Malady And Therapy

Scott farted, long and loud.

It wasn't intentional. Indeed, it was against all his resolve and the totality of his physical resistance. But those things had proved unequal to the pressure that had massed in his bowels -- a pressure that, thankfully, expressed itself solely in gaseous form.

Standing on line at the Department of Motor Vehicles for ninety minutes can do that even to the strongest of men.

The reactions from his nearby fellow standees were of the usual variety. Some affected not to notice at all. Some turned toward him with a cocked eyebrow and an expression of disdain. A few giggled.

One of the gigglers stood immediately behind him. He turned involuntarily.

She was in her twenties, tall, blonde-haired and blue-eyed, and sported a beautifully slender figure. She wore a nicely tailored, cream-colored skirt suit and matching high-heeled pumps. Her face was flawless; her posture was impeccable; her left hand bore no rings. And he had just farted practically into her face.

Timing had never been Scott's strong suit.

"Uh, excuse me." He grinned and started to turn away.

"It's okay," she said, startling him. "A lot of people have that problem."

Scott hadn't expected a conversation to start over his indiscretion. But the young beauty continued as if he'd merely jostled her in the crowd.

"Does it happen often, or just when you have to stand up for a long time?"

Scott opened his mouth, closed it again, and repressed a giggle of his own. He looked swiftly from side to side, to see if anyone else was following the exchange.

"A lot," he muttered. "Lately it makes me think twice about going anywhere."

"Well, do you eat a lot of beans and legumes?" She regarded him with a cool interest he would have expected of a doctor.

He shook his head. "No more than most people."

"Drink a lot of coffee? I'm Dr. Valerie Arnstein, by the way." She extended her hand.

He shook it. "Uh, I'm Scott Rydell. A cup or two in the morning." He lowered his voice to the edge of audibility. "Why do you ask?"

She smiled. "Because you have to know the circumstances before you can diagnose a malady and prescribe a therapy. Now, if you had said your diet was heavy in beans, the right course would have been obvious: change the way you eat. Or, if you were a six-to-ten-cups-a-day man, I'd have recommended that you try switching to tea. But from what you've told me, your condition is what we call 'essential' flatulence, which requires its own approach."

Her pleasant expression and matter-of-fact tone would have suited a financial consultant. Yet she was talking about Scott's bowels and their impolite habit in front of a few hundred total strangers. Doctors were supposed to be discreet about that sort of thing. He had no idea how to respond.

His body did it for him, with a second rippling emission that sounded for all the world like a chain saw tearing through a tough old tree. His blood rushed to his face so quickly that droplets of sweat burst from his neck and forehead.

She noted his embarrassment and held up a hand. "Don't let it trouble you for now. Let's get through this line and we'll see what we can do for you."

Scott peered at her. "'We'?"

She giggled again. "The medical 'we'. It ain't just for editors, royalty, and people with tapeworms." She briefly laid a hand on his chest. It was soft and warm through his shirt. "Relax and we'll get you sorted out."

***

She ushered him into a windowless room lined with clean white cabinets, a large, industrial-style sink, and a porcelain toilet. At its center stood a large and unusual-looking apparatus. "Take off all your clothes while I get the equipment set up." She donned a white lab coat from a wall hook and pulled open a drawer. "This won't take long."

He regarded the central gadget dubiously. It appeared to be a three way cross between a chair, a table, and a universal gym. All its surfaces were thickly padded. Knurled knobs and friction locks suggested that it could be quickly and variously reconfigured. Fleece-lined cuffs were attached to its members at several points. Along its edges ran an assortment of hoses, wires, and attached control pads.

"Something wrong, Scott?" She'd pulled white latex gloves over her slender hands and was rummaging through a cabinet.

"Uh, no. Just what are we going to do?"

She looked over her shoulder at him with an impish smile. "Nothing serious. we're going to take care of your problem, that's all. Relax and trust me. We renewed our registrations together, didn't we?"

