Love Bound
Authors: Selena Kitt
WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is
for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an
infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to
the fullest extent of the law.
This book is for sale to ADULT AUDIENCES
ONLY. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language
which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files
where they cannot be accessed by minors.
All sexually active characters in this work are
18 years of age or older.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
places and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or
are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events
or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,
business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover
Design:
Alessia Brio
Love Bound © July 2011 Selena Kitt, editor
e
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cessica
publishing
All rights reserved
Love
Bound
Table of Contents
After the Lecture by Elliott Mabeuse
Tempting the Dom by Dakota Trace
The Flintstone Experiment by Selena Kitt
That Eureka Moment by Alex Jordaine
Misty’s Tale by Jennifer Campbell
Safeword: Inferno by Candace Blevins
Mistress Audrey by Giselle Renarde
Professional Help by Penelope Street
Wicked Pirate Raven by Erin O’Riordan
By Elliott Mabeuse
“And so we see that it is not only
possible that the human female is not only capable of a sensual enjoyment of
the sexual act on a par with the male’s, but that such enjoyment may be vital
to her own health and physical well-being. My own research has demonstrated
that the female orgasm is no myth, ladies and gentlemen, but a new and hitherto
unknown territory, and one which my work will continue to chart and explore.”
The gaslights in the auditorium were
now turned up, and as light flooded the darkened hall so did the low
undercurrent of murmured voices rise and crest like an ocean wave, then crash
on the shore into an eruption of confused talk, shouts and objections.
The Doctor picked up his notes and
tapped the edges together. He had been waiting for this. Indeed, he’d been
expecting it, and now he regarded the sea of excited faces beneath the
flickering gaslights with a certain equanimity and quiet disdain. The most
eminent physicians had left long before, muttering aloud about scientific
heresy and insults to the sanctity of womanhood, but those who were left were
no less vociferous. The volume of talk grew, a riot waiting to happen.
“I will entertain questions from the
floor,” he said into the growing din, but the audience was already too far out
of control to make that feasible. There were shouts and arguments, even some
threats and pushing and shoving from the back of the stuffy lecture hall where
the local clergy had staged a now not so silent demonstration in protest of his
thesis of the existence of the female orgasm.
He ignored the fracas. He really had
no desire to field a bunch of ignorant comments from an angry and outraged mob,
and his invitation for questions had been a mere formality. Already the
chairman was gesturing for him to hurry off the dais before things grew ugly,
and as he prepared to leave, his eye was caught by the form of an astonishingly
lovely young lady who sat some five rows back, her eyes shining with wonder and
admiration. She would have caught his eye anywhere, but sitting there calmly
amidst the hubbub, her eyes glowing under the shadow of her hat with a look
somewhere between rapt interest and adoration, she held his eye as an oasis of
placid female beauty amidst a sea of madness. He took a moment to smile at her
and nod his head, and after a moment of recognition, she nodded back, her eyes
still rapt.
He gathered his notes, took one last
look at the young beauty, then allowed the chairman to take his arm and lead
him towards the side door. He moved deliberately, refusing to be bundled about,
calmly sliding his notes into his valise.
“This way, Doctor, please. A carriage
is waiting.”
The side door was already open, a
closed carriage standing by, no doubt so the Doctor wouldn’t be recognized by
the angry crowd that was already gathering by the front door. The chairman held
the side door open, muttering nervous apologies and thanks for the most
stimulating lecture, although it was obvious he was eager to be rid of his
controversial guest. The Doctor slid into his cape and stepped out into the
cool mist of the cobbled alleyway.
“Oh Doctor? Doctor? A word with you,
if you please.”
It was the young lady from the
audience, hurrying out the side door after him. She was now fully recovered,
though her eyes still shone with that radiant excitement.
“Do hurry miss,” the chairman said.
“The crowd is getting restive. It’s best that the Doctor leave as soon as
possible.”
