The Affixia Program

Viky Daniels lay on her back, knees to her chest, soles of her feet against her husband's chest as he fucked her. Her hands gripped the bedsheets as he stood on the floor, thrusting in and out, her sex wet and tight around his penis. She gasped and groaned in pleasure--but also discomfort: the night had started with her, naked, over his (clothed) lap getting a hard spanking. It had been applied since she'd resisted getting her full body wax.

She really disliked the full-body wax requirement she'd agreed to. First, it was unpleasant. The Affixia Pre-Wax Powder she used over her legs, her bikini area, and her

armpits made the wax last twice as long but seemed to make it hurt twice as much. Secondly, being required to wax her region--completely--including her anus--was horribly embarrassing and made her feel like she was giving up her hard-won maturity.

She'd put it off and put it off until the calendar date passed from the yellow star on her calendar to the red one. She'd earned yet another punishment. Ted had been good about it--surprisingly good--he'd carried out the disciplinary session giving her no leeway and seeming to enjoy it (if the hardness of his cock was any indication, he was greatly enjoying it). He'd also not been merciful, using the Affixa Red-Bottom cream on her buttocks after the spanking to enhance the burn. She'd squirmed in the corner, naked and boiling, throbbing with embarrassment.

Then it was their sex night--and she did what she'd agreed to. She was allowed to enjoy the sex--and she was frankly amazed at Ted's endurance. He'd never lasted nearly as long before Affixia--but now, he was able to last a solid half hour in her vagina. He was hard enough that she knew she'd have some bruising and soreness.

He also was required not to engage her erect clitoris. She was grunting and moaning--desperate to cum--but she knew she wasn't going to tonight. Those were the rules. She might be able to sneak off and masturbate--very much against the rules--but in bed, he was following the procedure not to stimulate her there. He gave her a slap on her bottom--Ow!

That meant it was time for the bad-girl section of the night. She grunted and rolled over, blushing furiously as she reached back and spread her cheeks. He was applying Affixia lubricant to his still powerfully erect cock. He squirted a generous amount into her anus. She gave a little yip at the suddenly powerful urge to evacuate.

"Push," he said. She felt his cock against her far-too-small anus and while she could not bring herself to bear down (which was what the various pamphlets instructed the subject to do), the lube he'd squirted into her took care of that. The need to poo was overwhelming and despite her attempts to resist, she gasped, her will breaking and pushed internally as hard as she could.

Her attempt was met by his penis sliding in. The lube was fantastic stuff--and her groan was from the size and stretch of her anus more than an unwanted friction. She spent the next ten infinitely-long minutes, desperately trying to push him out.

Her buttocks flared with every slap of his pelvis against her. She moaned into the pillow. It was awful--every bit as bad as the rule book had suggested. Face down, hands balled into fists, she was struck with the power of a building orgasm, one that exploded through her, unwanted, profound. The pain, the humiliation--the degradation--all adding together in a horrible rush moaning.

She knelt to finish him--ass-to-mouth--a session of dominance and subjugation. The Affixia tab she'd dissolved under her tongue meant she didn't gag on his length or girth. The taste and smell was wretched--but that was the lube. Still, him standing as she finally, finally got him to cum, his spend filling her mouth, made unpleasant tasting by the Affixia health pills he took each morning, had her gulping it down.

Her other hand reached under her and held her anus, which was sore, but also still protesting strongly that she must still evacuate! Even if there was nothing there, the lubrication continued its work.

He patted her head as she swallowed the last of him.

"Go to the bathroom," he told her.

Vicky made a little whimper of thanks and ran-waddled, her hand still pressed against her rear.

She sat on the toilet for almost 40 minutes gasping in discomfort. Later she brushed her teeth with the Affixia toothpaste (whitens, cleans, strengthens, and recalls the taste of the last humiliation you felt).

She had been fucked soundly enough that she wore an Affixia pull-up "control panty" with bright pink designs on it, to bed. Ted was asleep when she returned. She snuggled in next to him, drawing her knees up, wishing she could get a hand down and rub her clit, the anal orgasm having softened her--but not relieved the nagging "itch" for sexual resolution she suffered through until sleep.

She didn't use the Affixia sleeping pills because those caused humiliating wet dreams and she'd spurted in bed the time she'd tried it. The idea of wetting the diaper she had on was too mortifying to countenance.

