Female Pilot Medical Procedures

I am Josie, a mixed-race girl and a fast jet pilot in my country's Air Force.

My partner, Otis, is an Air Force officer, five years older than me, also mixed race and two ranks senior to me. He is in electronics and he cannot talk about it. I'm not cleared to enter his work building. The Air Force has liberal policies, and after signing a sworn statement that we are in a long-term relationship (for two years), they issued us with married accommodation.

I graduated second in the pilot training course. The top six on the course get the choice of helicopters or fast jets, of which I chose the latter.

The Air Force needed more knowledge about the stresses and strains of high-speed flight on female pilots. After my Top Gun training, I was told I would have a long medical, but I was due for one, so I thought nothing of it.

The day of the medical arrived, and I had been flying in the morning. The medical took place in the afternoon. I had been told it was going to be of the empty stomach variety, but drinking fluids was OK. All the stuff at the start took an hour, and then it got unusual.

The doctor leading the medical team said, "Some female fast jet pilots are having vaginal prolapse problems."

Well, it wouldn't have been with the male pilots, would it?

"Please, can we test your pelvic floor muscle contraction strength with a measuring instrument? I have to ask, you are not a virgin?"

"No. I'm not."

They should have known already.

"Have you tried to strengthen your pelvic floor muscles using the methods which they taught you at flight school?"

"Yes, partly because it increases my sexual pleasure and that of my partner," I replied a little slyly!

My efforts had enhanced my sexual pleasure, and that of my partner, who thought it was great!

"Clean up in the shower," and she gave me a paper smock to wear.

Once I had showered and dried myself, she sat me in the Gynaecology chair and showed me the measuring instrument. A neoprene bulb is on the end of a plastic tube about five millimetres in diameter. A thin wire in the tube runs from the plug end to the bulb.

She said, "The bulb contains a pressure sensor, and I pump it with air by hand until you tell me you can feel it in your vagina. Pumping stops if you say it feels a little too full for comfort. I can release some air until you tell me you are comfortable. Are you happy with that, please?"

"Yes. To see what I'm capable of down there will be very interesting!"

The Doctor continued, "We have to insert the bulb sensor element. Would you like five minutes alone to get in a good frame of mind, please?"

How delicately put!

She left, and I played with myself, got moist and so I called, "I'm ready."

The doctor (called Janet) inserted the sensor and squeezed the pressurising hand pump bulb. I could feel the measuring bulb expand. "It's not hurting?" she asked.

"No. It's fine."

"I'm sure it's pumped sufficiently and is ready for your efforts. Please, try to give it a hard squeeze."

Stroking my breasts with one hand, I stroked the inside of my thigh with the other. With good sex in my thoughts, I shut my eyes and squeezed as hard as I could.

"Well done. You produced a pressure sixty percent above average, so you must have been training hard. Do you mind talking about it?"

"I lie on the bed, get comfortable and make myself feel sexy. I put a middle finger in my vagina and concentrate on squeezing it. If possible, I repeat this every two or three days for at least a half hour. Sometimes, I try to do it twice a day. I got my partner to put his finger in and squeezed it. He said it gave him a surprise, so I repeated it with his dick inside me. He nearly fainted with pleasure."

Janet laughed.

Then she said something interesting. "Girls with your part African heritage seem to have stronger than average pelvic floor muscles. There is no proof, but evidence for that opinion is growing. I only saw one girl who did above sixty per cent. Please, will you keep up the training?"

There are stories about girls trying to strengthen the pelvic floor muscles by hanging weights from a dildo in the vagina, and I talked about that.

Janet said, "It is a bad idea because it risks tearing the muscles and please don't do it. They talk about it on sex websites, but no one ever talks about the serious downside."

"You never did it, did you?"

Truthfully, I never did and said so.

"When pulling a lot of G, do you get vaginal pain?"

"No. Not so far."

She explained that the Air Force was looking at seat restraint designs to tighten around the female pelvis during high G manoeuvres. These could cause other problems and the programme was in trouble.

"Thank you for being such a great help to us."

Janet said, "You are in excellent shape but please, can we run some more tests? It may take four or five hours?"

