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And it was a Friday punishment, which was worse than any of the other regular ones she received. Because the doctor felt that it would have to last her all weekend, it was longer and harder than most and always left her hoarse for the next few days, which he considered a badge of considerable achievement, a goal he began to strive for.
When she got home that evening, she stripped naked and went into her bathroom, where there was a full-length mirror that reflected in the mirror on the medicine cabinet, and she could see the evidence of what had been done to her behind just a few minutes ago.
Tonight, he had used the cane. He knew she hated it the most, but he didn't use it often, always wanting to see the horror and dread in her eyes when he chose it. He was smart enough to know that if he chose it too often, that would diminish. There were swollen, raised tracks across her behind from stem to stern, but he was an expert with that implement and none of them ever wrapped around her hip.
They landed exactly where he wanted them to, which is why a large percentage of them were at the bottom of her bottom, so that she wouldn't be able to forget about what he had done to her while she was on her own for a few days. And she couldn't. Every time she sat down, even on her comfy bed or in her favorite overstuffed chair, she was reminded of him, and to a lesser amount, of Angine.
Angine had held her for the strokes, this time, stretched out naked over the table in the conference room, her wrists held tightly out in front of her by the woman's constricting grip around them, and she knew she would rather die than let go. The doctor swished the cane in the air several times behind her, catching her eyes in the mirror and smiling slightly, knowing full well that he was heightening Darcy's fear of what was coming for her.
And once he started, he didn't stop. He didn't lecture, he didn't rub, he didn't contemplate, he didn't coddle. He simply sliced down onto her bottom with swift, sure strokes issued every three seconds, just enough time between each crack to let the previous just begin to sink in and start to sting horrendously before the next landed either right next to it or across it—or it and others before it. He easily had her screaming from the first whippy stroke to the last, and that was exactly the way he wanted it—not that he or Angine heard her cries. She had been gagged from the moment she'd been put into position for the thrashing, with a roll of bandages that was twice as large as usual and secured by another that was laid over it and tied at the back of her head, forcing her to keep her mouth open wide the entire time.
And still, to her deep embarrassment, despite the atrocious condition of her behind, when he finally lay the rod of correction down, he reached up between her legs and unerringly found her little honey pot, which—as always—seeped her liquid "thank you" very generously down over his fingers.
When he stood back up, rubbing his dampened thumb and fingers together and looking at all of that glorious tribute, his brow wrinkled, and Darcy knew that couldn't be good. "Is it a three-day weekend, Angine?"
"Yes, sir, it is." The office was closed on all major holidays.
"Then," he continued, "she definitely needs something extra in order to remind her to stay in line for that extra day, wouldn't you say?"
Darcy was already straining at the hands that were holding her, but she found them quickly shifted into the well-anchored and ever present cuffs. Angine was smart enough to know that, if the doctor was going to lay down another layer of correction over the atrocious one he'd already delivered, she might not be able to hold the miscreant down.
"Whatever you say, Doctor. You know best how to handle her, and I would always come down on the side of being as strict with her as possible."
As Angine went around and assessed or tightened the restraints Darcy was already in, the doctor squatted behind Darcy and examined her thoroughly striped rump. "There's no broken skin, no blood. I believe she's good for another round, although not with the cane."
Darcy wasn't sure whether she was happy to hear that or not, afraid of what else he was going to come up with. And what he used was nearly as bad, in a different way. It was a clear Lexan paddle that had eight holes drilled in it—she knew the exact count because she was sure that she could feel each one of them raising a blister on her poor behind every time it fell.
And she could see her own cringing flesh being smacked by it, just before she yowled in indignation or bellowed because he had aimed—and unerringly hit, of course—a place where a lot of the welts he had already administered overlapped, so she had blisters upon wheals in a lot of places before he stopped.
Chapter 5
It was finally going to happen. She had been told by the doctor, himself. She was going to be allowed to come. And it hadn't been the year that Nurse Crawford had threatened, either, although it was darned close to it. They had settled, not long after their first discussion of it, on three months, which had been vetoed by her nurse because of her behavior. Then it was six months, and that was—again, very triumphantly—delayed. That evil woman had come to that punishment session armed to the teeth with examples of her misdeeds, and the doctor had allowed himself to be swayed. It ended up being nine months, which was quite horrible enough, as far as Darcy was concerned.
