Amanda von Steuben

Amanda von Steuben

A Historical Medical BDSM Fantasy)

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by

Anne Randolph ©2012 by Blushing Books® and Anne Randolph All rights reserved. No part of the book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

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eBook ISBN 978-1-60968-710-6 Cover Design: Korey Mae Johnson Cover image from A Reasonable Examination, a Rigid East Film.   Used with permission.   Visit them on the web at:  http://www.rge-films.com/ Originally published as Amanda Von Steuben on Bethany’s Woodshed, copyright 1999 Thank you for buying this title from Blushing Books, a subsidiary of Blushing Publications. Blushing Books is the oldest and largest publisher of romantic erotica, and spanking and BDSM erotica on the Internet.  We are also one of the oldest eBook publishers.  Since 2001, we have either published exclusively or under agreement with other companies thousands of romantic erotic novels, spanking stories and BDSM books.  On our store, Blushing Books, (http://www.blushingbooks.com) we have hundreds of completed novels and novellas from hundreds of authors ready for immediate purchase and download. We are always looking for talented authors, so if you enjoy writing romantic, soft-core BDSM or spanking erotica as much as you enjoy reading it, please check out our submissions guidelines. We also run Bethany’s Woodshed.   In continuous operation since early 1999, Bethany’s Woodshed offers weekly updates of brand-new, exclusive romantic and erotic spanking novels, novellas, and stories.   You can visit Bethany’s Woodshed at: http://www.herwoodshed.com.   Our stories are intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only.  Nothing in this book, or in any publication of Blushing Books, should be interpreted as advocating any nonconsensual spanking activity or the spanking of minors.

Foreword by Alice Liddell All I can say is, “At last!”   I first read the story of Amanda von Steuben about ten years ago, right around the time I myself started writing spanking fiction. At the time it was available only on Bethany’s Woodshed, a private membership site. I read it again and again, and for all these long years retained all sorts of delicious detail from the story: Amanda’s tall, handsome husband, Klaus; the matter-of-fact way in which women and girls are corrected in his homeland, and of course the mortifyingly embarrassing treatments administered in Dr. Rosenberg’s clinic. To say this story influenced my own writing would be an understatement. Thus I am delighted that the author is now making the story available to a wider audience, and honored that she asked me to write the foreword for this new edition. I am enamored of the world the author created for this story: St. Jacques, a tiny kingdom tucked away in the mountains of Europe, where it’s perfectly normal for a husband to employ a little wooden paddle to “speak to” his wife when he finds her behavior or deportment lacking. I predict a surge in internet searches for “St. Jacques” as readers – both men and women – hope against hope that such a place really exists. It does exist. Here in this story, for you to enjoy again and again. At last! Alice Liddell May 2012

Amanda von Steuben The Principality of St. Jacques - 1928 Count Wolfgang von Steuben looked at his heir, an expression of paternal concern on his face. Klaus had just confided to his father certain difficulties he was experiencing in his marriage of just nine days. Although both men had hoped for the best, neither man was surprised that things were not proceeding entirely smoothly. Klaus had been anxious enough to marry Amanda Worth, a wealthy British girl. They'd met at a party given in his honor, as he traveled through England. She'd been fascinated by his title, which was not unusual, and he'd found her intelligent, pretty and rather charming, which was unusual. He had assumed his whole life that he would marry someone from the St. Jacquen aristocracy, someone he'd known from the nursery and whose upbringing meshed nicely with what the men of St. Jacques expected from their wives. Yet there was something about Amanda that intrigued. Perhaps it was the bobbed hair or maybe the laugh that was just a trifle bold... He'd gone on to Paris, then returned to London, on a premise, of course, but he'd sought her out the first day. His return to London stretched on for three days, a week, a fortnight, and then the talk began, the gossip papers had a field day, and Amanda's mama walked around with a perpetual smile. When he realized they had reached a point in their relationship where it was becoming unfair to Amanda to continue if he ultimately could not marry her, he went home to St. Jacques. He had discussed the matter with his father, who'd been as ambivalent as Klaus, and for more specific reasons. St. Jacques was isolated by its mountainous terrain and by the choice of its people. Progress had certainly come, but much of what was very "fast" in post-war Europe had slipped by St. Jacques. Women dressed elegantly, yet slightly more modestly than in the other capitals and the young, unmarried women were different as well. Raised by strict parents and stern governesses, they knew from the cradle that the husband was the head of the household. And because the men of St. Jacques prided themselves on their fidelity to their wives, it was important that the girls realize that their submission to their husbands included full cooperation in the bedroom, even though it was understood that the details of that cooperation were something that the husband would explain to the young bride himself. If one word were to be used to describe the upbringing of the young women of St. Jacques, "traditional" was perhaps the best choice. Klaus and his father both were aware that Amanda Worth's upbringing could by no stretch of the imagination be considered traditional. A modern girl of the roaring twenties, she definitely was a "flapper," with bobbed hair, short skirts, and a flippant mouth. Her parents had petted her and indulged every whim of their only daughter. She had her own car, knew how to drive, and did so... fast. She was accustomed to going out to the theater, the cinema, even pubs, with only other girls for company. The fact that, in many ways, she would be a less than ideal wife was something that neither Klaus nor Wolfgang doubted, yet there was another significant factor to be considered. Amanda's father owned a large chain of department stores in England, and the connection could be a valuable one for the von Steuben family. St Jacques' primary export was sweaters and socks, suits and trousers, of fine Merino wool, and the association with the Worth family stores would be greatly to their benefit. One of the most prominent families of the St. Jacquen aristocracy, the von Steubens had responsibilities to the country's economy. Wolfgang would never have suggested that his son marry for financial or economic gains exclusively; this was, after all, the twentieth century. However, given the fact that he rather liked the girl anyway... Well, it was certainly something to be considered. Klaus did not share with his father that there was something about Amanda that brought out more primitive feelings as well. He was what his parents politely termed "adventurous," and marriage to a local girl, while probably quite restful, was, he'd abruptly realized, not quite what he had in mind. Amanda Worth played with him. He could barely admit it to himself, but he wanted her in his bed, naked, her face flushed, her nipples peaked into hardness, her limbs sprawled as she begged him for relief. He wanted to toy with her sexually just as she had toyed with him emotionally. He wanted a challenge. He wanted a woman upon whom a certain amount of obedience would have to be imposed, not one for whom it would be automatic. In the end, the economic arguments had swayed Wolfgang and lust had swayed Klaus. That the von Steubens were old-church Lutheran had not caused either of the Worth parents to bat an eye; they were as enamored of the von Steuben chateau as the von Steubens were of the Worth stores. Their daughter would, after all, be a Countess. In a spectacular ceremony, Amanda Worth, attended by twenty bridesmaids, in thirty yards of satin and handmade lace, walked down the seventy yard aisle of St. John's Lutheran Church in Brujen, St. Jacques, and became the Countess von Steuben. Whisked away to an isolated cottage on a friend's estate for a private honeymoon, Amanda von Steuben's world collapsed. She'd been informed by her blushing, mumbling mother that she would be expected to submit to what her giggling girlfriends had called "the nasty" once, but then, her mother had continued, darling Klaus would surely be gentleman enough to leave her alone most of the time. Mama had been wrong. Klaus not only expected a repeat performance of what Amanda had not found a particularly uplifting experience, but he wanted her to be enthusiastic about it. He expected her to touch his erect organ, to spread her legs for his kisses, and to cooperate with his attempts to teach her about the pleasure her body supposedly could give her. She pouted and fussed, whined and cried. It became a battle of wills, and finally, after Amanda had attempted to lock Klaus out of the bedroom, she lost in a particularly vivid way: Her husband, in the tradition of St. Jacquen fathers and husbands, placed his wife solemnly over his knee, divested her of her silk step-ins and, utilizing a small but sturdy wooden paddle, the traditional discipline instrument of St. Jacques, spanked his wife's bare bottom until her legs were churning and her cheeks

were scarlet, until her voice was hoarse with wailing and her tears had left a noticeably damp spot on the rug. Amanda Worth von Steuben's attitude improved remarkably after that. During the rest of the honeymoon, while still not exactly eager for her husband's embraces, she nevertheless would raise her open mouth obediently for his kisses and would spread her thighs on command. But Klaus wanted more. He wanted a wife that would lift her bottom in eagerness, would spread her own labia to expose the stiff little clitoris for her husband's soothing kiss, would not resist even a more intimate probing of her tender bottom-hole. All these requests brought tears of fear and mortification to Amanda's eyes.  Then, finally, on one occasion, he brought her to her pleasure, but afterwards, Amanda had seemed even more upset than ever.  Klaus, confused, had finally left his young bride alone. After the week of the honeymoon, Amanda was installed in the younger von Steuben's wing of the great chateau, and Klaus sought an interview with his father. There was little prostitution in St. Jacques, but a few brothels were quietly allowed to remain open, staffed by girls brought in from Paris or Berlin, to provide the wealthy young men of St. Jacques an outlet prior to their marriages. Thus, Klaus was quite experienced in sexual matters, but still finding himself stymied by his own wife. Hints from his older cousins and married friends about their warm marriage beds seemed quite incompatible with his own experience. The old St. Jacquen saying, that the ideal wife was "the Virgin by day, the Magdalene by night," seemed little in evidence. Was he, he asked in a frank discussion with his father, at fault? When Klaus admitted that Amanda had been shocked to learn that they were to share the same bedchamber, Wolfgang's eyes had gone wide. There truly were serious problems here. Wolfgang thought of Klaus's mother, his wife of thirty years, Anna. He'd married her barely out of the nursery, at eighteen. Shy to the point of not being able to speak to him, nevertheless, his young bride had submitted eagerly, quivering with the most delightful combination of fear and lust from their wedding night on. Later, as he and Anna had had children of their own, he began to understand how the St. Jacquen traditions of rearing daughters contributed to creating pliable, eager brides, girls who were accustomed to submitting to authority. Girls were taught, in subtle, insidious ways, that their bodies were not their own. Although no one would ever admit that it was intentional, the girls' attention was drawn to the area of their bodies between waist and knees in a variety of ways. Discipline was strict. Misbehavior was punished in one way: spankings. Prior to age twelve, girls were punished by their mothers or governesses or the teachers at school. After twelve, in addition to the first group, their fathers, even a male teacher at school, might enter the picture. But regardless of who was administering the punishment, certain things remained constant. The spanking was thorough, even severe, and the bottom, even in the case of a girl in public in the classroom, even in the case of a nineteen-year-old young lady the night before her marriage, was bare. Cleanliness was stressed. Teen-aged girls were subjected to frequent hygiene examinations by their nurses. Such examinations left no room for modesty; a young lady would be placed on her back, instructed to splay her thighs, her nightdress lifted, and every intimate fold of her body parted and checked by her nurse's brusque fingers. Woe betide the young lady who was less than scrupulously clean at all times. It was felt that internal cleansing was also important. Most girls, once they reached puberty, received an internal cleansing from their nurses on a regular basis. All in all, one wondered if the young ladies of St. Jacques didn't make such fine wives simply because they were so happy to be free of a nursery regimen that was often unpleasant. Standing in his library, looking at his confused and frustrated son, Wolfgang wondered what could be done to help the young Count's situation. Wolfgang wanted his son to be as happy in his marriage as he himself was in his and he knew the time had come to be frank. He doubted if his son had made the connection between the regular spankings, cleansings, and examinations that the girls of St. Jacques received as a matter of course, and the fact that young women of St. Jacques made such pliable brides. It was not something talked about, even among adults; it was just the way things were. Wolfgang cleared his throat. "Son, you may understand little of what goes on in the nurseries of St. Jacques, but you must now know that our girls are subjected to procedures and practices from early childhood that..." he pressed his lips tight "... draw attention to their bodies. If a young lady has been bared for discipline regularly, turned over the lap of father or governess, or bent over the punishment stool in a classroom full of other girls, she will not think it amiss if her husband does the same. A girl who has been inspected between her legs by her nurse regularly for cleanliness will not be so shocked if her husband touches her there. If she's had her bottom cleansed with a syringe every week of her life, well, such a probing coming from her husband again will not seem so out of place. You've traveled some now, and these things might sound old-fashioned to you. But it's the way things are in St. Jacques. Your sisters have all had such an upbringing, as your mother before them and her mother before her." The frank talk had caused a dull flush to rise to Klaus's cheeks. Spankings were not a private affair. Girls as old as thirteen or fourteen might be bared and spanked even in a public park if their behavior had been saucy enough, and even if one didn't see it, wails rang out from the nursery or his father's library often, but the other matters were nursery practices exclusively. The things that his father had just described, the cleansings, et cetera, well, he'd never given a thought to what sort of effect these things had on the young women of St. Jacques. Yet, Klaus remembered, many years earlier, walking by the third floor nursery once as one of his older sisters, eighteenyear-old Maria, was receiving a cleansing just as his father was describing. He'd been about fifteen, up on the third floor at the request of his father, who asked him to locate a leak in the chateau's tile roof that the housemen could not seem to find. He'd walked by the partially-opened door to the W.C. and seen the procedure just beginning. The governess, a large older Austrian woman, was seated on a small bench in profile to him, wearing her typical uniform, a full length dark dress covered with a white bib apron. Her steel gray hair was topped by a small starched cap. The girl was lying on a large towel which had been spread over her

