The Treatment 1

About six months ago, I had a meeting with the Ministry of Accountancy where I surrendered all of my debts - to the tune of 50,000 dollars - and dealt with the Court for some sort of consolidated repayment plan. Under the statutes, they didn't have to. Many of the debts were beyond the 120 day limit for appeal and one was even to the Ministry of Social Protection. I wasn't too surprised when they denied my claim for repayment installments, but I was terrified when they ordered, quite casually, the seizing of all my personal assets and a sentence of 30 days in the Ministry's Behavioral Correction's facility.

My saving grace what that I had 30 days to come up with the balance before everything I owned would disappear, I lost custody of my three children and became a slave to the Regent cleaning highways and rest stops or having new drugs tested on me. I made every effort to find the money, begging borrowing and - sadly - stealing it where I could. But by the 25th day, I knew I couldn't get all 50 thousand. I appealed to the court to accept 22 thousand and extend my deadline, but it was too late.

While I stood in the courtroom before three men in powdered wigs, enduring their stares that seemed to spend more time between my breasts than my eyes, I felt as though I were simply another case to be refiled before lunch. The lead jurist was a burly man in his late sixties that all but stated that I wasn't worthy of a third chance and someone like me should have done anything possible to repay the debt before losing everything. I could only wonder what he was thinking I could have done beyond ruining every friendship and straining ties with my family to repay debts in amounts most of my debtors lose over the course of a day's production. I left quite lost and powerless.

As I left the court room, I noticed a man in a dark suit with sunglasses and a goatee beard sitting in the gallery, writing on a note pad. He looked up at me and smiled as I passed. He followed me with his eyes as I slipped out the double doors and made notes the entire time. I turned back around as the doors were closing and watched him rise, turning to the court as he did. With that, I turned around and held my head up for the walk home. When I got there, I wept.

The order came by courier the next morning. It wasn't the order I had expected. It didn't say to surrender myself to the Ministry as it should have. It didn't say that I should prepare for movers to take away my home. It didn't announce that I would never see my children ever again. It said, very simply, that I was under house arrest until further action was filed with the Court. The courier, acting under the authority of the Court, made me sit down on my front steps while he locked a plastic ring around my ankle intended to track my location. I looked up and saw my neighbors and passersby watching him clamp the blinking ring around my ankle. I felt ashamed, as though someone had stitched a scarlet "A" on my breast. I knew the punishment had begun.

The courier couldn't explain what the Order meant and he referred to the name on the bottom: Dr. Anaxandros of Darwin Street. I tried to call, but there was no answer. I knew the address was less than a mile from my home, but I was not permitted to leave. So I went about my business, trying Anaxandros' office from time to time. Not expecting movers or police, I changed into jeans and a T-shirt, listened to some Vivaldi and returned to boxing up my belongings in case there was a change.

About noon, there was a knock at my front door. As I rose to answer, my heart pounding in my chest, it opened and a voice bellowed, "Hello? Ms. Denis?" I stood up quickly, walking around the corner to see the man from the courtroom coming up the stairs toward me, a broad smile on his face. He still wore the sunglasses and carried the note pad with him. He must have been startled by my expression because he stopped on the last step and said, "Don't worry. Its all good. I'm not here to take you away. That's all been taken care of."

I breathed a sigh. I was still nervous what was going on and why he was here. He was about six foot, wore a suit pretty well. About average build for a bureaucrat in his early thirties, but he had a disarming smile. I felt I could trust him...to a degree.

"Miss Denis...Sandi. My name is Dr. Anaxandros. I specialize in personal and group therapy. My work involves training people and companies to be more financially and socially responsible. The Court has seen fit to allow me to take your case for you and passed your sentence to me."

"What does that mean?" I asked, assuming from his smile that this was a good thing.

"Well, Sandi. I've covered your debts. As far as repayment, your credit is clear and no further action will be taken against you by the Court. As a result of the hearings, your six months incarceration will be...well I cant' find a pleasant way to put this...with me."

I stood there. He looked me over. For the first time, I had doubts. I was a bit nervous. He allowed himself, very casually, to look over my body, lingering on my breasts and my hips. I felt my face grow hot. "What does that mean exactly?"

"Do you always keep your guests in the hallway this long? I'd love to continue this conversation, but I would like to sit down."

