May 16th, 1849, Greater London
It was to be a day of extremes, that much was predictable, having endured the four days of a pulsating molar that boomed in the back of my jaw. The throbbing had begun four days prior and it was more than I could take. My wife had been subject to my touchy mood swings and newfound bitterness, demanding that I get it sorted.
These sorts of dental issues are best sorted swiftly by those that one trusts. It is of little import the profession, be it the local barber or baker, anyone whose hands knows the body of a man or a loaf of bread should suffice in the task at hand.
It was that evening I called upon a surly friend, Johnny Whisperlake. A well respected barber several corners away. It was he, who on many an occasion, spruced my wiry and tired appearance up on many an occasion. His work was of such calibre, that I often had to reintroduce myself to passing acquaintances, them having not recognized this new to-do fellow.
He did not, however, take kindly to my request on one of his particularly surly days (one could even suppose he too suffered at the hands of an inflamed molar). He did manage though, to send me to an address but 250 meters away.
The address was less an establishment but an abode, located in the darker and grimier stretches of town. I knocked impatiently and took a step back. A girlish woman in a coal grey dress opened the door ajar, pressing her face to the crack.
“Yes?” She whispered.
Her hair was a dusty orange and her eyes green.
“I was sent here via the good barber, he informed me you could remove a somewhat troublesome tooth, I can provide you a couple farthing for your troubles?”
“You’ll be needing my mother, come round the back.”
And with that, the door clicked shut.
The back entrance did not lead into the house, as was expected, but to a small dirty shack. Once again, the green-eyed girl opened. I was greeted by a glorified tool shed, the smell of acids and varnish cutting the back of my throat.
In the middle of the dark shack, a barber’s chair sat facing the back corner. I took my place on the chair, leaning myself deep into the broken leather. At this point I was glad to have sunk a couple caps of my neighbors gin, which seemed to have calmed the throbbing.
The door behind clicked open and shut, a harsh voice grating through the air.
“So you have molar troubles? You are not the first to visit me this week. It is the time of year where the winter smoke draws all manner of malady to the fore. Here for a moment, my good Hazel will see that you are ready, I just have to finish up in the parlor.”
Without having laid eyes on my doctor, she was gone. Hazel, finding her feet, swung the chair around with an almighty creak. She found no hesitation in binding my arms into the chair with the restraining straps. Leather clasps buckled around my upper wrists, a standard in this sort of procedure. It was perhaps the extent of the restraint that tickled my curiosity and fanned my angst. Hazel continued. She knelt down at my knees and buckled my ankles tightly to the foot rest. She then swung the chair back to the back wall so that I faced the long disused tools that sat high on the shelving.
Reaching around my waist, she pulled yet more straps around my stomach, clicking them around at the back. A noticeable heaviness to her breath on my elbows. I was rendered completely immobile except for my head, which, at this point, seemed counterintuitive to cleanly removing a gammy tooth.
Swung once again to face the front, Hazel’s hair had fallen out of her bonnet. The meek and shy house girl suddenly had a blaze in her eyes. Her chest rose and fell with a sort of labour and her stare suggested a feline-like hunger. She turned to the door, where she slid the heavy bolt across and seemed to play with something else on the hinges.
Pausing for a moment, she inhaled. She turned on her heel and laid her womanhood bare. Her sizeable breasts completely out of their underlayers and hanging sumptuously over her grey dress. There was this sweet innocent thing, suddenly feral. Her nipples were extravagant and matched her amber eyes. I soon there realized my head was no longer the only part of me that was mobile, but the pressing erection in my pleated trouser had also come to life.
Shocked as to the sudden change in this demeanour, I began to ramble sounds. One bumbling male, whose brain was yet to catch up with his lips.
Hazel, leant forward, her breasts leaning outwards with gravity, reached her hand up her lengthy grey dress and pulled down an undergarment. I wasn’t entirely sure what her intention was, but I was so urgently desperate to find out…
[Hold out for next chapter]
The Queen's Court 