by Lucy Wild
“You made me come,” he said, sounding shocked. “I haven’t come since Maggie died.”
Clara barely heard him, her fingers were a blur on her clit as she brought herself to an intense orgasm, her whole body soaring as waves of pleasure washed over her. She could still feel him pulsing inside her as she came down slowly, her mind awash with desire and tiredness.
Leaning down she spat out her dummy and kissed him, loving the feel of his body against hers as they lay together until long after he’d softened and slid from her.
“I can’t believe you made me come,” he said, sitting up slowly as if in a daze.
The door opened and Mrs Thaw walked in, a smile spread across her face. “The treatment worked,” she said.
“Were you eavesdropping?” Mr Brockton said.
“No, I promise. I was just passing when I happened to overhear.”
“A likely story. The two of you have conspired to tempt me into this obscene act have you not?”
“Oh no sir,” Clara protested. “I swear…”
He held up his hand. “Enough. Get out and I never want to see either of you in this house again. You have defiled the memory of my Maggie and I will not stand for it.”
Clara’s face fell as she stumbled from the room, finding herself piled into a coach shortly afterwards with a crestfallen Mrs Thaw by her side. “What happened?” she asked as the horses began to move forwards. “What did we do wrong?”
“Nothing my girl,” Mrs Thaw replied. “Nothing at all.”
Clara’s life seemed to crumble around her ears that day. She’d gone from a secure position with a man she felt she might one day love, to alone and homeless. Mrs Thaw had left the coach when the horses were changed and hadn’t returned by the time the driver set off. Clara’s mind seemed to crack as the city came into view, her desire twisting in her mind to play on her emotions until she no longer had any idea who she was. All she knew was that she needed looking after, she needed a dummy, a bottle and a cot and she needed love most of all and love and sex amounted to the same thing.
She stole a bottle of gin within an hour of stepping off the coach and by the next morning she was blind drunk, stumbling around the streets and crying out for her papa. Vultures crept from the shadows when they saw her pass, offering her more drink and inviting her to join them at their homes. A memory of Brockton broke through the fug of alcohol and she felt sure if she only revealed her body he would come and take her away. Every face seemed that of her erstwhile employer and when someone attempted to remove her clothes in an alleyway, she let them, crying out for papa and a dummy as she grabbed anyone passing by, seeing Brockton’s face in every shadowy figure.
In a short time she found herself in an asylum, the alcohol long worn off but the trauma of her experiences remaining, blocking her ability to think clearly. At last she found herself in a wheelchair, brought into an observation room with a doctor who insisted he knew what would cure her.
“She does not need your treatment,” a man called from the back of the room. As he was bustled out he continued to protest and Clara frowned. Something about his voice brought back a memory. She stood up in the wheelchair and looked up but the protester had gone. Turning to Doctor Franklin, she spoke for the first time in days. “Bring me my papa,” she whispered, pointing up at the vacant chair. “I want my papa.”
By the end of the lecture Clara was frantic. Her protests and complaints had seemed only to prove her madness to the doctors around her but as she was wheeled out someone stopped her chair, spinning it and shoving Doctor Franklin away.
“Do you mind sir? Who on earth are you?” he asked.
“I,” the figure replied. “Am her papa.”
Chapter 6
Clara leapt into Brockton’s arms. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I should not have treated you that way.”
“I forgive you,” she replied, kissing me and holding him tight as if afraid he would slip away again.
“You know this girl?” Doctor Franklin asked.
“I do sir.”
“Are you responsible for the mania she is currently experiencing?”
“I am afraid so but I also know the cure.”
“And that is?”
“A bottle and a dummy.”
Within a day Clara was back at Brockton Hall, Ella waiting on the doorstep as if not a moment had passed since last time she’d walked up the stone steps and through the enormous front door.
Together in the parlour, Brockton and Clara held hands whilst he apologised again. “It is as if a fog that spread through my mind has lifted,” he said. “It only vanished after you left and by the time I had the wherewithal to travel you had vanished. I searched high and low for you on the streets before finally hearing that you had been so unfortunately committed. The asylum would not let me enter as I was not related to you.”
“How did you get into the lecture?”
“Being an army doctor has its benefits at times. But let the past be past. I wish to think of the future. Of our future.”
“I have a lot of growing up to do,” Clara said, standing up. “I will be in short dresses and nappies for a long time I believe.”
Mr Brockton smiled. “I shall be in my bedroom. Third door on the right upstairs if you wish to kiss your papa goodnight.”
Clara rushed to the nursery, quickly changing into the by now familiar white dress, shaking off the memories of her mania as she frantically grabbed a nappy and tied it in place, sucking on a dummy and carrying a bottle as she made her way to Brockton’s room. She knocked and waited to be told to enter, walking in nervous but excited.
Brockton was in bed, his blankets around his waist, his muscular chest exposed, a number of scars dotted about on his skin. “I kiss better,” she said, tossing the dummy aside and climbing onto the bed. She set the bottle aside.