I returned to reality of formality for a moment, apologizing like a little girl and escorting him to the living room. He walked behind me and I could feel his eyes on my ass. My jeans were tighter than they needed to be and I felt maybe I could get into his better graces by swinging it a little more than usual down the hall.

"Nice place" he said, looking at my certificates on the wall and the art hanging beside and across from them. As we entered the box-filled living room, I turned, giving him a smile I hope didn't look too nervous. "Tea?"

"Thank you, no. I've been in court finalizing these papers all morning and I'd like to sit down." I didn't notice before in the dark hallway, but he had a black satchel over his shoulder that he took off and set next to his chair as he sat. I stood for a moment uncertain what I should do.

"I can see you're a little nervous. That's to be expected. The first thing I would like you to understand..." he smiled again sweetly and politely. "...and pardon my frankness, Sandi, is that you are now property of Anaxandros Industries and serve directly me in all business-related matters."

I blinked, unsure what to say. He pulled out papers from his note pad. I recognized them as court orders from the black headings at the top and the embosses seals. I took a chair across from him.

He continued. "I've also been given permission to classify you as test subject for our new therapy program."

"What?!" I exclaimed. I covered my mouth and stared.

"Did my words not make sense? Should I speak slower, Sandi? Smaller words, maybe?"

I could only blink and wait for him to explain. I felt a growing terror in my belly and inside my brain that kept me from moving or thinking. This was what the Ministry was doing to me as punishment. I should have known it wasn't a pardon or a better deal. I shifted in my chair. He didn't speak for a minute. I remember words coming out of my mouth, high-pitched, high-volume pleas for mercy and forgiveness. The entire time, he just stared at me, occasionally nodding, but completely unimpressed by my hysterics.

The longer he sat there, the more frustrated I became. I turned it on him, calling him names and shrieking. I said something that snapped him out of his complacent silence and his sudden snap to attention caused me to freeze. My throat hurt, my face was hot and wet with tears, but I couldn't leave his dark eyes.

He glared back at me like a disappointed father. It burned. "Have I raised my voice to you, Sandi? Do I give you the impression that I'm hard of hearing?"

"No, of course not."

"Then I expect you to remain composed and under control at all times. Do you understand me?"

I felt my flesh creep. My face boiled and I felt my anger swelling in my stomach. I paused too long for his taste.

"I asked if you understood me. Did you understand the question?"

"Yes. Yes I did. I just..."

"Then you will refrain from further outbursts."

"How dare you come into my home and..." I found myself saying it without thought. He was glaring at me, his eyes showed no concern for me. He was talking as to a child. I was angry. He stood up, placed the clip board to one side and approached me. He went down on one knee and drew near my face. He took my wrists in his hands and pinned them to the sides of the chair. He locked eyes with me.

"First of all. This is no longer your home. I own it. I own it as I own everything inside it. That, Sandi, includes you." He paused and saw another wave of tears welling in my eyes. He changed his tone. He spoke softly, but pointedly, "I know this is culture shock for you. I know this is a great change. But I won't tolerate a fight. If I need to exercise my power, I will."

"What...power?" I asked, feeling the sting in my wrists as the wood ground against the bone.

He smiled. He pulled my chair forward, forcing my legs out around his waist. He put his mouth on mine and bit my bottom lip gently. "Don't ask." he whispered. I felt sweat rolling down my face. He stood up and I noticed the lump in his pants as he stepped back to his seat. He sat uncomfortably. I gasped.

"Now," he continued flustered. "This program consists of behavioral modification therapy. I have been asked to attempt to change your behavior. Success will mean wide implementation to others like yourself with social defects."

He said it to test me. I knew it. I said nothing.

"When we're done, you'll go before the Court and give a testimonial to me and I will recommend you be released and your credit cleared."

"What is this therapy?"

"Very simple. Over the next thirty days we will have lessons and workbooks on the financial aspects of your life. I've pulled all your records and examined them. I know much about your spending habits and your tastes, so we'll work on living within your means. The rest of your time will be spent either with me in psychological or physical therapy."

I felt another wave of panic.

"When do I see my children?"

