NSFW Erotic Fantasy. Mature Topic

It was a typical medical office. There was the sign-in sheet designed with confidentiality in mind, the desk where insurance coverage was verified, the waiting area of chairs, magazines, TV monitors on some specialty medical office channel touting flu shots, stressing hydration, and affirming the wisdom of cabbage (cruciferous vegetables). Sarah Jane was as tired of hearing about cabbage as she was of her husband’s interminable praise of golf.

“I want a doctor to tell me to eat pastry,” her fanciful and rebellious imp side whispered in her right ear as she glimpsed at an ad for Farxiga.

“Maybe a session in that fancy jetted tub after strawberries and mangoes would make more sense and be more fun,” countered her healthy fairy godmother in her left.

“Mrs Harricott.”

The nurse called her name.

“This way, please.” She knew the drill, the weigh in, the blood pressure. She was half-expecting the application of leeches and the analysis of her bodily humors. That would make about as much difference as to how she felt.

At this point, the office visit took a singular and momentous turn. After the mandatory “knock knock“, a woman in a lab coat strode into the examination room.

“Hello, I’m Dr Parminter. Dr Feivel has the flu and asked me to cover for him. I see you are here for a six month visit for your hypertension.”

“Yes.” Sarah Jane tried to sound upbeat and that she had this handled, but she couldn’t hide her discouragement and resignation.

“You sound discouraged.”

“Yes.”

“Tell me about it.” And this time she did. The frustration around the usual culprits in getting older, hypertension, obesity, diabetes.

“You don’t have to act your age. Acting your age is the fast track to the cemetery. I’m looking for volunteers to test a concept I have around wellness. Are you interested in being a test subject?”

“Sure. If it doesn’t cost too much.”

“How does free sound? All you have to do is follow instructions.”

“OK”

“Be at the address on this card tomorrow at 6:00 AM. Please fast for 12 hours, water only. Bring a good pair of cross training shoes. Ask for them at an athletic shoe store.”

The Fast

She had her early dinner at Five PM, the one she thought would help. Chicken breast, broccoli, brown rice. Iced tea. Algernon, her golfing husband joined her, although he had a glass of Sauvignon Blanc from some exotic vineyard in Uruguay that his oenophile buddies were raving about. Sarah Jane thought to herself, “Maybe one glass.” She had one glass, then two more, followed by raiding her secret stash of Ben & Jerry’s.

Then the munchies hit and the twelve hour fast became a ten, then an eight, then a six. Getting up at Five to be at the Clinic at Six was a challenge, but she made it with her brand spanking new cross training shoes.

“Good morning Mrs Harricott. We are going to draw your blood first,” said the impossibly chipper Physician Trainer at the Institute. Dr. Eisenblut, or so his name badge said.

“When did you last eat, 6:00 PM?”

“Uh, no, Doctor. More like Midnight.”

“You understand you have yet to begin here and already you are failing to comply with instructions. We could disqualify you outright, but that would not serve our interests or yours. The fasting bloodwork is critical in determining your baseline level of health. If you want to continue, you will stay here and we will draw your blood at noon. There is a waiting room with all the water you want to drink and copies of Life Magazine from 1966, for your reading enjoyment.

This waiting room was unlike any other waiting room in which she had ever waited. There were mirrors on all the walls. A little intimidating, as every ice cream bar, soft drink and donut she had eaten in the last two years flashed before her eyes.

Atop the mirrored wall was a sign, a question, painful to consider:

WAS IT WORTH IT?

At noon the phlebotomist came, drew her blood, asked for a urine sample. A blonde woman with an East European accent came and offered her an orange and some blueberry yogurt.

At 1230, Dr Eisenblut returned. The blonde woman stayed.

“We need to set the tone for working with us. Key is following instructions. There is a level of discipline involved. We hope to transform externally applied disciplinary measures into internally retained positive habits. To that end, you will sign the Consent To Discipline Agreement to continue. You will also receive your first discipline session.

You may withdraw now, If you choose. We will compensate you for your bloodwork, it is useful in building our database. The choice is entirely yours.”

Sarah Jane thought about her choices. She hated the general track her life seemed to be following. She was angry at herself for this initial screw-up. There was no choice really.

“OK, Doctor. I agree.”

She signed the paperwork.

“Magda, prepare Mrs Harricott for her session.” With that Dr Eisenblut left the room.

“Please undress.” was the terse two word instruction. Sarah Jane complied, as if she were an automaton. She undressed, tee shirt, shorts, sports bra, knickers, socks, shoes. Naked, she followed Magda from the waiting room to an adjoining room, reminiscent of a college lecture hall. There were people seated at the desks, some wearing lab coats, others in tee-shirts, shorts, sneakers. Reflexively she covered herself in embarrassment. She felt every pair of eyes in the room were focused on her. They were.

“We want to welcome Delta-21, our latest volunteer. She has the usual imperatives compelling her to healthy living, and the usual impediments, alcohol, bad diet, sedentary living and a penchant for self-will. She needs our coaching.

“Let’s first complete our profile. Please stand still while we take our measurements to calculate your lean body mass. The skin fold calipers meticulous measured the”muffin top” of her naked body, as the measuring technician called out the numbers in centimeters. The numbers were noted by the Lab Coat People, the Tee-Shirt People nodded or smiled knowingly.

Finally Sarah Jane heard Dr Eisenblut’s voice. “There is also a matter of a disciplinary session that I believe will be more efficacious if we conduct it publicly.”

With that an upholstered chair was brought out. “Place yourself over the back so that the volunteers and staff may observe your buttocks as you receive your spanking.

She complied. The paddling began. With each stroke of the paddle the observers counted. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5…..20.

Her stinging and reddened buttocks were on displayed for a full thirty seconds. There were camera flashes.

“Turn around”. She turned and the crowd saw her tear streaked face.

Magda returned to the stage and led her back to the mirrored room. There was a tee-shirt and shorts that matched those of the other volunteers.

She was in The Program.