This was a surprise, but I was ready to go along with it. Frankly, I had little choice.

"When did you last have a bowel motion?"

It was the early afternoon by now. I had a BM the previous evening and told her so. I was in for a lot of high-G flights the next day, so my tummy had to be close to empty. Since then, I have eaten only a little. In the morning, I relied on energy drinks, a Hershey bar and that good old sugar-in-water standby. Never try high G manoeuvres on a full stomach.

"You are at liberty to refuse this because it's not a vital part of your medical. What I am going to ask you to do is to check the performance of your digestive system under stimulation. It will affect your fast jet status only if it reveals a problem which doesn't show anywhere else. All the female pilots who have agreed to this next test have passed. Remember, you do not have to agree to it if you find it distasteful, and some do."

"If you agree, I will mix you a full-strength castor oil laxative. I want to see how long it takes to work. This tells me about the speed of your digestive system, which is quite important. The oil is going to be mixed with fresh lemon juice, sugar and warm water. A glass of orange juice is ready if you need it to help with the taste. Do you agree to take part in this test, please?"

"Yes," I said, feeling rather less than pleased. My mother had given me castor oil as a girl a few times and I knew what it did to you.

Janet continued, "There is a toilet in a cubicle just off here with a modesty curtain that you can pull down. Ten minutes after you take the castor oil, I want you to drink half a litre of warm water. As soon as you feel anything is about to happen, sit on the loo right away. Every ten minutes after that, I want you to sip more warm water. This will help eliminate all traces of the castor oil from your system, and speed up the entire process."

Janet's words prompted unpleasant memories of my youth.

She continued, "After your first BM, the warm water will go right through you and wash out any castor oil still in your tummy. If you can do that, the effect of the castor oil will stop in less than two hours. There is a nurse ready to help you."

Goodness, I thought, all of this in the name of aviation science! Janet got the castor oil ready, and I drank the mixture in one go. I was grateful for the orange juice. In a few minutes, I could feel the castor oil working its way through my tummy.

It took only fifteen minutes, and I exploded into the loo. To my amazement, I could not control the large volume of material which roared out of me with an awful smell. Fortunately, an extractor fan was running, but the shocking smell was embarrassing. I hadn't bothered with the modesty curtain and Janet saw the look on my face.

"Don't worry, the smell is normal. All of us have material stuck in the folds of the intestine. A big dose of castor oil removes it, so please don't feel embarrassed. It's normal."

I carried on drinking warm water as fast as I could. During the next hour and a half; I went five more times. Janet and I looked each time before I flushed the loo. For the last two evacuations, the little globules of castor oil had gone, so I must have eliminated all of it.

She asked me to sit on the loo for another fifteen minutes, but it was over.

Janet said, "I'm afraid we haven't quite finished. I need to clean you up with an enema before I do the proctoscopy and a sigmoidoscopy."

"What for, please?"

"It's an upgrade to the standard medical. You have passed all the technical, flying and personal skills tests. I want to give you a thorough examination before you move on."

This was news to me, but never mind, and I resigned myself to it.

She got me back in the Gynaecology chair and inserted the enema nozzle. It took about five minutes of discomfort to get one and a half litres of enema into me.

After Janet removed the enema tube, I was back on the loo. The worst thing was the amount of farting which accompanied the release of the enema. Where had all that gas come from? With this over, I cleaned up in the shower and I was back on the Gynaecology chair. Janet tilted it back for the proctoscopy and sigmoidoscopy.

When these procedures were over, Janet said I had a clean bill of health. I didn't think there would be any problems and there were none.

Janet said, "I'm sorry about the castor oil, but it is so effective. You have an excellent digestive system."

She gave me a clean paper gown and asked me to sit with her on the small couch that was part of her office. I noticed Janet checked the locked door.

"Josie," Janet began, "You have passed the physical part of your medical examination. Much higher things are possible for you if your response to what I will request of you next is at least adequate."

"You can refuse, and you will remain a front-line fighter pilot. Your general medical status is excellent. Your pelvic muscle function and general health are major factors in this. It's as good as it comes."

"Remember, you can refuse the next request. It won't appear on your record."

