A few months after my promotion, the colonel sent for me. He was in his office with the flight operations director and the senior pilot from our squadron.
"Josie, I'm sure you know that the Air Force has approved the design and are checking the performance of a new jet fighter trainer aircraft?"
"Yes, sir, there has been a lot of talk and speculation about it."
"They have selected you as a highly competent and mid-level experienced fast jet pilot. We want you and a less experienced but competent, fast jet pilot to join the aircraft introduction team. The trainer introduction team has accepted my proposal to put you forward with Lieutenant Amy Johnson as your number two, because you are both highly competent, are in the same flight, and are used to working together."
"One reason for this multilevel approach to developing the aircraft is that the test pilots, whilst hugely experienced, sometimes will do things automatically, that a less experienced pilot would not have picked up, and that's where you and Amy come in. How do you feel about that?"
"The second reason is your handling of the high altitude engine failure emergency in the front-line fighter. The third reason is that with the simulator software being updated, we want you, as a mid career, but experienced pilot to fly the aircraft, and when they update the simulator software, often because of your input, how well does it correspond to 'real life?'"
"Sir, that's great. I'm sure we can handle it."
"Yes, so am I, and Major Smithson has agreed with us."
"Sir, please, where does the action take place?"
"OK. Any early version of the simulator software is ready to give to pilots converting to the aircraft and learning on it. You can do that here.
"Sir, this is going to be tough, but very interesting."
"Yes, that's exactly what we think. I know I haven't directly answered the question about where it will take place. They have chosen an air base only two hundred miles away as the prime one for carrying out all this work. There's going to be a ground school about the technicalities of the aircraft that lasts about three weeks. There is online learning these days, but you will have to spend time on aircraft taking a detailed look at it. They are going to get you involved in the hands-on maintenance, so you get to see how it works. It's a new departure from our traditional methods."
"One aim of the flying is to check the actual performance and handling versus simulator software. That's where they need you, and Amy, the most. A very detailed flight recorder is being fitted to most of the project aircraft. They will show it to you. It's surprisingly small."
"Sir, life will not be boring. But please, have you spoken with Amy?"
"No, and we are going to talk to her next. We told her to be ready for a talk about an hour ago. Josie, have you heard enough for now?"
"Yes, sir, and thank you for considering us."
"OK Josie, let's see how it goes with Amy."
We stood up.
I braced, saluted, turned about and marched out.
As I went out into the corridor, Amy was standing there looking a little surprised to see me. I winked and said, "This will be fine."
Two hours later, I met a very pleased Amy.
"You accepted?"
"Yes."
The Colonel called an end-of-day parade and told the squadron what was happening. He talked about the trainer introduction and development program, and that the fast jet trainer program had selected me with Amy, what an honour it was for the squadron, etc. Lieutenant Jefferson would be a temporary flight commander until the work with the introduction team was over.
The work started. I wasn't so impressed with some of the simulator programmes. After my engine failure at altitude experience, the trainer being a single-engine aircraft; I wondered if they had adequately thought through the total loss of power at altitude. I brought this up in a considered manner at a meeting and there was an awkward silence.
"Test pilots are still working on that one."
The program was exhausting, and there was a mountain of work. Air Force personnel were under deliberate pressure for extended periods to simulate the effects of a shooting war. You can't blame them, but it took it out of you. An actual war would be worse than that. After two months of solid work on the program, they gave me a ten-day 'break' of three full weekdays off and the rest working at my regular base. Otis got a week at the base over the same time slot.
I hadn't been eating properly, but I had exercised. My bodily functions were sub-par, and I felt a little bloated.
I went to our base doctor, and it was still the same gal, Janet, who had run the tests on me.
"There's nothing like a big dose of castor oil (CO) followed by an enema of sufficient volume. It's best to use normal saline for the enema warmed to 39C and I can give you all the kit. It's old-fashioned and unpleasant, but it's so predictable and it works so well. When will you do it?"
"Tomorrow morning on an empty stomach. Otis will be home, as I want someone there in case I don't feel too good."