nurse's knees. She was facing away from her brother, so he had a full view of the lower half of his sister's body. She appeared fully clothed; only her white pinafore had been removed and was hanging from a hook. Her dress and petticoats had been turned up at the waist and were folded neatly over her back, her full drawers taken down to her knees where they were bunched in folds of white fabric. She wore plain, dark gartered stockings and sturdy shoes. Her bare bottom was high, squarely across the nurse's lap, and her head down. Klaus could see that his sister had cupped her hands over her face in shame. Her thighs were parted as far as the lowered drawers would allow and her buttocks were very red. Spankings were a common sight in the household, and were often administered to the miscreant on the spot; Klaus recognized well- and recently-spanked cheeks when he saw them. Maria was sniffing miserably as she lay, waiting. Klaus wondered if the spanking had been administered because Maria had been reluctant to receive the procedure, or if there had been another reason. Between the punished cheeks and spread thighs, Klaus could see the plump pouch of his sister's cunny, dark with curly hair, spradled open slightly and above, the crinkled hole of her anus. He swallowed hard and felt his own face flame as he realized what he was seeing. He'd caught glimpses before, of course, during a public spanking, but those views were a quick peek of delicate pink, found and lost in an instant as a thigh was splayed or as a leg kicked wide in a desperate attempt to escape the paddle or hand. And since his oldest sisters were almost never punished in view of other family members, opportunities were rare. But this prolonged view... Klaus was riveted. Hardly daring to breathe, he moved his face closer to the cracked hinge. Next to the nurse was a small table, upon which sat a bowl, a small syringe with a black rubber tip that Klaus estimated at five inches in length and about as big around as a man's forefinger, several towels, and a glass jar of petroleum jelly. In the bowl was soapy water; golden sunlight coming through the tall window glistened on the soap bubbles. As Klaus watched, the nurse placed a small rubber cot over her finger, dipped her finger into the jelly and, spreading the cheeks of Maria's bottom wide with one hand, lubricated the girl between the cheeks thoroughly. Klaus could see the girl's pink pucker clearly and watched as the nurse's finger dipped in. Maria squealed when this happened. The lubrication was careful, and it was several long seconds before the nurse stopped her no-nonsense preparation of the girl's bottom.  The nurse reached for the syringe and rubbed more jelly carefully up and down the tip, which was certainly as thick as a large man’s finger, and longer.  Then, squeezing the rubber bulb to get rid of all the air, she put the tip into the water and released the bulb. Water flowed into the syringe with a slight sucking noise. Maria had heard the sound as well, and she'd begun begging, "Please, Frau, oh please. I don't need this. I'll be good." But the nurse had spread the girl's cheeks well apart with her thumb and forefinger and said, "Maria, this is for your good health. Any girl who was as rude as you were to your mama at luncheon is obviously not in good balance." And with that, opening her fingers still farther apart, the nurse introduced the tip of the syringe to the girl's puckered anus and inserted it with one firm, no-nonsense push. Maria cried out and kicked her legs a little, even though Klaus had seen that the equipment and his sister's body were well-lubricated. He was sure there could not be any actual pain; she was just protesting the discomfort of the penetration. When the syringe had been inserted to the full five inches, the nurse slowly squeezed the bulb, bringing more cries and little squirms from Maria. The procedure continued, and Klaus could see that this way of cleansing a girl was most thorough. The thick rubber tip needed to be withdrawn and reinserted six times before the nurse determined that the girl had been administered enough of the mixture. By the sixth reinsertion, Maria was moaning with discomfort and pleading to be spared the final dose, but the Frau had matter-of-factly persisted; it had been obvious she'd heard it all before. Finished with the administration of the procedure, the nurse had helped Maria off her lap, spread the towel over the small bench, then seated Maria, with her clothing held in a lump around her waist and her drawers still down, firmly on the towel. "Ten minutes, fraulein," the nurse had instructed, consulting the watch pinned to her bodice, "and there had better not be a drop on the towel when I come back in.  And then today I think we’ll do a rinse." This pronouncement had brought a long low whimpering moan from Maria.  The Frau had then left the W.C. through the door that went into the nursery, and Klaus had slipped away from his post in the corridor.  While he would have loved to watch the rest of the procedure, and was curious about what the “rinse” entailed he was too afraid that his squirming, red-faced sister, who was now alone, would spot him peering through the hinge of the door, or that someone would chance to come into the hall. Although at the time, Klaus had felt the same youthful glee most boys would feel while watching an older sister receive any embarrassing punishment or procedure, now, as a married man, he could see that his father's explanation made sense. Such treatment, when routine, undoubtedly accustomed young women to regarding those portions of their bodies as somewhat less than completely private. A girl who had been subjected to such procedures frequently would be much more likely to accept intimate touches and caresses from a husband. But yet, he remembered one of the nights of their honeymoon when he had tried to introduce a well-lubricated finger gently into Amanda's cute little backside pucker. She'd screamed so loudly... What if she were not normal? Perhaps she had some defect. Trying not to mumble, he shared this concern with his father. Wolfgang looked thoughtful. Privately he doubted there could be anything wrong with the girl; she looked strappingly healthy enough and he'd seen her whack a tennis ball quite impressively. Yet a trip to one of the private German physicians that specialized in women's health care in Brujen would be a sensible precaution. He knew from his wife, who admitted she'd prefer to avoid trips to the physician herself, that some of the doctors specialized in examinations that were very thorough indeed. "Perhaps she should be examined by the physician, then," Wolfgang suggested tactfully. "Dr. Rosenberg is, I believe, especially well-respected. He could assure you that there are no physical defects that would..." he tactfully searched for a word, "...impede a normal relationship."

His son stroked his small mustache carefully. "Excellent." He nodded, and his eyes met his father's. A knowing look was exchanged; they understood each other very well. "Excellent. I'll ring him straight away."   ********   Amanda sat in the back seat of the limousine and looked out of the rain-streaked window glumly. She was squirming, just a little. Her solemn husband sat quietly next to her. Her bottom, which he had spanked just twenty minutes earlier, throbbed, burned and itched. Two hours earlier, she'd been sitting in the same limousine, by herself on the way to a physician's office. Klaus had announced two days earlier that he'd made an appointment for her at one of the finest women's clinics in Brujen. "Clinic?" she had asked confused. "A spa, do you mean?" "No," he'd responded. "A clinic. Dr. Rosenberg is the finest women's physician in Brujen." "But I'm not ill." They were breakfasting, and Klaus had taken a sip of his coffee. "Nevertheless, an appointment's been set." "But why?" Klaus put his coffee cup down. "Amanda, we've now been married two weeks. It could be that there are things you'd wish to discuss with the physician." She was baffled. "There are not." He'd continued as if she had not spoken. "Allow me to be blunt, my dear. It seems you are finding parts of the marriage relation...," he paused, "...distressing. At times, I've perceived that you are feeling discomfort when perhaps you should not be. I understand that you might find it difficult to come to me with such concerns, and with your own mamma so far away...," he shrugged lightly, "...well, I just thought this a sensible thing to do." "I don't wish it, Klaus. There's no need. I... I... It's just some of the time..." Her voice cracked. How could this be discussed in the breakfast room? "Yes, my dear?" "It's just some of the things... I wasn't aware that most marriages..." Amanda could not continue. Klaus smiled. "Well, there you have it. Such things can surely be discussed with an experienced women's physician, can they not?" And not wanting the conversation to continue another horrifying minute, Amanda had replied, "Yes, Klaus, I suppose they can." But as she'd sat in the car, being driven to Dr. Rosenberg's, she'd found herself rebelling resentfully. Marriage was not turning out to be quite the cakewalk she'd anticipated. She'd expected Klaus to be firmly wrapped around her finger by now, and somehow that showed no signs of happening. Instead, as much as it galled her to admit it, her husband was most certainly in complete control of the relationship. In addition, she didn't particularly care for Brujen. She'd thought she was going to be the princess of some fairy-tale land, all golden sunshine and airy castles, while smiling peasants in colorful costumes waved. Instead, it was cold and dark in the mountains of St. Jacques, just as, she was forced to admit, Klaus had warned her it would be. Brujen might be a magical city in the summer, but in the fall, it was very very dreary, worse, even, than London. The von Steuben chateau, magnificent from a distance, was, once one was inside, somewhat gloomy and just plain cold, and while the public rooms were certainly magnificent, the private family suites were, in fitting with a rather Lutheran philosophy on life, furnished very practically and actually quite somber. And as for cheerful peasants, well, as far as Amanda could see, there weren't any, just a lot of dour-looking St. Jacquen who looked at her disapprovingly and rattled on in German. All in all, it was not quite what she had been expecting. Why could they not winter in Nice? she'd asked, pouting just a little, thinking of posh hotels and blue water and racy fashionable bathing costumes. Perhaps, he'd responded, and would say nothing more. Three weeks ago, Amanda would have whined until her husband was miserable. That was what her mama would have done... she'd seen it many times. But that was before she'd been treated to a trip across her husband's hard thighs. Prior to her marriage, if she'd been asked to define "spanking," she would have described a little boy or girl getting a few taps on the back of the bloomers from a nanny. She'd certainly experienced that, though the memory was so dim she could not have been above five the last time it happened. But what she had experienced at Klaus's hands had borne no relationship to that vaguely-remembered punishment. He'd been solemn and somber, and had not desisted from his purpose until she was in more pain than she could have conceived possible. Then, afterwards, when she'd still somehow expected him to be chagrined and apologetic, he'd been nothing of the sort. He'd informed her once, curtly, that a sore bottom had never killed

