Dr. Edwards’ Special Birthday Present
This tale is set in the United Kingdom in the year 1967. It is however, not the United Kingdom that we know. Instead it is an alternate United Kingdom set in an alternative universe. Therefore, much of it is familiar to us, but conversely, much isn’t. In the universe of the story, the United Kingdom is an inward-looking, reactionary society that lags behind many of its neighbours. It is governed by a powerful elite formed of an aristocracy of hereditary landowners and the Church. The Great Reform Acts of the 19th century never happened and the place of a woman is very much that of a second-class citizen… or subject. She has no rights and no property, she is owned by her father, after his death her brother or uncle, and upon marriage, her husband. Wives are expected to be virgins and all women are corseted.
At precisely 7 o’ clock in the morning the alarm clock of Dr. Daniel Edwards rang as it did every morning.
And at precisely 7 o’clock in the morning the good doctor woke up just as he did every morning.
This morning however, he felt rather happier than usual, for today was a most auspicious day indeed. For today was the occasion of his seventieth birthday.
And if that were not enough, it was also a Thursday.
Thursdays were the highlight of the good doctor’s week and he looked forward to each and every one. Ever since his retirement from the position of headmaster at the local school five years before, Dr. Edwards’ life had fallen into a very distinct – and mundane – pattern. He’d wake up and dress; eat the breakfast prepared by his housekeeper Mrs. Salt; read the contents of the Times and complete the crossword; relax until lunch also prepared by Mrs. Salt; either go in his garden, take a stroll or read depending on the weather; have his dinner prepared by Mrs. Salt and then finally go to the club to meet with some old colleagues for a port and game of bridge before retiring at around nine at night. Such were his days every day except Sundays with the exception of Thursday mornings.
For on a Thursday morning he always received a visitor.
A few months before his retirement, Dr. Edwards – whose Doctorate, I must mention, is in Education and not Medicine – began feeling ill. He was continually tense, his heart was beating fast and he regularly got severe migraines. So, he paid a visit to his medical doctor who delivered a most unexpected diagnosis. “Dr. Edwards, it is clear to me that what you are suffering from is an excess of sexual tension. It seems that, like many intelligent and respectable gentlemen, you have an extremely high sexual drive and that since the death of your wife ten years ago – and her companion some two years following that – you have had no outlet for sexual relief. This is what is causing all the tension and headaches and if it continues it could endanger your life. Sperm is being produced but it has nowhere to go and so your health is impaired. May I ask how often you masturbate?”
Dr. Edwards replied, quite firmly and correctly, that, as a practising and devout Anglican, he viewed such an act as a sin. The GP did not disagree.
“Then may I ask another personal question? Do you ever suffer from dreams of an erotic and inappropriate nature that result in you spilling seed involuntarily during your sleep?”
Dr. Edwards had to confirm, somewhat shamefacedly, that he did.
“There is nothing to be ashamed of man,” replied the GP, “this is a common situation amongst widowers. The fact is that you need some sexual release. Have you thought of remarrying?”
Dr. Edwards confirmed that he had but it was not a viable possibility. Firstly, he felt that it would be inappropriate to marry a girl too far below him in social status but those of his level had high dowries which were beyond his reach. Secondly though, he confessed to his doctor that he didn’t find women of his own age – or indeed any age beyond around thirty – to be sexually exciting and, more than that, he had several preferences that would be hard to find even if he could find a younger woman willing to wed him. “My late wife and her companion were both Ladies of Leisure, and what is more they tight-laced to admirable sizes. For me there is nothing more exciting than being able to circle a waist with my two hands and if I cannot then I am afraid that I would struggle to accept the girl in question.”
To his surprise, the GP nodded sagely, made some notes and then said he would get back to him.
And once he retired the doctor did just that. “You shall receive a visit from one of the young ladies at the Berkhamstead School for Girls every Thursday morning at ten precisely,” he announced. “It is part of their Community Service Education.”
And so it had been that for the past five years a young lady in the last year of her studies before marriage had paid him a visit every Thursday with her maid. Then the maid would depart and he would help the young lady with her education whilst she would help him with his tension issues. Every Thursday morning, as soon as they had finished their initial cup of tea – which his maid would feed to her as her arms would be ensconced within binders hidden within gigot sleeves – the young lady in question would kneel down before him, take his penis in her mouth and gently suck him to eruption after which she would swallow his seed, lick him clean and then, once he had refastened his trousers, he would sit her on his knee, circle her minute waist, (for fifteen inches was the maximum allowed at the school and many were smaller than that), and they would enjoy a pleasant chat before her maid returned an hour or two later.