Mabeuse looked at the young woman. Her
blonde hair was gathered up beneath her hat, revealing a long and graceful
neck. Her gown beneath her dark blue traveling cloak was white, simple yet
elegant, and did little to conceal the proud thrust of her young breasts and
her other obvious womanly charms. But it was her face that stopped the Doctor:
beautiful and intelligent with flawless skin, a mouth open in a kind of
expectant sensuality and large, questioning hazel-green eyes of an almost
startling purity. The look on her face was one he had seen before on the faces
of the young women who surreptitiously came to him for help with problems of
their own sexuality: the fear, the embarrassment, the desperate longing. It was
a look he could never refuse.
“Come,” he said. “Into the coach. We
can talk there.”
The crowd was spilling over into the
street as he helped her into the carriage and called out the address of his
institute to the driver. The coachman flicked his whip and the carriage pulled
out into the street, the crowd parting before them.
The young lady sat up straight
opposite him, holding onto a strap on the inside of the coach. The crowd
apparently made her nervous, but the Doctor was used to it. He said nothing,
just stared at her from beneath lowered brows as they left the lights and
confusion of the lecture hall behind. The sounds faded rapidly until there was
nothing but the clop of the horses’ hooves against the cobblestones and the
soft creak on the coach. The girl let out an audible sound of relief.
“I’m afraid it’s always like that when
I speak,” he said apologetically. ‘The public is not ready for the truth.” He
smiled. “I am Doctor Elliot Mabeuse. How may I be of service to you, my dear?”
“I had no idea,” she said. “But
please, I must beg your pardon for intruding myself upon you like this, Doctor.
My name is April Carnovan.” She smiled apologetically, then seemed to be at a
loss as to how to continue. She brought her hand to her chest and played
nervously with a small gold crucifix. “I hardly know where to begin.”
“Perhaps we could start with your
telling me where it is you’d like to go,” he said with an indulgent smile. “The
coachman is taking us back to my institute.”
“Yes. Certainly. That is… “ She drew
in a deep breath and looked at him directly. “Doctor, the things you said in
your lecture: are they true?”
He stared at her for a moment, watching
the flickering shadows from the street lights play against her young features.
“Yes. Of course they’re true. I’m a
scientist, my dear. I only deal in the truth. Why do you ask?”
She opened her mouth to speak, but no
words came out. Her eyes darted nervously about the inside of the cab.
The Doctor smiled. “Perhaps I could
venture a guess. You’re not a physician or trained physiologist, probably not a
trained scientist. You came to my lecture out of a deep curiosity, because your
own experiences have led you to certain feelings and emotions that medical
science does not understand nor choose to even recognize.”
She lifted her big eyes to him in
surprise but she said nothing. She nodded her head.
“You have no ring on your hand,
therefore you’re not married. You’re obviously a young lady of some breeding
and refinement and I would say a fair bit of education too. Possibly even some
university training to be broad-minded enough to attend one of my lectures.
Intelligent, sensitive, and so these feelings cause you great concern and some
worry. I daresay you might even be in fear for your health and sanity.”
“Yes, Doctor,” she said eagerly.
“Exactly. These feelings, they’re very difficult to manage. I’ve even consulted
with some physicians, Dr. Lewis, Dr. Montmoracy…”
“And they found nothing,” he said
complacently.
She nodded vigorously. “Female
hysteria, they said. They prescribed gentian root and cold baths. A firmer
corset and woolen drawers, that sort of thing.”
“They’re both of them fools,” he
snapped. “I’m surprised they didn’t send you to a barber to have yourself
bled.”
“But Doctor, these things I feel.
They’re real. They torment me. Shortness of breath, flushing and weakness;
faintness and palpitations and aches and pains within me. And oh, the most
horrid dreams at night.”
“And so you came to hear my lecture on
the female sexual response.”
Even in the darkness of the coach he
could see her blush.
“Yes,” she said. “I had to take the
chance. I heard them discussing your theories at university. They said you were
mad.”
The coach hit a pothole, and both of
them swayed in concert.
“Are you feeling these things now?” he
asked softly.
There was quiet moment as she gathered
her courage. “Yes. Yes they torment me constantly these days despite the cold
baths. I carry salts with me at all times. I must.”
