Lucy and the Doctors (7 page)

Oh, how she pleaded and begged, but he’d been resolute in the face of her treachery.

“That will teach you. Bitch.” And he’d spat on her as the men from St. Bart’s Asylum came to take her away.

Women. They were all the same. And every time he was the least bit tempted to revive his search for a woman to ease the ache he could not soothe, he took measures to reinforce his hardened belief in the true nature of females.

Another lesson was scheduled for this afternoon, and as if on cue he heard a rap at his chamber door.

“Come in,” he called, settling himself behind the desk of his study.

Stiles entered, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, his chestnut hair perfectly coiffed. He guided the woman in ahead of him. She had raven black hair, and was of slight build. She looked frightened, as well she should be, for she was likely wondering why the judge scheduled to hear her case for prostitution would have her brought from her cell to his chambers.

She clutched her shawl nervously as she faced him; he could see the pulse in her pale throat and her fear pleased him.

“Bonnie Adams?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Do you know who I am?”

She inclined her head toward Stiles, and her voice quavered as she answered. “This one here says you’re Judge Bonham. It’s you who’s to decide my fate.”

“He is correct, young lady. But I’ve decided not to wait. I shall be deciding it tonight.”

“Tonight?” Bonnie clutched her shawl to her chest. “Why?” Her tone was guarded, suspicious.

“If you’d rather go back to the cell for a fortnight…” the judge began.

“No!” she said hastily. “No, please, sir.”

Judge Bonham leaned back in his chair. “Do you know what you’ve been charged with?”

She looked down. “Prostitution, sir. But I ain’t no whore. I swear to it.”

“But you were in a part of town frequented by such baggage. And you were among them.”

Bonnie twisted her hands in her shawl. “Yes, sir. But my cousin. Well, she’s… fallen.”

“And you were just visiting her?”

“Her mum, my aunt… well, she’s sore afraid for her. My own mum begged me to talk to her.” Tears welled in her eyes. “And now for me to be taken in like this. It will kill her if I’m called a whore in court.”

Judge Bonham nodded. “Indeed, it would be such a disgrace. But if you are to go free, you will need to admit your lustful nature.”

“But I’m not lustful, sir.”

“Are you faithfully married, then?” Judge Bonham moved from behind his desk to circle her where she stood.

“No, sir. I’m not married.”

“So you’re chaste?”

She flushed then, and the judge made a tsking noise. “So you’re not chaste.”

“I don’t give myself away freely to anyone,” she said defensively. “Nor for pay, if that’s what you mean.” When the judge’s face hardened, she realized her error. “Beg pardon, sir, but you must believe me.”

“So…” The judge stood now, and began pacing the room, his hands clasped at the small of his back. “We have a young woman who admits to not preserving her virginity, found in the company of whores, and who now expects me to believe she is not one.” He paused. “I believe this claim must be tested.”

“Tested?” she asked.

Judge Bonham turned to his handsome secretary. “Mr. Stiles,” he said. “Kiss this young woman.”

Nathan Stiles had been standing off to the side until now. But at his employer’s order his mouth quirked in a confident smirk and he strode over and took the young woman in his arms. She was too shocked to protest, and when his mouth took hers and his tongue expertly pried her lips apart, she could do nothing but moan. Stiles’ hands moved up to her breast, his fingers pinching a nipple through the fabric. Bonnie went nearly limp in his arms, in full sway now to the unexpected but expert handling of her body by a handsome gentleman she’d never thought would look askance at her.

“My, my,” Judge Bonham said when his man pulled back. “Not even a struggle.”

Bonnie looked at him, confused and upset. “He took me by surprise!” Tears welled in her eyes.

“So if my man Stiles here were to lift your skirts, he would not find your lady’s core wet with desire?”

When Bonnie didn’t answer, Judge Bonham gave a nod to his secretary, who took hold of the woman from behind and reached down to run his hand up under her skirt.

“Oh, please, sir, don’t…” But when his hand reached the apex of her thighs, she moaned partly from shame and partly from desire.

“Well, Stiles?” the judge asked.

Stiles withdrew his hand, which was glistening with the woman’s arousal. “Slick as an eel, Judge Bonham.”

Judge Bonham stepped close to the woman now, his face hard and stern.

