Cynthia's Treatment

Cynthia was late. Guiding her blue Cherokee up the drive toward the manor, she cursed softly to herself. Damn it all! Alex was going to be furious with her. She had promised, sworn, that she would be home by six. He was so peculiar about the time and had decided on that exact hour as the beginning of their much anticipated romantic weekend together. Now, it after eight and he would be furious.

Turning the final bend of the twisting two mile road, she slowed the jeep nearly to a stop. Just ahead, through the lush pines that dominated the high ridge of the sprawling DuPont estate, lights beckoned, piercing the heavy leaded glass of the first floor study. Alex’s study. The study where he would be waiting, impatient, angry.

Cynthia tried to slow her racing heart and placed a calming hand over the sudden twinge of pain in her stomach and abdomen. An “irritation” the doctor had called it when he had completed his exam two days earlier, obviously concluding that the medical term was beyond her abilities. A minor ailment, at least for the present, that flared up whenever she got upset. It would be easily subdued, he had assured her, with proper and regular treatments and kept further in check by following a careful diet. The diet she had already started, but the treatments….

Cynthia pushed the visit from her mind. The man was a quack. She had convinced herself of that despite the fact that he was one of Alex’s closest and oldest friends. She would find someone else, someone who wouldn’t talk down to her, who wouldn’t click his tongue at her, who would offer her options. Only later. Right now she had a much bigger problem.

Alex. What would he do to her?

Not so foreboding a question as it might seem. It wasn’t that her husband was abusive, far from it, it was only that they had a certain and rather unique agreement. To avoid the never ending and often disastrous feuds and disputes that plagued most of their friends, Alex and Cynthia had mutually agreed, early in their marriage, to deal with each others minor, and major, trespasses in a way that would both settle and lay them quickly to rest. The grieved party would simply administer a certain degree of “punishment” and once completed the matter would be forever dropped. It worked well, for both Alex and Cynthia had a slight taste for such “games” and neither harbored any trace of vindictiveness. That took care of most of the potential pitfalls and generally turned each lesson into a memorable event that brought them even closer.

The only problem Cynthia had their arrangement was that she was typically the one who found herself at fault. Alex was more particular than she, not to mention more persuasive, often setting very high expectations, and rarely failing to meet his own taxing standards. In fact, it had only happened twice in their four years of marriage. It further annoyed her that while he seemed to find her attempts at retribution amusing, his, though always lovingly administered and never excessively painful or humiliating, almost always brought her, at some point, to tears.

But not tonight, she prayed. Please, not tonight. This was supposed to be a very special weekend, pure romance, and it was bad enough that her stomach was acting up, as it had been too often lately. Worse still, it wasn’t even her fault, not really. The dreaded monthly meeting of the DuPont Children’s Foundation had run late was all. Lexi McBride and Father Graves had gotten into one their usual “discussions” about this year’s finances for the charity ball and everyone knew you couldn’t shut Lexi up once she got started. Everyone. Even Alex.

Damn, damn, damn! Why hadn’t he gone with her? He had planned to - without actually promising of course - right up until he had called after lunch to say that he would be held up with business until she got home.

At Six o’clock.

Resigned now to the fact that she would have to face his judgment, Cynthia pulled her jeep up to the front of the house and parked it next to Alex’s silver Mercedes. She was in trouble, no doubt about it, so she might as well face up to it and get it over with. Hoping that he would be generous in the spirit of kindling their romance, she slid out of the driver’s seat and scurried up the broad front steps. Pausing briefly, she muttered a prayer, and went inside.

“Alex?” The darkened foyer was quiet, empty except for Trinity, their silver-gray manx, who had swept in from the parlor to blink sleepily at her from the base of the sweeping staircase. Off to one side the door to Alex’s study was slightly ajar, a tendril of light escaping to brush the polished hardwood floor.

No answer.

Maybe he hadn’t heard, Cynthia thought placing her purse on the side table. As she removed her coat and hung it on its peg, her eyes flickered longingly to the stairs and up toward the haven of their room where a hot shower would go a long way in soothing her knotted insides. Maybe he was so engrossed in business that….

“You’re late, Cinny.”

Cynthia winced and reluctantly edged toward the study door. Her hand touched the wood, but she didn’t open it, staying just out of sight, away from the light.

“I know. I’m sorry, Kev. I got tied up. Lexi….”

“Come inside, Cinny,” Alex’s rich, deep voice interrupted her.

Slowly, Cynthia pushed open the door and stepped over the threshold. Inside, the study was an artful masterpiece of mahogany and nautical brass, a manly room underscored by the heady scent of aging leather. This was Alex’s sanctuary, where tall stoic bookcases lined the walls and deep maroon curtains hung the windows in heavy blanketing folds. Dark panels stretched the ceiling, making the room seem small, yet oddly cozy. In the center of it, set slightly back near the massive fireplace and mantel, was an enormous desk, void now of its usual clutter, but sporting a crystal wine decanter and single long stemmed glass. The fragile etched flowerlet was held idly between the fingers of the man sitting behind it, relaxed in a high backed leather chair.

