Saturday, February 4, 2012

'The Clinic' VI

"For tomorrow’s session, I will have a matron table you. I think you’ll feel more comfortable, speak more freely in a more subservient position," Miss Ann announces in concluding my first ‘therapy’ session.

I cannot imagine being posed in a more demeaning manner than spread eagled in a chair.

"Did you have your enema today?"

"Yes, ma’am."

"Rather degrading yet rather relaxing, don’t you think."

I must agree. Time in the so termed ‘enema palace’ is not to be volunteered, yet in being thoroughly cleansed inside and out, there is a sense of comfort.

The vixen trusty works diligently, reveling in having some freedom of access. Still, with a matron supervising, she is somewhat limited in what she would ultimately desire.

Head down, tummy resting on a carved, curved well formed pedestal of marble, buttocks up, the design forcing the knees and thighs to part, she quickly lubricates the anus, inserts an inflatable nozzle and begins a flow, the colon steadily filling. While the soapiness seeps, she steps to an opposing pedestal, a second girl likewise filling. There she bathes... warm water, fragrant soap, soft chamois. We girls face each other, lowered head just inches apart, mandating that we share in each others odd combination of torment and joy.

Our cunny’s are off limits of course, never ever any douching, as stated.

So as one girl fills, another is washed. Then her nozzle is released, the bowel contents expelled to the well drained floor. There comes a rinse and then attention is diverted to the girl being filled as a third girl knows to enter and position herself tummy down over the low pedestal.

It’s an assembly line. And though the trusty appears to work rapidly, the flow of water seems to take an eternity, the only diversion... observing the girl across being subjected to equal humiliation, torment and ultimate joy in release.

"I’ll leave instructions for a particularly high and thorough cleansing each day. We’ll need to anally induce some special stuff. I’ll want your backside empty and receptive."

With that, Miss Ann goes to her bag and retrieves a leather pouch. It opens to reveal a hypodermic syringe.
A small bottle offers 50 milligrams of clear liquid.

"Domperidone. It’s best to begin with a good strong dose," bending to inject the side of my left buttock.

"We’ll begin dosage in tablet form tomorrow," offered as I lurch with the stab of the needle.

For some reason, she knows that I am aware of the drug.

I am indeed.


I am tabled!

After enduring extra time in the enema palace, the devilish trusty cleansing two girls while my bowels slowly filled, there came lunch, all obediently responding to the ringing of the bell, and then separation for therapy.

On all fours I kneel in the counseling room on the small table. Wrist, thigh and ankle loops attached to the many clasps and short cords, I am obscenely spread open as always.

The matron departs. In expecting Miss Ann, I am surprised when the door reopens and the trusty enters. She once again carries a tray with scissors and a bowl. I am disheartened to see it filled with water. I also spy a canister of shaving lotion and a razor.

What remains of my hair is clipped down to the very scalp. My head is lathered and I well up as the calloused girl shaves my head. Not a word of remorse offered, she remains stoically silent as my psyche plummets.

In finishing, the door opens again. Miss Ann enters, the women passing each other... not a word exchanged.

Tears freely flow. I can only imagine the alien look I now project.

"There, there... it is best for you. There’s no need for the pride of glamor now," placing her bag on the floor.

"Not with the transformation we’re undertaking."

The bag yields a bottle of water and some pills. As promised Domperidone is offered in tablet form, 20 milligrams.

Next comes a sealed plastic pouch filled with a thick whitish concoction, some tubing and an inflatable nozzle. I recognize the implement as similar to that in the enema palace.

"All cleaned out, your colon should be quite receptive to my special juice," Miss Ann offers as latex gloves are snapped in place.

Anus lubricated for the second time in hours, the nozzle slips inward with ease. I grimace when she rather gruffly inflates. What is to be induced is not to be rejected or expelled.

"Lot’s of good stuff. Lactose. Dairy cream. Everything a nursing mother is known to secret."