"Good luck with it. Don't do it more often than once a month. I'm sure that's not all you will do!"
"Naughty!"
That evening, I outlined to Otis what I wanted to do. My enjoyment of sex wasn't as good as usual, and it was critical to fix that. The next day was Saturday.
"In the morning, I'm going to fix myself the adult dose of CO with the mixture of lemon juice and sugar stirred in hot water. I've got an insulated flask, and I'm going to fill that with water at 48 C to drink once I've taken the CO. It's laid out in the procedures. I may ask you to keep the insulated flask topped up. Love, once I've taken the CO, please, will you give me a hard six of the best with the cane across my lower curves?"
"I need the stimulation and the sensations in my ass when I sit on the loo. Can you please be at home while I'm doing this? When the action of the CO has finished, and it takes about two to three hours, I'm going to take a large volume enema. Before I get the urge to evacuate it, please, give me a second six of the best so that when I expel the enema, I'm sitting on six fresh cane marks."
Otis smiled and said, "I wondered when you would ask. You looked so frazzled when you came back and you were not yourself. This will give you the big reset you need. Your face has relaxed already. Please, how hard do you want your caning?"
"As hard as possible without cutting me, please. It will hurt like all hell, but the feelings afterwards are out of this world and it will stop me from feeling sorry for myself."
I put out a hand and touched his.
"An hour later, after I have finished expelling the enema, get ready with your diamond cutter and keep the cane handy. I can take a sore bottom because I'm not flying for a week. I can catch up on my pelvic floor muscle training, too. Tonight, we go out for supper. When I'm sitting there on a sore bottom and I see other girls, I say to myself, could you take a caning like me and be sitting on it a few hours later, not a care in the world? It makes me horny thinking about it."
We had installed an 'intimate douche spray' type device (the bum-gun) used to clean one's parts and ass when using the toilet. I loved it because it would give me a wonderful orgasm in thirty seconds!
That evening, I gave myself a suppository, and it helped, but I knew there had to be residue stuck in my intestines and only CO would shift it. Back home after a lovely fish supper, I was in better shape and I drained his balls. Things were improving.
We got up early on Saturday. I soaked the thin cane overnight in cold water to make it more flexible and a little heavier. It was a cane I had bought at a sex shop while wearing civilian clothing and somewhat disguised in a city where I had been on a course. No one knew me there, and I stocked up at their sex shops, paying cash, of course, so no credit card trail! The thin cane didn't bruise so much, and gave a memorable if short-lived sting!
I weighed myself and made a note of my weight, to find I had lost five pounds over two months.
With the bathroom ready, lights and the extractor fan on, I drank the CO mixture from a mug in one go. Fresh orange juice helped with the dreadful taste of the CO, which nothing seemed to disguise. It worked its way into my stomach, giving me minor cramping sensations. I was wearing a pair of shorts, no panties, and a T-shirt.
"Otis, give me my first six stingers, please."
Off came my shorts. I bent over a chair in the bathroom, grasping a rung below the seat level. With my fingers, I showed Otis where I wanted the strokes to land. He gave me three strokes on each side of my lower curves, very close to the buttock-thigh crease. This is a very sensitive area, and his hard strokes felt like electric shocks. From start to finish, this first caning must have taken a maximum of about four minutes. My bottom was stinging terribly, and my pussy was in motion. It increased the sensitivity in my clitoris, and I'm sure it did something for my tummy.
After about ten minutes, I felt the urge to expel, and I stood in front of the loo, squeezing the cheeks of my bottom together with my hands, and bending forward to improve my muscle control. As soon as I thought it was getting the better of me, I sat down, legs apart, bent forward and grasped my knees. The sensations, as the toilet seat compressed my caned curves, were indescribable. Within seconds there was an explosion, and the contents of my tummy ran away out of control, with the usual disgusting noises and smell. Helping the pressure build is an excellent idea if a slightly dangerous one!
Otis had remained discretely out of sight, but not out of hearing.
"Are you OK?"
"Yeah, I'm fine.