Alex.

As always, Cynthia DuPont felt a warm stirring somewhere deep inside at the sight of her husband. He was a handsome man, tall and broad of shoulder, with dark wavy hair, sapphire blue eyes, and a smile that could melt her very soul. He was smiling that smile now, as he always did whenever he saw his petite auburn haired wife, and Cynthia knew without question how much he loved her.

“You’re late,” he said again, taking a sip of crimson wine.

But was he angry with her? That she couldn’t answer. He had been waiting, that was obvious, but what was going on behind those adoring eyes?

“I’m so sorry, Kev,” she tried. “I couldn’t get away. I….”

“Cinny.” He said it low and soothing and held out his hand.

Lulled, transfixed, she crossed the room and took it in her own. It was firm and warm and drew her around the desk, pulling her into his lap. Immediately she stiffened, realizing how damp her nerves had made her and thinking of the creamy beige of his immaculate shirt. “I shouldn’t,” she told him, starting to lean away.

Alex pulled her back, setting his glass aside to put his arms around her. “Let me decide. You’re perspiring, love.” He rolled the words of his cultured tongue, making it sound almost like a compliment. “You aren’t nervous, are you?”

“Should I be?” she asked, trying to sound light.

He laughed softly in her ear. “Perhaps.”

Teasing, but ominous, the word made her stiffen again.

“Shush,” he soothed, understanding her reaction. “I’m not angry with you, Cinny, not really.” One hand moved to cup her chin, forcing her to face him. “But I think you know what this means.”

Any fragment of hope she might have been harboring was dashed immediately. “Please, Kev, it wasn’t my fault,” she pleaded, though she knew it was futile. He had been unhappy about several things over the past few weeks and her tardiness tonight was her final sin.

“Don’t make it worse, love.”

She knew she shouldn’t but, “Alex, please, just hear me out. I tried, I really did, but Lexi just kept talking and talking. You know how she is. I couldn’t leave. It was the Foundation. I had to stay. I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t just walk out. It would have been… unseemly.”

For a long moment, Alex simply looked at her, his expression thoughtful. “The Foundation is important,” he said finally.

Cynthia nodded mute agreement, hope flaring again that he might actually forgive her, that their long planned weekend of romantic seclusion might be saved. When he tipped her chin and kissed her, long and passionate, she melted against him in gratitude and relief.

The kiss went on for a blissful eternity. After a while his hand dropped from her chin, tracing the delicate curve of her neck, wandering lower in lazy circles, until it cupped the firm globe of her breast. He squeezed gently, his thumb and finger teasing the nipple through the silk of her blouse and lace of her bra, fondling it to aching hardness. Suddenly, he gave it a sharp, painful pinch.

Startled, Cynthia jumped back and gave an involuntary cry of surprise. At the same time a small rubber ball was pressed to her lips and thrust into her open mouth. Before she could react the gag was firmly seated between her jaws and her husband was fastening the strap in a tight band around the back of her head. “Mmmmf?!” Her hands flew to remove the intrusive object. She had seen such devices, but never had Alex used one on her. Never.

“Don’t,” he said taking her hands and holding them firmly. “Leave it be.”

She stared at him in shock and confusion.

“A little something I thought I might need,” he explained, a tad triumphantly she thought. “I don’t want to hear any excuses, Cinny. You’re right, the Foundation is important and I can forgive that, but you’ve deceived me, love, about something I can’t overlook.”

Tears began to well in Cynthia’s eyes, as much from the indignity of being gagged as from the sure knowledge that she had committed some infraction he felt so terrible that he had used the time waiting for her to plan a very special retribution.

Softening, Alex gave her a tender squeeze and gently kissed each of her eyelids. “Don’t cry, baby,” he soothed. “I know it’s uncomfortable, but you won’t have to wear it all the time. Just remember, Daddy is only doing this for your own good.”

Cynthia’s heart sank to the pit of her stomach. Daddy. Alex only used that “name” when he was thoroughly bent on giving her a lesson she would remember a long, long time. She would have to call him that from now until he deemed her lesson complete and, with a full weekend of isolation ahead, she suspected that wouldn’t be any time soon. Like the prearranged rules she would have to follow, the duration of the session was his to command.

“What, no objections?” he teased, cuddling her close when the tears began to flow again. He touched her cheek and wrinkled his nose in mock disgust. “Then I think maybe I should draw you a bath.”

Still gagged, Cynthia stood in the middle of the upstairs hallway, just outside the closed master bedroom door. Her jaw was starting to ache from being held open so long, but she didn’t dare remove the gag. The most important rule was that she could neither move nor speak, whenever she was capable, unless Alex told her to. He had reminded her of this as he led her up the great sweeping staircase, warning unnecessarily that any attempts would be quickly countered with something she definitely would not enjoy. It had taken only once for her to learn her lesson, so here she stood, legs slightly apart, hands clasped behind her back, chin up, exactly as he had left her.