“What’s that for?”
“You’ll see,” she replied, kissing her way down his chest, kicking the blankets aside until she reached his cock. She took him into her mouth, sighing as she felt sane at last, loving the feeling of him at the back of her throat. Her pussy grew so wet she felt sure she would begin to drip on him as she rolled onto her back and drew him onto her.
Brockton took control, shoving her legs apart and thrusting straight into her, making her gasp as he filled her completely. He ground against her as they kissed, his pelvis rubbing her clit in just the right place and bringing her to a screaming orgasm in minutes, her body thrashing under him until she fell still once more.
He began to thrust again, moving ever faster until he groaned, “I’m going to come.”
At that moment, Clara pushed him back and grabbed the bottle, unscrewing the top and pressing the tip of his cock to it. As he came, she watched the spunk pour inside, trickling down the glass whilst he groaned loudly, spurting out another load.
He fell back as she screwed the top back on and smiled at him. “I need my bottle,” she said, pressing it to her lips and sucking at the teat, drawing the salty taste of him into her mouth as he stroked her side, sighing happily.
She kept sucking until she’d swallowed the last of his cum and only then did she set the bottle down and lie beside him, curling up with his arm around her, her body still tingling with pleasure.
“Welcome home,” he said, kissing her forehead. “If you’re good, you might even get to sleep in my bed tonight instead of the nursery.”
“And what if I’m bad?” she asked, bringing his hand to her bottom. “What if I’m very, very bad?”
“Then I might have to punish you,” he replied, spanking her lightly.
“Oh no. Then I suppose I have no choice but to always be a wickedly bad girl.”
Cure Me
Chapter 1
It has been ten years since it happened but in my memory it remains as fresh as if did only take place yesterday. I had been asked to speak of my experiences of asylums and in preparation I read over a multitude of publications including some only just
published. Within one I was surprised to find a handwritten addition to a list of asylums in Yorkshire. At the very bottom of the page someone had scrawled, “Shudderton – a most modern establishment five miles formed as part of the development at Ravenscar. A perfect example of all we can do to heal the sick.”
I had never heard of Shudderton or of Ravenscar and spent some time researching both places. Of Shudderton I could find not a single record but Ravenscar was mentioned in a number of articles. It was a town in the midst of development on the North Yorkshire coast. A number of houses had already been built as had a hotel with surrounding golf course. I telegrammed the hotel and arranged a room so as to base myself whilst learning more of Shudderton.
The journey on from Leeds towards the north was long and arduous and by the time I arrived at Whitby I was exhausted. I spent the night in a guesthouse and enjoyed a refreshing walk along the pier as the sun rose the next morning. The final few miles to Ravenscar were at a crawl, the steepness of the hill tiring the horses until at last I arrived.
Ravenscar was a windswept hamlet, there being but few houses and those spread out over some distance overlooking the sheer cliff down to the North Sea. I departed the coach, nodded a farewell to the driver and walked into the hotel. It was an enormous building of dark stone, turrets and battlements an affectation to an imagined past for every part of the establishment appeared brand new.
The reception was empty as I entered, there were few signs of any guests other than myself. I rang the bell and waited until the manager appeared before me.
“Yes?” he grunted.
“Good evening. My name is Underwood. I believe you have a room for me?”
“You the one what telegrammed?”
“I did indeed sir.”
“Supper’ll be served when you come back down,” he said as he passed me a room key. The label dangling from it consisted only of the number twenty seven.
“How do I…?” I began to ask but he’d already gone. Turning around I hefted my case into my arms, irritated by the lack of assistance offered. I found a stairwell and walked up it, taking some time to find room twenty seven before finally unlocking my door and entering. The curtains were drawn and I pulled them back to observe a fine view of the sweeping bay below me, the evening sun shimmering on the outgoing tide and smoke rising from what appeared to be a mine of some kind further down the hillside.
Once I was unpacked I returned downstairs and sought out the dining room. There was only one other guest beside myself, a pale woman sipping at a coffee and staring out of the long window at the sea beyond.
“Good evening,” I said as I took a seat. She did not reply, nor even look my way.
“I wonder if I might ask you a question,” I tried again. This time she glanced across at me, sadness in her eyes. “I apologise for disturbing you miss but I am seeking out Shudderton Asylum. Do you know of it?”
She scraped back her chair and stood up quickly. “Do not mention the name of that infernal place,” she hissed, storming past me and out of the dining room.
I sat in silence until the manager appeared, carrying a tray of food towards me. “It’s stew,” he said, setting it down before me. As he turned to go I caught his arm.
“My good man, I wonder if I could trouble you for a moment.”
“What is it?” he asked impatiently.
“I wish to visit Shudderton Asylum during my stay here. Could you perhaps point me in its direction?”
His expression changed, his eyes narrowing as he stared at me. “There aint no asylum round here.”
“I do not wish to contradict you sir but I have been informed to the contrary.”
He didn’t speak, merely looking down at me as if afraid I were a coiled snake that might bite him if he moved too quickly.
