Frankengeld Pt 32

Previously in Frankengeld. In the Hurenhaus Lord Philip continues to test Damion's Priapus Potion, with good results. They observe, through a special window, Madam Minna learning to become a whore after she agreed to the 'Hammer and Anvil' lovemaking of Klaus the Blacksmith. On the way home Damion learns that there has been an accident amongst the search parties for the monster and Victor Frankenstein has been taken home. The next day Damion is summoned to treat an exhausted Victor, and is told the tale of the creation of the New Man.

Now read on...

20th June in the year 1784.

Victor continued his story. He had just declared that it, his creation, was alive!

"I had hoped to create a superior being, to outdo God whose creations are often ugly, stupid, selfish, or criminal. And whose creations must be made by the joining of sweat-polluted flesh, the beast with two backs. But, when the bandages were removed and he was dressed, the truth was revealed."

Victor slumped down, looking as if he were trying to shrink into the cushions, and screwed his eyes tight shut. Clearly whatever he was seeing in his mind's eye was terrible to behold.

"It was horrible, Damion. It was all the things I hated. Ugly, clumsy, barely able to speak except for a snarl. It ate like an animal, and looked at the daylight like a child seeing it for the first time, with no comprehension."

He grabbed at my lapel and pulled me down close, whispering.

"I confess, I would have nothing to do with it. I could not even look at it. I had imagined teaching it to live in society, or have it teach me what it understood of the world. I could not even bring myself to say one word to it. We put it in the cellar of the tower and I sat for hours looking at my notes. I had failed."

The emotion in those last three words were, I believed, the source of his nervous exhaustion. He had spent years building up to this moment of triumph, only to fail. But rather than feeling concern for the creature he had made, he felt sorry for himself. He had rejected the thing, with possibly lethal consequences.

"I sat upstairs trying to discover what I had done wrong, but I could see no error in my work. And downstairs Fritz was taking delight in torturing the poor creature. Scaring it with a burning brand, letting the flames lick against hands thrust forward in defence. I heard the cries, and the rattling of its chains, all the way at the top of the tower and came to see what was amiss. I told him to leave the thing alone, to come away, many times. But he did not heed my words."

He waved his hand at the water carafe and Helena moved quickly to bring him another glass of water. He looked surprised to see her, as if he'd forgotten she was in the room.

"Thank you miss," he gasped, then looked me straight in the eyes. "Fritz is dead, Damion. The monster killed him. I had returned again to my papers, convinced that I had missed some vital process, though I could not imagine what. By the time I had reacted to the screams Fritz was slain. Hanged and, I think, pulled until his neck snapped. The monster was gone. I wandered the tower in a daze, I do not know how long."

So guilt must be added to the weight upon his mind, I thought. And it confirmed his creation must be of considerable strength. To single-handedly lift a struggling man and hang him by the neck needed great strength. At least the creature had demonstrated some compassion, by pulling he had broken his tormentor's neck, shortening his suffering.

"Shortly after that Paul arrived. He has been visiting the tower each day to check upon me, and carry my regards back to Elizabeth, often returning with nothing more than insults from Fritz. I was a coward and told him Fritz was slain by an intruder. He took charge and raised the alarm."

I listened, feeling a little like a priest receiving confession. The difference being, I could not offer absolution. It occurred to me that Victor could not have revealed this to anyone else. Only I, Helena, and the Mystery Club members knew the nature of his work. What he had made with his own hands. I noted that he had started to refer to his creation as a monster. How his vision had fallen from the superior being he wished to create.

"I joined the search parties and was most diligent in hunting that which I had mistakenly made. As it became dark we lit torches. The men in my team were reluctant to push on in the dark, but I insisted. Somehow I got separated from the rest. I came round an outcrop of rock, and there he was. The Monster! My creation!"

"By the light of my torch I could see he was fearful of the flame. The legacy of Fritz. I foolishly thought it made me safe from him. The look in its eyes was terrible to behold, anger and betrayal, in equal quantities. And who could blame it. I had made it, then rejected it."

"The monster snarled my name, it seemed to be all he could speak, then sprang at me. It grasped me by the arm, the other hand reaching for my throat, but I slipped and fell off the outcropping leaving him with only a piece of sleeve as a trophy. I lay stunned on the cold, hard, ground. When the others came, moments later, with their many torches the creature had already fled. I lost consciousness and when I awoke I was here."