anyone, and another time, when she'd, as angrily as she dared, pointed out the marks left by that sturdy little paddle, he'd glanced at her bottom and snorted that he'd seen worse. So much, Amanda reflected, for apology. Now, after living in the von Steuben chateau for a week, she'd begun to understand a little more about how young women were raised in St. Jacques, and it terrified her. Klaus had three younger sisters. Liesel, at seventeen, was only two years younger than Amanda, and she was followed by Helge at fifteen, and Ida at fourteen. Amanda, envisioning shopping trips and giggling confidences, had assumed they'd be fast friends. But prior to the marriage, whenever she’d mentioned getting to know his younger sisters, he always dismissed the possibility with a somewhat confused, "Well, they're still in the nursery." Amanda had not fathomed what that might mean. Now, she knew. In the von Steuben chateau, being "in the nursery" was a reality for even young ladies well into their teens. Kept quite separate from the rest of the family, they were instructed by and walked with their governess, Frau Hilda, exclusively. Only at dinner did they join the family, a privilege that was offered beginning at age fourteen. And even here, the gulf was apparent. Dressed in childish schoolgirl dresses and pinafores, with plain dark stockings and shoes, their hair in a pinned coronet of long neat braids, they would sit and eat quietly and modestly, speaking only if a question or comment was addressed directly to them. Nevertheless, Amanda, friendless and somewhat bored, for Klaus went to his father's office building every day, had made an attempt to spend time with her sisters-in-law. Going up to the third floor nursery suite by way of the back stairs from their wing one day, she was startled to hear piercing cries. Thinking someone must be horribly injured, she'd run to the door of the schoolroom and burst in... only to see a sight that horrified her. Frau Hilda sat in a straight-backed chair. Her large feet were flat on the carpeting, and turned over her aproned lap, pinned firmly with a strong-looking arm across her waist, was Ida, Klaus's youngest sister. The girl was receiving a spanking with a small rounded paddle that looked, Amanda realized, gulping, identical to the one that Klaus had used on her. The girl's dark dress was turned well up, over her shoulders, her white drawers had fallen to the carpeting, and her high bare cheeks were very very red. She was looking back over her shoulder at her governess's lifted arm with a look of terror on her face. Amanda's jaw had dropped further when she realized that very near the door, with her nose against the blackboard, stood seventeen year old Liesel, dress held up around her waist, drawers in a puddle around her plain shoes, with a bottom above white thighs and dark stockings that could only be described as crimson. Helge, the middle sister had looked up from where she stood off to the side of the room, her hands twisting together, and Amanda immediately perceived a stricken look on her pale face. The story was told plainly enough: Helge was next.  Frau Hilda had the paddle at shoulder height, obviously preparing to deliver another spank when she saw Amanda. "Yes, madam?" she said calmly, using the same form of address that she used when speaking to Klaus's mother. "May I help you?" Ida whimpered and rocked her bottom a little. Amanda's face flamed scarlet, and her mouth worked soundlessly. Her heart pounded in her chest so hard that it was actually painful. After a few horribly awkward seconds during which nothing more than a croak emerged from Amanda's throat, Frau Hilda spoke again. "If you'll excuse us then? I am speaking to the girls about mischief in the classroom." And with no more than that, she brought the paddle down onto Ida's squirming cheeks. A crack and a shriek resounded; the girl's legs splayed wildly; Amanda fled. It was her first and last visit to the nursery. The incident had the effect of further isolating Amanda. She found the other married women that Klaus introduced her to, his two older sisters and the wives of some of his friends, boring and stuffy. In their below-theknee silk dresses, carefully coifed hair, and white gloves, never daring to go out of the house without a small veiled hat, they seemed more like her mother's generation than the young brides she'd known in London, who seemed hardly changed, if anything, actually more free and wild, after their marriages. She was dissatisfied in other ways with St. Jacques. The family practiced a restrained lifestyle that was out of step were her own upbringing. She'd been provided with one maid only; her own mamma had three. And Klaus had spoken to her sharply when she'd left her clothes on the floor helter-skelter. "You're not a child," he'd snapped. "Sophia is a servant, not a slave. Take better care of your things, please." When she'd opened her mouth to complain, he merely flickered his gaze towards his wardrobe, where Amanda knew, much to her humiliation, he'd hung the paddle he'd used on her from a small hook. After her own experience, plus what she'd viewed in the nursery, well, any threat of a repeat experience was enough to cause her to alter her behavior quickly. She'd picked up her frock. After she'd been spanked on the wedding trip, her first instinct was to pack her valises and take the first train to the channel ferry. But how humiliating! She'd been the envy of every girl she'd known. Amanda, a Countess! Imagine that! She'd heard it a hundred times, and every time she heard it, it had thrilled her. She’d made no attempt to hide the fact that she wanted Klaus, tremendously. If she returned home barely a week after her marriage, the gossips would have a field day, and Amanda was sophisticated enough to know that most people would assume that Klaus had repudiated her, and for the oldest of reasons: she'd not been a virgin. Her parents, who had pampered her in everything, would not pamper her in this. Even as she lay on her side in the bed the first night after her spanking, her bottom throbbing miserably, she'd known that leaving Klaus was not an option. And now this... this trip to the physician. At the time it seemed so awkward to discuss that it was hardly worth fighting over. However, the more she thought about it, the more ridiculous it seemed. Surely even in this benighted place women could decide when and if they'd go to the physician's. Suddenly, her eyes narrowed as she looked at the chauffeur. Perhaps he'd drop her and she could slip away and shop for an hour or so. Something to consider... The physician's office was located in a large, fine old building in downtown Brujen and, all too conveniently, the best dress stores were in the next block. Her decision was made. The chauffeur stopped, came about, opened

the door, and indicated where he'd wait for her. Quietly nodding, she stepped in to the building's foyer... then, as he was pulling ahead and over, she slipped back out again. Smugly proud, she'd walked from the direction of the physician's building to the limousine after an hour or so, rode home... and found her husband waiting for her in the chateau's tiled foyer. What was he doing at home in the middle of the day?   She soon found out. "Dr. Rosenberg's rang Mamma," he said, "and she rang me at the office." His blue eyes glittered like cold diamonds. "Where were you?" She dropped her eyes to her black pumps. Why hadn't she realized they would 'phone? "I... I...," she stammered. "Shall I speak to Franco?" "No." She sighed. There was no way she'd permit the chauffeur get involved. A small movement behind Klaus caught her eye. It was her mother-in-law, hovering around the door of one of the withdrawing rooms. Best get this over with before the whole household heard them having a row. "Klaus, I didn't go to the physician's. I simply didn't think it was called for." "I see." He pressed his mouth tight, then reached out and grabbed her hand. "Come with me, please. I intend to speak to you about this immediately," he snapped tersely. "Klaus! What...? Stop it." She pulled back against his grip, and then, as she perceived he was not walking towards the staircase that would lead them up and back to their wing, but straight ahead to the main part of the chateau, she cried, "Where are you taking me?" He didn't respond, and in a few more brisk strides, strides during which she had nearly to run to keep up without stumbling, she had her answer. They arrived at the wide double doors of the chateau's library. Klaus closed the door with a sliding thud. "Come along." He walked towards a desk, dragging her behind him. "Klaus, what are you doing? Stop. Talk to me." He ignored her as he drew her around to the side of the desk. Amanda's heart sank and stomach rolled. Intuition told her what was coming. "You can't do this... It's wrong, barbaric." Still not slacking on his grip, he opened a drawer and removed a paddle. "You can't do this!" she repeated, her voice going high. Klaus calmly drew her over to a sofa. "I most certainly can. Knickers down, please." "No. Not a chance. I hate you." And Amanda Worth von Steuben turned on her heel, prepared to stalk from the room, and got approximately a meter before her husband grabbed her arm, propelled her to the sofa, sat, and tossed her over his knees. His hand ground into the small of her back and pinned her squirming body. "You are going to be spanked, Amanda, for your disobedience. Now, I intend to give you one opportunity to rise, remove your knickers, lift your skirt, bend over my lap again, and then accept your spanking like an obedient wife. If you fight me, you'll be spanked until you obey. Then, and only then, will your actual correction commence." He was greeted with silence. "Are you listening to me?" Amanda lay in furious fear. All the struggling and pleading in the world had not altered Klaus's purpose one iota the last time he'd punished her; she couldn't imagine why she thought it might make a difference now. But how could she...? The image of Ida, bare-bottom high, legs flailing, turned firmly over her governess's lap was burned into Amanda's brain; she'd look just like that. "Please, Klaus..." "What's your decision, Amanda?" It was inevitable. She could hear it in his voice. He would spank her until she obeyed... and then he'd spank some more. "I'll do as you ask," she said, her voice very low. "Fine." Gently, he helped her off is lap. "Please remove your drawers and put them on the divan." He watched as she stepped out of the undergarment daintily and set the white silk over the arm of the sofa. "Now lift your dress... that's it... well up all around." Hands shaking, Amanda lifted her silk walking skirt and petticoat high. She was naked from the waist to the top of her stockings; seated, Klaus could see her woman's triangle. Fearfully, she dropped part of her skirt and tried to shield herself from his gaze. "Skirt well up, Amanda. Don't bother to cover up. There's nothing I can't see when I'm punishing you, anyway. Now," he looked up into her eyes, "I intend to correct you with one hundred strokes of the paddle. You will keep your hands and feet on the floor, and your bottom arched nicely for me. The next time you think to disobey me, I hope you will remember this chastisement." He jerked his head. "Over, please." Her mouth pressed tight, she draped herself over his lap and offered her bottom, still seeing herself and Ida as interchangeable. "Please, Klaus, I'm a grown woman. You have no right to treat me this way. It's barbaric. I'll have you brought up on charges." Klaus placed an arm firmly across Amanda's back. "On the contrary. You married a St. Jacquen citizen in the capital city of St. Jacques. You are now, also, a citizen of this country. Under our laws, husbands are permitted to correct their wives, and I am now quoting, 'by means of physical chastisement, between waist and knees, by the

