A Thoroughly Modern Victorian Cure for Hysteria

Dr. West lifted my legs and strapped my feet into the stirrups. He tugged on the straps to make sure they were secure. He tied my hands down too, obviously, he knew from experience what kind of a state this treatment put me in.

Dr. West pulled a lever and the chair tipped back until I was almost horizontal. He cranked a ratchet and the stirrups moved apart, spreading my legs open wide. He gestured with a hand and the other doctors gathered around me.

I gazed up at those eminent men, and I don’t know what I expected, a little kindness, a little warmth perhaps, but they looked down at me with cold, uncaring eyes. They looked at me like I was a specimen, not a person.

As Dr. West lifted my gown over my knees and folded it up around my waist, they crowded closer and bent forward to inspect my exposed body. They stared at me as if they’d never seen anything so peculiar before. I was sure they all made love to their wives with the lights off.

I tried not to look at the men. I knew this was all for the good of medical science, Dr. West had explained that, but my face still coloured at the shame of it. None of them noticed though, but then none of them bothered to look above my waist.

Dr. West gave a quick review of hysteria as the doctors examined me. He covered the basic science, how it was a woman’s disorder brought on by too much emotional excitement, how the female psyche was too fragile. How we were prone to periods of emotive frenzy. How it caused nervousness, fainting, irrational outbursts, and unnatural sexual urges. He told the assembled doctors that hysteria had no respect for breading, that it afflicted women from the lowest social strata to the highest, even the daughter of a Lord, like myself. The men nodded and stroked their beards in gestures of agreement. They kept glancing down between my legs, as if they hadn’t seen enough of me already.

Tears formed at the corners of my eyes as they stared, but I blinked them away. Being exposed to so many strange men was a humiliation greater than I’d ever bared, especially for a lady such as myself, but I held my composure. This was for my own good, I understood that, and more, this was for all womankind and for science too. Dr. West had explained to me how this demonstration was the first step in popularising his new, cutting-edge methods. I knew how important this all was.

Dr. West grew increasingly enthused as he talked. He explained how he’d acquired his instruments in Paris, but how he’d made his own modifications, and how he’d expanded upon the techniques they’d developed there. I saw him gesture to the trolley next to me as he spoke. A white sheet covered what lay there, but I knew well what each lump and shape in the fabric hid. My breath quickened as I stared at them.

West stepped towards the trolley and grasped the white sheet covering his apparatus, but he stayed his hand. Ever the showman, he went on and on about how modern his devices were, how they were poised to revolutionise the treatment of hysteria. The tension mounted as he explained how they used steam power and even electricity. The assembled doctors gasped at this revelation, then they gasped again as Dr. West whisked the sheet away to reveal his tools.

The trolley was laden with a chaotic array of wires, tubes, pistons, polished wood, and gleaming chrome. My heart raced as I took in the sight of those familiar instruments, my stomach began to flutter. I felt an attack of hysteria rising, the very reason I was there, and I had to force myself to look away. I focussed on the ceiling and tried to calm my breathing.

Dr. West grew more impassioned as he talked, and as I heard the sound of him squirting the unguent onto his hands, the first paroxysms of panic arose within me. Whatever humiliation I’d experienced in private thus far, it was about to be increased tenfold now.

I tried to remind myself why I was doing this, that it was for the common good, but I kept fixating on what was about to happen. I heard the sticky sound of Dr. West rubbing his unguent-soaked hands together, and at least he was warming them for me.

The assembled doctors parted to let Dr. West position himself between my raised thighs. My breathing quickened so much I was on the verge of hyperventilating, I felt dizzy, then his fingertips touched me and I yelped in shock and fear. The assembled doctors shook their heads and tutted at me.

I closed my eyes tight as Dr. West spread the slippery unguent all over my exposed nether regions. He advised on how much should be used and the men watched closely as West spread it liberally all over my outer lips. I yelped again as he spread me with his fingers to coat my inner regions. The men made comments about how flighty I was. They asked if this was normal. They leaned in further to inspect me closely as possible.

A tear escaped from between my eyelids and ran down my cheek. I found I was about to sob, I was about to lose control of my emotions, but then one of Dr. West’s fingertips slid over my nub, what he’d told me was called my clitoris, and I gasped as a jolt of pleasure ran through me.

Dr. West continued to stroke me there, and warm pleasure began to radiate through my lower body. I was still on the verge of tears, but my breathing grew slower. I tried to hold myself still and not make any noises to further humiliate myself.

West manipulated me absentmindedly, but I confess, it felt wonderful. He kept talking the whole time, he explained how, through thorough experimentation, he’d found it was best to warm the subject up first before applying the devices, and all the while I fought to stop myself sighing.

