Page 23 of Sure as Shooting

Whit’s finger massaged her clitoris in a gently coaxing manner, and Belle felt her cunt petals expanding even further as though filling with blood. Yes, that’s probably what was happening—all the blood from her brain was rushing to her pussy. Belle almost giggled at that word, pussy, another word her French beau had used. But she remained still to gain the maximum advantage from the treatment.

He massaged her in a slightly rotational manner, as though trying to find the best vantage point—for what? What was the goal here? To give her pleasure? For if that was the goal, it was working to an extreme level of bliss. Tension built in her lower abdomen. Was this the unexpended excess “seed” Whit had mentioned that engorged the uterus and needed to be expelled? Yes, yes, that must be it. Belle wiggled her hips to encourage him to continue.

Whit diddled her more fervently on the hooded part of her clitoris. Waves of thrilling ecstasy flooded down her belly, shuddering her uterus, and it almost felt as though a few squirts of this alleged seed mingled with the oil on Whit’s talented finger. He added a second finger, fiddling with her as though a concert pianist, causing her hips to fidget in agitation. Belle angled her hips to her left, encouraging him to focus on the right side of her hood, and he expertly responded to this slight instruction. Even more to his credit, he avoided the very tip, for Belle knew that would have been more agony than ecstasy, instead twiddling the length of her swollen clitoris until she was holding her breath, waiting for—what, exactly?

Oh well, it didn’t really matter, and now all logical thought seemed to evaporate as she surrendered to the overwhelming euphoria Whit was coaxing from her. Her pelvis was flooded with fluid, blood, the seed he sought to expel, and if she dared breathe, she would completely ruin the fine balance he was dexterously creating with his trained manipulation of—

“Oh!” She released the enormous breath she’d been holding all in one swoop as a veritable maelstrom of turbulent ecstasy gripped her. Yes, it was a clenching, gripping, enormous spasm, as though her uterus and the inner walls of her cunt were being seized by the most frenzied wave of heaven ever imaginable! Her arms slapped down to grip the sheet in rigid fists, her hips completely lifted off the mattress as her cunt clenched as though it could break a plate! Whit continued diddling her while whispering encouraging words as the enormous spasm seemed to crest then ease off a bit, only to return with even more force, if such a thing was imaginable!

She would die if this were to continue! She heard herself sobbing, “No, no, no!” although her inner mind was exhorting quite the opposite. Endless tidal waves of bliss washed over her, clutching every single muscle in her pelvis as though a great hand much bigger than Whit’s aimed to fling her over a cliff after squeezing every cell of life from her body. No, no, no, this was too much—she would surely die!

Eventually, she didn’t know how many minutes had passed, but the contractions did start to taper off. Whit seemed to know this, and he slowed his ministrations, placing his free hand over her mons veneris and rotating his fingertips to create new, squishy, shocking arrows of pleasure so acute they were almost painful, shooting nearly to the pit of her throat.

“That’s good…” he said with approval. “That’s good.”

Now Belle panted, wringing the sheet, her eyes squeezed together. “No, no, stop!” she begged.

And Whit did, giving her clitoris a few last flicks of the fingertips that nearly had her jumping to the ceiling to cling there, like a terrified cat.

It took many more long moments as Whit rose from the mattress, presumably to wash his hands in the basin, for Belle to even unclench her fists and eyes, to open her eyes. For the stars to stop floating before her vision. For her to weakly turn her head aside to view a looming Whit, looking very pleased with himself, hands on hips, an enormous erection bulging the lap of his trousers.

“Whit,” she said stupidly. “Was that…was that…?”

“A female orgasm?” he asked flippantly. “Yes, as I suspected.”

Belle said weakly, “But it was so powerful. I thought I might die.”

“Well. It would be a good death, wouldn’t it? I’m sure you know the French call an orgasm petit mort, the little death.”

She tried to laugh, or maybe she was only laughing in her mind. “Women have orgasms, just as men do?”

“I believe it’s very similar, yes.”

“And that is the treatment for hysteria?”

“Yes. And we’ll have to continue many more treatments if we ever hope to cure you.”

Belle certainly hoped there was never a cure.