open hand, or by strap, rod, or paddle.' I may not, for your information, use a whip or any leather device less than an inch in width or more than a half meter in length, neither may I use a rod of a width thicker than my thumb or longer than my arm, nor may I strike you above your waist, nor break your skin. The laws are actually quite explicit." He paused, and shifted his thighs, bringing her bottom well up. "Any questions, my dear?" Amanda gazed at the Oriental rug, its mauve dragons curling fantastically. "No." And that was that. The paddle fell, precisely, deliberately, with quick, firm cracks. By ten, Amanda was begging pathetically; by twenty, screeching; and by fifty, she was sobbing, huge tears running down her face, her legs kicking frantically. But he was so, so strong. Years of polo had hardened his muscles to steel and he had a large, German build to begin with. He seemed barely straining to hold her still. After sixty or seventy, Amanda, through a red wash of burning pain, was aware that he'd stopped, and she heard... voices? Panting, she turned her head to one side and saw the housekeeper, flat face expressionless, as she stood in the door of the library. "No, Frau," her husband was saying, "tell him to wait." Again, Amanda thought of how Ida had looked to her. That was, she knew, exactly what she looked like. Yet, even as she had the thought, she could not help rocking her burning bottom and whimpering, just as Ida had done... And with no further comment, not even a flicker of interest, the woman left the room. "How could you? How could you?" Amanda gasped, her voice cracking. "Everything... she saw ... everything." Her husband snorted. "Red bottoms are not an uncommon sight in this house, Amanda. Best accustom yourself." Amanda's whole back, under her silk dress and petticoat, was drenched with sweat... and she knew there was more to come. He'd been counting, and had announced every ten. The last number she remembered hearing was seventy. Suddenly, she felt his hand skim her raw skin. "I think we'll stop now." She tried to wiggle away from his frank touch and could not. "You've only had seventy four, but you are quite sore. I don't want you in too much discomfort to go to the physician's." "What?" Amanda's gasped question came out as a hoarse croak. "Oh, yes. We're returning to Dr. Rosenberg's immediately. I will be accompanying you to ensure no more... shall we say, errors? And let's remember, both of us, that you're still twenty-six short of what I decreed. Should I get a bad report from the physician or his nurse... well, we'll bring you up to one hundred in short order when we return home." Slowly, stiffly, Amanda rose off her husband's lap, his hands on her arms gently assisting her. Unable to help herself, she stamped her feet frantically, as she attempted to rub some of the dreadful sting out of her burning cheeks. Finally, recovering herself enough to be conscious of his eyes on her, she reached, sniffing, for her white silk drawers. His voice steady, he stopped her. "Leave them, Mandy. You'll not be needing them at Rosenberg's, in any event." And so Amanda, wearing no underpants, her tear-streaked face downcast, walked, under the cold eyes of her mother-in-law and the housekeeper, stiffly back to the limousine, through the door held by an impassive Franco. She sat on the leather seat of the car, her throbbing bottom covered only by a silk dress and petticoat. Her husband joined her, and the car pulled smoothly out of the circle.   ********   The ride was filled with desperate thoughts of flight, but Amanda knew even as she was having them that the plans were hopeless. She had nowhere to go and no money to do it with. And again, as she cast sidelong glances at Klaus, much of her did not wish to leave him. He was ungodly handsome and, ironically, most of the time, he was wonderful to her. He did not go off to clubs every evening as her father, as the husbands of her friends, did. Instead, virtually every evening he'd planned an entertainment for both of them: dining out, the theater, the cinema. And once, when she mentioned quietly that she didn't know if she cared to eat with her in-laws every night, Klaus had immediately announced to his family and the housekeeper that henceforth, he and Amanda would dine privately every Tuesday and Thursday evening. And just like that, wonderful, intimate suppers had appeared served by only one footman in their suite. All in all, he was unbelievably attentive and gentle. If it weren't for the two discipline sessions and his disgusting demands in the bedroom, she would think he was the best husband in the world. How could she integrate the two sides of the same man? Then a voice, a niggling little conscience, interjected. As wretched and awful as her spankings had been, neither had been delivered arbitrarily, out of bad temper or spite. Both had been the result of actions in which she had gone against him deliberately. She could, she supposed suddenly, just learn to obey him. If she did so, he'd probably never punish her again. Yet... yet... What would her friends say if they knew Amanda, the future Countess, obeyed her husband meekly because she feared spankings? Moaning, she put her face down into her hands. "Does your bottom hurt, Amanda?" Her husband's voice was quiet in the car, yet, Amanda knew instantly that the driver would have heard; there was no window between them and Franco as there had been in her father's limousine. "Klaus..," she hissed, jerking her head towards the driver.

"Amanda," her husband turned his face fully towards her, "you must accustom yourself. Husbandly correction is commonplace here.”  He raised his voice slightly. “Franco has a wife, do you not, man?" "Yes, sir, we were married a year in September." "And is there discipline at your house?" Amanda felt her face blaze scarlet at her husband's matter-of-fact question. The driver shrugged, keeping his eyes on the road. "Not much, sir. But my Trudie came from a very strict papa. Only perhaps six or eight times in the year have I had to speak to her." That word again: "Speak." Amanda finally understood its colloquial meaning. Frau Hilda had used it as Ida was actually over her lap, and Klaus had said it just before as he took her into the library. And once, when Liesel and Helge had giggled loudly at the dinner table, their father had looked up sharply and had announced that he wished to speak with them privately after dinner. No wonder they'd both gone pale so quickly. And then the second part of what Franco had said sank in. If her interpretation of "speak" was correct, he'd spanked his wife six or eight times in the first year of marriage... and considered that amazingly infrequent. Further horrified reflection was curtailed, however, as the car pulled up in front of a building that was all too familiar, and Klaus and Amanda got out. "Remember, Amanda," Klaus reminded, his voice low as they walked through the building's grand foyer to Dr. Rosenberg's suite, "I will ask the nurse for a report. You will cooperate with the physician fully. Any mention of difficulty from them, and it will go very hard for you when we return home. I will not only complete your paddling, but I will tie your legs open and birch your thighs. I mean this." Amanda could not respond, the image sounded so horrible, and even as she groped for words, they entered Dr. Rosenberg's suite. Three other women sat in the waiting area. One was with her husband and two were alone. All were dressed in the way that seemed so traditional to Amanda, yet was so typical for Brujen, the below-theknee silk walking dress, simple but in gorgeous fabrics, the small veiled hat, the white gloves. Off to the side sat one younger girl in schoolgirl pinafore with a uniformed older woman who was obviously her governess. Amanda realized that she had the shortest dress in the room and suddenly, inexplicably, she had a desire to tug it down. Her hot bottom ached and felt very bare, almost swollen, as they walked slowly up the desk. A nurse, immaculate in a black gown with a full white apron over it, her black hair topped with a starched cap, looked up. "I'm Klaus von Steuben, and this is..." The nurse interrupted, "Amanda." Her voice was flat, and she looked Amanda up and down, no friendliness in her eyes. "We had a little mix-up before, did we, my dear?" Annoyed, Amanda looked away. What could she say? The nurse smiled at Klaus ingratiatingly. "As we told your mother on the telephone, sir, we'll fit her in. It may take some time, however. My recommendation would be that you leave, then return... perhaps two hours?" Klaus nodded. "Oh, and nurse: I've spoken…," Amanda winced, knowing that the nurse understood fully what Klaus was saying, "…to my wife about her carelessness earlier. When I return, I will expect to hear a full report. Any lack of cooperation is to be reported to me promptly. Is that clear?" The nurse nodded somberly. "Absolutely sir. Absolutely." The gaze she fixed on Amanda was as cold as a snake's. "But I'm sure that Amanda and I will get on just famously. Won't we, my dear?"   ********   Amanda sat and waited. In spite of the elegance of the building, even the elegance of the office, the seating accommodations were minimal: hard wooden chairs. Amanda, with her bottom still burning and throbbing, had to struggle every moment to prevent herself from squirming. Yet as uncomfortable as she was, somehow she knew what awaited her through the wooden door was going to be worse. Just what was going to happen to her here? She'd had a very quick and basic gynecological examination from her mother's physician, jolly Dr. Brown, in London before her wedding. Even with the kindly young nurse holding her hand, it had been horrible enough. Somehow, she couldn't imagine the witch sitting behind the desk holding anyone's hand. There were at least two other nurses. One, then the other had come forward through a door, from what was obviously the clinical part of the office, to escort back the other patients. Both were dressed identically to the nurse behind the desk, and Amanda noticed that all three women appeared older. The one sitting behind the desk had to be forty, and she seemed the youngest of the three. First the three older women were called back, leaving only Amanda, the husband, and the schoolgirl, who appeared about seventeen or eighteen, with her governess. Then the schoolgirl was called, and slowly, her motions almost jerky, she walked to the desk with her governess behind her. There was a low-voiced consultation between the governess and the nurse, and Amanda caught the words: "Complete premarital." The girl hung her head and said nothing. Then the girl was escorted away, with her

governess's final admonition, "No nonsense, now, Eva," ringing in the room. Amanda's stomach churned. The wait stretched on. Amanda's bottom still itched. Once, when one of the nurses came out to speak to the desk nurse, Amanda heard what she was sure was a voice, faint as the wind, crying, "No, please...." but then the door shut with a thud, and she heard no more. No one spoke; the husband read a newspaper and the governess a periodical. The only sounds in the silence were those of a clock ticking and the nurse's fountain pen scratching across paper. Finally, after the first two women came out and left, Amanda heard her name called. Slowly, she walked up to the desk, then followed the large nurse into the back. They were in a long drab corridor, with doors opening off from either side. Above each door was a glass window. Behind her, the woman spoke. "I am Nurse Fenstermacher. I will be your nurse today, Amanda." Like all well-educated St. Jacquen, she spoke English perfectly, but Amanda heard the German accent under her words. She opened a door and, allowing Amanda to lead the way, entered with her. They were in a small room, a cubicle really. There was a sink, a small wooden table covered with a towel, a cabinet, a wardrobe, and a chair. "First, you will remove your garments, ja, and put this on." From a hook she removed a white cotton gown, set it on the chair, opened the wardrobe's door, then folded her arms, watching Amanda. It became obvious to Amanda within seconds that the woman had no intention of going anywhere, and that she expected Amanda to undress right in front of her. She kicked off her shoes, then reluctantly, her fingers fumbling, she undid her garters and eased her silk hose off her legs. Next, her hands trembling even more, she unbuttoned her frock and stepped out of it, the nurse promptly hanging it in the wardrobe. She paused, face flaming, stymied. Amanda now wore only her full underdress and a brassiere. There was no way she could undress any farther without the nurse knowing that she wore no knickers and that her bottom was red and punished. If she turned to hide her womanhood and breasts, her spanked bottom would be shown to the woman. But, there was no help for it; as Nurse Fenstermacher watched, her harsh face impassive, Amanda pulled the underdress over her head, then unhooked the brassiere, and slipped the cotton straps off her shoulders, letting her breasts fall forwards, free and heavy. For a moment she stood totally naked, then, snatching for the examination gown, she slipped it over her head frantically. She could not meet the nurse's eyes. The heavy cotton muslin fell around her, the cold fabric immediately rough and itchy against her nipples. It was unlike the gown at Dr. Brown's, which was soft and warm and modestly full, almost like a flannel nightdress; this one was coarsely stiff, quite narrow, and felt almost starched. Nurse Fenstermacher held out two thick woolen socks. "Some of our patients complain of their feet becoming cold. These are for your comfort." The floor was cold, and Amanda bent to put the knitted socks on. As she did, however, she became aware of how inadequate the gown really was. It fell to her knees both in front and in the back, yet it was split up the sides, almost to the waist. The front and the back were really mere flaps. As she bent to adjust the socks, it fell away from her body, baring her. As she rose she saw that Nurse Fenstermacher had seated herself on the chair. "All right Amanda. First we'll have a temperature, then we're in to see the doctor." "What?" Amanda looked at the woman, baffled. "I need to take your temperature." She looked puzzled for a moment. "Haven't you been to a physician's before?" Amanda shook her head. "Well, no matter. Not much for you to do but follow directions, anyway. Now come here, so we can get your temperature." "But..." Still confused, Amanda stepped closer, but before she could complete her thought, Nurse Fenstermacher had grasped her arm and tugged her abruptly over her aproned lap. For the second time that day, Amanda was turned firmly over someone's knees. "What are you doing?" Amanda struggled. "Taking your temperature." One hard arm fell across the small of her back, even as the back flap of Amanda's gown was lifted. "Stop this foolish squirming, now." Amanda had had her temperature taken during many childhood illnesses by her nanny, very definitely in her mouth. She knew babies had their temperatures taken in their bottoms, but she was a grown woman. Even over the nurse's lap, she couldn't believe it was happening. "But... my mouth. Why can't..." "The doctor is very precise. He feels this is the only way to get a really accurate reading." Next to Amanda's head was the small table, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw the nurse lift up the linen towel. Quickly the nurse pulled a thick finger cot over her forefinger, then Amanda saw the nurse's finger dip into a jar, and before she could even frame any sort of objection or plea, horribly, incredibly, Amanda felt the nurse's hand on her bottom, felt her cheeks, right at her bottom-hole, being parted widely by the nurse's fingers. Without thought, she brought her thighs together, tight, and struggled to close her upthrust cheeks against the invasion. The nurse's voice came, a sharp hiss. "From the looks of your bottom, Amanda, you've already been spoken to once today. I can only assume you were corrected for skipping your first appointment. Unless you wish us to give your husband a poor report, I suggest you begin cooperating immediately." Amanda swallowed, a difficult prospect since, with her head almost on the floor, she felt she could barely breathe. Yet she recalled her husband's threat. He'd said, quite explicitly, that he would tie her legs open and birch