"If all goes well, at the end of the program. I'll have them waiting for you in court on the day I release you. Your free time will depend on how well you respond to my treatments." He took a moment and consulted his precious clip board. "First thing is first," he added casually. "I need to administer a proper medical exam. I'll need to you disrobe."

I blinked at him. Here was a man who, just moments ago, barged into my home, had manhandled me and announced he owned me. I wasn't about to strip for him. "Absolutely not. My medical records are up to date."

He blinked at me. There was no glare. I was grateful for that, but he sat back in his seat and repeated, "I'll need you to disrobe."

I didn't move. He made a note on his clipboard. Putting it aside, he stood up. He crossed to my chair and lifted me to my feet by my shoulder, wrenching it slightly. I followed up to my feet. The sharp pain caused me to lash out and I slapped him HARD across the face. My nails scratched him on his left cheek and left a rising welt.

He still had his hand on my arm and let his hand slide to my forearm. I was still startled by what I had done when he twisted my arm backward around my back and up until the pain was intolerable. He turned me toward an open door that was my bed room. He took me to the doorway and threw me forward onto my bed.

"I'm going to find your bathroom. When I get back, I expect you on the bed and prepared for the exam."

With that, he was gone down the hall. I heard him checking doors along the far hall. I thought about the baseball bat in my closet. I thought about the lamp on my dresser. Then I saw the picture of my three children and lost all of my anger. If I fought, he'd leave and report that I was uncooperative. I turned the picture down and unzipped my jeans. I slid them off onto the floor and removed my T-shirt. I removed my panties and bra and folded them on my night stand. I felt a chill, so I put a robe on from my closet, ignoring the urge to pick up my bat and hold it under my robe. I wondered what he would do when he returned. He was aroused. I saw it. He had kissed me...sort of. Was I going to be raped? Was he going to...kill me? Was any of this real? Was any of it legal?!

I heard running water and the closing of the bathroom door. I heard his footsteps in the hall, passing into the living room and back to the open bedroom door. He carried the satchel with him. He stepped into the room and placed it on the bed next to me. He had removed his tie and jacket. There were a few drops of blood on his shirt and there was a good amount of swelling on his cheek. I felt a combination of regret and glee for it. He looked at me strangely, not defeated, but disappointed.

"Stand up." He said flatly. I did. He turned the lights off and removed some tools from his bag. He examined my eyes, ears and throat and asked me questions about my eating and sleeping habits. It was very routine, meticulous and clinical. He asked about my sex life. I told him I had lived alone and only had two partners in the past three years. He removed m robe and I felt a chill. Both the air and my vulnerability caused me to shudder.

He grunted and said, "I think now we can afford to run the heat." He ran a hand over my back and around my waist. He told me to lay back on my bed. Sitting next to me, he used both hands to fondle my left breast. He spent a long time caressing it. He then moved to the right breast. He made a few notes on his pad and went into his bag before ordering me to lift and spread my legs. He went to his needs and I moved my ass to the edge of the bed, spreading my legs wide. I had this exam every year, so I knew what was coming. He had been professional, even sensual about his exam of me so far. I felt safe enough to allow him his "fun" for now.

He placed a hand on my thigh and I felt a tingling in my pussy. I thought how he could simply take me at any moment, how he could be inside me, fucking me in seconds. I heard the snap of a rubber glove and felt a finger trace the outline of my vagina. I tensed a bit and let out a squeak. He placed his hand back on my thigh and held it firmly as his other hand explored me. He slid his finger around over my clitoris and let it sit too long for a simple exam. He began rubbing it. I let out a gasp. I wanted him to continue, but he stopped, sliding his index and middle finger inside me. I clamps my hands on sheets and tried not to register and pleasure. I felt a growing wave of tension in my pussy. I thought about his hands on my wrists and how that strong hand was clenching my tender thigh. His strong fingers burying themselves inside me. I fought to control it, but I knew I was drenching him down below.

I didn't realize until he pulled out his fingers that I had been moaning audibly the entire time. He inserted something warm, pliable into me, the size of a beer bottle. It startled me, but I welcomed it. He slid it in easily and I nearly came when he shoved it into me and rotated it inside. It was there for a minute or more and I gave up control. I moaned and called out. I felt it vibrate slightly and felt Anaxandros' fingers brushing my clit...I came in a long, strong wave and collapsed. It was the first orgasm I'd had in years.