She didn't think she even could come any more, after so long being kept simmering at a low boil, with the promise of relief dangled so closely in front of her…nose, then always snatched away. She'd had to maintain such tight control over herself that she wasn't at all sure she could relax it on command—and she couldn't imagine that was going to go over very well, either.
Nurse Crawford, in particular, liked to tease and torment her horribly. Darcy wasn't sure just how aware the doctor was of how sexual—as well as disciplinary—the other nurse's role had become with Darcy, but she didn't consider that she was in a position to say anything, knowing she would likely catch hell then from the both of them.
Nurse Crawford often ended a discipline session by supposedly measuring just how much moisture Darcy was producing—the evidence of which was always presented to the doctor at the Friday night punishment sessions and discussed quite freely in front of her, to her intense embarrassment. But Darcy noticed that the nurse always took that measurement after she had spent some time playing with Darcy, and she didn't think the doctor realized that her readings didn't take that into account.
Darcy would still be face down—very often over the only slightly older woman's lap, a position that she had adopted for Darcy not long after she'd been tasked with her close supervision because she knew it would make Darcy feel just that much more mortified to be forced into such a childish position.
Of course, her wrists and ankles were already bound—which neatly kept her from either reaching back or kicking up. Nurse Crawford didn't favor gags. She liked to hear the results of her efforts in Darcy's increasingly fervent moans and yelps.
Since she had also been tasked with training her charge anally, too, she often had Darcy bent over the exam table—well strapped down, as usual, so that she couldn't interfere with her progress and, as always, completely naked. Angine preferred to get her into as helpless a position as possible, and all of the doctor's thoughtful tweaks to the equipment helped her easily do that, leaving Darcy hanging over the edge with her feet well off the floor, heels forcibly pointed outward which lifted and spread her cheeks just that much further open in a completely natural way but one that she had no control over. Her legs were spread much wider than was necessary for such a procedure, but then Nurse Crawford often liked to reach down and stroke Darcy's most sensitive place while she was firmly and steadily pressing something up inside her behind.
And she had quickly come to the conclusion that this, in particular, was something that Darcy loved. Well, her body loved it, anyway. Her mind was, of course, completely against it, but that also worked in the nurse's favor, because it made Darcy blush furiously with shame, which also augmented her sexual desire. So, it was a vicious circle, one from which there was no escape.
Once she had seated a plug or a vibrating bullet or egg well up inside Darcy's rectum, only then would the nurse release Darcy momentarily—just long enough to then rebind her for her spanking and force her to hop over to where the straight-backed chair had been placed in the middle of the floor to lie over her lap.
Angine had also been busy spending the doctor's money for things with which to either discipline or tease or otherwise increase either Darcy's mortification at what was being done to her or to increase the pleasurable or painful sensations she was being subjected to. And one of the things she had found was a hairbrush that was specifically designed to discipline misbehaving husbands. She had found it on a female domination site and liked it from the moment she saw it.
It was, probably, technically, much too harsh an implement to be used on Darcy. It was big and relatively thick, covering the majority of her ample behind with every swat, but then, that was what she wanted. But it wasn't a big bad paddle like the one the doctor sometimes used. It was only a hairbrush—solid wood, of course—with a wide square head. It wasn't too heavy for her hand, but it delivered quite a hefty smack with relatively little effort on her part, which meant that her arm didn't get tired as she was spanking, so she was able to give longer, more thorough sessions.
And boy, did it work! By the time she was finished, every time, poor Darcy's behind was swollen and practically maroon in spots, giving off incredible amounts of heat. And, of course, the whole time, her little bottom hole was being stretched by the plug that had been inserted or, at the very least, constantly sensually stimulated by a vibrating egg or bullet that had been lodged there.
Sometimes, she made Darcy lie on the exam table on her back after a thorough hair brushing, knowing her behind was going to give her fits in that position, making sure that she was hanging partially off the end of it so that she would have full access to every bit of what should have been secret, private territory. But there was no such thing as that for Darcy any longer.
She would measure her natural moisture again and it had always increased, and it seemed the harsher she was on the poor girl, the slicker she became!