her thighs. It was obviously a threat of a punishment that even he considered extreme, and even though she didn't know exactly what it meant, totally beyond the mental image of having her legs tied apart, which was unbelievably humiliating, she was sure it would be very painful. "But... please. Why can't we just ... in my mouth?" "Because Dr. Rosenberg does not permit that. All temperatures in this office are taken rectally. Now Amanda, if you simply relax, I can promise you that you will feel no pain whatsoever." Amanda lifted up her hands and cupped her face in shame. What choice did she have? No one here was in any sort of joking frame of mind. If she struggled, Klaus would be told; if Klaus were told, she would be horribly punished. Feeling all the fight go out of her, she relaxed her bottom and unclenched her thighs.  Immediately, the nurse parted her cheeks again and Amanda felt a touch of something very cold and slippery against her most personal opening. She gasped, and as the nurse spread her even farther open, she could feel the nurse push a fingertip into her anus. "Now this won't hurt at all," Nurse Fenstermacher advised. Out of the corner of her eye, Amanda saw the nurse lift a gleaming glass rod about six inches long off the table and lubricate it quickly but thoroughly with the petroleum jelly. Then, it disappeared from Amanda's vision, and a mere heartbeat later, her cheeks were held widely open and the cold glass entered her body with a fluid push. Nurse Fenstermacher had not lied; there was no actual pain, although Amanda definitely had a feeling of cold discomfort as the rod dilated her anus and was inserted fully into her. Then the nurse released the fingers that were separating her cheeks, and she cupped a hand against Amanda's bottom, the palm directly over the protruding thermometer. Amanda could feel the pressure and a little bit of motion deep inside. The nurse's hand felt cool against skin that was still itchy and hot. The nurse was still; Amanda was still. Blood pounded in Amanda's ears and temples. The room around them was quiet. Every few seconds, the nurse's palm would exert pressure on the thermometer, to keep it in place, and Amanda would be able to feel it shift ever so slightly in her body. Minutes passed, as Amanda desperately tried to remember how long her nanny or her mother had required her to hold the thermometer in her mouth when she was sick as a child. To a talkative youngster it had seemed like forever. At one point, Amanda had been unable to help herself. "Please, isn't that enough?" she'd moaned, and the nurse had answered, "Hush." Amanda made no other attempts. Finally, after a full five minutes had passed, Amanda felt her cheeks again spread and the thermometer withdrawn slowly. She gasped as it left her body. The nurse took forever reading it, as Amanda lay, still draped, her legs hanging off in space. Without warning, Amanda's cheeks were again opened widely and the thermometer reinserted quickly. "Just making sure," the nurse murmured. Two or three more horrible minutes passed before Amanda was again parted and the glass rod withdrawn. Finally, the nurse spoke. "All right, let's get you set up for Dr. Rosenberg," and brusquely she jerked Amanda off of her lap. The flap fell down to cover Amanda's bottom, but as she walked the side slits opened continually, baring her all the way to her waist. Any attempt, however, on Amanda's part to pull the flap closed on one side only bared her farther on the other. She gave up; there was no one to see, anyway. Following Nurse Fenstermacher, they entered a larger room. It was obviously a full-fledged examination chamber. There was a large sink, two glass fronted cabinets, and, in the center of the chamber, a narrow high leather examination table.  The end of the table had stirrups; Amanda knew what those were for, but unlike the ones at her doctor in London, which were little cups for one’s feet, these were curved cradles, plainly designed to cushion the back of the knees.   Amanda was shocked to see that there were straps with buckles attached to the devices. On the sides of the table, about half way along, hung two more sturdy leather straps that closed with buckles, and those, Amanda couldn’t even imagine how they were used.   Would they tie her wrists? Obeying a brusque jerk of the nurse's head, not wanting to look at those straps another instant, Amanda scrambled up onto the leather and sat. For several moments, her back to Amanda, Nurse Fenstermacher opened cabinet drawers and set various things out onto a tray, which she quickly covered with a towel. Amanda squirmed in silence. Her bottom still itched from her spanking, and now she could also perceive a slight stickiness between her cheeks, left by the jelly that the nurse had used. Abruptly a door opened, and in walked an older man, reading from a set of papers. He had a full beard and wire-rimmed glasses. "And this is," he glanced up at the nurse, "Amanda von Steuben, correct?" The nurse turned, wiping her hands on a towel. "Correct, Herr Doctor." The physician looked directly at Amanda. "I'm Dr. Rosenberg, Amanda. Your husband has reported marital discomfort to us. Is this the case?" Amanda, totally astonished at the direct question, could only gape, her mouth working like a beached trout. Finally, though, a glimmer of sense intervened, and she saw what might be a ray of hope. She swallowed hard. "No, actually," she murmured, hoping that the denial might cause the physician to cancel the examination. "I was just...," blushing, she groped for a word, "...unaccustomed. But I now understand my duty." "Hmmm." Dr. Rosenberg glanced back at the sheaf of papers. "But the marital relation should not be just duty, should it? So perhaps, all is not yet as good as it should be, wouldn't you say?" "Uhhh, well, uhhh..." Amanda was fresh out of ideas. Her back ran with sweat.

"Have you ever had a complete examination, Amanda? In London, perhaps? Before your wedding?" Amanda was becoming nearly nauseated at the prospect of discussing any more with this man openly, but again her husband's threat of additional discipline should she not cooperate kept her meek. "Yes. My mother's physician examined me." "And what did the examination entail?" He'd taken a lead pencil out of his pocket and poised it over the page. Amanda began quivering like a leaf. How could she even talk about this? "He... what... I don't know." "How long did the examination take? In minutes?" "A few seconds. He... only could... look because..." Amanda was starting to believe that nothing Klaus could possibly do to her could be worse than this. "Because you were virgin. I see." Amanda, even though she'd dropped her eyes, could see Dr. Rosenberg and Nurse Fenstermacher exchange glances. "Well, a full exam is definitely called for, and then we'll be able to better judge if there are any physical problems." Dr. Rosenberg inclined his head towards the nurse. "Prepare Amanda, please." Nurse Fenstermacher, her hands cold and rough, turned Amanda, then pushed her onto her back. Since this was the position she'd been examined in before, she was expecting it, but at Dr. Brown's office, a full curtain had been pulled that hit the table right at the patient's waist, so the patient could not actually see the doctor while she was being examined, and there, before she'd even been positioned for examination, she'd had her legs swathed in thick towels. But none of these amenities were available here; very swiftly, she found herself pushed back and her legs parted widely, drawn open and placed, far apart, in the leg stirrups.  Matter-of-factly, the nurse drew the straps around Amanda’s knees and buckled them.  Then, she positioned herself next to Amanda's waist, and reaching over her stomach, drew the front panel of the examination gown onto Amanda’s stomach.  Then, roughly, she placed her hands high on the insides of Amanda’s thighs, drawing her even father back and open, presenting her fully to the doctor.  Amanda felt horribly exposed and humiliated. She could look down, and see her legs, bare thighs, knees, with the gray socks coming up to the middle of her calves, and when the doctor stepped between her legs, her horror was complete. Besides all of her most personal parts, the doctor could also see her red bottom and thighs. Surely, he must realize she'd been spanked. "Now Amanda," Dr. Rosenberg looked at her sternly, "you've not been to see us before, so much of what we do might seem embarrassing to you. But we need to examine you completely to ensure that you are healthy and capable of a full marital relation. If you simply relax, you will find that you experience no pain, only a little discomfort at times. I will be as gentle as possible. But if you fight the examination, we can restrain your wrists as well and will call another nurse to help Nurse Fenstermacher.  Then we will tell your husband that we needed to use the restraints. I understand that you were punished once today already, and from the looks of this little bottom back here," he glanced down at her frankly, "I would think you would wish to avoid a repeat experience." Dr. Rosenberg placed his hand on Amanda's thigh, below the hand of Nurse Fenstermacher. "Do you understand?" Amanda went boneless with mortification. "Yes," she whispered, turning her face to the side, but as she did so, looking through one of the glass cabinet doors, she saw several syringes with long thick nozzles attached, a sight that was hardly reassuring. Blushing in horror, she turned away. Dr. Rosenberg, however, was uninterested in anything other than Amanda's acquiescence. Without preamble or discussion, he sat on a stool between Amanda's legs and reached forward to touch her. Klaus had tried to teach her about her body, and one of the things he'd done was inform her of the correct anatomical names. He'd use them, too, during his lovemaking. "Show me your clitoris," he'd whisper, and she'd be expected to reach down with her own fingers and pull apart the soft flesh he'd told her were called labia, which meant, he'd said, "lips" in Latin. But to have a doctor viewing and touching under the glare of full daylight what Klaus mentioned and touched in the intimacy of a dimly-lit bedroom was humiliating beyond speaking. But touch her he did. Brusquely, he parted her outer labia widely with the long fingers of one hand, and reached forward to touch her clitoris. His examination of the little tip was long and frank, involving many maddening little tugs and brushes as he moved it first to one side, then to the other, then pulling the hood up and open. Finally, holding the hood back with his thumb, he rubbed a small quantity of cool jelly to the exposed tip. Then, while he still held her outer labia full apart, almost to the point of discomfort, Amanda could feel him press his fingers together, catching either side of the now-stiffened nub, and with gentle pressure and a circular motion, he began massaging her. After a few seconds, Amanda could not help but moan deep in her throat, and wiggle her bottom, but he silenced her with a stern, "Hush, Amanda. We need to test for normal reactions... nothing more," and the nurse countered her wiggles by pressing her thighs apart with even more force. Dr. Rosenberg continued to rub firmly for thirty to forty seconds, then abruptly stopped. Amanda gasped at the sudden cessation of sensation, hardly knowing what she was expected to do or feel at this point, and was horrified to discover that her first, subconscious reaction was to lift her hips to follow his fingers. Almost numb with shock, she stopped herself in the nick of time. But no reaction or input apparently was expected from her, because without further comment, Amanda felt her delicate inner labia being spread wide by the physician's blunt fingers. She could see him reach towards the table again, and suddenly she felt a large glob of a cold slippery substance being dabbed at the very opening of her body. Gently, but without any warning or hesitation, Dr. Rosenberg slipped a long finger, then two into her portal. His fingers were hard and thick and long, and she felt like crying out, but she was too frightened to do anything but grimace and squirm.