I couldn't move. I lay over the edge of the bed, spent and exhausted. My chest swelled and dropped quickly and my heart pounded, but I slowly returned to normal. But I still couldn't move. I had no strength. Anaxandros removed the device from me. I felt my vagina close tightly. It felt tighter, stronger somehow. Anaxandros sat up on the bed beside me and wiped the hair out of my face. I could see he was sweating, too. Anaxandros touched me - for the first time for pleasure instead of examination. He ran a hand from my neck down my body and used his other hand to unbuckle his belt.

"You'll be fine, Sandi. If you don't have any objections, I am going to fuck you."

I looked up at him. I couldn't fight him if I wanted to. I followed him as he stood up and unzipped his pants. His eight-inch cock was free. He approached me and I closed my eyes. He put his hands on my waist and pulled himself into my wet pussy. Even so, I felt my vagina constricting against his cock. It was almost painful to feel him enter me, filling me almost as if it were my first time. I knew he wasn't using protection. I didn't know him or where he'd been. If he'd done this with other women. He didn't lay on top of me. He didn't fondle me or kiss me. He simply fucked me. I couldn't see his face, but felt him swelling as he penetrated and withdrew, penetrated and withdrew, each time filling my tightening hole with a growing cock. I don't know how long he fucked me. He wasn't fucking me for my pleasure. He was simply enjoying himself with me and I knew it. He stopped abruptly and I knew he was going to cum. I wanted to tell him it was okay...that I wanted it...but I stayed quiet. Soon, however, the spasms faded and I felt him slowly rocking back and forth again. He slid his cock out of my pussy slowly.

Without a word, he turned my on my belly. His cock slick with my own juice, he positioned himself at my asshole. This time, I tried to resist. I used all the strength I had. I'd never been fucked that way and didn't want it. I managed to crawl away and up onto the bed, but that was worse. He grabbed my waist and climbed up, wedging his cock between my ass cheeks. He pinned me to the mattress and inserted himself. I cried out as The swollen head passed through first. I felt his hands on my breasts from behind and he squeezed them hard as he drove himself deeper into my bowels. He was raping me, fucking my ass like a common thug. He drove himself half way and stopped. He pulled back and entered again, deeper this time. I muffled my objections in the pillow and let myself go limp.

He leaned over me, cock driving to the hilt into me and he said, "That was for the slap. If you ever do that again, I'll use what I used on your pussy here. Now, you will make me come inside you. Fuck me."

I tried to oblige, rocking back against him, taking him into my most uncomfortable place. Soon, he was spasming again and I felt him explode into me. He took my by the hips and made one last powerful thrust. Then it was over.

I woke on the bed. I was covered to the neck in blankets. The pain in my bottom was muted. I was groggy. The room was empty. Trying to sit up, I noticed the black satchel beside the bed, but Anaxandros was nowhere in sight. I felt the cold metal of my ankle bracelet. My pussy ached and throbbed, sore from the "treatments" My bottom was sore, but less so than I would have expected.

I lay in bed, listening to rain outside my window. It was relaxing. I looked at the clock. It read 12:05, which was odd because it was well after 2 when I received the courier's message. It was gray outside, but not dark. Had I slept through an entire day? I didn't feel rested. I felt, if anything, exhausted. I wasn't hungry or thirsty. I just felt tired.

Suddenly, Anaxandros was there, sitting by my bed. I caught him in mid-sentence.

"...and you'll be ready for the next lesson soon. You're doing very well."

Then he was on me again, under my sheets, but it was as if he were just there, with the intervening moments cut out like a strip of film out of a movie. It was so sudden that I took a deep breath and came loudly as he slammed himself against my cervix. He spilled cum into me at the same time, deep into me.

Another moment and I was lost in the ebbing tide of my own orgasm, drifting to sleep. He was using my body and I was powerless to stop him. I rode a gray cloud, feeling pulled and bent and turned, my heart pounding and my breath robbed from my chest. I see myself standing in my hallway, dressed in tight black leather and tights, hands on a rope...a whip...with Anaxandros standing across the room in his suit smiling at me. On the floor I see a naked man in a fetal ball, bloodied by whip marks, and crying, cum on my wood floor and over his naked thigh...