Dr. Edwards sat back in his chair, the very chair in which he always sat when the ladies arrived, and mulled over his happy memories, taking out the photograph he kept with photos of each girl in. He’d had five female visitors so far. The first, Jennifer Dawkins, had been an exceptionally pretty little thing with blonde ringlets and cornflower blue eyes. She’d been very shy at first but he’d coached her well and by the time she left to wed a millowner in Manchester she’d been a capable sucker indeed and he had been sad to see her go.
The second girl had been Annabel Hartley. She had been far plainer than Jennifer but what she’d lacked in looks she more than made up for in enthusiasm and technique and many were the days when she’d managed to bring him to eruption twice within a single hour. Dr. Edwards smiled when he thought of her husband, a young Baronet from Norfolk, who had seemed rather soft and easily led and wondered how he was coping with such a tour de force of sexual energy.
His third girl had been one Charity Curzon. To be honest, of all the girls that he’d been served by, she had been the most disappointing, both in terms of conversation and looks, (and indeed ability initially), but then something dramatic had happened: Charity had been caught copulating with a boy and as such her arranged marriage fell through. In place of the original husband – whose name Dr. Edwards could not recall – she was betrothed to Lord Stafford who then proceeded to specify a most extensive range of enhancements. All the girls at Berkhamstead School were enhanced before marriage of course; it was part of their fiancé’s claim to ownership of them, and Jennifer Dawkins in particular had received a lovely pair of 40F breasts, but what Lord Stafford had specified for Charity was out of this world. Over the course of the year he saw her transform from a plain brunette with a boyish figure into a pneumatic lovedoll of dreamlike proportions. Her breasts were expanded into 52MMM balloons of titflesh whilst her face became virtually unrecognisable from that of the girl whom Dr. Edwards had been introduced to at the start of the year, her lips being inflated to such a size that they appeared as two pillows on her face that she could not close them completely and so continually drooled without her fleur de bouche. And when she did have that implement removed, her speech was now somewhat slurred and with a lisp, caused by the fact that her tongue had been deliberately shortened and inflated and a large piercing driven through it. Furthermore, her nose had been reduced to a mere button whilst her eyes were now large and staring like a doll’s, bright blue in colour caused by contact lenses decreed as mandatory at all times whilst her hair was dyed to a platinum blonde hair which finished off the illusion of vacant minded lovedoll. And Dr. Edwards, who had always secretly admired that look – and the impression on his member caused by the new lips and piercings – had been brought to such height of sexual ecstasy by the sucking of her new, vagina-like mouth on his member, that when Charity left he was sadder than at any time before.
Whilst no Charity Curzon, last year’s girl, Cassandra Parker-Heath had also been interesting. Her fiancé, one Simon Armitage, an MP in Wiltshire, it transpired liked to use a penis pump to enlarge his member and so, unlike all the others whose arms were always bound in gigot sleeves, every other week she arrived with unbound arms and began her session with him by pumping his member using the device before then having her arms laced firmly into a monoglove by the delighted doctor, (who had always especially loved the shape that a monoglove creates), and bringing his enlarged and rampant tool to eruption, working hard to accommodate its new expanded size in her tiny mouth.
And then now there was Rebecca Huntingdon, pledged to become the next Duchess of Devonshire following the death of the currently Duchess last year aged fifty-two, caused, some said, through excessive tight-lacing. She was as pretty as Jennifer Dawkins had been and Dr. Edwards couldn’t wait to see what she would look like when the 40E implants ordered for her by the Duke had been fitted. He stared at her photograph in the album and smiled, imagining the ecstasy that she would bring him too in only a few short minutes. What better way to spend one’s seventieth birthday could there be?
He was jolted out of that reveries by the doorbell. He glanced at the clock. A quarter to; she was a little early. Still, it didn’t matter. All the more time to bounce her up and down on his knee whilst he ran his hands round her waist and breasts.
Mrs. Salt opened the door and announced, “Miss Huntingdon has arrived with her maid, Doctor, but she has asked that, before she enter, you wear this blindfold as she has a little birthday surprise for you.”