“Just like the rest of them,” he said softly. “Feigning purity when underneath you are all the same.” He paused. “I find you guilty, Miss Adams,” he said, and she began to cry. “But I’m going to give you a choice between jail and a punishment more fitting of your sins—a punishment personally supervised by me.”

Her voice was barely audible. “Wh-what kind of punishment?”

“A sound thrashing,” the judge said. “Delivered by Mr. Stiles.”

The woman looked back at the man behind her, her eyes worried and questioning.

“I need your decision, Miss Adams. A thrashing? Or jail?”

Tears trailed down her cheeks, and she was trembling. “I don’t want to go to jail, sir. I’ll take the… thrashing.”

Judge Bonham returned to his desk and leaned back in his chair as his man took over. This wasn’t the first time he’d given a woman like Bonnie this choice. Women were deceitful, and deserved to be punished. His one regret with Lucy was that he’d not thrashed her bottom good and proper before sending her to the asylum. In fact, he thought of Lucy each time he indulged himself in this particular exercise, wondering whether her bottom would have blushed as rosy as the women unfortunate enough to find their way to his chamber.

Mr. Stiles had seated himself on a horsehair sofa facing the judge’s desk and Bonnie whimpered prettily as he guided her over his lap. She wore no undergarments, which was no surprise to the judge. None of the poorer women did. Her haunches were broader than he’d imagined, but still pleasantly shaped. It satisfied him to see this miscreant visibly shudder when Mr. Stiles’ large hand roamed her bottom. As he did so, the secretary looked at the judge and smiled.

It was another thing that Judge Bonham liked about Stiles. Just as Archibald Bonham believed himself to be the righteous hand of God, he believed his man to represent his hand whenever it corrected a sinful woman. Judge Bonham believed the system was flawed, and that stern correction at the hand of a man was the best thing for women like Bonnie.

He nodded at Stiles, who began to spank the woman over his lap. The blows were firm at first, and Judge Bonham could feel his cock struggling to rise as the spanks intensified, eliciting little yelps of pain from Bonnie Adams. Soon she was kicking her legs, and he could see between them, could see the slick petals of the woman’s pussy. She was wet—wetter even, he wagered, than when Stiles had touched her under her skirt.

Stiles had told him that this wasn’t uncommon, and Stiles was a consummate expert in the disciplinary arts. Bonham loved to see him work, loved to see him take a whimpering woman and reduce her to a well-chastened, sobbing wreck with a cherry red bottom. Bonnie Adams was close, howling piteously as Stiles’ punishing hand relentlessly peppered her bottom, concentrating now on the portion just above her thighs. He had a long arm around the woman’s waist, restricting her movements, and did not let up the spanking until his boss gave him a small nod.

When he did, Judge Bonham rose and walked over to where the weeping woman lay restrained across Stiles’ broad thighs. For a moment, he was silent and was forced to control his envy at the spectacle of his younger, stronger secretary with a pretty, contrite woman over his lap.

“Are you ready to confess that you are a whore?” he asked.

“B-b-but I’m not!” she sobbed.

“Really?” It was Stiles who spoke now, and Bonham felt his breathing quicken in expectation of what would happen next. He watched, slack-jawed, as his secretary’s long fingers entered the soaking pussy of the punished woman. She demurred at first, but as Stiles began to expertly manipulate her pussy, Bonnie Adams began to moan and buck against his leg.

“You’re a whore, aren’t you?” The secretary addressed her now. “My whore. Say it.”

“Oh, oh, oh… I confess!” she cried, and then her whole body shuddered as her pussy clamped down, milking the long fingers probing her.

The only sound in the room now was her ragged breath. A moment later, Stiles lifted her from his lap, giving her a wink and a pat on the bum.

“Look at me,” the judge said, and Bonnie Adams complied, her face flushed, her bottom lip slightly swollen from where she’d bitten it in her failed bid to keep from crying out her passion. “Say nothing of this night, or trouble will find you in some dark alley, understand?” She nodded. “Now go, child. Go and sin no more.”