“You must have heard of it good sir,” I said. “This is a small enough town is it not?”
He leaned down closer, his voice low. “I want you gone tomorrow morning.”
“Certainly not. I have arranged a stay of two days and I intend to make good use of my time here.”
He turned away from me, muttering, “Very well,” before leaving without looking back.
I soon demolished the stew, being ravenous after my journey. A door to my left creaked open and a maid peeked out, beckoning me over. I stood up and approached her as she glanced around as if afraid she would be overheard. “You should leave,” she whispered. “While you still can.”
“What on earth are you talking about?” I replied.
“I’m trying to help you. Pack your things and leave at once.”
“I will not. I do not know what you are trying to achieve by treating a paying guest like this but I must say your behaviour explains the lack of guests currently residing in this establishment.”
“Please good sir. Just go.”
“Sally, where are you girl!” a voice yelled from the kitchen behind her. She turned and vanished, leaving the door to swing closed and me more confused than ever. I returned to my room, the setting sun ensuring I could do little more that night. I settled into my bed, vowing to seek out the asylum in the morning.
I slept fitfully, the sound of the waves far below passing through the glass as if I were on a boat at sea rather than safely on the clifftops. It was pitch black when I awoke to the sound of voices in the corridor. A discussion of some kind was taking place but as I sat up and the bed creaked under me the conversation ceased.
A moment later there was the scrape of a key in the lock and the light of a candle illuminated my room. I lay back, closing my eyes whilst wondering what on earth was happening. A hand fell on my arm and I sat up, looking up at three burly men dressed in white.
“That’s the one,” the manager said from the doorway, holding up a light. “Tried to attack me he did.”
“Leave him to us,” one of the men said, yanking me to my feet.
“How dare you sir!” I shouted. “Let me alone this instant.”
“It’ll be the worse for you if you struggle,” he replied.
I squirmed with all my might and the last thing I saw was his arm raised above his head, a stave illuminated by the candlelight as it swung down through the air and connected with my head. Everything went black in an instant.
Chapter 2
I awoke to find myself in a padded room, the only light coming from the gaps around the door to my left. Twisting my arms I looked down to observe I had been bound in a straitjacket. Getting to my feet, a wave of dizziness washed over me, the blow to my head still affecting me. I made my way to the door and yelled at the closed hatch set into it. “I say, let me out this instant!”
The sound of echoing footsteps reached me from the corridor beyond and a moment later the hatch was scraped to one side. A pair of eyes frowned in at me. “Be quiet!” a man’s voice said. “Or a gag will soon complete your ensemble.”
“What on earth is happening here? Why am I in this thing?” I asked, tugging at the jacket in an ineffectual attempt to loosen it.
“You are a patient and the doctors are all in bed. Questions must wait until the morning.”
The hatch scraped closed again and I slumped downwards, dizziness washing over me once more as my eyes closed.
When I awoke again I was no longer in the padded cell. Instead I was strapped into a solid wooden armchair with electrodes attached to my scalp, an ominous buzzing coming from a machine beside me. “Where am I?” I asked, my throat dry with thirst.
“You at a patient at Shudderton Asylum.”
“Your name sir?”
“Doctor Stanley.”
“There has been an error Doctor Stanley. I am a physician like yourself.”
“Not according to my file. It says you arrived at Ravenscar hotel in a fit of mania, attacked a number of guests before attempting to burn the place down.”
“That is a lie.”
The doctor laughed. “Of course it is. Why would I believe the words of three independent witnesses when the pa
tient is here to contradict them all? I suppose your name is not Underwood either?”
“No, that is my name but…”
“Enough. Brace yourself for this may smart a little.”
He turned a wheel on the machine beside him and pain shot through my head, my limbs twitching, my muscles spasming. It only lasted a few seconds but it was an eternity for me. The wheel was turned once more and the electrical charge died away, leaving me panting for breath.
“An interesting reaction. Now tell me why you attempted to burn down the hotel?”
“I did not sir. I spoke the truth. I am a physician. You may telegram my offices if you wish and they will confirm things to me. In addition in my case at the hotel is a number of calling cards beside my journal which…”
He turned the wheel again, silencing me as electricity coursed through me, blocking out anything but the white pain in my head. This time when he stopped I began to weep. “I beg you sir, do not inflict that thing upon me anymore.”
“Tell me the truth then. There was no case in your room, only matches and shredded newspaper. Why did you attack the guests?”
“I did not!”
The wheel again. This time the force was stronger than before and my back was forced into spasm, my limbs pulling at the leather straps which held me in place. As it died away it was soon time before I was capable of speech.
“You will be here for some time unless you learn to be an honest gentleman. For now I dare not continue your interview for risk of doing you permanent harm.”
He rang a bell and an attendant entered the room. I recognised him as the fellow with the stave from the night before but opening my mouth only brought out a slurring noise far removed from coherent speech.
“Take him to join the children,” the doctor said. “Keep an eye on him whilst he is there.”