Mystified, the doctor took it and fitted it. Then the housekeeper added, “and she has also requested that you say nothing until the blindfold has been removed.”
Still more intrigued he nodded and she left. He doctor heard the girl come in and kneel before him. His crotch was opened and she took his flaccid tool in her mouth. “Ahh!” he gasped as she carefully and skilfully brought it to hardness and he was really enjoying it when she abruptly withdrew with a slight giggle. Confused, he sat stock still when she came back again and started sucking once more, this time much hard and more vigorously. Ahh, that was the life and he came close to eruption when she again withdrew. He began to soften when she commenced once again, this time using her tongue once more. He noticed that there was a piercing rubbing against his member that stimulated it all the more. So, this was her surprise! She had been pierced! But oh, it was good! But then, just as he was coming close, she withdrew with another giggle and his member, now aching for release, strained. She returned, skilfully licking in a manner that he had not experienced her do yet. She had been studying well; this performance was up to that of Annabel Hartley! He groaned in ecstasy, unable to control himself but then she withdrew once again and he was left high and dry and desperate for more. Then she enveloped her mouth around him once again and it was… it was different! There were more piercings there and the tongue was thicker and the mouth tighter, almost like a vagina. “What on earth!” he exclaimed, forgetting his promise and he withdrew his blindfold to see to his astonishment, not Rebecca Huntingdon with her mouth around his member but instead the doll-like vision of Lady Stafford – once Charity Curzon!
“Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday dear Daniel! Happy birthday to you!” chorused four other girls standing all around him before erupting into three “Hip! Hip! Hoorays!” as he erupted into Charity’s modified mouth. It was all his old students come back to make his day one to remember!
“Girls!” he exclaimed, “This is so kind of you! You are all so lovely!”
There were tears in his eyes but Jennifer replied, “No, you were the kind one and we all loved coming here. You were so gentle and considerate and never criticised our efforts and the training you gave us has helped us all provide much happiness for our husbands and made our marriages a success. When we realised this date was approaching, we all knew that we had to mark it and so we contacted the school and they helped us to arrange a special present for you.”
“And what a surprise it has been! Girls, all five of you, this has been the greatest present that I could have ever received, it really is. You have made an old man very happy indeed!”
“Do you think that was the present?” exclaimed Annabel, at which all five fell into a fit of giggles.
“Not at all. Remember how when you were training us, you used to say about how you missed your late wife?”
“And how you loved the actress Olivia Capulet?” added Cassandra.
“Anth show thoo thloveth the enthanthmenths thath I thad thone thoo me?” slurred Charity through her inflated lips.
“Well, we all clubbed together, the school too, and we’ve bought you a present that will keep you happy for the other six days of the week when we can’t be here!” announced Rebecca.
And with those words the girls parted and Miss Martin, the Headmistress of Berkhamstead School for Girls led a seventh woman into the room. This woman, like his five students, was a Lady of Leisure, her hands firmly laced into a cream monoglove that matched her dress and with a waist that was thirteen inches at most, but unlike them, where a human face should have been, there was a delightful doll’s head made out of pottery to look like his favourite actress Olivia Capulet with jet black ringlets cascading from her crown.
“She’s beautiful!” he exclaimed.
“She’s yours,” replied the headmistress. “She is a living doll just graduated from our sister institution, the Chesham Doll Academy which has been producing high-class doll wives from working class girls for over forty years. Her fiancé died in a motor accident last week and so she has been entrusted into your guardianship until you should die or choose to marry her to someone else. She is your companion from this day on!”
Dr. Edwards looked at the vision of artificial loveliness that stood before him, her enormous and obviously enhanced breasts heaving up and down as she struggled to bring air into her lungs so difficult has she found the short walk across the room. To have her to talk and play with every day was just too delightful a thought to contemplate!
“But what is her name?” he asked.
“She doesn’t have one. All the students at the Chesham Doll Academy are simply referred to a “doll” as it reinforces the doll-mind. She is yours to name although, as we designed her to look like Olivia Capulet, we all thought that ‘Libby’ might be a nice moniker.”
“Then Libby she shall be!” declared the doctor, as he rose, placed his hands around the waist of his new toy and, as the fingers met, planted a kiss on her rubber lips whilst the entire room cheered.
“And now to the garden for tea and cake!” he declared, “I wish to celebrate my best birthday ever with all my favourite girls!”
Written June 2016
Copyright© 2016, Dave Potter