"Will you let me give you six strokes of the cane on your bare bottom? The strokes won't break the skin, and the varnished cane has had two methods of sterilisation applied."

I had never received a caning and if Janet wanted to do it, there had to be a reason. I wanted to be sure it wasn't for her gratification.

"It's not to satisfy any urges within you, is it?"

I can be very direct.

"No, absolutely not and if it goes ahead, I'm going to ask you to cane me in return so you won't feel any resentment that I give it but can't take it."

This sounded fine, if very unusual.

"OK. What do I do, please?"

"You can kneel on this couch, bottom up, head down. It's a safe position since the couch is big enough for you not to fall off. I'm going to put a towel for you to kneel on, because you may start dripping!"

"Please, I can feel I need a pee. I don't want an accident and I have soaked up a lot of fluid with the warm water sips following the castor oil and from the enema."

After taking a pee, I washed my vulva and perineum in the shower. It's best to be clean for a caning. I knelt on the couch and felt Janet rub my bottom with the cane.

"Are you ready?"

Janet rested the cane on my bottom.

"I will tap you twice and then give you the cane stroke. After counting to thirty in my head to let you get over the shock of the sting, I will repeat it for six strokes."

"OK."

'Tap-tap whistle crack' and the first stroke landed on my tight bottom cheeks. A line of fire blazed across my rump, but I kept myself under control. Shutting my eyes, I thought of good sex with my partner.

This carried on at thirty-second intervals. I hardly made a sound. Air Force training made you tough.

"It's over. You can get up."

I got up and rubbed my bum. The mirror showed six welts rising. Janet had put the cane on the table and I picked it up. It was about six to seven millimetres in diameter and about eighty-five centimetres long, or so I thought.

"It stings a lot, but it's not as bad as I feared."

The pain was decreasing rapidly as I stood there. My vagina was moist and twitching, but I resisted the temptation to ask for relief.

Janet showed me a video on her laptop of her caning me.

She said, "Observe what I did and how I lined up the cane across your bottom to make sure both cheeks received its sting. Please try to do that to me."

She handed me another cane and knelt on the couch. I could see what looked like older cane marks on her bum.

"You are using my cane for when I am on the receiving end. It gets used on me only!"

"I think I am not the first to cane you."

"No, you are not. A few female pilots have been down this road."

"Hygiene," she said.

"The rule is a new cane for each new bottom being caned. You may keep your cane."

I thought I would, as a fitting memento. The pain was fading rapidly and replaced by pleasurable sensations.

I rubbed the cane across her bum just as she had done to me.

"Are you ready?"

"Yes. Six strokes, please."

I carefully aimed the first stroke, wondering how hard to cane her. The cane went 'tap-tap, crack' just as it had done when Janet caned me. After counting up to thirty, I repeated the action. I thought the mark on her ass was not as pronounced as it was on mine, even allowing for my skin tone.

I gave her stroke number three with more force. She jerked her head but did not make a sound beyond rapid breathing. I carried on in this manner for the remaining three strokes at thirty-second intervals.

At the finish, she slowly stood up and said, "That's the hardest of all the canings I have received, which is over twenty now. You are an expert."

But I was very curious. What was all this about?

"Why did you ask me to receive a caning?"

"We could do many things to assess your ability to handle pain. This medical today has not been only about your physical condition, but how you stand up to unusual requests. It's also about how you handle a situation which would freak out a lot of girls. It would freak out men, too. We need to sort out who are the mentally hard cases."

"In your training, you went through many hard exercises designed to test your stamina and ability to carry on under pressure. What we did today is different. The castor oil test was in part to check on the function of your digestive system and in part to see if you can handle something very unusual and potentially embarrassing."

"It's partly that way with measuring the strength of your pelvic floor muscles. It's a serious matter for female pilots if they suffer a prolapse because of poor muscle tone. The caning was only to see how you would handle something distasteful without warning. Several of the female pilots refuse and they are bound by our disciplinary code never to discuss it."

"My request to be caned was so that you know I am not kinky. It also verified that any kind of unnecessary guilt or excessive or unwarranted concern does not weigh you down. It sounds harsh, but it's important for someone in your position."

