Hysteria In The Manor Marchioness

I'm startled by a knock at my drawing room door. Immediately I turn to check the clock and I'm shocked to see that nearly an hour has passed. "What is it, Alice?" I call out.

"The doctor has arrived, my lady."

He's early. Certainly better than the alternative. "Send him into the parlor, I'll receive him there." I feel my hands tremble in... anticipation? Fear? Excitement? I can't quite tell.

"Right away, my lady." Alice calls out, and I hear her trot away to invite the doctor in. I stand up, feel my knees shaking as well. My goodness this is no way for a Marchioness to hold herself I think to myself, but then my husband the is so distant, I can hardly consider myself married to him. What distinguishes me from being a mere baroness? I steady my breath and proceed to the parlor. I arrive before Alice and the doctor and sit down in an ornate red chair, waiting for them to arrive.

Shortly thereafter, Alice opens the door. "Doctor Thomas Maxwell, my lady." She steps aside, revealing a man carrying a small briefcase. He's a bit taller than I expected, with long, dark blond hair. He wears round glasses and a navy blue jacket. His eyes are such a brilliant blue color that it's almost all I can see, even from some 50 feet away.

"Good afternoon my lady, Doctor Thomas Maxwell at your service." His introduction shocks out of a slight stupor and I turn again to address him.

"Doctor Maxwell, I've summoned you on recommendation of the other noblewomen of this area. I understand you are able to treat... hysteria without use of the new electric devices, is that correct?" immediately I am embarrassed both for my inability to say hysteria and for my admitting it is the condition for which I have requested treatment.

"That is correct, my lady. Is it for this that you've summoned me?" His calm, matter-of-fact demeanor is at once comforting and off-putting. I feel a twinge of anger-- no, not anger, perhaps frustration, at him, as well as another feeling I cannot quite identify.

Quietly taking a deep breath, I respond. "That is correct, yes." As if by reflex, I uncross my legs. "What would this treatment entail?"

He responds again with the tantalizing-- no, irritating clinical dryness. "Well, my lady, as you are likely aware, the accepted treatment for hysteria is extended stimulation of the genitals, in order to induce a release of your excess feminine energy. Does this please my lady?" I feel myself sweating between my legs and so spread them apart further.

"If it will indeed treat my-- hysteria, then yes, I will allow it." Again with the pause before hysteria, I scold myself internally.

"Very good my lady." The doctor looks around the room. "If I may make such a request, might you move to the sofa over there? The arms of your current seat would impede my access."

Suddenly I am apprehensive, but I wish not to show it. "Of course, whatever you need, doctor." I stand up and feel my legs shaking, sweat dripping down my thighs. Curses! I've forgotten to wear undergarments. I suppose it matters not now, as they'd simply be removed anyway. Nevertheless, I am mortified. I walk over to the couch, my knees wobbling to and fro. Thank goodness my dress hides this fact. Upon sitting on the sofa, I'm suddenly acutely aware of the fact that I will be facing a large window, overlooking my husband's preferred golf course. I feel a quiet ball of rage at my neglectful husband build in my chest, but quickly quell it. Now is not the time.

Doctor Maxwell sits down in front of me, asks "My lady, if I may lift your dress."

"Yes doctor, whatever you need." I continue to quietly seethe at my husband's golf course, not quite aware of what the doctor is doing between my legs. Damn that man, the marquis. When I had first married Henry I truly believed that my life would change for the better. His station was as high as I could ever dare to dream as a mere viscount's daughter, to move out to this idyllic countryside, having access nearly to my own private estate.

Of course, I could not have known just how true this would be. Henry spent four out of every five weeks tending to some some estate or issue elsewhere, always leaving me here in the nearly empty manor in Creswell to "look after the gardens." The gardens of which he is so particular that I might not plant but a single tulip if I so desired, though the design is so plain as to induce a palpable ennui unto any guest. And what little time he does spend in Creswell is almost invariably spent on that damned golf course.

"My lady, are you prepared to begin treatment?" I'm briefly startled out of my odious stupor by doctor Maxwell. I look down and see him between my legs, my dress pulled up, my womanhood thoroughly exposed. I feel a pulsing heat between my legs, and feel my stomach tighten considerably.

"Yes, on with it." I look back at my husband's golf course, unable to calm the seething hatred I feel. How dare he wed me, promise me so much, and then sentence me to this, this, downright asphodelian monotony. My status begets nothing of value, my days are spent wandering the manor, "monitoring" the enervating exterior décor. I experience nothing, the days blend together into weeks, into months, I've not even the foggiest idea how long we've been married as there have been naught but the seasons to track the time. Six years, perhaps? Seven? Ten? Three?

"Everything alright my lady? You seem a bit stressed." I hear doctor Maxwell's voice from below, as he stops stroking my thighs. I'm suddenly aware that he's been doing this for the past several minutes.

I am immediately irritated that he is no longer stroking my thighs and I bark at him. "Get on with it doctor."

"As you wish." He returns his hands between my legs, stroking the outside of my womanhood. I take a deep breath. I've never before been touched so gently in such a sensitive area. I can feel my heartbeat strongly throughout my lower body. He suddenly strokes it directly and I feel a bout of intense yet gentle pleasure quite unlike anything from my prior experience. At once I understand viscerally why the Viscountess of Glenstuffordshire recommended this doctor so strongly. I try to suppress a moan. I don't know how successful I am and I feel myself turn beet red. I look down at the doctor to see if he noticed, but he seems too focused on his work. I try to take a deep breath, but it turns out quite shaky, as I feel him spread the petals of my private flower. Unexpectedly, the doctor inserts a finger into me and I'm overcome with sensation. I feel my lower body move, though I'm not sure exactly how.