It was almost absurd, she reflected. They shared an equal partnership in all other aspects of their marriage. They depended and relied upon each other in similar measure. Yet his choice of punishments was always based on the underlying theme of her complete and total submission to him, the role of child to parent. Stranger still, she never argued about that, before or after, but always fell unquestioningly into the part of disobedient child. Was it because, somewhere, deep down, she found total dependence and unquestioning trust enticing?

Cynthia didn’t have time to wonder about it. The door opened and Alex stood before her. He nodded approval at her obedience and then held out his hand. All compliance, she took it and let him pull her into their room. Behind her the door clicked shut and she glanced over her shoulder just in time to see him put the key, now dangling from a thin chain, around his neck and drop it down his shirt. He patted it once and turned to smile at her.

“I’ve run your bath,” he said, speaking as if she were a child. “Now Daddy’s going to get you ready.”

He came around her and told her to stand still with her hands at her sides, relaxed. Then he began to undress her. He took his time, lingering over buttons and catches, while placing delicate kisses on each patch of skin he exposed, including playful nips to her erect nipples. When he had her bare to the waist, he moved behind her again and reached around to fondle her naked breasts.

“Daddy’s baby has such beautiful breasts,” he murmured in her ear, rolling them between his hands.

Cynthia hardly heard. Already the blood was pounding in her ears making it difficult to discern anything beyond her own labored breathing.

“Do you like that?” he breathed, his lips warm as they captured her lobe.

“Mummmm.” She leaned back against him, relishing each stroke of his fingers that brushed against the sensitive sides and nipples.

He continued fondling her for several minutes then, suddenly, pinched the rosy buds.

“Go lay on your back,” he commanded sternly over her muffled squeak.

Cynthia went to their large four posted bed, stripped now of all but a fitted sheet, and lay down. Suppressing the urge to rub her injured breasts, she stared up at the ornamental dowels of the canopy and waited for what he would do next. She hoped he would remove the obtrusive gag, but instead Alex bent over her and efficiently relieved her of her wool slacks and lace panties. If she had expected more loving caresses, she was quickly disappointed. After a brief brush over the curling dark hair between her trim thighs, he pulled her to her feet and, firmly taking her by the elbow, guided her into the adjoining master bath.

The moment she was pulled through the door, Cynthia froze, unable to believe her eyes. The large carpeted dressing room had been dimmed romantically to recessed lights and flickering candles. The air was filled with the scent of roses, seeping from the steam that rose in curling white wisps above the huge oval bath sunken its tiled alcove. Sweet strains of music purred softly from hidden speakers somewhere above the padded massage table that had been Alex’s second anniversary gift and was now draped in welcoming pink towels. But none of that mattered. It was the bulging rubber bag, suspended from a hook in the wall, with its snaking hose and phallic nozzle, that captured and held her attention.

“Mmmmmmmmf!” she cried through the gag, fighting the grip on her arm and beginning to claw at the band fastened around her head. No! He couldn’t have known. There was no way he could have found out. Not unless….

“Cynthia Marie!” Alex growled, snaring her flailing arms and yanking them behind her as he propelled her further into the room. “Behave or you know what’s going to happen.”

She already did and nothing could be worse. “Mmmmmmmm!” She shook her head wildly, her eyes still riveted on the bag. No! No! No! She fought and twisted and finally fell to her knees in a last ditch attempt to halt their inevitable progress toward the beckoning table and its monstrous purpose.

Keeping a firm grip, Alex followed her to the carpet, pushing her forward until she was laying on her stomach, her face to the floor. Taking her wrists in one hand, he pinned her with a knee in the small of her back and reached with his free hand to the cloth bag hidden under the table. His “bag of tricks” he always called it. Ignoring her struggles, he fished inside until finally producing a pair of familiar satin lined handcuffs. In a few deft movements he had her wrists bound behind her and abruptly stood, leaving her to twist wildly at his feet.

“God, you’re beautiful like that,” he said breathlessly, smiling down at her.

She turned this way and that, but panic and fury kept her from gaining her knees. She was still trying when her husband calmly went back to the door and using the same key from around his neck locked it as well.

“There now,” he smiled again, wickedly this time. “Why don’t we talk about your visit with Marcus.”

There were absolutely no doubts left. Cynthia’s world began to crumble. Marcus. Doctor Marcus Goodrue. The quack. He had broken her confidence, betrayed her to the only person likely to have any influence over her. He must have seen past her bland assurances that she would follow his orders to the letter and gone straight to her husband. Damn him! Kindly condescending, he had challenged her right to choose for herself.

Apparently sensing her mute condemnation, Alex sighed and sat on the floor beside her, pulling her, resisting and thrashing, until her head was in his lap. Running his hand soothingly over her hair, he held her captive and whispered over and over for her to calm down.