The plastic pouch is merely laid on my bare back. I, my body, is to serve as a stanchion as I feel the thickness flow and begin to ooze within.

In completing the task, Miss Ann’s fingers briefly graze my well exposed labia. With the chastity, no climactic release since the public masturbation by the infirmary nurse, I find her brief touch to feel disconcertingly good... especially as every morning our cunny’s are warmed ... smeared with the spicy lotion.

In fact, a degree of heat remains.

Miss Ann draws the chair to my front and sits. This puts her face at eye level with my freely swinging breasts. As stated, I am well endowed there and can only imagine the presentation of my pendulous mammary glands. She reaches to palm both. In attaining a level of comfort, having endured the trauma of the head shave, her touch feels good. It is welcomed.

"You’ll be letting down for me in a few weeks, if not sooner," her thumbs working to caress my nipples.

"So the teen years... let’s continue..."

I resume my life story. Miss Ann turns and once again reaches into her bag. As I speak, she retrieves two plastic cones, more tubing and a small pump. Viscous lotion is applied to my breasts, one cone is pressed to my right nipple. The pump is attached to the tubing and as a hand knowingly squeezes to create a vacuum, there comes the thrill of having my nipple suctioned into the cone. Completely enveloped, the tube is closed off and my left nipple is offered similar treatment. My words begin to jumble, my concentration diverted with the exquisite sensation. Though mechanical, there is still delight in being suctioned by a device... and by a woman so deft in using it.

Her hands retreat. Miss Ann grabs her pad and pen and sits back. Reciting, chronologically I am sixteen, spending a summer at a relative’s farm.

"Cows?" the question succinct.

I nod.

"Just a few. And I learned to milk."


"I suppose."

"Your thoughts in detail. You enjoyed the cows."

"Something about the tranquility, the lack of concern. If animals ever have concerns."

"They are well cared for," Miss Ann observes, rousing more thought.

"Yes. Watered. Fed. Bathed. Idling in pasture. The only responsibility, if such is the proper term... to produce... to offer that which comes naturally."

"You found attraction in this?"

The question comes as I feel myself filling, the slow flow much more agreeable then the trusty’s mammoth deluge of warm, cramping soapy water. Also the suction cones bring a most pleasant tingling. This spurs twinges... below. I am becoming aroused. Naked, in bondage, beginning medication, placed indeed in a most subservient pose before this fully clothed woman of authority and wisdom, it combines to bring odd stimulation.

I nod in reply, silently absorbing the many pleasant sensations.

The doctor senses, knowing to allow my psyche to momentarily revel.

"Your friend, the black girl from the courtyard, reported to have spoken to you... she’s been stabled. No longer in therapy."

I inadvertently moan. Something not only physical but emotional in capitulating like this. The woman is conquering. And I am succumbing... and enjoying.

"I’m not sure what that means," my words faltering.

The subject is dropped. I am amazed to watch in a strange stupor as the gloved hands reach to the suction device and squeeze. The pleasant tension on my left nipple increases. In my lower peripheral vision I am further amazed to see the pink flesh of my nipple elongated, completely filling the four inch long clear cone. Then Miss Ann adroitly shifts the pump to the tubing of the right cone and squeezes more. The right nipple likewise is forcefully elongated. My chin droops with the rushing flow of endorphins. I cannot speak.

"Good girl. Just kneel and let all my nice juice flow. Your empty colon will absorb it all quite efficiently... lots of nutrients for these growing plumping glands."

Missing is stimulation to my still heated quim. That is to be denied. Yet I feel my Kegel muscles contract in attempts to bring orgasm. Miss Ann the doctor is aware and smiles with the somatic reaction.

"You’ll need to be suckled as well."

With that the counseling ends... at least the verbal exchange.

Is it possible to pass out while kneeling on all fours?


EDWARD said...

So erotic,I read slowly and reread the same sentence several times.It's stories like this that leave me hard and leaking.TMI I know but this is good erotica here.THANK YOU, Chris.

Chris Bellows said...


Glad you are enjoying.