Victor seemed less agitated now, as if telling his tale - that had been trapped within him for many hours - had helped spread the load of his distress. He looked at me for comment but I was no priest, to offer God's forgiveness, or judge, to pronounce his sentence. I was a doctor, dedicated where I could, to helping people. And that is how I responded.

"I know you want to go out to hunt this creature again, Victor" I said. "To try to put right what has happened. But you must rest. It is vital."

He watched my face, looking, I suspected for signs that I was disgusted by what he had done. That our friendship was over. I remained the professional and continued, "If you do not rest then you may suffer a complete collapse of body and mind. So, I prescribe bed rest, good sustaining but easily digested food, and plenty of sleep. I will tell your father and Elizabeth what you require for your diet." I nodded towards Helena, "We will leave a tonic for your nerves and a sleeping draught of my preparation, to ensure a dreamless sleep."

He had relaxed back into the chaise-longe now and just listened to me.

"The Chief of Police has the matter in hand. Leave it to him to hunt down this murderous creature. Move on from your scientific quest. Talk to Elizabeth about more pleasant things, marriage, the future of your house. When you are stronger take walks in the sunshine and let her love surround you."

Victor nodded, though I suspected that he might not entirely give up on the idea of personally righting this wrong. Or move on from his quest to create life from lifelessness. The patient who takes good advice from his doctor is rare. He closed his eyes and settled back.

"Helena will now help you move to your own bed," I looked at her and she nodded, knowing what to do. I left him under Helena's care and joined the Baron out in the Hallway.

"He will be well," I said. "Provided that he gets what he most needs. Which is a good rest, and sustaining food. You should move him to his bedroom presently, for that will be more comfortable for him and, with shutters closed, he will be more inclined to sleep. I have asked my assistant to do this, but you might want to give her a servant to help her."

The Baron waved his hand at a maidservant who was standing nearby and she rushed to help Helena.

"Where are Elizabeth and Paul?" I asked. "I have information and instructions for both of them."

Baron Frankenstein smiled, "Paul showed his wisdom by taking Elizabeth for a walk in the garden. To give you time to examine Victor. They were, I believe, intending to walk to the summerhouse. You may find them there."

"Thank you, Baron," I bowed deep.

"No... thank you Damion for bringing your skills to the aid of my son. I will retire to my study now. There is a fine brandy awaiting me, and then I might just have a little nap."

I watched him walk slowly away and believed that if Victor could recover, marry Elizabeth, and give the Baron a grandchild, then the Baron's health and mood would also improve.

I knew the way to the summerhouse, it was where Victor and I had witnessed the Baron and Baroness pleasuring many years ago. As I grew near I heard a passionate voice exclaim, "Oh Victor! Oh! Oh! Oh!"

This was very strange, indeed it was impossible, for I had left Victor in the charge of Helena who, with a chambermaid, was supposed to be moving him to his own bedroom. It was not possible that he was now in the summerhouse unless some occult force had put him there.

Nowadays I did not rule out supernatural answers. What I believed possible in this world had broadened considerably over the last few weeks and days. But the real answer was simply an erotic game. Paul was sat on a wicker chair with his phallus erect and his trousers down by his ankles. Elizabeth was standing over him. She had her back to him, had gathered up her skirts to reveal her naked quim, and she was blindfolded. She was bending her knees until her quim touched the tip of Paul's member, then moving her body back and forward to rub it between her lips and against her secret nub.

And all the time she was talking. "Oh Victor," she gasped. "That feels so good. I can feel your hardness, Victor. The hardness that I desire within me. Your rod of command over me, a mere woman. Yes Victor, I am yours to command."

I watched for a few minutes. She permitted no deeper penetration than rubbing the tip of Paul's phallus against her quim such was her control. His rock-hard phallus was pushing her labial lips around in a movement that must have been very pleasurable to them both. From time to time she grasped his member to permit herself to give a more vigorous rub. He was sitting, eyes clamped shut, hands gripping the arms of the chair tightly, exercising impressive control. If I had been in his place I would have been tempted to thrust upwards with my hips. To penetrate her. To give her what she evidently craved. I suppose Paul was similarly tempted, but his military discipline held firm.