He kept on touching me, he kept sliding his fingertip gently back and forth over my nub as he talked, and he was a master of his craft. I couldn’t help moaning softly and squirming in my restraints. The men shook their heads at me again.

Dr. West urged the assembled doctors to watch closely as he administered to me. He began to move his finger around my clitoris in gentle circles as he explained how each patient was unique, how they responded differently to digital massage, and that the treating physician must vary his techniques to find the approach that worked best. He urged patience and careful experimentation. He told them how he’d spent many hours practicing on me to find what worked best. My clitoris filled and tightened, it throbbed, and I tried to hold still and not shame myself too much.

My pleasure mounted though as West prepared me, my face and chest grew hot, I gasped and panted, but the men showed no visible signs of emotion, other than their distaste of the way I was behaving. Dr. West kept on with his lecture, he explained how different areas of the patient could be stimulated, and he gave quick demonstrations. He slid a finger into my quim and he showed different ways of eliciting a response, the slow, deep massage, the quick thrust, the twist of the wrist.

As West continued, he explained how some patients, often the worst offenders, had a spot inside, an area of raised wrinkles, that if rubbed could cause a strong reaction. He stroked me there, in time with the finger sliding around my clitoris, and I moaned louder and squirmed against my restraints. Forgive me. I couldn’t help myself.

Again, Dr. West encouraged experimentation. He advised the doctors not to be afraid to try stimulating their patients in other places too. He unbuttoned the front of my gown as he explained how it was just as much an art as a science. West exposed my breasts and began to stroke and squeeze them. He told those eminent men how sensitive my nipples were, then he rolled them in his fingers to show them how fervently I responded. The other men gave him looks of surprise and admiration, as if such a thing had never occurred to them.

Dr. West continued to stimulate me in various places as he lectured his guests. He advised on how important proper preparation was. He stroked my clitoris, he probed me with his fingers, he stroked that area inside, he pinched my nipples, and he did it over and over, keeping me guessing, pushing my pleasure higher. I tried to stay as quiet as possible, I tried not to make a scene of myself, but it was no good. Dr. West knew my body better than I did, and he soon had me groaning and whining and wriggling in that chair as if I was a victim of a possession.

The assembled men gave me looks of revulsion, they stared at me with open disgust as if I was merely a thing, a scientific curiosity, an animal, a beast, and not a noble lady. And Lord, how it shamed me to act that way before them, such an honourable crowd of gentleman, all high-born, all men of respect and power, but I couldn’t hold myself back. The pleasure was too great. And then Dr. West took his hands off me and reached for his apparatus.

I had a few moments to catch my breath and try and recover myself. I tried to calm my nerves, to slow my heart and my breathing, but I couldn’t seem to master myself. The hot, glorious, throbbing tension between my legs wouldn’t dissipate, my body was tingling all over, and I was too weak of will. Too degenerate. Dr. West brandished his sleek, chrome, patent Oscillating Therapeutic Wand to the assembled guests and I knew I was lost. I was done for now.

West explained how his Wand utilised the latest technology. He showed the men the generator that powered it, and the thick copper wire than ran from it into the base of the Wand. They gasped and congratulated him at his daring use of electricity, but I saw some apprehensive looks too. There was some places science was not meant to tread.

Dr. West flicked the switch and the generator thrummed to life with a deafening roar. The men stepped back in alarm, but West shouted over the din that all was well.

The Wand buzzed in his hand like an angry, metallic hornet, but West proffered it in front of himself for the other men to touch. They came forwards one by one and reached out gingerly to feel its power. They expressed their surprise that such a device was safe, but West assured them it was tried and tested, and then, to prove his point, he pressed his Wand against my exposed flesh.

Pleasure surged through me. It hit me so hard I bucked in the chair. I yelled. I screeched. Powerful vibrations radiated through my lower body, my thighs tensed, my chest tightened, suddenly I couldn’t breathe properly, and it was terrible, humiliating bliss.

Dr. West showed me no mercy too. He didn’t hold back. His demonstration to these men had to be perfectly persuasive, after all. He pressed his Wand firmly against my outer lips, he ran it up and down the length of me, and I groaned and thrashed under its ministrations like a lusty nymph lost to her pleasure, without any civility or restrain.

West shouted over the noise for the men to watch closely again. He spread my lips and ran his Wand between them. He touched every inch of me, and he made comments on the intensity of my reaction. He pointed out how I strained and moaned and shuddered.

West showed the men different techniques. He pushed the Wand right inside me and held it there, even though he explained it wasn’t usually necessary, that clitoral stimulation was the best cure. I screwed my eyes up and bit my lip to try and suppress my exclamations of pleasure.

