Dr James Kirkham smiled as the young widow was escorted from his Harley Street consulting rooms. He accepted her thanks humbly. A lot of his clients were widows. He himself had been trained in many of his most successful techniques by his young, widowed landlady when he was a medical student. He smiled when he thought of dear Maude and her silky, soft skin. He hoped she was doing well. Not all his widowed clients were young, however, but they were still in need of him.

He suddenly thought of Mrs Anderson back in Yorkshire. She was a widow in her early forties. He was still assisting Dr Helliwell directly at that point. Her eldest son had called them in; he was a fine young man of twenty-one who had stepped up as a man of the house for his mother and younger siblings after his father's death.

As he took them into the parlour of the Anderson cottage, he shook the hand of both of the doctors and thanked them for their attendance.

“My mother has taken my father's death very hard. I understand that she is grieving, but we all are. We all miss him, but it has been twelve months, and she barely leaves her room. It is not fair to the younger ones. She is so listless and wan like she is no longer present in the world. I miss my father’s advice, but now I find I am missing my mother’s support, too; most of all, I miss her laughter,” he smiled, seemingly embarrassed to admit that to us.

“Never you fear, young Charles, we will get to the bottom of what ails her, don't you worry. Now you get off to work, and young Dr Kirkham and I will examine your mother in peace.”

Dr Helliwell knocked before entering her bedroom. James ducked his head as he entered to avoid the low beams.

Mrs Anderson sat in a small chair looking out of the window, still dressed in her widow's weeds. Although about fifteen years older than Dr Kirkham, he was struck at what an attractive lady she was, with a pretty heart-shaped face and full lips.

“There is nothing you can do for me; you cannot bring my Thomas back to me, can you? You cannot make the feelings go away, either.”

“Oh, my dear,” said Dr Helliwell, “No one wants you to forget your feelings towards your husband. You must treasure them and let the memories of your life together soothe you in your loss. What would he say if he saw you like this? Not being the wonderful mother you have always been as you are so entrenched in your loss?”

Mrs Anderson paused for a minute before stating simply,

“He would put me over his knee and spank me; he’d say his Fanny had been a naughty girl. He liked me being a naughty girl. I liked being his naughty girl,” she said quietly before turning her face to the window, he shoulders shaking as she quietly sobbed.

“Enough of this, Fanny,” Dr Helliwell roared, shocking me with his sudden change of attitude and tone. “This cannot go on.”

Lifting Mrs Anderson from her chair, he took her place and laid her over his knee.

“Your Thomas is not here to sort out his naughty girl, but I am. Lifting her skirts until he found her bloomers, he pulled them down, revealing her full round bottom. I was surprised that Mrs Anderson did not struggle; she complied with the request almost with relief. This submission had obviously been a big part of her marriage.

Dr Helliwell jiggled the large cheeks of her bottom before smacking them over and over as Mrs Anderson moaned beneath him, wiggling as her buttocks turned pink. He alternated between her cheeks, spanking softer and harder, but rhythmically, ever so often, he stopped and gently squeezed and caressed her buttocks before spanking them again as her soft cheeks turned redder.

“I think you like this Fanny Anderson, don't you? Is that what you have been yearning for? Shall we let young Dr Kirkham see just how much you like it?”

James heard a muffled agreement before he stepped forward and, parted her buttocks and ran his fingers along her crack until he found her very wet honeypot; her wetness was running down his fingers onto his hand.

“It appears that she likes it very much indeed, Dr Helliwell.”

“Well, let us see what other things this naughty girl enjoys, should we?” he winked at me.

We carried her to the bed together, removing her dress till she was just in corset bloomers and stockings. Lifting her well-suckled breasts from her corset, we each latched on to a nipple, sucking harder and harder, mirroring each other's technique as Dr Kirkham continued to finger the widow woman. Mrs Anderson’s moans increased, and Dr Helliwell whispered in her ear as he kissed and caressed her neck, “Did you ever take Thomas’ root into your mouth, my dear?”

“Oh yes,” Mrs Anderson growled, “All the time.”

With that, Dr Helliwell stood and dropped his britches, offering his gnarled old root to her willing mouth. Mrs Anderson possessed a talent that should not be wasted. Her tongue snaked around his bulbous mushroom before exploring every inch of his veiny shaft. As she was engaged in this, Dr Kirkham had dropped to his haunches to taste her wetness. He used his tongue only, stiffening it to plunge in and out, over and over again, until he felt her spasm begin to build. In her excitement, she took in Dr Helliwell almost to his core, and as she came, it was all too much for the old doctor as he flooded her mouth with his seed.

“Oh, it has been so long,” panted Fanny Anderson, “Too long.”

As she gathered her wits, she looked down kindly at me. “You poor boy, we cannot leave you undone.”

She sat up on the end of the bed; her hair had escaped its pins, and her full breasts jiggled on top of her corset. She reached out and undid James’ britches. She pulled them down in one stroke, grasped his muscular buttocks in her hand, and sucked in his rod. James took her full breasts in his hands, squeezing them and pulling on her distended, thickened nipples. The widow Anderson paused to occasionally give his testicles a bath with her tongue, gently sucking them in and rolling them around her tongue. This was something that Dr Kirkham had not experienced before, and it was not long before he began to reach his peak; Mrs Anderson kneaded his buttocks as he, too, filled her mouth.

At teatime that evening, young Charles Anderson returned home to hear a sound he had not heard for a while: his mother's laughter.

It took a while and weekly treatment from both doctors, but eventually, Mrs Anderson regained her equilibrium. She knew who to call on if she ever felt naughty again.