Well, yeah, he thought, but that's a hell of a way to make an appointment for G.I. therapy. Especially with a beautiful young woman doctor I've never met before.

He disrobed and kicked his clothes into the corner. When he'd finished, she scrutinized his frame, noted his musculature and his finely-circumcised erection, and her eyes glinted with amusement. She stepped to the central gadget and turned a knob, and the device configured itself into a horizontal surface that was part cushion and part open-frame, above which stood a tall inverted-U of chromed bars hung with assumedly medical devices.

She gestured at the device. "Scoot yourself through there, put your chin in the cup and position your chest against the cushion."

He slipped between the verticals of the inverted-U and did as she'd ordered. The cushion was surprisingly comfortable against his chest. The chin cup slid out on an extension to accommodate his height. Between the chest cushion and the narrower pelvic support pad, his belly hung between the long members of the device. His genitals rested against a semicircular notch in the pelvic pad that he hadn't noticed. His toes barely brushed the floor, even at full extension.

While he lay there accustoming himself to the sense of exposure and support, she stepped up behind him and swung two semicircular rings out of concealment, against his inner thighs. He heard a knob being turned, and the rings gently pried his thighs apart, spreading his buttocks and exposing his anus. His erection wilted.

"Hm." Her breath tickled his rump. "I don't see anything suspicious on the outer tissue. I'll have to check the inside. Relax."

Even with the warning, the pressure of her lubricated latex fingertip against his anus made him wince and tighten. She didn't try to probe him at once. Instead she massaged the puckered flesh gently, warming it and teasing it into opening.

"I know this is embarrassing, Scott." Her voice was virtually a croon. "But you have an embarrassing condition already, and I'm a doctor. Trust me."

To his surprise, he did, and his orifice relaxed. Her finger slipped inside and wiggled gently about. His erection returned and grew very hard.

"Well," she said, "you're not impacted. So the problem must be further up and in. Have you eaten yet today?"

"Uh, no."

"Good." He heard a set of wheels scrape across the linoleum floor. "This shouldn't cause you any discomfort, then."

His fears spiked and he tried to rise. Valerie's hand came down firmly in the center of his back. Despite his considerable strength, he had no leverage with which to resist her, and he fell back onto his chest. The impact caused the air to puff out of his lungs, momentarily dropping a cloud over his vision and making him dizzy.

When his eyes had cleared, he tried to rise again, and found that he could not move his arms. She squatted before him and stared into his eyes at close range.

"I keep telling you to relax and you keep ignoring me." Her tone had acquired an edge. "If you don't want to have this antisocial problem for the rest of your life, you should do as I tell you!"

He tried to shout in protest, and she quickly slid a rubber plug between his lips. It forced his jaws wide open and protruded to the back of his mouth, not quite far enough to trigger his gag reflex, but enough to keep him from making any sound above a faint mew. She held it in with one hand while she strapped it firmly into place with the other.

He was helpless.

"Men are such babies," she murmured. "You know what you need, and you know I'm the woman to give it to you, but instead of accepting it and being grateful, you complain and resist and make a huge fuss. Well, we'll have no more of that, little boy. You just lie there while I see to your problem."

He had little alternative. His arms were held fast by straps at the wrist and elbow. His legs seemed caught fast by the restraints on his thighs. He could not cry out, whether there was anyone to hear him or not. There'd be no stopping whatever she had planned for him.

He felt her finger re-enter his anus. She resumed wiggling and stretching, as if she were unsatisfied with what she found there, but she said nothing. His body gradually relaxed to the examination, and the sharp edge of his fear began to dull.

Presently she withdrew and grunted ambiguously.

"You've probably needed something like this for a long time. Most men don't appreciate the importance of regular internal cleansings. For you, that will change today."

He heard her step away and run water in the sink for several minutes. When the flow ceased, the room became ominously quiet. Her hand descended on his left buttock, he flinched, and she laughed.