She all but fled from the room, a free woman, purified by punishment. The judge walked to the window and looked down to catch her going around a corner in the street below. He thought of his Lucy, his faithless Lucy. If only it could have been so easy to save her soul, but to have treated her as he’d treated Bonnie Adams and the other women would not have worked. He could not have simply corrected her and kept her, for her presence would have been a reminder of his failure to perform, a reminder of the punishment God inflicted. Besides, she’d refused to break and admit she was a whore, and for that he’d condemned her to a life of punishment in the asylum.

He wondered how she was, but put the thought from his mind. It was of no consequence now. Lucy Priven was just where she belonged.

Chapter Seven: The Doctors’ Dilemma

“How did it end up here—the fly?” Lucy was holding a piece of amber from Thomas’ collection and peering at the insect trapped inside. They were sitting in the study, he on a chair and she cross-legged by the fire. It cast a glow around her pretty face. As she studied the amber, Dr. Allard studied her.

“The amber is tree sap, or resin,” he explained, his gaze following the tilt of her chin, the upturn of her nose, as he spoke. “Long years ago, before there were cities or farms or even people, that fly you’re looking at got trapped in a glob of the stuff. Over time, the sap hardened, preserving the fly in its perfect state.”

“It’s so beautiful, even for a fly.” She looked at him and smiled, her green eyes twinkling. In the three weeks since the exam, she’d flourished both mentally and physically under the care of her two physician guardians. She was happy and relaxed, and with each passing day had regressed seamlessly into the persona of a little girl. Thomas and Benedict had discussed this in private, and decided this change was born of self-preservation. What neither acknowledged was their growing enjoyment at having sweet Lucy as their little one. Both men were natural dominants and caretakers, and the addition of Lucy to their household gave them the opportunity to exercise their natural tendencies while healing a sweet young lady of her early sexual trauma.

“Do you really find it beautiful?” Thomas asked, leaning over and placing his elbows on his knees.

She turned the amber in her hand, continuing to gaze at the creature locked within. “Perhaps I am simply drawn to what it represents,” she said quietly. “I imagine the fly settled on the sap for sustenance. It is now forever fixed in what it sought for comfort.” Lucy looked up at him. “It will never have to change.”

He stared at her, realizing she was speaking now about more than just a fly trapped in amber. Thomas took it gently from her and turned it over as together they examined it from all sides. “But it never can, because it’s trapped. Would it not be better if it had the choice to fly free? Find a mate perhaps.”

She stood suddenly and walked to the fireplace. Her back was to him as she stared into the grate. “Perhaps it didn’t want freedom. And perhaps it didn’t want a mate. Perhaps it wanted the confines of the amber with its structure, its warmth.”

“Lucy.” He stood and walked up behind her, gently dropping his hands on her shoulders. “You are not a fly. You’re a young lady. You fear freedom because you’ve not tasted it. You deserve it. And you deserve a… mate.”

Why was it so hard for him to say those words? Thomas knew his role, as well as his colleague’s, was to remain objective. They’d agreed to use what they learned from Lucy to perhaps guide other physicians in helping other women whose early experience had marred their view of carnal relations. But with each passing day, with each sweet, trusting smile from Lucy, maintaining that objectively became more of a struggle.

Her shoulders slumped now, and his heart lurched almost painfully as he saw her blink away tears glistening in her eyes.

“I suppose you’re right,” she said. “You’re always right, you and Dr. Crane—my two heroes. My two papas.” She said the latter playfully, but there was no doubt to either man that this was how Lucy perceived them.

“Of course we’re right,” he said thickly. “Now, how would you like a sweet? I was in the kitchen earlier, and I do believe that I saw the cook making those little pies you adore. Shall we go nick one?”

Lucy giggled at this, and took Dr. Allard’s hand. As promised, half a dozen little tarts were cooling on the large pine table in the center of the kitchen. After taking one, Thomas settled Lucy in the parlor with some books and her snack, telling her he’d be back in about an hour before heading off in search of Dr. Crane.

He found his colleague answering correspondence in his office.

“Thom!” The handsome face lit up with a smile when he saw his friend. “What have you been about this fine Sunday morning?”

Dr. Allard settled himself into a nearby chair. “Entertaining our little ward,” he said. When he grew quiet, Dr. Crane looked up.

“Is something wrong?”

“No… not really.” But Thomas was rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

“Out with it.” Dr. Crane put down his quill as his colleague moved forward in his chair.