"Would you like to keep the vaginal pressure measurement device? You can keep it with two sensor leads, the software, etc. It might be useful as you carry on with your exercise. I have written a note to get it past security at the gate if you get stopped and searched."

"Thank you," I replied. "I'm sure I can put it to use, and I watched how you operated it, so I'm up to speed on it. My partner can watch me use it and I can't wait to see his reaction! There's also the matter of my cane marks, and I'm wondering how he will react to them. This is going to be very interesting!"

Janet laughed again!

I got back into my number two uniform, thanked Janet, and left with the measuring instrument. They stopped me at the gate

They were cheeky and asked, "What is it for?"

"I'm trying to turn my pussy into a sausage machine!"

You should have seen the look on their faces.

Back at the married quarters, Otis was already home.

He saw the look on my face and said, "I think you had an interesting day?"

"I sure did," I replied, closing the blinds. In the bedroom, I stripped off and wrapped a towel around myself. Back in the living room, I bent over the table and lowered the towel.

Otis stared in amazement and said, "Who put those marks on your ass?"

"It was part of the medical but it's not for discussion apart from between us," I replied.

He touched the ridged welts which were turning purple and blue.

"I guess it was a whip or cane that did it?" he asked.

"Yes," I said. "It was a caning. They asked me if I would accept it and I could have refused. It wasn't disciplinary. The Doctor asked me to accept a caning without warning to test my reaction to being asked. She wanted to see how I behaved when receiving it. After she caned me, I caned the Doctor because she said it was not for her gratification and that would be the proof."

"Otis, this is an Air Force internal matter and please, you must never talk about it."

"OK, I understand."

I stood up and went over to a hard wooden chair and sat on it.

"Do I look like I'm in agony?" I asked him.

"No. Honey, it's not right. You should not have to put up with that sort of treatment."

"Sitting on that hard chair on my caned ass makes me feel so horny. Will a nice session make you feel better? I'm sure it will help me feel better, love."

Otis smiled. "Let me take a shower."

We had an en-suite and a separate bathroom. I freshened up in the en-suite, applied my favourite perfume and covered myself with a sheet in the bed.

Whenever Otis had to lift the sheet to get to me, he would always get turned on.

As a way of explanation, I have a contraceptive implant. The Air Force was not keen on us taking the pill with its possible (but rare) medical problems. A problem with the implant is that it can cause skin pigmentation issues. This hardly matters in my case! Otis came to me, lifted the sheet as usual and stared at my cute body as he always does.

We lay beside each other, and foreplay started. He rubbed my bottom, which the doctor had caned only a couple of hours earlier. The sensation of him rubbing the cane marks was lovely, and I knew it was a tremendous turn-on for him.

I was tired after a long and tough day. We made tender love, drifting into sleep at its completion. Sex can be the world's best sleeping pill. I had three days' leave coming, followed by the weekend. Otis had to work for the next two days but had Friday off as leave.

Otis left for work the next morning and I dozed for a while. I got up, showered, had a coffee, and then went for a run. I put on a longer pair of shorts to make sure that there was no chance of displaying a cane mark!

Back home, I tried out the vaginal pressure monitor. This time, I pumped the bulb until it became uncomfortable and on the verge of pain. Then I let out a small amount of air. I made myself feel horny by playing with my clitoris and thinking about good sex. Squeezing three times as hard as I could, I let go of the record button. The laptop revealed my best effort on the second squeeze produced a seventy per cent higher than average reading.

Events at the medical had been a surprise, and the caning had been a turn-on for me. I believed it had also been for Otis, having seen his reaction to the cane marks. We needed to see where our sexual future lay with spanking in mind. But there was more to it, and I waited for Otis to discuss matters.

Otis came home on time and I had fixed a watermelon salad followed by a grilled fish supper. I resisted the temptation to open a bottle of wine.

After supper, while I was clearing up, I said, "I have been thinking about my caning. The doctor would have known about you and your security clearance (the Air Force knew everything). She said about twenty (female) pilots had caned her during their medicals. I wonder how many of us pilots have been involved? If you take all the different categories of pilots, it must be sixty to eighty a year. This would take all the pilot categories into account."