"Haven't I told you to relax enough times yet? You're going to like this, Scott. And I promise you, after this you won't pass gas for at least a week." Her fingers pried his buttocks further apart. He felt a new pressure against his anus, something wide, rounded and slick. She massaged the device against the sphincter for a few seconds, then thrust it home. The sudden distension made him gasp against his gag.

A moment later the sense of invasion muted, and he found himself with a large but strangely comfortable intrusion in his nether channel. He pushed against it experimentally, but it refused to move. Valerie giggled again.

"It necks down at the base, Scott. In the position you're in, you can't expel it. Never fear, I'll take it out when it's time."

She stepped back, he heard a click, and warm water rushed into his bowels. His belly immediately swelled with its new contents. The weight pulled at his skin as if he'd gained twenty pounds entirely in his abdomen.

She stepped around him and crouched. He felt her smear something on his nipples. His penis became a cylinder of rock.

He heard another click, and a current of electricity flowed through his nipples. It made him tense against his restraints with all his strength. Spasms ran the length of his body and churned the fluid bubbling in his belly.

"This is my special variation on a colonic irrigation," she said in a dry professional's voice. "A conventional colonic has some good points, but it also tends to relax the patient so greatly that his body doesn't actually help with its cleansing. So I decided to try to fix that little flaw with some extra stimulation."

He was not master in his body. He was tight against his restraints, straining futilely to escape the bonds on his limbs, the electric goads on his nipples and the river that rushed through his bowels. He could not.

After about three minutes of the combined liquid-electric invasion, Valerie peered into his eyes, nodded, and stepped to his side. Her soft, warm hand closed around his erection and began to stroke it, gently, regularly.

"All kinds of tensions can contribute to a proper evacuation, you know." She still spoke in that dry monotone, but he could hear a purr of excited mastery beneath it. "Most doctors wouldn't think to add sexual tension to a cleansing, and the few that did would mostly be too embarrassed by the idea to try it. But I'm not."

She stroked harder and faster. His muscles strained to their limits.

When he came, it felt as if all his blood and organs were pouring through his penis. It seemed to go on for an hour, a climax that negated all desire and all possibility of resistance. It left him too weak to move, too weak even to think.

He returned to rationality an endless time later. She had un-gagged him, removed the nozzle from his anus, undone his bonds and lowered his feet to the floor. He tried to rise, found that he could barely stand. She slipped her hands underneath his arms and helped him to a plastic chair. It was pleasantly cool against his flesh.

He sat regaining his breath and strength in perfect silence as she caressed his back.

"There," she said. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

He shook his head. "But, Doctor --"

She grinned. "Please, call me Valerie. I'd say we know one another well enough for first names, wouldn't you?"

"Okay, Valerie, was that just for fun, or does it really do any good for a flatulence problem like mine?"

Her eyebrows rose. "You doubt my medical competence and professional ethics, Scott? Oh, the shame of it!" She tossed her head back, miming despair, then crouched before him and took his hands between hers. "Yes, it works. But the effect is temporary. It's a therapy, not a cure. The treatment should be repeated regularly. Every two weeks in normal cases, but when a gas problem is as severe as yours, I'd say we should go for once a week. I can fit you in about this time every week, if you can keep the appointments."

"Uh, sure." He'd be as likely to skip an appointment for this as he would be to turn down a million-dollar bequest. "What about food?"

"What about it?"

"Can I eat normally tonight?"

She giggled. "I certainly hope so. You're taking me out to dinner, you know."

"I am?"

"Of course! Didn't you expect to have to pay for your treatment?"

"Well..."

"And the payment won't stop with dinner." She looked into his eyes from beneath heavy lids as she ran one fingernail along his jaw. "I need therapy, too. Internal massage works best for my problem. Think you might be up to it after some lasagna and Chianti?"

He rose, still a little shaky, and extended an arm. "I'll have my nurse open an account for you. Where would you like to have dinner?"

"Grucci's would be nice. But, Scott?" Her eyes had gone very wide.

"Yes?"

"Get dressed first."

"Uh, okay."