The sensation was not unfamiliar; Klaus had done the same thing many times, but having it done so... impersonally was horrifying. He stood, and placed a hand on her belly, then pressed forward hard with his fingers. After only a few seconds, the examination was over, and he withdrew his fingers slowly. Without saying anything, he walked over to the sink, washed his hands, and came back, wiping his fingers with the towel. "Well, Amanda, you seem to have a clean bill of health up here. Now, we'll move to the second part of the examination." Amanda was baffled by this comment, but her confusion was momentarily forgotten as Nurse Fenstermacher released the pressure on her inner thighs and, unbuckling her knees, moved to help her to a sitting position. However, any relief she felt was robbed from her in one dreadful instant as the nurse pushed Amanda over onto her stomach. Bustling into a cabinet, she retrieved a small rolled leather cushion, and before Amanda could even ask what was happening, the nurse was back at her side. "Lift your stomach... that's right Amanda." And feeling powerless, Amanda did obediently as she was told. Within moments, the bolster had been pushed fully under her belly. "Thighs apart, come along, missy," came the next sharp command, an order accompanied by cold hands on the backs of her thighs that parted her to the fullest, and before more than a few seconds had passed, Amanda found herself in a position far more appalling than anything she'd experienced before. Her face and chest were flat against the table, her belly over a hard roll of leather, her bottom uppermost, her thighs open. With no warning, she felt Nurse Fenstermacher’s hands on the back of her legs, right at her knees, and quickly her legs were bound by buckled straps which emerged from the side of the table, first one side then the other.  The straps held her legs impossibly wide apart. The flap covering her bottom was lifted and she was bare. Dr. Rosenberg placed a hand on one of her cheeks. "I can only assume, Amanda, that you've never had a thorough rectal examination." Some semblance of spirit returned and Amanda tried to wiggle away from the touch of his cool palm against her still-itchy skin. "No… why... why... please..." she gasped out. He pushed down with his hand to hold her in place. "Why is it necessary to examine you rectally? Is that what you are asking?" He snorted as if it were a ridiculous question. "First, because a meticulous examination of your anus and rectum is an important part of any complete examination, and second, because this is precisely the area in which your husband has reported discomfort. 'Extreme discomfort when penetrated anally' was how he put it to me, Amanda. Now we're just going to see why that is." "I'll...I'll tell you why that is," she stammered out, too appalled by what was happening even to think about her fear. "It's because, well, it's just not normal. He's not supposed to touch me there." “Here?”  Horribly, Amanda felt the tip of the doctor’s finger penetrate her anus just a millimeter.  "Don’t be ridiculous." The doctor's voice was stern. "Amanda, it is your husband's prerogative to touch you and penetrate you anywhere he wishes. Now I don't want to hear any more of this nonsense." Amanda started as she felt two cold palms fall frankly onto her high cheeks: Nurse Fenstermacher's hands, and without warning she pulled Amanda's cheeks apart so widely Amanda felt discomfort. "I'll warn you, Amanda," came Dr. Rosenberg's voice, as Amanda heard and sensed him moving around behind her, "you'll undoubtedly find parts of this examination uncomfortable. Please just try to relax." Again came the touch of cool jelly, and Dr. Rosenberg began lubricating her carefully. But while Nurse Fenstermacher's touch before she'd taken Amanda's temperature had been fairly brief, just a couple quick slips of her cotted fingertip into Amanda's anus, Dr. Rosenberg lubricated Amanda very thoroughly, using first one, then two gloved fingers to circle the outside of her anus, then dipping one finger in, pushing then withdrawing, then pushing ever more fully in. Finally, penetrating her up to what Amanda judged was the second knuckle, he held his finger still. "Tell me, Amanda, have you been syringing yourself regularly?" "What?" Amanda managed to croak out. She was crying now.  Plus, she had no concept of what he was asking, and it was obvious from her voice. Dr. Rosenberg sighed heavily. "What can you expect from the British?" He snorted, then continued, his voice sarcastic. "I'll bet you even had your temperature taken in your mouth when you were ill." Since, of course, she had, Amanda could say nothing. He paused then continued, still maintaining his finger firmly in Amanda's anus. "Were you cleansed by your nurse when you were a child?" "You mean... you mean... washed?" Amanda's voice caught. Her anus felt stretched and uncomfortable around his finger. "No, Amanda." Dr. Rosenberg's voice was slow, as if he was explaining something to a moron. "Haven't you ever been cleansed internally, with hot soapy water in a syringe?" Suddenly Amanda had a vague idea what Dr. Rosenberg was talking about. "Of course not, no," she responded, her voice going high with disgusted horror. The doctor snorted, impatience heavy in his voice. "It's obvious, Amanda, that certain aspects of good health care are completely unknown to you. It's hardly a wonder that you object so to any sort of penetration back here. However, this is partly your husband's fault. He should have known that customs in London are very different from here in St. Jacques, and all of this should have been explained to you by either your husband or your motherin-law." Dr. Rosenberg slipped his finger still further into her body, then withdrew it. "I'll complete your exam, and then, when I meet with you I'll explain all of this to you in your husband's presence, so there's no room for confusion."

When Amanda had felt the finger slip out, she'd hoped for an instant that this dreadful ordeal was over, but no such good fortune was to be hers. Without any comment, Dr. Rosenberg pushed two fingers fully into her bottom. Amanda gasped against the discomfort, and tried to wiggle her bottom away, but Nurse Fenstermacher just held her more tightly. Then Amanda felt another touch, this one at the entrance to her female opening, which, even though she was on her stomach, was still offered, high and visible between her spread thighs, and the frank touch was followed by the insertion of a finger there. What followed was an intense examination of both of her intimate orifices, a probing that left her squirming and sobbing in discomfort and embarrassment. Repeatedly, Dr. Rosenberg stretched the two fingers inserted snugly into her bottom to their fullest extension, then, checked their positioning with the finger inserted into her vagina. Finally, he withdrew all three fingers, but just as Amanda had hoped that the ordeal might be finished, Dr. Rosenberg continued, his voice matter-of-fact. "I will now be dilating you with testing rods back here, just to see whether you are unnaturally constricted." Unable to help herself, Amanda glanced back over her shoulder at Dr. Rosenberg, horrified. He'd lifted a black rod off of the towel-covered tray and was lubricating it carefully. Amanda could see that it was slightly thicker than a man's finger and longer. Nurse Fenstermacher's hands dipped even lower between her divided cheeks and pushed Amanda so wide that she felt herself pucker open slightly just from the pressure. Then, with no warning, Dr. Rosenberg introduced the rounded tip to her anus and gently began inserting the rubber rod.  Amanda squirmed and cried out, but neither the doctor nor the nurse paid her any attention. The tight straps at the backs of her knees held her fast.  After several seconds of steady pressure, Amanda knew the device was inserted to its full length of perhaps seven inches. It was cold and hard and very thick. "Now Amanda," Dr. Rosenberg's voice was very stern, "I expect you to be completely honest with me. Are you truly feeling any actual pain, or is the sensation just unpleasant?" "It's ... well, it does hurt, right at the... outside." Amanda felt tears running down her face, she was so horrified by what was happening. Dr. Rosenberg slowly withdrew the device, and slipped his finger back into her anus. "Here?" he asked, just as he held the tip of his finger inside her tender ring. "Is this where you feel pain?" Slowly, gently, he moved the tip of his finger just a little. "Yes, oh, yes, please can't you just stop?" Amanda begged, sobbing. "No, I can't stop, Amanda. You're being foolish. There is no reason whatsoever for a married woman like you to be making such a big fuss about this. You have a nice healthy bottom back here, and your husband wants to enjoy it." He began pushing his finger in and out with a quick, fluid motion. "Now come along, Amanda. I want you to try to relax. Open up to my finger. Push yourself out a little." As he continued to dilate her, his finger moving in a slow, steady circle, Amanda, helpless, found herself obeying, found herself trying to open her bottom just a little. It was obvious Dr. Rosenberg could immediately feel the difference. "Very good, Amanda." His voice was condescending and he removed his finger. "Now let's just see how we do with this one." Abruptly, Amanda felt another blunt spread of dilation. It was obviously a rod, like before, but it was equally clear, immediately, that this one was thicker. Frightened, she tried to pull back, squirming and squealing, but Nurse Fenstermacher's hands held her tight and Dr. Rosenberg continued with the steady insertion. After a few seconds, the device was fully within, and Amanda lay gasping against the pressure of it. Deliberately, the physician kept a firm pressure on the rod, holding it fully into Amanda's body. Amanda was beyond verbal pleading; she was only able to moan. The mental image she had of herself was all too vivid. She knew exactly how she looked. She was lying on a black leather table, her bottom, which still showed red from her husband's discipline, was held widely open by a nurse and was displayed high over a bolster, her legs were forced completely apart and held by straps, and a physician was holding a cruel black rubber rod fully into her most personal opening. She put a face that was blazing with shame into her hands and tried to endure the horror of it without screaming. Finally, after several long minutes during which the physician moved the lubricated rod in and out slowly, he withdrew it completely for the final time. Nurse Fenstermacher released the pressure on Amanda's high buttocks. Amanda found herself speechless, and in spite of herself, she held the position. Her bottom-hole now felt loose and odd. Dr. Rosenberg moved away, without bothering to draw the flap down to cover her bottom, and again began to wash his hands. "Is her husband coming for her?" "Yes Doctor. In about half an hour." Dr. Rosenberg sniffed. "Fine. More than enough time for her to wear one of the dilators, then, which is exactly what she needs. Amanda," his voice was firm and matter-of-fact, "Nurse Fenstermacher is going to fit you with a small device that will help you learn to relax your bottom.”  As he spoke, the nurse began unbuckling her knees. “The only health difficulty I see with you is that you are simply very tight back there, and because you've never had regular cleansings you've never learned to relax and open up. But we'll set up a program for you that will soon solve all this." And with no further comment, Dr. Rosenberg left the room. "All right, Amanda," said Nurse Fenstermacher, "you may rise now. Come with me, please." Obediently, Amanda scrambled off the table, feeling actually dizzy for a few steps, but then she followed the nurse down the hall, back to the room where she was first undressed. She was reeling with shock and quivering; her anus felt sore and empty, and the whole area between her bottom cheeks slid with petroleum jelly. This entire