"My lady, is everything alright?" I feel too overcome with sensation to respond, and gradually regain both control and awareness of my own body. My eyes are closed, I know not for how long.

"Yes... quite alright..." I'm trying very hard to maintain my composure. "It's... must be... the hysteria." Yes, that must be it. The treatment is working, and my unusual responses are the relinquishment of my hysteria. "Carry on... doctor."

"Very well, my lady." The doctor pushes against me and I feel another intense well of pleasure, this time more ethereal, enhancing that which I already experience, as he pulls his finger out. Suddenly I feel hollow, empty. My lower body is pulsing, contracting, trying to feel filled again. He inserts a finger again and I feel another glorious, ineffable pleasure emanate from my loins, before he immediately removes it. It takes all I have in me to refrain from moaning.

"My lady--" he starts

"On with it doctor- keep working." I'm startled by my curtness. It must be the hysteria- It seems that this treatment amplifies the hysteria, and perhaps it will reach its breaking point in time. I certainly hope so.

"I'm about to begin the main part of the treatment. You may find it a bit intense, and I wanted to warn you." His voice is so calm, clinical. Matter-of-fact. I feel as though this doctor is lighting a fire in my belly, but one one of rage. I'm not quite sure of the nature of this fire. Perhaps this too, is my hysteria rearing its head. His tone is so calm and direct that it takes me what feels like several seconds to realize that if he's describing what's to come as 'intense' but not what's already occurred, then I was woefully underprepared for this treatment.

But my hysteria must be treated, I could never bring myself to ask him to stop. "Do it." I order.

"Very well, my lady." At this, he pushes two fingers inside of me and I'm immediately aware of how this part of the treatment is intense compared to previously. I feel my whole body shake, and I'm unable to control it as I normally can. He begins to take his fingers out and I suddenly feel unacceptably hollow. My hands move of their own accord and push them back inside.

I try to stumble out an explanation. "No, s'fine. Just- need- adjust to- to the feeling." I'm breathing heavily, feel my heartbeat clearly and strongly on the doctor's fingers.

He speaks to me again in his dry, clinical, infuriating tone. "Very good my lady. I must say, you've done an impeccable job at maintaining your composure, but you should know that's entirely unnecessary. The treatment works best if you relax." My first thought is 'as if I could ever relax while so exposed,' but in fact every word he speaks is a wash of serenity. I do feel my thighs soften, my breathing steady. Something about this doctor is simply relaxing. "Especially now, you should feel free to listen to your body's responses and let them out."

I suddenly realize how tightly I am gripping the doctor's hands and release them. Thankfully, he leaves them put. I place them at my sides and take another deep breath. I make the choice to trust him, to listen to my body's impulses and not censor them, to the extent that I can. "Proceed, doctor."

He continues with the treatment and I feel as though I am falling through a cloud. I feel my body acting of its own accord, squirming and shuddering like a beached fish. I've chosen to trust the doctor, to allow myself this freedom of movement as it were, and I feel grateful for it. I'm unsure if I would be able to exert control over myself if I tried. His fingers move in and out of me more quickly and I begin moaning. Again I do not try to stop this, and am unsure as to whether I would be able to if I were to try. Between my stomach and the area of my body with which the doctor has himself occupied, I feel a peculiar pressure grow. As it spreads throughout my lower torso, I bring my hands to my breasts and squeeze in an attempt to distribute it further. I find myself lose a bit of awareness and observe my body pressing forward into the doctor's fingers in an attempt to satiate a sudden near-insatiable hunger to spread this pressure throughout my body.

At once, I feel as though my body is undergoing a performance of Haydn's symphony no. 94. Everything so far has been a prelude to a sudden jolt of unimaginably intense pleasure emanating from the doctor's fingers and coursing throughout my body. My body convulses as though I am having a seizure, my toes curl, some noise may come out of my mouth, I've honestly not the foggiest idea. Not ever before in my life have I experience such physical pleasure as this; I feel as though every muscle in my body is simultaneously contracting and relaxing, as though this doctor has filled my vagina not just with his fingers but with that damnable Oriental opium.

After some time, I've honestly no idea whether it was five seconds or five minutes, the pleasure subsides. My entire body feels warm, and I'm exhausted. The doctor extricates himself from my womanhood and lowers my dress. Instantly I am annoyed, almost angry, that he is no longer stimulating me, but I've not the wherewithal to respond.

Out of nowhere, I hear his voice: "Does my lady require anything else?" I look down at the doctor, the sun now catching his hair, as though making a halo around his face. I have the faintest sensation as though I am looking at God himself. Desperately I want him back inside me, to treat me again, but I can't bring myself to ask for it.

"No Doctor, that will be all. Please do remind me of your rate?"

"Four guineas, my lady."

"Very well, Alice will have that for you on your way out." The doctor nods, and exits the room with his case. I look back out on the golf course, its clean, vacuous, manicured space inciting rage at my husband once more, as well as a damnable emptiness in my loins. "Doctor!" I call out near involuntarily.

The doctor rushes back in, panicked. "Yes my lady is something wrong?"

"I- well I-" my mouth goes dry as I try to speak. "If I- my hysteria, were to resurface..." my throat begins to close off as I try to speak.

The doctor nods solemnly. "Yes my lady, it has been known to happen. If it does indeed recur, feel free to contact my office once more. Whenever required, I am at your service."

I feel as though a massive weight is suddenly lifted off of my shoulders. "Thank you Doctor. You may go." I close my eyes for a nap, and drift off dreaming of doctor Maxwell's next visit.