Dr. West slid the wand out of me, he opened my lips wide with his fingers, he pointed out my clitoris to the assembled men so there could be no uncertainty to the identity of this mysterious organ, then he pressed the vibrating Wand against it.

The men stepped back out of shock. I almost laughed at how scared some of them looked, but I couldn’t do anything other than shake and moan and gasp.

West reassured the gentlemen again, he explained that this was a perfectly normal reaction, and he warned them to steel themselves, as it would soon become far more powerful. He waved the men forwards again with his free hand, and they crept back around me.

Dr. West urged the doctors to observe his technique closely as he moved the Wand around my clitoris in tight, fast circles. He pointed out the signs of my impending climax, the rise in pitch of my noises, the flushing of my face and chest, the tensing of my muscles, the wetness of my quim, the obvious loss of control

His calm, condescending voice, the way the men were looking at me, it was infuriating, but I couldn’t hold back. This was science, I was its subject, the conclusion was inevitable.

The tension rose, my pleasure grew and grew, it reached breaking point, I experienced that rare moment of almost unbearable intensity, and then my climax took me. It tore through my body like wondrous wildfire and I howled and screamed like a banshee.

Some of the men looked away in disgust, others dabbed at their brows with handkerchiefs, others paled in fear, but West didn’t stop. I knew he was only getting started. He kept the Wand pressed against me, but thankfully he moved it down from my clitoris. He explained that the more crescendos I had, the better it would ease my feminine nerves and calm my wandering womb, but he told the men I’d be too sensitive to receive direct clitoral stimulation, at least for the moment.

West moved the Wand around me, shouting his explanations and his theories as the generator roared and the Wand droned and wined. He reminded the assembled doctors of the importance of other forms of stimulation, and he reached behind himself to his trolley of apparatus with his free hand. He lifted a suction cup and attached it to my nipple. He attached the second one, then he flicked another generator on and a new note of noise joined the cacophony.

The cups tightened around my nipples, a vacuum was formed, then my flesh swelled and was filled with a splendid, throbbing sensation. Dr. West turned the power up and the pulsing in my nipples was joined with a new pulsing sensation between my legs, as if the two regions were joined. The men remarked on how strongly I was reacting to the stimulation.

West pushed the Wand into my quim again as he talked, although merely as a place to store it this time as he stepped away from me. I thrashed and moaned, I closed my eyes tight, but I heard that noise of squeaking wheels I recognised so well, and I knew Dr. West was pulling the second trolley of devices towards me. Part of me was horrified he was taking this so far, that he was going to push me all the way, and in front of so many refined men, but a part of me wanted it too now. I knew it was wrong, but I needed more.

I heard Dr. West shouting again, and I couldn’t make out what he was saying, but I knew what he was about to do. I knew he’d be applying unguent to his piston-action, hydraulic Probe. I could picture him slathering it lovingly in the thick, silky fluid. Likely he’d be preparing the smaller, secondary one too.

I knew Dr. West would be explaining how that machine functioned, how it was steam powered but perfectly safe. How it had different settings and speeds. I heard the wheels of the trolley squeak again, as he drew it to me.

West slid the buzzing Wand out of my quim and for a moment I felt desperately, horribly empty. But then the Probe nested between my lips, another noise joined the racket, it trembled as it came to life, and then the Probe was sliding slowly into me.

I groaned, and to my horror, I tried to push against it to take it into me faster. It was such a wanton thing to do, but I was so far beyond dignity and control now.

My groan turned louder as the primary Probe pushed deeper. West kept shouting, no doubt explaining how he’d carefully taken my measurements, how he’d used them to cast the Probe to fit me perfectly. How it was designed to stretch and fill me to the peak of my requirements to create maximum relief from hysteria.

That awful, wonderful Probe was driven by a smooth piston action. It slid inexorably in and out of me without stopping. It started slow, but as my body adjusted to it, and my cries came louder, Dr. West increased the pace until it was thumping in and out of me and I felt like I was being taken by a stallion. After countless rounds of experimentation, West had learned exactly how deep I liked it, how far it should be drawn back, and what rhythm brought me the most pleasure.

It was wondrous, I couldn’t deny it. It was a miracle of modern Victorian science and engineering, and Dr. West was a genius. He placed the Wand back against my clitoris and I climaxed almost instantaneously.

I jerked and wailed. My body was drowned in waves of pleasure, and then I climaxed again, and then again and again and again. West had expertly put me into that magnificent state where I climaxed over and over without respite. He’d told me previously it was the only truly effective cure for my woman’s madness.

Physical sensation conquered me. I lost my mind. I couldn’t hold on to a thought, I felt like I was dissipating, I was reverting to my base, animal form, but I still saw the looks on the faces of the men as they stared down at me. They wore expressions of appalled fascination, of revulsion, of horror, of fear. I must have been so alien to them. They were men of science, of medicine, they were logical, unemotional, cold, analytical, and here was I, a slave to my pleasure. A Lady reduced to nothing more than a rutting beast.