experience had been one new terror piled onto another, and more was yet to come. Amanda didn't know exactly what was going to happen, but it seemed that she was going to have something put yet again into her most intimate orifice. All this focus on that part of her body, a part she'd mostly ignored up until now, was causing her the utmost shock. They reached the first room, and the nurse opened into the cabinet, withdrawing what looked like leather belts. "Lift your gown, please, Amanda," she ordered. "Well up, all around," and Amanda, her face scarlet, did so. Quickly, the nurse drew the brown leather strap around her waist. It was like a belt, and it buckled directly in the front, except another strap, somewhat thinner, hung down from the belt directly in the middle of the back. Amanda could feel it brush against her bottom. "Now Amanda, please put your hands on the seat of the chair, bend forward, spread your legs well apart, and lift your bottom up to me." Amanda could see a small device in the nurse's hand, and as she set it on the table next to the chair, Amanda got a full view of it. It, like the rods that had been inserted into her in the examination chamber, was made of smooth black rubber. However, it was smaller, no thicker than a man's thumb and perhaps only slightly longer. One end was bluntly rounded, and at the other end, horrifyingly, a thin wooden tip emerged. The tip had threads, almost like a screw. "What are you doing to me?" Amanda asked, her voice going high, not able to take her eyes from the device. She made no move to obey the nurse. "That's quite enough out of you Amanda." Roughly, Nurse Fenstermacher grabbed Amanda's arm and whirled her to face the chair, then with a firm hand on her neck, bent her forward. "Dr. Rosenberg explained this to you. We are inserting a small device called a dilator into your rectum. If you do relax, you should feel no discomfort at all. However, if you fight it, you will be quite uncomfortable. Thus, teaching you to open yourself to penetration is the direct purpose of this fitting. Now, I don't wish to repeat myself again. Part your legs, hold your gown well out of the way, and offer your bottom up to me, so we can accomplish this with no fuss." She repeated the threat, then, that had kept Amanda docile through the whole experience as she lifted the rod off the table and rubbed petroleum jelly on it liberally. "You've been so good up until now, Amanda. We wouldn't want to have to give your husband a bad report." Pressing her lips tight, seeing no alternative, Amanda lowered her head and shuffled her stockinged feet apart. The leather belt was snug at her waist, uncomfortable already. Behind her, the nurse pushed aside the dangling strap, and, just as Amanda was fully expecting, she again felt the touch of something at her bottom-hole. The touch was quickly followed by complete insertion. Then, obviously keeping her fingers directly on the device to maintain it fully in Amanda's bottom, Nurse Fenstermacher began adjusting something behind Amanda, and suddenly she felt the thin leather strap that dangled from the waist belt being drawn tightly between her cheeks. When she saw, through the corner of her eye, the nurse lift a small flat wooden disk off the table, she understood. The wooden tip at the base of the rod was being fitted through a small hole in the leather strap, and this disk, which was no larger than a small coin, would screw on and hold the device firmly in place. Jerking her upright, the nurse turned Amanda around, and snapped, "Keep your legs open." She watched with an impatient look on her face as Amanda shuffled her legs apart, then snapped, "More widely." Amanda continued to spread her legs, until she was hopelessly spradled, her feet almost two feet apart. The nurse reached between Amanda's legs and parted her outer labia roughly, then drew the leather strap between the spread lips, tight against her inner labia and clitoris, and then up to meet the waist strap in front. Pulling it snugly tight, she looped it over the waist belt and affixed it by means of a snapping device. "You may stand." Amanda drew her legs together and awkwardly lifted herself to a standing position, feeling the rod in her bottom shift with every movement. The strap between her legs was horribly tight, cutting into her labia, and she could feel her clitoris throbbing against the leather. "Come with me, please." Nurse Fenstermacher left the room, and Amanda, her anus burning with every step, followed her. Just down the hall, they entered another chamber, and Amanda's eyes went wide. The young girl who'd been with her governess in the waiting salon sat on a hard wooden chair.  Amanda remembered that her name was Eva.  She, too, had on a gown like Amanda's and the thick socks. As Eva lifted her face, Amanda could see tear streaks. Nurse Fenstermacher ignored her and drew Amanda over to another chair. "You will sit with your feet squarely on the floor, your knees well-parted, and your bottom flat on the chair, nice and straight." Roughly, she pushed Amanda to the sitting position, totally ignoring the little shriek that emerged from Amanda's lips as the small rod prodded within her.  With no thought to Amanda’s modesty, she pulled the front of Amanda’s gown to the side and checked the positioning of the leather strap; not satisfied, she reached down and spread Amanda’s outer labia a bit more widely with her blunt harsh fingers.  “Sit with your knees well-apart, Amanda, and lean fully back in the chair.”  She pushed Amanda’s knees farther open, so her legs were almost falling down the sides of the chair’s seat, and pushed Amanda’s chest back. Amanda couldn’t resist; she glanced up and saw the other girl looking straight at her, wide-eyed.  The nurse was standing to her side, looking down on Amanda, her body blocking nothing; everything between her legs was rocked forward and was completely exposed.  Utterly oblivious to Amanda’s embarrassment, Nurse Fenstermacher continued to tweak the leather strap, making sure it was seated fully against the inner labia and Amanda’s throbbing clitoris.  With every little tug on the strap, Amanda could feel the plug in her bottom shift. Finally satisfied, the nurse dropped the gown's skimpy flap down over Amanda’s spread vulva again, and turned to leave. The other girl looked up at Nurse Fenstermacher, a miserable look on her flushed, sweaty face. "Please call my nurse. I just can't... any longer... please..." But Nurse Fenstermacher walked out without even acknowledging her.

Amanda looked at the floor, her face blazing. Did the other girl have the same device in her bottom? It was too much to believe, yet why else would she be pleading for relief? The other nurse walked through the door. "Eva, Nurse Fenstermacher said you called for me." Her face showed no sympathy. "Please, Nurse, let me go. It was so much and the water was so hot..." The girl's voice caught and she squirmed miserably. For a moment, Amanda was mystified, but then she remembered the question the doctor had asked her about internal cleansing and also the syringes she'd seen in the cabinet, syringes with long thick nozzles, and she realized for some reason the girl must have required that procedure. Roughly the nurse jerked Eva to her feet. "Come along then. We'll be speaking to your good Frau about this, though, Eva. I think a few more complete cleansings at home would do you a world of good. I've never seen a girl soon to be married so much of a baby about..." and the door shut behind them with a thud. Amanda was left alone in the small, quiet chamber. She tried to squirm herself into a more comfortable position, but every little shift caused the strap to press against her throbbing clitoris and the rubber rod to poke into her more firmly. Finally, she realized that what she'd been told was true. When she relaxed and simply accepted the penetration, as horrible as the thought was, much of the real discomfort was gone, leaving her with only an awful feeling of fullness. Minutes passed. Amanda felt herself slowly slipping into almost a daze. Her whole body seemed centered in her stretched, open anus and her clitoris which continued to swell and throb against the leather. Slowly, not able to help herself, she began lifting her hips a little, rocking, pressing her clitoris even more tightly against the strap and then releasing the pressure. Even though it caused the rod to move in her bottom, she couldn't stop doing it. Before she knew it, her breath was catching in her throat and she was rocking harder, pushing herself against the leather, looking for… something. Her nipples, already hard from constant contact with the rough fabric, grew tighter and more sensitive.  Suddenly, the door jerked open and Nurse Fenstermacher stood there. "You were told to sit quite still, Amanda." Amanda gasped, the trance broken. "Quite still." She looked down at Amanda with a very disapproving look on her face. "You're a nasty little girl, Amanda. I see that next time we'll have to fit you with a somewhat larger device... and keep the straps tighter." Before Amanda could assimilate the awful meaning of the words "next time," she'd been pulled to her feet. "Come along. Your husband's arrived." Still clad only in her examination gown, the dreadful rod shifting in her body with every step, the nurse escorted her into a richly furnished office. Dr. Rosenberg sat behind a large mahogany desk, and Klaus sat, with his legs crossed negligently in a comfortable arm chair. Both men had pleasant looks on their faces; they were discussing something together like old friends. Another hard wooden chair was the only remaining seating surface, and Nurse Fenstermacher piloted Amanda towards it. Wordlessly, the nurse dropped Amanda's arm and left the room. Amanda stood, feeling hideously embarrassed, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other. "Have a seat, Amanda," said Dr. Rosenberg, indicating the chair. "Sit nice and straight, as you've been instructed." He addressed his next comment to Klaus. "Your wife currently has a small device fitted into her rectum that is assisting her with relaxation. It's making her a little uncomfortable, I would suspect." "I see." Amanda could feel Klaus's eyes on her. Not knowing what else to do, she sat, pressing her lips tight as she lowered herself reluctantly onto the flat surface. "So what have you discovered, Dr. Rosenberg?" "Amanda has a clean bill of health, Count von Steuben. She's a strong, healthy young woman and you two should have many happy years of marriage ahead of you. I think most of her difficulties will be solved by simply a good old-fashioned program of careful hygiene complemented by stern discipline should she falter. From the looks of her bottom, you have already made that step." Amanda found herself going weak with horror. Klaus nodded solemnly. "Continue." "To be quite blunt, Count von Steuben, Amanda is simply unaccustomed to any sort of anal penetration whatsoever, and this problem is compounded by the fact that she is naturally quite tight. Your attempts to touch her there were found to be shocking and frightening simply because it was new... unexpected, and because it was unexpected, it was feared.  Because it was feared, it was painful. Most of our women have more traditional methods of hygiene than what is practiced in Britain. Married women, by and large, will administer a small cleansing syringe of hot water to their own rectums on almost a daily basis, perhaps one hour after rising, and it is quite common to receive a call from the home health nurse on a weekly or perhaps biweekly basis, for a more thorough cleansing. Unpleasant, perhaps, but we think most necessary. Once Amanda receives the benefits of such regular cleansing, other forms of penetration will not seem so surprising to her." "So she should be cleansing herself on a daily basis?" "That would be the ideal. Of course, if she is reluctant to do so, you may need to hire a nurse to see to it...just until she accustoms herself. In addition, I would strongly recommend that Amanda return for another examination here... in a month perhaps. At that time, we can administer a full medicinal cleansing followed by another session with the dilator. We'll be able to check her for progress in relaxation at that time." Amanda was so stunned she could barely breathe. There was no way... no way at all. She'd run away... kill herself. She was never putting foot in this office again. Klaus, totally ignorant of his wife's roiling emotion, commented, "And you say she was fitted with a device