Cynthia eventually did, though only because she had exhausted herself and her stomach had begun to twist painfully in her gut. She was breathing in quick shallow breaths through her nose, lack of air making her dizzy.

Mindful of her distress, her husband loosened the band that held the gag secure, but left his hand to keep it in place. “If I do, will you promise to stay quiet?”

Desperate, she nodded. When the ball eased free, however, she began to sputter angrily. Instantly, it was back at her lips.

“Cinny, do I have to leave it?”

He would, she realized, glaring up at him. Defeated, she dropped her chin and shook her head. Maybe if she was good and stayed calm, he would allow her enough leverage to talk herself out of this.

“Do you promise to behave for Daddy?” Alex asked, withdrawing the gag.

Cynthia nodded, dismally noting that he refused to break character.

“What was that?” he prompted.

“Yes…. Daddy,” she said meekly, sealing her own role. Alex had been smart, he was using her own maneuvering, her faith in her physician’s silence, to put her in a position of limited, if any, control.

“That’s my good girl,” he praised.

“Ke…. Daddy, may I speak?” Bound and helpless she would have to play by his rules.

“Yes, I think that would be a very good idea. Why don’t you start by telling Daddy why you lied to him?”

“I… I didn’t lie,” she protested, hearing the note of contained anger. “I showed you the diet.”

Alex clicked his tongue and she knew she was reaching. “And then you said that was all you needed. You didn’t tell me about the medication, Cinny. You didn’t tell me there were any treatments. If I hadn’t had lunch with Marcus today, if he hadn’t asked if you’d found the right prescription, I wouldn’t have known and you wouldn’t be getting well.”

He said it as if it was a foregone conclusion. Falling into tears, Cynthia buried her face into her husband’s knee. “Please don’t do this to me, Alex. Please. I was going to see someone else, I swear.”

“And what if they told you the same thing?” Alex didn’t fault her lapse from character, genuinely concerned. “Would you have kept that hidden too? Seen someone else again until you wound up in the hospital? Marcus knows what he’s doing, baby.”

“He’s a quack!” she wailed.

“Cynthia! Just because a doctor prescribes a course of treatment you don’t like does not make him a quack. Marcus is a qualified practitioner. You’ve never had any reason to question him before.”

“I don’t care. He’s wrong and I won’t do it. I won’t let you.”

“You will,” her husband declared firmly. “And then you’ll accept the punishment you owe me.”

“What?” Cynthia was stunned. There was more to this than forcing her to take the dreaded treatments? “Why? What for?”

“For making me look like a fool and for making me have to spoil our weekend by doing this. It’s obvious that you can’t be trusted to take care of yourself so I’m going to have to do it for you.”

“No, you won’t,” she hissed, fear turning to outrage. She began to twist again, determined to get free.

“Either I do or I call Marcus right now and have him do it while I hold you down.”

That threat chilled her to the bone. It was her worst nightmare come true. That was one of the reasons she had rejected his treatments to begin with. She hated enemas, loathed them. It had been her mother, years ago, who had held her while the family doctor strapped her to the examining table and pumped her full of syringe after syringe of some nasty, stinging solution. It was humiliating, demeaning, and painfully frightening for a helpless child, and had been repeated everyday, sometimes twice, during the entire two weeks of her hospital stay. Feeling just as helpless now, Cynthia stared up at her husband with imploring green eyes, tears tumbling down her pretty cheeks.

“What is it, Cinny?” he asked softly. “Why all the fuss?”

She shook her head. She had never told Alex, didn’t think she could. He only knew she hated being handled “back there” and though they were both sexually curious, often adventurous, even in punishment he had always respected her limits. The most he had even done was tease her a little with the tip of his finger. It always scared her that the sensation both terrified and aroused and she was terribly ashamed of it.

“Are you going to be good for Daddy?” he asked more confidently, sensing victory was at hand.

Reluctantly, Cynthia nodded. What else could she do?

“Hummm?”

“Yes.”

“Yes…?”

She had no choice. She surrendered. “Yes, Daddy.”

Pleased, Alex pushed to his feet and helped her to stand. She was shaking so badly he had to hold her close as he guided her the last few steps to the massage table. Patting the pink towels, he instructed her to sit while he went to place an experimental hand on the ominous rubber bag.

“Still warm,” he observed with satisfaction. “I ran it a little hot so it wouldn’t get cold while I was getting you ready.”

Still fearful, Cynthia willed herself to stay obedient. She watched Alex finger the nozzle and then turn to her dressing table where he picked something up from among the clutter of her cosmetics. It was a tube of K-Y jelly. He uncapped it and squirted a dab to test between his fingers.

“Lie on your side, baby, and pull your knee to your chest,” he instructed without looking up.

That was too much. Cynthia bolted. Leaping from the table, she dashed for the door. She would run for the nearest spare bedroom, lock herself in, and escape through the window and across the front balcony. In her haste and panic, she forgot two things. First that her hands were still bound and second that she was already locked in. Overcoming the first, she spun her back to the door and grasped the knob. Only then did she recall the second.

