my sister. I should be jealous but ... I am not. Seeing you with her, seeing your joyous coupling together ... I find nothing in my heart but love for your both! How interesting."

Florence rested comfortably on the couch as Gassner bade Caroline to sit in his chair.

"Lady Caroline, I am your husband. Yet know this: we are no longer in Great Britain. Instead, we are abroad, in a place where men may have more than one wife. Florence, your sister, is one of my other wives. You are both my wives. Do you understand?"

"Yes. My sister and I are both your wives. Together."

"That is why you feel no jealousy. You both share one husband. There can be no jealousy when there is sharing."

"I understand."

"Good. Very good. Now, when you are with your husband, then Florence is no longer your sister. Instead, she is your 'sister-wife'. You share one husband, and you may also share the same bed. There is no jealousy between you, only giving. Giving to your husband and to each other. Do you understand?"

"Yes. Florence is my sister-wife. There is no jealousy between us."

"Good. Very good. I will now waken you, Caroline. When I reach the count of three you will be awake. You will remember nothing of this session until you once again see your husband."

When Caroline's eyes opened, they were clear. She gazed upon the Doctor with love in her eyes.

Gassner said, "The French have retreated tonight."

Caroline blinked and became herself once again. She looked over at Florence, who was resting with eyes closed. She shook herself briefly.

"Thank you for taking care of her," she quietly said to Gassner. "She already seems much calmer."

*****

Charles Henry Gordon-Lennox, 6th Duke of Richmond, 6th Duke of Lennox, 1st Duke of Gordon, KG, PC, and former President of the Board of Trade in former Prime Minister Disraeli's Ministry, died three nights later. A heart attack, the local doctor said.

Truly, it was a difficult cause of death to discern. There were some signs of suffocation but no signs of strangulation. There was evidence of drowning, as well, as the lungs had fluid in them. It was impossible for a man to be both suffocated and drowned at the same time! Still, the deceased had been a Duke of the Realm—and so the doctor ignored the puzzling evidence to deliver his official pronouncement: death by heart failure. A quiet death while asleep. That was the cause of death printed the next day in The Times. The Duke received a moving tribute from the paper, though he would never read it.

His children were crushed at the news. Their father had been but 52 years old at the time of his sudden death.

"What will you do?" Charles, now the 7

th

Duke of Richmond, asked his sisters. It was a difficult situation. Charles the younger was not even 25 years old and he was unprepared for the exigencies of the moment. He had two brothers. One was serving in the Army and the other had married a commoner. They were not the problems before him; his two sisters were.

Two unmarried sisters, one with an infant from a father unnamed and the other suffering from hysteria that required treatment from a specialist called up from London. When he asked his sisters what they would do next, he was fervently hoping they had a good answer to provide him—because otherwise he had no idea what to do for them. They were his responsibility, and he was going to fail them. He was sure of his failure and it made him sick to his stomach.

"We shall travel abroad," Caroline told him. She was a year elder than he, and had been the chatelaine of the estate while their mother "reposed" in Canada. He had looked up to his sister for most of his life; but now that he was the Duke and head of the household, his word ruled here—not hers. The situation was most disconcerting, though he tried to hide his desperate nervousness.