But it wasn’t enough for Dr. West. He had to prove his science. He had to push me as far as he possibly could in front of his colleagues. I felt the Secondary Probe touch my body, the smaller, more slender one, the one that hung and inch or so beneath the Primary Probe.

Again, my mind was filled with horror over what West was about to do to me, about what these noble gentlemen were about to witness, but again I wanted it. I craved it, that extra touch of forbidden pleasure. I was a Lady, the daughter of a noble, I knew I shouldn’t take enjoyment from being stimulated there, but I did. It was incontrovertible. And God forgive me I wanted it then. I’d have begged for it if I’d have been capable of speech.

I didn’t have to plead though. I knew Dr. West wouldn’t hesitate, no matter what decent society would think. I knew to Dr. West it was all just science, no irrational taboo, no matter how strong, could stay his scholarly hand. Something touched me down there, it wiggled, it pressed, it massaged, it probed, then Dr. West’s lubricated finger was sliding into my sphincter.

I still couldn’t make out what West was saying over all the noise, but I was sure he was reassuring the gentlemen, that he was explaining, with great delight, what a wonderful discovery he’d made. That subjects could respond so strongly to manipulation in that most forbidden of regions. I saw looks of shock and disbelief on those men’s’ faces.

West pressed his finger slowly into me, and I felt myself coming open around it without any resistance. He pushed it deep and it felt heavenly to be filled in both places. He manoeuvred his finger around inside me to open me up as the Probe above pistoned in and out of my quivering quim, and my unending climaxes took me harder and harder.

I writhed and moaned as Dr. West worked a second finger into my most intimate of places. I felt his digits screwing inside me as he twisted his wrist back and forth to please me more and open me further. When he was satisfied, he slipped his fingers out of me, and it pains me to admit this, it’s such a shameful confession, but for a moment I felt that awful empty feeling once more, and I desired to be filled and stretched and satisfied in that place too. I moaned out for it.

West didn’t make me wait for it. I felt the Secondary Probe pressing against me, I came open around the tip of it, another blare of noise joined the symphony of machines, and the Secondary Probe was sliding slowly into my back passage.

That other Probe was only a little wider than a single finger, but it was smoother, and longer, and was also designed to fit my requirements perfectly. West held it still inside me for a moment, to let me adjust to its presence, then he released the mechanism and it slid into action.

The Secondary Probe pushed deep into my anus, then slid out a way without halting, then it pressed home again. Like the one above in my quim, it began slowly, but it gradually sped up until it reached a speed matching the Primary Probe above it. They pummelled me in unison, as one drove home, the other retreated, then they alternated, over and over, without relenting, and it took me to heaven.

My next orgasm hit me harder than any I’d felt that day, harder than any I’d ever felt, even under West’s superlative previous treatments, and then the next one hit me harder, and the next harder still, and I’d have panicked at the overwhelming power of it if my body had still been capable of any reaction other than receiving that apex of Earthly pleasure.

How could it be any other way though? I was being assailed by everything modern science could throw at me. The acme of engineering, of electrics, of steam power, of the genius of Dr. West. The suction on my nipples, the relentless buzzing against my clitoris, the two chrome cylinders sliding back and forth inside my body in perfect unison, I reached a pleasure beyond nirvana.

And then it happened. That deep, tight, heavy feeling grew inexorably inside me with each climax, and this I tried to hold back, I tried to tense my muscles, it would be the ultimate humiliation, the final fall into depravity, but by this point I’d lost all control and I was powerless from stopping it from happening.

The heavy, full, tight tension rose to its peak, it broke, I experienced that feeling of utmost relief, and then the fluid began to gush from my nether regions. It spurted up and out of me with each peak of my climax, and I saw, to my complete and total horror, how it splashed onto the clothes of the men crowding around me.

They recoiled in shock and disgust, but I couldn’t stop. More and more of the clear fluid came gushing out of me, I was soaking myself, no doubt the floor around me, and Dr. West’s machinery, but then he’d made sure it was waterproof for a reason.

I came with one last, final, earth-annihilating climax. I screamed so hard my voice broke, a last wave of fluid surged out of me, then I feinted.

I came around in a bed being tended to by one of Dr. West’s nurses. She told me the demonstration had been a resounding success.

She didn’t smile at me as she said it. She wrinkled her nose. She told me the men had been so horrified and frightened they’d been properly awakened to the pressing severity of the issue. Of the ticking time bomb in society that was woman’s madness. They agreed a speech needed to be made before Parliament. Another demonstration had been suggested.

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