“Cynthia.” Alex was standing unmoved, shaking his head at her pathetic display. “You promised. Now that’s two things you have to atone for.”

Setting the K-Y back on the dressing table, he started to come after her. She ran from him, but couldn’t get far. Backed into a corner, she tried to kick him, but he stepped deftly to the side and grabbed her arm. It was then, without forethought, that she made a regrettable mistake. Twisting back, she bent and sank her teeth into his arm.

“That’s it!” Alex bellowed, jerking away so fast she spun. In the same movement he scooped her up and threw her, kicking and screaming, over his shoulder. With angry strides he crossed the room, pausing only long enough to stoop and retrieve the abandoned ball gag.

Taking her back to the dressing table Alex sat heavily on its tiny metal framed stool and maneuvered Cynthia into his lap. She fought his every move, but with sheer force of will he wrested the ball back into her mouth and fastened it into place. Another minute of struggling and she found herself face down over one of his knees with the other resting firmly over her legs, holding her in place.

“It’s bad enough that you refuse to accept that you need attention, regardless of the fact that you could be making yourself seriously ill,” he growled furiously over her, “but, damn it, Cynthia Marie DuPont, you have reached the absolute limit. If you insist on behaving like a spoiled child then, by God, I will treat you like one.”

With that he delivered a hard, stinging smack to her bare buttocks.

“Mmmmmf!” she cried in shock, trying to twist away. This wasn’t in play. He wasn’t holding anything back.

“You… will… lie… still… and… behave!” he commanded, punctuating each word with another smack.

“Mmmmuuuummmm,” she sobbed. Her rear was on fire and her resistance was gone. All she wanted was for him to stop.

He did briefly, after a dozen more spanks with his hand. She felt him twist and reach for something, and then CRAAAK! She felt fire explode in her bottom! She jerked around enough to see an evil looking paddle swinging toward her bottom before another CRAAAK sounded and her bottom exploded in fire again. It was the hardest spanking he had ever given her.

She protested and then begged. The spanking continued until he was satisfied. After 25 strokes her bottom was flame red, and she had ceased all attempts at communication. She was reduced to crying like a well punished 10 year old.

Convinced she was now defeated, for them moment, he pulled her up and carried her unresisting back to the massage table where he dropped her on her stomach.

“Do not move.”

That thought was the furthest thing from her mind. All else forgotten, Cynthia was only glad that he hadn’t dropped her on her back. Even the fluffy towels couldn’t have softened the impact. She lay still, as he insisted, whimpering softly at the fire in her backside. He left her alone for 10 minutes or so to let the heat lessen.

“Stop crying,” he ordered gently. “And roll on your side for Daddy.”

This time Cynthia obeyed. She had no choice. Sniffling, she turned so that her back was to him and the wall.

“That’s my baby girl. Now lie still and don’t move.”

Obedient, she lay and listened. She could hear Alex moving behind her and down beneath the table. Soon she felt his hand slip under her side.

“Arch up a little,” he instructed.

She did and a wide leather belt was pulled around her and buckled about her narrow waist. The discipline belt. She started to shift in protest, but a light slap to her sore rear stilled her instantly. Another, thinner belt was then buckled around her uppermost thigh, just above her knee, followed by third which held her opposite ankle to the table.

“Pull your knee up,” came the inevitable command. “As far as you can.”

Rebellion stirred again and she started to lock it, but Alex anticipated this and threw his arm around it, bending it for her. Without another word, he snapped a hook dangling from the leg strap to one of the rings on the front of the waist belt. She was now exposed and completely defenseless against him, her left foot resting against the top of her right thigh. Just to make sure, however, two addition straps were linked to the belt, one on each side, and secured somewhere under the table, preventing her from twisting away from his ministrations. Despite her horrors and fears, Cynthia couldn’t help but admire his preparedness. He must have spent all afternoon planning and arranging this. This and her punishment, she recalled dismally.

“All right,” he spoke at last, staying out of sight behind her. “We’re going to start soon, but first I want you to listen to me very carefully. I know you’re not used to taking anything back here,” he patted her bottom, “so I picked the smallest size nozzle I could find. It still may hurt some so I want you relax and do everything I say, all right baby?”

He waited for her nod.

“Good. Now Daddy is going to clean you out. That’s what this first enema is for.”

Cynthia jerked against her bindings in alarm. First enema? What did he mean?

“Easy, baby.” Alex’s hand settled on the side of her head while the other stroked her back and shoulder. “It’s not so bad. Once you’re clean, I have to use the medicine. Just a little, I promise.”

When he was satisfied she was calm again, Alex moved away from her. A moment later she heard a faint squishing noise and felt his hand on her backside. Fingers pulled her cheeks apart and something cool and sticky touched her anus. She stiffened.

“Easy, now,” Alex’s voice purred soothingly. “Relax. Daddy doesn’t want to hurt you.”

