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I sat in a smallish office in one of two chairs on the receiving side of a large oak desk. I perched on the edge of my chair. Felt the rancor and frustration of the man sitting next to me and my heart fluttered in my chest in panic. The sensation was intensified by the restrictive corset that seemed to force my lungs up towards my throat in its quest to push my breasts up onto a platter for any passing man to ogle.I berated myself for so many bad choices. Why? Why could I simply not be quiet and do as I’m told? Other people (other women I correct myself, bitterly) manage to do this. And there it was. It was simply not fair that I should be forced to stifle my tongue because I am a woman. Unfair that I should be required to think my dreams quaint and laughable and unattainable because I was a member of the fairer sex. That I should hold myself forward to be admired for the nipped-in size of my waist or the rosy glow on my cheeks and nothing more.God. This was how I ended up here. I must stop, I thought to myself. Perhaps it was not too late. Perhaps I could explain to the two of them — beg forgiveness, throw myself on their mercy. Promise to behave — and mean it this time and actually deliver if only I could be granted one more chance.But there had been a hundred ‘one more chances’. I had failed repeatedly and now I had been brought here to be ‘fixed’.I’d heard whisperings among the downstairs staff about a young lady who was sent off to be fixed. Mandy, the scullery maid, worked over the road for the Billingsleys. Portia Billingsley was rumored to have fallen for a stable boy. Her father took her away to be ‘fixed’. There was talk of so much bleeding. Then nothing. Is this what would happen to me? Would I be maimed or tortured and disappear like poor Miss Billingsley for failing to properly respect the gentlemen in my circles? I could feel fat tears burn my cheeks as they streamed from the corners of my eyes. A small door, formed to look as if part of the paneling, swung quietly inwards and a tall fair man stooped through the opening. As he straightened, he seemed to fill the room with his towering height. He wore a long white coat. Pristine. At least he hadn’t come direct from torturing some other poor maid, I thought to myself as he reached his hand forward to shake that of my chaperone in greeting. Without sparing me a glance, he suggested that perhaps the two of them might be private to discuss the case. His head indicated a tiny delicate chair in the corner where I would be banished to allow them to discuss my fate in relative privacy. I stifled a knot of indignation. I am turning over a new leaf, I thought istanbul travesti to myself.I concentrated on holding my head high as if a book were balanced atop, as I rose to make my way the few feet across the room. My knees wobbled; seemed to have lost the ability to support me properly. Turning, I backed up until I felt the edge of the chair against my knees and sank into it as I had been taught — still balancing the imaginary book. I turned my head to peer out a tiny window into the street below, ears straining to monitor the conversation that would decide my fate.All I could hear were low murmurs, punctuated occasionally by a frustrated whisper.“INSUBORDINATE. ARGUMENTATIVE.” Outside, there were men and women going on about their days. Did any of them have any idea what went on in this innocuous-looking little house on the square? An understated brass plaque marked the entrance. ”INAPPROPRIATE” I heard in an angry whisper, and my heart leapt in fear. I began to study the window. Did it open? I realized that I couldn’t possibly get through it in the restrictive garments I was wearing. I was well and truly trapped. “IDEAS…..AN EMBARRASSMENT.” I heard someone slump back in his chair in frustration.And then, in a slightly raised voice, as if meant to carry to me…. “Might I be permitted to examine the patient?” I imagined I could feel two pairs of eyes train themselves on me, and I struggled to will myself back across the room. If I submitted quietly to this examination perhaps, I could show them both that I was not broken; not in need of fixing.The gentleman in the white coat rose up out of his chair and rung a bell by the side of his desk. Immediately, as if she has been waiting at the other side of the door, a smartly dressed older woman with her iron grey hair stacked efficiently atop her head and a white apron pinned to the front of her grey dress entered. She held the door wide and stepped back, gesturing to my companion.Despite my terror, or mayhap even because of it, I struggled to suppress a smile as I recognized the expression of bemusement on my companion’s face. He was realizing that he had been dismissed. He would not be permitted to stay and see to my getting fixed. Pulling his hat more firmly down over his head, he cast me a meaningful glance before exiting. I could hear the intent of his look as clearly as if the words have been spoken out loud. ‘Behave for God’s sake. If this doesn’t work, we shall resort to more drastic measures.’