today." "Yes. It is a common procedure. Believe it or not, Count, even among our girls, such reluctance is not unknown. We treat local girls regularly whose husbands have the same complaint." "May I see the device?" Dr. Rosenberg shrugged. "If you wish." He looked at Amanda's bent head. "If you rise and bend forward over my desk, Amanda, your husband will be able to view the dilator." Helpless, feeling as if she'd been robbed of all her will, Amanda rose and did as she was told. She lifted her eyes to the doctor's face and watched him as he spoke to Klaus. "If you lift her gown you will see that the dilator, which is not large, is held tightly in place by means of straps. This forces her to accept and open for the penetration. If she attempts to expel the dilator, she feels discomfort, but if she simply relaxes, the sensation should be tolerable." Amanda felt her husband lift the back of her gown out of the way and was stunned to feel Klaus's fingers against the base of the device, pushing it and shifting it, then tugging at the straps. Amanda groaned as the rod moved within her. "What about using one of these in the home situation?" Again Dr. Rosenberg shrugged. "It would be possible... and probably quite beneficial. However, the device needs to be inserted and adjusted by someone else. I can tell you where to acquire the set-up, if you're interested." Dr. Rosenberg glanced at Amanda. "Do you have any questions, Amanda?" Amanda shook her head quickly. All she could think of was how she could get out of this dreadful place as quickly as possible. "Then please return to the room in which you undressed. Nurse Fenstermacher will join you to remove the dilator." Quietly, Amanda straightened and walked from the room, aware that she was hunching forward like an old woman. The leather between her spread labia rubbed her every time she took a step, and the pressure on her clitoris, which before had started to feel wonderful now just made her feel raw. She reached the room and stubbornly refused to sit in the chair, even though she assumed she was supposed to. In only a few seconds, the nurse joined her and instructed her to lift her gown. Amanda did so, and with quick rough fingers, the nurse unsnapped the closure at the front, and allowed the strap to drop, releasing the pressure between her tender lips. Bending Amanda forward roughly, she tugged the device out of her bottom, ignoring Amanda's gasp, then removed the rest of the straps. Bundling the straps back in to the cabinet, she dropped the rod into the sink, obviously for washing. Without a backward glance, she left the room, snapping, "You may dress now," as she walked through the door. With shaking fingers, Amanda removed the coarse gown and dressed. The whole area between her thighs, her bottom hole, her female opening, and her clitoris, felt odd and tender. In spite of herself, Amanda reached down and touched her finger to the throbbing tip, which felt stiff and erect and slippery with petroleum jelly. Biting her bottom lip, she remembered how it felt when Klaus had sucked her there, and she wondered if he would do the same when they reached home. And Amanda realized, much to her surprise as she slipped her own finger around to her bottom and touched herself tentatively, that if he tried to touch her in ... back there, why, she was so loose there that it probably wouldn't hurt at all... Horrified at the path her thoughts had taken, she jerked herself back to reality as she pulled her dress over her head. It was evil, disgusting what the doctor had done to her, truly the most awful experience of her life. How she could even contemplate being with Klaus after he forced her to come here was beyond belief. Tears welling in her eyes, she flounced from the room, mad all over again that she had no knickers. The hall was empty, and quietly she made her way towards the front of the office. Suddenly, however, she heard voices: Nurse Fenstermacher, Dr. Rosenberg, and another female voice almost... pleading.  Eva again? Amanda didn't think so. The pleas came again, a little louder this time, a "no," followed by a soft squeal, and then a, "oh, oh, oh, please, no!" The girl's horror was easy enough to understand, Amanda said to herself grimly, considering what they do to girls here. As she stepped on, she saw, to her shock that a door, a little ahead, and to the right was actually ajar. She'd have to pass it, she'd have to, there was no way to get out without walking by. What would she see? An examination involving those same cruel rods and the physician's blunt fingers? The insertion of the same dilators?  Or...? Amanda reached the door, and biting her lip, stopped. Dr. Rosenberg's voice came to her all too clearly. "Hold quite still, now, Berte." Then a pause, and "Wider, nurse." Amanda peeped around the door, and saw a stomach-churning sight. A young woman was up on an examination table, identical to the one she had been on, and in an identical position. Amanda got a glimpse of the side of her face as it was turned back in horror. She looked as if she were a very pretty young woman, but now her face was red and stained with tears. She was, just as Amanda had been, on her knees, bent forward over a bolster, with her thighs widely separated, thick leather straps around the backs of her knees. Her gown was up around her waist, and her bottom was completely bared. She looked about Amanda's age, and had very dark, long curly hair which flowed around her. Nurse Fenstermacher was standing to one side, Dr. Rosenberg seated on the other. The nurse's hands were squarely on the girl's bottom cheeks, pulling them fully apart. Between, the girl's hole was visible, slightly open already due to the pressure of the nurse's hands... and gleaming. Amanda realized in a flash that the girl had been lubricated. Below, the darkly-fringed plumpness of what Klaus had taught her was called the vulva was visible, showing tender, dark pink, inner surfaces, which were gaping apart, framed by plump outer lips that were covered

with dark curly hair. She could even see the other girl's clitoris. Was it... gleaming with lubricant, too? Had she been examined there as well? Amanda knew, with a cold rush of dreadful horror, that she must have looked just like that. But as horrible as that sight was, her eyes were drawn away to something that Amanda had not seen before. Hanging from a hook was a bulging black rubber bag with a twisting tube protruding. The tube ended in a very thick, very long black nozzle currently grasped firmly between Rosenberg's fingers. As Amanda watched, he dipped it into a jar of petroleum jelly and lifted it out. Globs of the heavy substance gleamed on its thick, bulbed tip. The girl begged again. "Please, I swear I'll do it at home." "Enough of your nonsense, Berte. Your husband says you have not cleansed yourself in weeks, and have sent the home health nurse away twice now. A full medical hot soap cleaning followed by a thorough rinse is long past due." Dr. Rosenberg stood, and moved up directly next to the girl's side. "Long past due." And as Amanda watched, unable even to breathe, the physician placed his own blunt fingers inside Nurse Fenstermacher's separating hands, and with his thumb and forefinger, drew the girl's anus wide. While holding her open, he dropped his other hand farther down, and catching the girl’s clitoris with two of his fingers, began massaging firmly, first up and down then in a circle.   “Just relax now, Berte.  This is to help you open up.”  As he continued the brusque rubbing, he deftly introduced the thick tip of the nozzle to the girl's dusky hole and pushed. The girl jerked her head and looked back frantically; Amanda could see her pink mouth open wide, and then she kicked one of her feet out spasmodically as she attempted to shift her hips away from the invasion. Nurse Fenstermacher countered the girl's squirms by holding the girl down more firmly and, although it did not seem possible, by pushing her bottom apart more widely. Ignoring it all, Dr. Rosenberg continued to insert the nozzle firmly forward until its entire thick length had slipped from view. The girl's anus was a pinkish ring, stretched wide around it. The girl wailed, a long pleading sound, then found her words.  "Stop, oh, stop. I can't... I can't..." The girl's pleas had grown almost incoherent, but the doctor and the nurse continued with looks of near-boredom on their face. Nurse Fenstermacher simply continued to apply steady outward pressure on the girl's white bottom cheeks, while the physician maintained his fingers on the nozzle, keeping it firmly within her. Then he reached to a small stopcock several inches above the nozzle and turned it. It was obvious that Berte felt the rush of water immediately. She went rigid, and frantically tried to push a small clutching hand back to her bottom. "It's hot, oh it's hot and it stings. Stop... Please." But the nurse's only response was to grasp the small, frantically waving hand and pin it at the small of her back in the folds of the white gown, while Dr. Rosenberg began moving the nozzle about, first in a twisting, swirling motion, then in and out slowly, withdrawing it about half way, then pushing it in again firmly.  He continued to maintain pressure on the girl’s clitoris with the other hand. Amanda felt faint, actually dizzy, and she swayed. "A full medicinal cleansing," was what Rosenberg had said to Klaus. And now, he'd said it again. This is what they wanted to do to her next time... Her eyes went back to Rosenberg’s fingers, now deftly tapping Berte’s fully erect clitoris with firm little spanks; she could not draw her eyes away from the sight.  Amanda caught herself against the doorframe and froze; she'd made a small sound. Horrified, she slipped backwards and pinned herself, against the corridor's wall, motionless, not breathing. Had they seen her... or heard? She never knew. But within a second, the door only inches from her cheek had been closed with a firm, quiet click.   ********   The ride home in the limousine was quiet. Finally, Klaus broke the silence. "I hope that it was not too distressing for you, Mandy." Amanda shook her head and looked out of the window, not answering. Of course, it had been, but suddenly discussing it seemed the most horrifying aspect of it all. Yet she felt something else – something she could not verbalize.   Her clitoris still pulsed, seemingly swollen to twice its normal size.  The sight of Rosenberg massaging Berte while he administered the cleansing had caused Amanda’s body to throb like nothing else.   All she could think about was Klaus doing what he had done before, and soothing that aching tip with a long hard sucking kiss.   She knew that the pleasure she’d experienced before, albeit almost reluctantly, would be quick to come this time.  She was desperate for it. And behind?  She could hardly even bear to think about what had been done, but she knew she was loose and open and relaxed back there.   She also knew that would please her husband.  She could not bring herself to speak, but, instead, she moved just a bit closer to him on the car’s leather seat and reached for his hand.   ********   Klaus nodded and regarded his wife approvingly. She seemed meek and quiet, yet she couldn't stop squirming ever so slightly. Then, while still not looking at him or speaking, she moved next to him and took his

hand.  Oh yes, this trip to the physician had been beneficial... most beneficial. Just as his father had counseled, Amanda simply needed more... attention to her intimate areas to accustom herself. He found himself growing stiff and hard in his trousers as he imagined all his wife had gone through today, how the physician and nurse must have touched her, the look on her pretty face as her spanked bottom was dilated by the device, and Lord only . He wished he could have watched. He snorted. Hell, with what he would be billed by Rosenberg, he should be able to if he wanted to. But no. He rejected the thought as facetious even as he had it. The physician would think that such a request was completely inappropriate. Too bloody bad, he thought with a stab of disappointment. Although his initial intention in sending Amanda to the physician was purely for her benefit, he found himself suddenly fascinated by all this attention that had been paid to her cute little pucker. And if he were to follow Rosenberg's suggestion, far more attention would be paid to it soon. He thought about how his wife had looked, bent forward over Dr. Rosenberg's desk, with the leather strap running snugly between her still reddened cheeks, the surrounding skin gleaming with petroleum jelly. He had the name of the pharmaceutical house that sold the dilation set-ups on a slip in his pocket; he'd `phone for one the moment they arrived at home. The physician had said that using it at home could only be beneficial; very well, Amanda would be spending half an hour a day receiving such benefits. Add to that the cleansings that she would receive... That did seem a lot of work... Klaus sighed, then suddenly remembered Dr. Rosenberg's suggestion that a professional nurse be hired. Klaus's eyes narrowed. And if they had their own private nurse, then certainly no objection could be raised against the husband, the employer, after all, viewing, even helping with the treatments and administrations. He remembered watching Maria receive the cleansing, so many years earlier. To watch Mandy go through the same thing, especially with the full knowledge that it was completely for her own good health... In spite of himself, he felt his breathing grow heavier. Klaus grinned. His little Mandy was headed for quite a surprise. She no doubt thought the experience was over. Klaus now realized that it had barely begun. And the first step along the way would be for his wife to show him, obediently, just as soon as they arrived home, just how well the dilator had worked. Patting his wife's hand tenderly as it rested against the rich leather of the seat, he watched as the rain-drenched streets of Brujen swept grayly by the windows of the limousine.  

The End

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