Patience returns to work
The following Monday Patience was back at work at the medical practice as normal. Of course, her friend and colleague Flora was keen to know how the previous Friday's experience had gone. Flora listened with rapt attention as Patience recounted the adventure. How there had been thirty observers and not all were doctors. How she had been undressed and examined naked. How she had been restrained for the procedure and, finally, how the hateful gag had been forced upon her.
Flora listened with interest, interjecting with support or horror as appropriate. The two women had grown to be good friends over the last few months, and Flora could empathise with Patience in a way that only two women can. She was not shocked by the way their employer had treated Patience. She had worked for him long enough to know what he was capable of. She gently probed Patience with her questions, trying to gauge the depth of her trauma and concluded that Patience was resilient enough. Yes, she was young; yes, she had little experience of the world; and yes, she was an innocent. But she was quick to learn, she was keen to analyse, draw conclusions and move on.
"Shall we do your treatment?" Flora asked. Monday morning was the time set aside for Patience's treatment. The practice was quiet on a Monday morning and this was an ideal time. It was a benefit of employment here that treatment would be provided free of charge for both women. Indeed their employer, Dr Cranshaw, made it a condition of employment that both must be treated once a week.
"Yes. Yes I think I would like that," Said Patience.
"We can do it later in the week if you want."
"No -- I'd like you to..."
"Ok then you go next door and get yourself ready. I'll be there in a minute."
Patience walked towards the door, she glanced back at her friend and smiled.
Alone in the treatment room Patience began to undress. She undid the broad belt and removed her long skirt, folding it carefully and placing it onto a side table. She unbuttoned and slipped down the underskirt before starting on her blouse. With buttons at the back it was a little awkward, but it too soon joined the pile of discarded clothing. Now for the corset. Reaching behind her, she pulled open the bow and slackened the ties. By twisting and wriggling her body a little she could slacken it enough to squeeze the sides together and unclip the hooks at the front.
Unconfined, she needed to stretch, elbows back, chest arched. The corset was new. The fashion was to flatten the breasts — a boyish outline the magazines called it—all very well but not very comfortable. It was good to take it off. She caressed her liberated breasts through the cotton fabric of her chemise. Reaching down and fumbling under its folds she removed her drawers. She was ready.
She welcomed these treatment sessions, particularly if it was just Flora and her. It was gentler, less mechanical than with the doctors. A patient had once commented about Flora's caring touch, and that was true. She cared, through her hands.
Flora entered the room, and turned the key in the lock. They were the only ones in the building at this time but somehow it was comforting to know no one else could enter.
"Come on slip that off," Flora indicated Patience's cotton chemise. "Is that new too?" Patience pulled it over her head.
"Yes. I spent some of last week's earnings. I bought loads of clothes."
"Good for you — you deserve it. You are a pretty thing you should have nice clothes."
Their eyes met, an unspeaking connection. Flora dressed in her uniform, starched white apron, sleeves rolled up, and ready for work. Patience completely naked, but completely at ease with her friend.
"Let's be having you. On your front please." Flora indicated the treatment couch, over which she had just spread a white cover sheet.
"You are tight here." Flora massaged her shoulders and neck in long strokes. Patience knew she didn't need to reply. Every now and then she gave an involuntary grunt as the skilful hands found and eased away knots and tensions. Flora was in no rush. Over the course of half an hour she worked her hands down Patience's back, then her buttocks and then her legs. Patience was completely relaxed, or at least her muscles were. Relaxed save for the anticipation of what was to come.
Both women were ready for the next phase. Gently she moved her hands to rest on Patience's bottom. She paused and counted to 5: the signal. Leaving one hand resting on Patience's bottom, she slid the other between Patience's legs, and with gentle pressure indicated that Patience should open her legs. Patience complied.
With measured strokes Flora began on Patience's left buttock, kneading deeply with oil soaked fingers. Flora moved to the other side, the same measured strokes. As her strong fingers compressed the flesh she could see Patience's sex, its fleshy folds tidily folded inwards, neatly closed, awaiting her attention. Her firm strokes moving nearby flesh and muscle, but Flora was careful not to make direct contact. This was about building anticipation. An aching anticipation both in the mind and in flesh.
Flora paused to get more oil; she poured a few drops across her fingers. The oil, guided by her fingers, dribbled into the cleft of Patience's bottom, running slowly slowly down, down to her sex. Patience shuddered. With three fingers, she spread the oil along the cleft, up towards her back then down almost to her sex. With her middle finger she traced the puckered rim of Patience's anus. She pushed her finger against the opening, not enough to penetrate, that was not the intention. This was about teasing and sensitising.
"Turn over for me."
Patience shuffled herself over to lie on her back. Flora poured some more oil into the palm of her hand, and allowed it to warm there for a few moments. She rubbed her hands together before spreading the oil across Patience's upper chest, deliberately avoiding the girl's breasts. This too was still about anticipation. Her fingers massaged outward tracing inter-rib furrows. Down the sternum, between the girl's breasts, a flattened hand following flattened hand. Beneath the breasts, outward to the sides, then up and back to repeat. Still not touching.
Perfect white hemispheres, pink mounded areola, tightly erect nipples. Patience's breasts were aching to be touched and Flora knew this, had engineered this. Slowly and with a feather's lightness she traced her fingertips downwards to the nipple's edge, then again from the side, and again from underneath. The pale skin taught with small goose bumps betraying arousal.
And having built the tension, Flora relieved it. Cupping strokes gently lifting then compressing patience's breasts.
Flora paused, her stationary hands pressing lightly on Patience's chest, silently counting to herself. Patience read the familiar signal, she felt her body's Pavlovian response, a physical premonition, a spasm somewhere deep inside: like a silent gasp.
As Flora re-oiled her hands, with no communication necessary, Patience re-positioned her legs: Feet together, sole to sole, knees apart.
Flora's expert hands moved up the inside of Patience's thighs. Hands rotating at the top of their stroke, fingers almost brushing Patience's sex. Flora could see it was working, could see her subject swelling and opening, could see the thin inner lips starting to show through. Flora changed her stroke. Using thumb and fingers she gently squeezed together the puffy outer lips, and then with the lightest touch she stroked the protruding inner. Moments later, when Flora released her, Patience was gaping wide, pink and glistening. Flora stretched the thin lips, delicately easing and stretching with finger and thumb, before replacing them neatly. Each time the tips of her thumbs almost entered Patience. And each time Patience felt them there, she pushed upwards, craving more.
She was definitely ready. Palm upward, Flora slid two fingers deep into Patience's vagina. Bending her fingers upwards, she felt carefully for the spot. Patience gasped loudly. Simultaneously Flora's thumb felt for the girl's clitoris, it was swollen and engorged, too engorged for direct contact. It required a more subtle indirect approach: she moved her other hand closer. Like a cellist, she placed her fingers carefully, ready for to perform the final movement. She judged the correct pressure and the correct tension, so that the fleshy hood might transfer her fingers' motion. Then she played the note: sustained, rapid, vibrato.
Patience could feel it starting, and feared for an instant it might escape, but no, it was going to happen. She cried out, her muscles clenched, breath expelled, and it was there, rushing in like a wave, in another instant she was overwhelmed. Patience flopped back: limp and spent.
It took a few moments for her to return to full awareness. When she did she found Flora close by brushing stray hair from her face. Patience smiled up at her friend, and reaching out took her wrist. She pulled her in until their faces were close, and she kissed her.
"Thank you. Thank you," she said.
Flora pulled away. "You are welcome. But you know this, all this, it's just work. We are friends. You know that. Good friends. But this is work — your treatment."