Then his finger was pressing at her sphincter. Well coated with K-Y, it slipped into her, probing and wiggling, until it was buried to the hilt. Twisting it around, he thoroughly lubricated her insides. As it moved within her, filling her strangely, Cynthia was horrified to feel a slight stirring of sensation that had no place in the midst of a medical procedure. She clamped down on the ball gag, for the first time thankful that it was there.

Seeming oblivious, Alex withdrew his finger. Cynthia tensed and waited for the hard plastic of the nozzle, but gasped in surprise when she felt his finger, freshly coated, back and pressing for entrance. This time it slipped in easily despite her clenched muscles. At the same time, she felt another, inquisitive, finger creeping up the back of her thigh.

“Mmmmmf!” She shook her head and bucked.

With her legs tied she could do nothing to stop him. Helpless, she felt her husband’s finger touch lightly against her sex and then probe deeper.

“Interesting,” he murmured.

Cynthia closed her eyes and ducked her head in shame.

“Daddy’s little girl is definitely getting damp.” For emphasis he ran his finger down the back of her leg, letting her feel the moisture, all the while sliding his other finger in and out of her in a slow steady rhythm. “Do you like this, baby?”

She shook her head an emphatic no.

Alex laughed and withdrew his hands. This time when they returned it was to spread her cheeks wide apart. In an instant, she felt the hard tip of the enema nozzle press against her tight entrance.

“Breath deeply and push out for Daddy,” Alex instructed her, all humor gone now.

She did and felt herself spreading wider. The end of the nozzle was fatter than his finger and stretched her uncomfortably. Cynthia groaned and the nozzle stopped. Alex let the tip sit within her a few minutes, until she was accustomed to it, then he pressed it forward again. Slowly, but surely, the intruder filled her completely.

“Better?” Alex asked, leaning over to kiss her cheek.

Reluctantly, Cynthia agreed that it was, one slow nod.

“That’s good,” he cooed. “Daddy doesn’t want to hurt you. He wants you to be comfortable. He wants his baby girl to feel good again.”

She would, she thought. Just as soon as this was over and done with.

But Alex didn’t share her viewpoint. He circled around the table, coming into her line of vision for the first time, and Cynthia was startled then quickly apprehensive at the heightened color in his face and the obvious excitement in his eyes.

“God, Cinny, you can’t believe how good you look right now,” he declared, moving toward her feet and craning his neck to view the protruding nozzle.

“Mmmmmmf!” She twisted and glared at him. This was so humiliating! She was trussed up, about to be flooded and cleansed against her will, and he was hanging on every second of it.

Tipping his head, Alex looked her in the face again, obviously concerned. He came and crouched until he was eye level with her. “Does it hurt?” he asked seriously.

She shook her head, knowing better than to lie, but let her feelings be known through the muffling gag.

Alex grinned. “Only your pride, huh?”

She squeaked and glared.

“Remember, Cinny,” he laughed, wagging a finger in her face. “You brought this on yourself. Now tell me that you aren’t enjoying this, even a little.”

She shook her head furiously.

“We’ll see,” he said cryptically. Then added in all seriousness, “You know, some people do find this sort of thing arousing, erotic even. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Her eyes widened in horror, but he was already gone, moving back around her.

“It’s time,” he announced. “Just relax, baby, and let Daddy take care of you. If you start to cramp just breath quick and shallow until it passes.”

Somewhere behind her there was a soft click and suddenly the warm soapy water was rushing into her bowels.

It was the same sensation! The sensation she had so long ago abhorred and Cynthia began to thrash in her limited range of movement. Still, there was nothing she could do. The water kept coming, filling her, stretching her, exciting her.

“Relax, baby, relax,” Alex held on to her, soothing her. “It’s all right. You’re doing great.”

A cramp hit and she cried into the gag before remembering his instructions. She breathed as he had told her and the cramp passed. God, she felt the need to relieve herself as she never had before!

“Mmmmmf! Mmmmmmf!” she implored.

“You’re nearly halfway done.” Alex’s words were hardly comforting.

Suddenly she felt his hand on the back of her thigh, moving slowly, caressing upward. What was he…? It ran over her cheeks, kneading them, then slowly moved lower, heading inward.

“Mmmf! Mmmf! Mmmf!” she protested.

“It’s all right. Daddy’s going to help.”

Alarmed, Cynthia recognized the unmistakable sultry note in her husband’s voice.

“Daddy wants to make his baby girl feel good,” he continued, purring the words in a husky whisper.

She kept protesting, begging, but it did no good. As the water continued to rush into her, Alex’s fingers found their mark, probing into the soft folds of her sex, stroking the moistened lips, parting them, slipping deeper, searching tenderly until they found the swollen bud of her clit.

“MMMnnnnn!” She wailed when he took it gingerly between his fingers, stroking it gently with his thumb. At the same time she felt the hard nozzle between her cheeks begin to move, being pulled slowly outward and pushed slowly back in again.

