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All Darcy could do was echo her companion in pain's previous cry, "I'm sorry, sir!"
None of which seemed to placate him in the least. The belt continued to rain misery down as it viciously scorched two sets of plump buttocks. "As of this moment, Nurse Crawford, you are relieved of your supervisory position over Darcy and anyone else you might have been given management of, and you will be subject to the same regime as she was until you can prove to me that you are ready to be trustworthy again."
"And, Darcy, you're going to have a new supervisor. One, who, I can assure you, won't be interested in fondling you in the least."
And he wasn't kidding.
He had hired a middle-aged woman—Nurse Carson—as a Nurse Manager, who went entirely against the type he usually liked to surround himself with. Unlike nearly everyone else in the office, who were tall, leggy blondes in their twenties, this nurse was middle aged and a bit stout, with a perpetual scowl on her face. She was there for one reason, and one reason only—to keep the nurses on their toes by making sure they followed the doctor's rules and orders to the letter. The only thing she wasn't allowed to do was be seen by patients, and that was made that much easier by the fact that the doctor created another hidden, interior office such as the one that Darcy had spent entirely too much time in. Cameras were fitted everywhere around the place, and the staff was given ear pieces into which she could whisper at any time as she watched them interact with the doctor and the clients as well as the other staff.
Darcy had wondered just how many of the others had been getting chastised like she was, even before he began her "treatment,” but now she knew that the playing field had definitely been leveled. There had always been a rule about not rubbing after a punishment, and since no one wanted to hear "Report to my office immediately!" whispered into their ear, especially after they'd just left there; instead, they took to bitching about how their butts felt like they were going to fall off out loud, only it ended up that that wasn't any more welcome than massaging their aching bums would have been.
Pillows appeared on everyone's chairs, some more elaborate than others, and they were quickly ruled verboten. As a matter of fact, everyone's cushy office chairs began disappearing, too, to be replaced by wicker or wood bottomed, straight-backed chairs. The wicker ones were particularly uncomfortable to sit on with a freshly spanked rear, and sometimes the miscreant was required to go so far as to hike the hem of her uniform up so that she had to sit with her red, throbbing behind being bitten into by that rough surface. They were already striped, and then they were striped again just by virtue of the fact that they were sitting.
Darcy had already been long since denied even the small comfort of a cushioned chair, and she was delighted that now everyone else was, too. Misery loved company, she decided, especially since most of the people there had witnessed her many humiliations over those long months—as well as its final culmination—and had reacted as if they were only too happy about it.
"Hanson, it's time for your examination."
This was something new. The doctor had liked to let his fingers do the walking on a relatively frequent basis—sometimes as often as twice a month for no other reason than he knew he could, and he knew it both pleasured and shamed her at the same time and he was infinitely intrigued by that idea.
But Nurse Carson was doing it to her nearly every day, at about two o'clock in the afternoon, and the doctor was often there, too, watching, occasionally suggesting, but mostly being a voyeur. She didn't think he did this with anyone else or, for that matter, that Nurse Carson did it to anyone else, either. She noticed that she was always left off the patient rotation about that time every day, and long about one fifty-five or so, she heard that raspy, slightly masculine sounding voice in her ear, ordering her to the nurse's office—like she was in grade school or something.
The fact that the woman kept things very clinical made it even worse, somehow, as if she was scheduled for a routine exam or some sort of important medical procedure, especially when there was absolutely no need for her to be required to be naked in this woman's office.
One of the most humiliating things she did was to require that Darcy have her temperature taken rectally, while over the other nurse's lap. Darcy had out and out balked at the idea, the first time Nurse Carson had sat down on the old fashioned chair in the middle of the room and patted her lap.
It was a relatively small protest—just the word "No,” that actually came out entirely without thought. She couldn't imagine that she would have to do something so degrading as to be treated like a toddler held over her mother's lap to have her temperature taken. If she needed that at all, they had thermometers that read from the ear.
