[F4A] [Hospital] Female Hysteria and Victorian Doctors

Female hysteria was often attributed to sexual frustration, with females being unable to reduce stress via vaginal intercourse; this led to physicians recommending private clitoral stimulation at home.Women unable to do so on their own received relief via a genital massage from a physician, although this caused concern in the medical community, who would go on to invent the vibrator to do the massage for them.

My sex life is non-existent. It’s as vanilla as they come, for purely reproductive purposes, like it should be. I strongly disagree that sex should only be for reproductive purposes, but alas I am but a mere woman and unable to really do much about it. My worthless husband had decided, along with the rest of society, that sex is something that God knows about and some other nonsense that I couldn’t really have been bothered to listen to. Point is, I’m sexually frustrated. I haven’t been able to fuck anything but my fingers for as long as I can remember, sans our wedding night.

My husband is a good man, he really is and I do love him dearly, but there has got to be something wrong with him. He doesn’t even go after whores for fucksake, and even when I can see that he’s throbbing hard he won’t raise a hand other than to push me away, muttering something about how it isn't right. To some extent, I’m almost thankful that we met up with the doctor last week. Sure, I was outraged when he diagnosed me with “Female Hysteria”, but after mentioning the treatment… I had to play the outraged version of me out, leaving my poor husband to apologise and the doctor nodding sympathetically. Then, I had to wipe up the drool that was falling from my lips - my upper lips, the lower pair leaked but I couldn't do much about that.

It was still hands on offer, but for once in months, days, years, I couldn’t fucking tell. I was beyond what people called hot and bothered and if hands to massage my aching clit was all that I was going to be offered, then I would take all the hands they could give me. Yes, I so desperately wanted something more - perhaps what my friends were talking about… what were they called again? Didos? Dilsos? Dildos! Yes, I had heard of my friends talking about something called a dildo, essentially a fake penis that you could fuck yourself with, and the best part - although I hardly had to deal with it considering my circumstances - was that it never got soft or needed a long clean-up.

But, as with all things run by men, it would take time. I would have to wait two fucking days before the doctor was free again. Two. Fucking. Days. “Oh, but it’s only two days,” you may say. Do you know how fucking long two days feels when each tick of the clock drives another spike of unsated pain through your body? Well, do you?

And even worse, I had to wait until nightfall before he arrived. Two and a half days of waiting. I had long since passed the point of embarrassment when talking to the maids about cleaning my undergarments, but my lord the first day was awful. I was soaked completely, to the point where I ordered them to draw a bath as soon as my friends left the house to clean off my thighs. My lower lip - I lied about eating bad food - had been chewed on to the point of rawness, the skin peeling away as I imagined his (or her) hands down by my pussy and giving me what I so desperately needed. I dreamed about, fantasized about the pleasure, the touch, the texture and before I knew it, I had my name called thrice before nearly spilling my tea all over my dress.

At least the maid didn’t bat an eye, I don’t think I’d be able to keep standing should she have said a word. Being a beetroot is not fun. Being a soaking beetroot is even less so. And thus, the hour between my friends leaving and my husband still returning from work was given to me. Graced with my time, I locked the bathroom door, stepped into the steaming hot tub - only to pull back at the heat - before slowly sliding in and letting the heat seep into my body. As if I wasn’t burning up already…

At the very least I had the humour for some crazed remark about how a girl - me - in the bathtub is only the second wettest thing before my fingers found themselves straying down south. A cold shiver ran up my spine, even through the immense heat, as the digits crossed the border to my nethers, trailing along the edge of my swollen lips and creating undulating motions of pleasure that coursed through my system. Here’s to hoping she - my maid - is elsewhere.

“Oh… fuck!” I cried out, brushing past the engorged clit with my thumb, eyes rolling into the back of my skull and the bath- No, it wasn’t the bath, but rather my legs kicking out and hitting the edge that sent my back up along the opposite end and sprouting out the water. My core was plagued with a trembling, a constant and unremitting trembling. No longer were my hands my own, the reins of control being handed over to lustful intent. Let bygones be bygones and arousal be arousal.

One knuckle deep, one thumb orbiting my clit, I thrust myself into the realms pleasure, praying that this time I would be given more than frustrating temporary release. It was a fool’s hope, but my body happily played the fool, sending slithering digits along the side of my walls in a gentle massage, thumb closing in… the other hand joined the fray.

The waves of pleasure came in tandem with the ones I let loose upon the water, one right hand peeling back up my body to have fingers dance to an erratic rhythm around my clit, the left making its way down as one after the other my fingers were found deep within my own confines. The flame flared and just like before as time had proven again and again, it was doused.

A wholly unsatisfying pulse of pleasure. That was it. I rubbed a little more, timidly searching for more, only to find oversensitive pain and gasping out as my hands retracted. Once more I had been denied, my own body seemingly able to look outwards and realise that I was alone and therefore denying me any pleasure.

The water splashed and rippled as I sank back down, lips beneath the surface blowing comical bubbles in some sort of sigh. At the very least my husband wouldn’t be around on Sunday, too busy at some church function…

Sunday slowly rolled in, bringing with it the most powerful tide of unkempt desire that I had ever had the luck to not only witness but also experience. The oaken grandfather clock ticked, the nighttime hour about to be reached as the pendulum swayed, my pussy drooling again. Drooling impossibly as it oozed out my liquid desire.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Six.

The clock stopped, signifying the official falling of night. Now all I had to do was wa-

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The three sharp raps on the door sent my heartbeat to an all-time high, my head becoming swimmy as the rush of craving hit me. You were finally here, and for the first time in what felt like aeons, I bore witness to the cracks of light in long tunnel of darkness. My slickened thighs rose to standing as I hobbled to the door, yanking it open and throwing it to the side. My lips parted before I even saw you, heavy chest heaving as the corset sought to strangle me, the voice of utter beggary.

“Please…”

---

Patient Status: Hysterical Undergoing Treatment

Patient Profile

Are you my doctor?

EDIT: An apple a day keeps the doctor away, but I promise you I haven't been eating them on the regular! Also, an orgasm a day keeps the doctor away, but as you can see, I need treatment...