“Mmmmmmmmmmm.” She was completely helpless now. Her aroused body was taking control. Involuntarily her hips begin to move, rocking back and forth.

In response to her movements, Alex increased the pressure on her throbbing nub and moved the nozzle faster, matching the rhythm with the friction of his thumb.

“Almost done,” he murmured. “Stay with Daddy, baby. There’s my precious girl.”

Out of control, and helpless to stop it, she thrashed wildly against her bindings. The sensations rising beneath the skillful manipulation of her clit, the pressure building in her bowels, the movement against her anus, the restrictiveness of her bonds, her total inability to resist, all combined within the center of her being, pushing her higher and higher toward the overwhelming, all encompassing need for total release.

Suddenly a tidal wave crashed over Cynthia with a force that rocked her. Her back arched, her body convulsed, her limbs stiffened and spasmed. From deep inside, wave after wave of intoxicating pleasure washed over her, drowning her in a tide of sheer euphoria. For an eternity it held her rigid, immobile, completely at its mercy, until finally it released her exhausted and trembling back into her own care.

Dazed and frightened, Cynthia lay shivering in the aftermath of one of the most intense storms she had ever experienced, barely registering sensation of the nozzle being pulled from within her. Something else took it it’s place, hard and stubby. It slid in, a bit painfully, and her sphincter closed around it.

“Mmmmmuuuummm?” she whimpered, opening her eyes.

“Hush, baby.” Alex was crouched in front of her again, that particular smile on his face and his eyes full of love. “You’re doing so wonderful. That was so spectacular.”

Her mind returning, she squirmed in shame at her body’s betrayal and whined at the discomfort inside of her, the fullness and the pinching.

Her husband shushed her and stroked her brow. “Lie still now. You still have to hold your water for a while, but I used a plug to help you keep it in. I know it doesn’t feel good, but you just rest and let it do the work.”

Easier said than done. With each passing moment, as her body returned to normal levels, the need to relieve herself grew, obliterating all else. She began to plead insistently through the gag.

Alex ignored this, whispering soft words of encouragement, until, too many long minutes later, just when she felt she could stand no more, he finally rose and began to unfasten the straps. He gently straightened her knee, attentively massaging the stiff muscles as he worked. Once he was satisfied, he helped her to sit, then to stand, and, at long last, supported her into the adjoining privacy room and onto the toilet. When he bent her forward and pulled the plug from her, Cynthia thought she would die from the bliss of relief.

Alex left her there, huddled as she was, to “make sure it was all out” while he went to prepare for the administration of her medication. She had whimpered at the thought, but there was no fear of her bolting. Besides captive wrists and locked doors, she was simply too drained. Her forced orgasm had taken any last shed of resistance she might have been harboring. Refusing to dwell on the memory, all she could do was she sit and wait for her husband to retrieve her.

After Alex returned and cleaned her, he helped her back into the dressing area where he walked her around for a few minutes to get the circulation flowing again. Then he carefully lifted her to the table and, despite her weak attempts to protest, resecured the bindings.

The second treatment, the medication, was similar to the first only in that it was anal. There was no bag this time, just a squat bottle holding about a pint of clear fluid. The end of the bottle was an angled tapered spout that slipped a mere two inches into her. By holding it inverted, Alex had only to squeeze it gently to empty its contents. Again he used the uncomfortable plug to help her hold it, this time for a full fifteen minutes so the drug in the solution could be absorbed. Though her second purge wasn’t nearly as dramatic as the first, it still left her weak and leaning sideways against the wall when he finally allowed her to relieve herself.

“Oh Cinny, you did so wonderfully,” he praised, once he had her sitting back on the table. “You see, there was nothing to get so worked up about. It’s all over now, at least for a while.”

Cynthia blinked, registering the meaning. Yes, she recalled, Goodrue had mentioned that the treatment had to repeated every other day during the first week and then once a week for the next three. After that a single treatment a month would suffice to keep her pain free. She couldn’t stop another flood of tears.

Alex gathered her close and smiled his tender, loving smile. “I know,” he whispered, rocking her. “But it’s all for the best. You’ll see.”

While she shivered against him, needing his comfort, he gently removed her gag. She took a deep shuddering breath and worked her jaw, but made no other move, even after he had done the same with the cuffs.

Leaning her back, he cupped her chin. “Are you ready for your bath now?” he asked kindly.

Not that it mattered, she still managed to nod.

Alex left her then to go touch up the bath with a fresh dose of hot water and a few drops of rose scented perfume. When he returned he swept her into his arms, kissed her, and carried her to the tub.

The bath was wonderful after the trauma of the last half hour. Cynthia sat, soaking up the blissful heat, while Alex ran a soft cloth over her, washing her thoroughly. It was something he always insisted on when she was under his control and she wouldn’t have changed it if she could. For some reason being bathed like a child filled her with the warmest sense of security. She loved the way he lifted each limb, the way he lathered her lingeringly, paying special attention to her sensitive breasts, the way he stood and bent her to caress between her legs, and most of all, the way he gathered her into his lap and toweled her dry when he was finished. Leaning against him, wrapped warmly against his chest, she was sorry to realize it was over.