But Nurse Carson intended to nip even the smallest sign of resistance in the bud. Although she had put a foot behind her to move away, Darcy was close enough that all the older woman had to do was reach out and grab her wrist with her manacle like grasp and tug her, with great conviction, over her legs. Somehow, from out of nowhere, it seemed, a wooden implement of some sort appeared in her hand seconds later, and the first of a very many sharp, stinging smacks fell onto Darcy's perpetually crimson ass, and in a mortifyingly short amount of time, she came to truly regret having uttered that single syllable. Nurse Carson spanked very hard, very fast, and for an inordinately long time, not allowing Darcy even a second to breathe between swats, not giving her time to think or even react much. All she could do was to try to live through the stinging cracks and the seemingly never ending rise and fall of that hairbrush—or whatever—onto her behind, knowing that it wouldn't end until her superior saw fit to end it.
Only when she was limp and panting, completely exhausted and unable to put up any kind of fight at all any longer, was the implement put down on a small table that was behind and to the side of her, from which the nurse then took a large jar of Vaseline, into which there was stuck the largest thermometer Darcy had ever seen. It looked much more like a dildo than it did a thermometer. It sort of looked like a candy thermometer, only the tip was very large at one end, creating a flange.
It was a butt plug thermometer. Darcy hadn't even known they existed. Some sick, evil, twisted mind had to have come up with that. Damn the internet!
Nurse Carson didn't waste any time at all. She didn't even speak. She simply tugged it out of the jar, leaned to her right a bit and used the fingers of her left hand to open Darcy's butt cheeks, which—despite how many times just that thing had been done to her in the past—made her start a bit and try to get away.
The second round with what she was able to confirm was a large wooden hairbrush was much worse than the first had been, considering the condition of her backside when it began.
Eventually, Carson put the brush down and took up the thermometer again, parting her cheeks as Darcy sobbed inconsolably at the indignity. She could feel herself being opened up and the thermometer slipping smoothly up inside her. At least there wasn't pepper ointment on it, but then there wasn't much Vaseline, either.
The widest part of the flange was quite large, and Darcy struggled to accept it, knowing she had to, regardless of how she—or her body—felt about it. She yelled as it was finally in place inside her, her poor sphincter finally allowed a small amount of relief as it was allowed to close a bit around the neck.
But her yelp wasn't at all welcome, and she got another bout with the brush for having made too big a fuss, as far as Nurse Carson was concerned.
And then the nurse forced her to keep it in place for much too long a time—well over twenty minutes, during which she was transferred to the exam table and secured at every possible point so that about the only movement she could make was to breathe. She couldn't even turn her head. And occasionally—but more frequently, of late—Nurse Carson had taken to doing something that absolutely freaked Darcy out—she blindfolded her, tying a sleep mask over her eyes and anchoring it to either side of her, as if it was a gag.
She was against gags, she had once told Darcy in an almost off hand way, although there was nothing in the least casual about the woman. Darcy's stomach had done flip-flops when she had continued, "I like to hear my patients' reactions to what I'm doing—as long as they're proper and fitting and not too loud. When they're not, there are consequences, of course."
Darcy knew she didn't have a snowball's chance of ever landing on whatever Nurse Carson might have thought was a right and proper response to what was being done to her, especially when she was robbed of the ability to see what was coming at her next. It made her even more sensitive, more on edge than she ever had been before.
And she knew that no one was going to rescue her, no matter how loudly she screamed and that doing so would only get her in that much more trouble.
While she was still wearing the butt plug/thermometer combination, her breasts were examined—thoroughly and roughly. They were poked and prodded, squeezed like melons at a farmer's market and her nipples were affixed to something that seemed to do nothing other than suckle at her with steadily increasing pressure that peaked with her literally screaming, then backing off a bit and going through the entire cycle again, and once they were placed, they remained there for the rest of the examination.
Sometimes the doctor stopped by. He seemed to like to kibitz about what was being done to her, and that just made things worse for Darcy. It meant there were four hands she couldn't see rather than just two. And it was the doctor who always made sure that Nurse Carson knew she was not to affect any direct sexual stimulation. That was his purview—he wanted to make that clear from the start so that there was no confusion, as there seemed to have been with Crawford.
If there was any jealousy on Carson's part about the boss horning in on what she was doing, it didn't show. In fact, they seemed to work depressingly well together, each of them attuned to even her slightest response—not that what they were doing inspired much less than full volume reactions.
It was the doctor who had told the Nurse Manager that Darcy hated metal speculums, which, of course, she then began to use exclusively. He also let her know where Crawford had left off with her anal training.