Then fate played its part. There was the yelping cry of an animal from nearby, possibly the gamekeeper's dog, and Paul - ever alert to danger - opened his eyes. He immediately saw me by the door. He looked aghast, embarrassed and ashamed by what I had discovered.

Like many men before him, in fact in exactly the way I had at number 34, he tried to justify what I could see, "It isn't what you think," he said. "Elizabeth is using me to practice for when Victor is well. She says that if she wears the blindfold she can imagine I am Victor, so there is no impropriety."

Elizabeth paused, hovering over Paul's phallus, and looked around, still with the blindfold on.

"Victor, dear," she said. "Are you talking to someone?" Where Paul had confessed to the game she seemed determined to maintain the illusion.

I took two steps closer and could see the effect her 'imagining' had had on her quim. I studied it for a second, for scientific purposes you understand. It was flushed and plumped up with the stimulation. And, getting a few steps closer still, I could see it was shiny and slick with copious juices. Paul's phallus was similarly drenched in lubrication and I was now so close I could smell the musk on it.

Elizabeth was still moving her head around as if trying to detect me by sound, and nobody had answered her question, which was not good etiquette so I replied, "Just I, Elizabeth."

"Eeek!!!" she shouted, in a shocked tone. My voice must have come from a point much closer than she had expected. She jerked away from my voice, waved her arms as if she were considering tearing the blindfold off, but lost her balance and her knees gave way. Her body weight drove her down onto Paul's phallus until her broad buttocks bounced on his thighs. His member penetrated her all the way. Going from fat head to hairy root in one, well lubricated, action. Somewhere in that motion her hymen must have been torn.

"Aaaaaaaaah," she shrieked, and I saw a little trickle of blood.

"Lord in heaven," said Paul through gritted teeth.

Her game had gone terribly wrong and she writhed like a cat on Paul's impressive phallus. She was experiencing, doubtless, the sensations that a poor woman of a defeated enemy town, taken by Paul's regiment, was subjected to. A large phallus driven hard into her, to the hilt, without mercy. The spoils of war they called it. As if to emphasis the warlike nature of this act a little more blood seeped from Elizabeth's quim and dripped onto Paul's scrotum.

Elizabeth put her hands up to the blindfold but then thought better of it, and left it in place. "Oooh Victor," she moaned. "I am so pleased you have decided not to wait until we are wed."

Paul looked puzzled but I thought I understood. If she removed the blindfold the illusion would be shattered, the game would be over. She would not be able to deny the evidence of her own eyes. That Paul was joined with her, and that I was a witness to her impropriety. If she kept it on she could, perhaps, persuade herself that she was impaled on the phallus of her fiancee.

"Oh Victor," she moaned. "Thank you my dear. Let me pleasure you."

She started to move, carefully at first, then with increasing vigour. She used her young, healthy, legs to lift herself up, and then lower herself down again. The expression on her face was wonderful to see. Her first phallus sliding inside her, its flesh rubbing against hers, stretching her and making her nerves sing with pleasure. Whatever her imaginings, or dreams of canals and barges, this was clearly better than she expected. Her breathing became deeper and she reached back to grab Paul's hands, then pulled them over her bosom, forcing him to rub her breasts through her dress.

Paul looked at me in alarm. I don't know how many times they had played this game, where he pretended to be Victor and they had rubbed their sex organs together without penetrating, but this was getting out of control and it was clear he didn't know what to do. I tried to reassure him with a wry smile and a shrug of the shoulders.

"Victor, aah my Victor," Elizabeth moaned. She was bouncing now, ramming herself down onto him, and scrabbling at her corset, trying to release her breasts. "Oh this is wonderful, my love, so wonderful." She finally managed to release the stays of her dress and the folds of cloth around her breasts dropped. She sat down hard in his lap with a little yelp from the deep penetration, slid Paul's hands over her naked breasts, and held them in place while she ground her hips down onto him. She gave a very satisfied groan.

"Gunther," she said, breathing heavily. "Victor is so naughty to make you only watch while he... oooh... pleasures me. Come here."