“Come here, child,” the Doctor said,
drawing himself up. “Sit beside me. Let me have a look at you.”
April gathered up her skirts and
shifted her seat so that she was sitting next to the Doctor against the back
wall of the coach. The light from the outside candle-lanterns fell through the
glass windows and the coach rocked softly as the Doctor took her wrist in his
hand and felt for her pulse.
He frowned. Her skin was wonderfully
soft but very warm. Accelerated heart beat, pulse thin and thready. The pulse
of a strong and healthy but highly agitated young animal.
“Forgive me, my dear,” he said in his
professional voice, “But I must check your throat. Your carotid artery.”
“Of course,” she said. She unpinned
her hat and removed it. Her hair was as clean and golden as the candlelight and
gave off a faint hint of some exotic perfume.
The Doctor placed his hand on her
throat, his fingers against the artery on one side, his thumb against the
other. Her skin was soft and remarkably smooth, warm to his touch. Animal
vitality and the feeling of raw female sexuality flooded into his senses as he
touched her, and he worked to control his own breathing and maintain his
medical demeanor. His loins were already filling with blood.
April’s eyes were closed, her lips
parted as he felt her throat. After several moments he slowly removed his hand
so that he just brushed against her breast as he did so. Even through her dress
he could feel the turgid peak of her nipple seem to twitch beneath his brief
touch. The girl was on fire, and her body gave a little jerk when he touched
her. Her nerves were stretched to the breaking point.
She looked at him apprehensively. If
she’d noticed his sneaking little touch, she didn’t show it, but her body’s response
to his surreptitious caress told him more about her condition that either of
her pulses did. This was a woman in the grip of advanced inorgasmic neuropathy:
what his unenlightened colleagues called female hysteria
He sat back against the side of the
cab, dropping his hand into his lap to hide his erection.
“I can help you,” he said. “I can help
you this very night, if that’s what you want.”
“Oh Doctor! Could you? Could you
really? I don’t think I could face another night of tossing and turning. I haven’t
slept in weeks.”
“You must do exactly as I say.” He
looked at her levelly. “You must give me your full confidence, and you must
tell no one of what we do. As you know, I am not licensed to practice medicine
in this state, and this must be under the guise of research. Do you
understand?”
“I can pay,” she said eagerly,
scrambling for her bag. “I don’t have much, but what I have is yours.”
He smiled and refrained from making a
wicked little joke. “Payment is not necessary, my dear. It’s your co-operation
and trust that I need. Will you give me that?”
“With all my heart, Doctor. With all
my heart.”
The faith and trust in her eyes moved
him, and yet also caused his stiffened member to throb painfully against his
tight trousers.
The coach had reached the intersection
of State and River Streets. From here it took a turn and descended to the dim
and misty waterfront district with its darkened warehouses and shadowy wharves.
The fog was rising off the river, and the streetlights were little more than
indistinct candle flames throwing little circles of yellow light in the soft,
moist, darkness.
“You suffer from an excess of female
sexual humours,” he said. “This is the real cause of so-called female
hysterias. The sexual humours are natural, yet they are like toxins that build
up in the body. Unless they are discharged through orgasm, they can accumulate
and poison the body, playing havoc with the circulatory and nervous systems.
Tell me: do your breasts feel heavy and full?”
He heard her slight gasp of breath at his
crude language.
“Come, come,” he said. “I’m a medical
man, and your well-being depends on it. Answer me, Miss Carnovan.”
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, they often
ache. they’re very sensitive.”
“And there’s a certain congestion in
the genital region? A kind of hollow pressure?”
“Yes. A terrible ache. Sometimes I
throb there, and I get damp.”
The Doctor smiled in the darkness.
“It’s more serious than I thought. Come here, my dear. Closer to me.”
He put his hand around her waist and
pulled her closer and felt her nervous shudder when he touched her. Her flesh
was firm and lithe under her layers of clothes, and he could feel the tension
in her body. She fairly crackled with erotic electricity.
“Stay calm now, Miss Carnovan,” he
said.