“Time for bed,” Alex announced, speaking for the first time since he had lifted her from the water.

Blinking heavily, she looked at him in surprise. It was still early. Was this truly all he had in store for her?

Reading her look, her husband laughed. “There’s always tomorrow,” he teased.

Yet he was also serious. Too tired to really care, Cynthia let him bring her to her feet. Instantly a wave of vertigo seized her and she stumbled. Through the spinning in her head, she heard him call to her and felt him lift her into his arms.

“Its the medication.” His words finally registered meaningfully.

Off her feet some of the strange sensation was beginning to abate.

“Marcus said it would likely make you drowsy. You’ve had a big day. It’s no wonder it’s left you exhausted.”

Cynthia was shifted around and heard the faint click of the lock. A moment later she was being laid on their bed. She opened her eyes to look up at him.

Alex was sitting beside her. “You’ve been very good, baby, but I don’t want you to leave me just yet,” he said, watching her blink sleepily. “Daddy still has to get you ready for bed.”

In an ethereal haze, Cynthia watched him rise and go to the chest at the foot of the bed. A pillow, maybe, and some covers she hoped. Instead, he returned with several soft leather straps she had come to know well and a large cardboard box she had never seen before. He laid the straps aside and set the box on the bed beside her. It was marked with the logo of the adult toy store downtown that they most often ordered from, Pleasure Supplies Limited.

“I saw this in the catalog today,” he told her, bending the flaps open. “When I was ordering the gag. It’s so hot, Cinny, I just couldn’t resist. So as long as I was going through the trouble of a special delivery….” He looked up at her with a boyishly delighted grin, paused for dramatic effect, then reached inside, and pulled out a device make of leather straps with buckles and two dildos stuck to it. And one was a butt plug type dildo!

Cynthia shook her fuzzy head and blinked rapidly, sure she was mistaken.

She wasn’t!

There it was, offered obscenely before her. The clear use of TWO dildos shot into her mind! Oh, no! No! No! No!

“What do you think?” he grinned, turning it this way and that.

She thought it was the most horrible thing she’d ever seen, that’s what she thought. But his flushed excitement told her that voicing that opinion would not only be futile, it would be dangerously unwelcome.

Not that she had too. Still grinning, Alex chucked her under the chin. “Fitting, wouldn’t you say?” he asked lightly, aware of her aversion. “You found the experience of getting the enema hot enough that you came very easily while I stroked your pussy. I knew you’d like it, so I’ve decided to remind you of it all night long.”

When he moved away to place the box, and God knew how many more of the offending items, on the floor, Cynthia glanced at the door. She would never make it, she decided dismally. Besides the fact that she was horribly weak was the sure knowledge that it was still locked. Helpless, defeated, she looked backed at her husband.

Alex was watching, reading her thoughts. He smiled at her wisdom then leaned over the bed, one knee on the edge, and patted her thigh. “Spread your legs for Daddy. There’s a good girl. Now raise your bottom.”

Reluctantly, she did. Once again he withdrew a tube of KY and lubricated her bottom, thoroughly reaming it our with first one finger and then two. It was still sore, but again the stroking felt very good. Next he pushed the plug into her, all the way to the flared bottom of it, where it was attached to the strap. Then, swinging the other dildo up between her legs he slid it between her pussy lips and into place. It had a bump on it that just pressed on her clit. Finally, he pulled the straps tight around her waist and between her legs, buckling them at her sides. The dildos were immobile, and she felt them with every twitch of her muscles.

“Daddy’s baby,” he murmured appreciatively, shaking his head at the tears in her eyes.

This was beyond humiliating.

“Now,” he said more briskly, picking up the leather straps. “Stomach or back? You’re choice.”

Stomach, definitely. She would be much more comfortable that way with her sore bottom. She rolled to her stomach, horribly conscious of the way rigid shafts in her two orifices and the leather straps between her legs. Without prompting she spread her arms and legs.

“Good girl,” Alex praised her initiative. He then took each strap, a long leather belt with special fastening at either end, and made bands around each of her wrists and ankles. Next, he secured them to the four bed posts. They would keep her in place, but not completely immobile. He had left enough slack to allow her legs almost complete freedom while her arms could move comfortably without the risk of her being able to unfasten the opposite wrist. A pillow appeared and was tucked under her head and a blanket pulled to her shoulders.

“I’ll be sleeping in the bedroom next door,” Alex informed her.

Rising, he placed a kiss to her cheek and a pat on her bottom. A moment later she heard the click of the lock and the lights went out.

“Sleep well, baby.”

Another click and she was alone. Burying her face in the pillow, Cynthia sobbed softly until the pull of exhaustion dragged her into welcoming oblivion.

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