Gunther was, presumably, another of Victor's friends, or perhaps a trusted servant. Either way she was clearly talking to me. I stepped forward another pace which brought me to a position where I was close enough for her to reach out and touch me. Which she did.

Elizabeth let go of Paul's hands and reached out with her left, and down with the right. Her right hand went between her legs and she stroked her secret nub and ran her fingers around Paul's scrotal sac, exploring for the first time the joining of their sex organs. Her left hand found me and, grabbing my arm, pulled me closer. Then both hands felt for my trousers. Seconds later she had expertly brought my member into the fresh air. She might have been an inexperienced virgin when she sat on Paul's phallus, but she was no novice at unfastening a man's trousers. She could literally do it blindfold.

She shuffled her hips on Paul's lap then started to bounce on his phallus again, at the same time pleasuring me with her hands. Like the duel in my treatment room she was not subtle, and her attempts to stimulate me caused her to be less coordinated in her pleasuring of Paul. Her hand actions were rapid and quite rough. I watched as her breasts bounced on her chest and noted that she was slowly leaning forward, bringing her mouth closer and closer to my member.

This had happened when she visited my surgery, her mouth dipping closer and closer to my phallus as if she was drawn to it like iron filings to a magnet. But this time she could not see my member, could only know where it was by the touch of her hands. I decided her forward lean must be the expression of a deep desire to use her mouth. Eventually the inevitable happened and her lips touched the end of my phallus. To do this she had to lean further and further forward, straining Paul's very stiff phallus. I could see him curving his back and sitting more upright to relieve that pressure.

Elizabeth's lips touched me, kissed me briefly, and she withdrew with a shocked little gasp. Then she kissed me again. A third kiss, deeper this time landed and this time she maintained contact, circling slightly whilst giving a little moan. Finally she put more pressure on the head of my member, opened her lips, and it popped into her warm, welcoming, mouth. Just the head, with her lips resting under the ridge. She stopped fellating me and gave a little moan, then she suddenly shrieked, very loudly.

"Nnnnnnn!!! Nnnnnnn!!! Nnnnnnn!!!"

Paul had finally lost control. His military training gave way, or perhaps he moved to the darker side of the military, the part of him that would abuse the loosing side on a war. He stood up from the chair, forcing Elizabeth to straighten her legs. He had kept his member deep in Elizabeth and he now threw her skirts up her back. She was bent over between us, her buttocks hard against Paul's hips, and Paul's change of position had pushed her violently forward. It had rammed her mouth all the way down my member. Deep into her throat. She was held between us, skewered by our phalluses, like a roasting carcass on a spit rod.

Elizabeth gave further alarmed moans. No words were formed because my phallus was completely blocking her throat. Her hands pawed at my legs ineffectually as if she was overwhelmed by the sensations. Paul ran his hands over her exposed buttocks and lower back as if touching her flesh was delicious to him, which I suppose it was. Then he reached out to me. He nodded, indicating I should grip his hands, and we hooked our fingers together.

Then he spoke. "We pull back together," he said, quietly. "Then we thrust in at the same time. It is something I was taught by my regimental sergeant. Elizabeth should enjoy this."

I wondered what it would have been like if I had accepted a career in the military. My Father had wanted me to uphold the family tradition where the second son goes into the army, or the church. Would I have been a survivor of the great battles, going on to take my reward in plunder and the flesh of defeated women? Probably not, if I'm honest. I'd have probably died in the first skirmish.

Paul said, "Out!"

We both swung our hips back and I heard Elizabeth take a breath through her nose as my member stopped blocking her throat, merely occupying her mouth.

"In!"

Paul heaved on my hands and we swung our hips forward. Our members rammed back into Elizabeth. She squealed as we repeated this military manoeuvre again and again. I couldn't work out if her squeals were expressions of pleasure or distress until her hands locked onto my buttocks and, as Paul gave the order 'In', she started to drag at me, helping me push inwards. Ah, I thought, it's pleasure.

The intervals between the commands to withdraw and thrust became shorter and shorter until we gave up holding hands and were both pounding away as fast as we could achieve. I grasped her shoulders to steady myself, and Paul gripped her waist. The military orders ceased as we grunted and gasped with the effort, it became every man for himself. Each with his own hole.