“Miss Swain, will you kindly see to the patient?” the doctor bowed himself back out of the office, and his assistant efficiently retrieved travesti istanbul a large screen and wheeled it across the room, separating me from the desk and the empty room at large. To my back, the open window looked out onto the street where I could hear the noise of passing traffic. I opened my mouth to point out the fact that the screen was not actually screening me from anything, but thought better of it. I would begin today to hold my thoughts to myself. Others did NOT find my observations helpful, as evidenced by my presence here.Once the screen was in place, Miss Swain stepped behind me and began loosening the seed buttons down the back of my gown. My sense of panic spiked upwards. Pointlessly, I pressed my two hands to my chest, shoulders curling inwards in a self-protective gesture as my gown began to gape down the back. I could feel my cheeks flush. I tried to push out of the chair when I felt a tug at my corset, but a firm hand kept me in place as the bindings gave way.I indulged in a deep, cleansing breath and felt an immediate lightheaded rush and a wicked thrill at the unexpected freedom. Glancing down, I could see the pale cotton of my undergarments on display in the bright light of day in this stranger’s office. They were barely covering my breasts where my gown and the corset had fallen away from them.The nurse then returned to the screen and pushed it back into place, leaving me sitting, exposed, as the man in the white coat ducked back into the office. Irate, I jumped up out of my chair, pointing accusingly at the screen.“What, might I ask, was the point of that? I’m given the questionable cover of a screen when you are not present, then it is taken away.” My voice trailed off as I recalled my intention to submit quietly to whatever examination awaited in an effort to demonstrate my pliable, appropriate and biddable nature.I slumped back in my chair and dropped my gaze. My hands clasped firmly in my lap, resisted the urge to try to piece back together the errant bits of my outfit. With my gaze lowered, I could see that the bodice of my undergarment had slipped dangerously low during my outburst and subsequent retreat. I could see a rose-colored areola peaking above the embroidered edge of the fabric. My heart began to pound, causing a flush to creep up my neck.I waited, but there was only silence, and at long last, I allowed myself to peek under my eyelashes at the other occupant of the room.He was sitting patiently behind his desk, observing me. His expression appeared thoughtful and perhaps amused.“Ready to begin?” he asked.What to answer? Truthfully no, but what is the istanbul travestileri alternative? Begin we must, at some point I supposed, or was there room to reason with this man?“Never mind. I can see that your nature drives you to question even rhetorical statements, and so I will do you the favor of retracting the question and moving forward,” the doctor said calmly, rising from his chair. “We’ll begin with a preliminary physical exam.”“As a woman of great curiosity, I am certain you are torturing yourself with questions about what will happen to you here. Kindly seek to trust in my expertise. I have treated countless women that suffer, as you do, from an excitable or even hysterical disposition.”As he spoke, he walked behind me, his tone soothing. I could feel the hairs on the nape of my neck stand on end as I strained to track his exact location without turning my head.A warm hand settled on my shoulder; long fingers resting easily against my collar bone and chest. A second hand settled on the other side, and I couldn’t resist the image of the two of them closing about my throat. Instead they began to slide downwards. I watched in disbelief as those hands slipped right into the front of my bodice, fingers curling around to heft the weight of my breasts and gently knead them together.The sensation was startling. My heart began to pound harder and my lids fluttered closed of their own accord.My head bobbed further forward and began to loll to one side as the fondling continued. When a thumb drew across my nipple, causing it to contract, shards of intense pleasure sent my body arcing upwards. My breasts thrust forward into the hands that were the source of this sensation. I flushed deep red at my own wanton behavior.“Very good,” the man administering this examination whispered from behind me, “that’s perfect.” He began to roll my pebbled nipples back and forth between his thumb and forefinger. Leaning forward to peer down at my breasts, his warm breath raised gooseflesh along my nape. I struggled to stay upright, hands gripping the sides of my chair. I could feel my knees begin to quiver. a heavy sensation began to grow in the pit of my belly. And lower down.I snapped my mouth closed when I realized that it was hanging open, my breath coming in short panting gasps. I pressed my knees together to still their quaking. The pressure of my thighs created an uneasy throbbing sensation between them.The doctor pressed two fingers against the column of my throat, presumably taking my pulse with a silver stopwatch he’d fished out of his coat pocket. My breasts tingled and ached, the skin puckering further against the cool air once he removed his hands. My mind struggled with the desire for his hands to return to their previous ministrations. I gripped the edges of the chair to restrain my own fingers from reaching for my breasts to mimic the stimulus of the doctor’s touch.
Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32