# # #

Saturday Morning

Amy's House - Equal Level in the Affixia Network

Vicky was wearing nothing but an apron as she washed the dishes in Amy's sink. Amy, dressed in pajamas, perched on a stool at the counter, looking over the still red, still slightly swollen buttocks of her friend. She could see the shiny lubrication down the inside of the girl's thighs. She, herself was also uncomfortably aroused, having used one of the Affixia douches that morning. It was explicitly designed to enhance the self-regulation of her vagina and maybe it did, but it also left her powerfully horny and her mind was filled with all sorts of invasive imaginings that were humiliating to contemplate.

She had never thought of herself as bisexual, but watching her friend's well fucked and well-spanked backside was thunderingly powerful. She watched, knowing she was going to leave a wet-spot on the seat.

"I think we should call Hannah," Vicky said, looking over her shoulder. "I couldn't take what I got last night--and I'm going to be getting it a lot."

Amy nodded, considering her own circumstances.

"You think Hanna could do anything?" She wasn't sure--they'd already gotten far enough in that the idea of getting out sounded remote.

"She might--I don't know--she's smart. She knows computers. She's really intelligent... she might have some ideas?"

"Are you sure you want to do something?" It was the question that plagued Amy. She knew she was in deep... something... but while she dearly wanted out of the fix she and her friend were in, she couldn't say with clarity she wanted "out-out."

Calling Hannah would be embarrassing--maybe even humiliating--but while the idea of explanations was horrible, the part of her mind the chemicals in the douche had activated thought that laying it out to Hannah would be a great idea--because it would call the crushing, radiant embarrassment, not even in spite of it.

Vicky returned with two coffee cups. "I don't trust myself to be too far from a toilet today," Vicky said, sourly. "The idea of this being a weekly thing?" She shook her head, face burning with the vivid memory of the humiliating anal orgasm she'd experienced with Ted buried deep in her anus, looking down at her, knowing that while she submitted to the degrading act (and the even more degrading conclusion that would come later), she hated the idea that she would orgasm under it. She had though, one of the strangest and most powerful orgasms of her life.

The feeling she was feeling wasn't exactly confusion--it was a lurking dread, a dread that she might try to escape the gravity of her situation and that when it came to it she would be unable to make that decision. She dressed in her loose sweat pants and t-shirt and they called Hannah.

Hannah had been in intermittent contact with the two since high school. They'd gone to state colleges, her to CalTech. They'd joined sororities, she'd joined the math club. She had some kind of high end financial analyst and consulting job that they hadn't been able to figure out even when she tried to explain it.

Amy called her and told her they had a problem and needed her help: something... strange was going on and they couldn't get their heads around it.

# # #

Hannah was surprised to get a call from the girls. Six years ago in high school they'd been popular beautiful girls. They were cheerleaders and pep-squad captains and they'd used their social power in some unpleasant ways. They hadn't exactly bullied her--but their commands skirted around it.

They'd dragged her to parties and made her participate. She hadn't hated that, but it was clear to her that she was being treated as a project or 'pet.' If she refused to go, they could make her life very unhappy so she did as they told her. She'd even "practiced kissing" with Vicky, something that she'd found humiliating if somewhat hot.

In school they'd told her she should join one of the Greek Clubs--they'd given her suggestions on the houses and told her some graphic things about the initiation hazing that had given her unpleasant dreams. It wasn't that she disliked the two girls who had deigned to be "friends" with the shy, not-gorgeous, social shut-in whether she liked it or not, it was that she was aware of the social power difference between them and that they definitely had the capacity to be cruel if she openly defied them.

Then, out of the blue, something was going on that they couldn't figure out. They needed her brain. As she drove through the middle-class suburbia she looked out at the bright HOA-approved completely tamed lawns and the over-big SUVs and various stickers declaring various domestic icons and accomplishments.

She pulled in, and got out. She was powerfully aware of her clothing--she'd worn a long skirt and blouse like she'd wear to an interview. The two girls she'd seen on social media and remembered in person from high school seemed effortlessly beautiful. She rang the bell and Amy opened the door.

Hanna was surprised to see her still in pajamas. It was clear from the look on her face that something was very wrong. Not dire--but concerning. Amy waved her inside and walked a bit awkwardly to the living room. Hanna followed.

"Hannah!" Vicky sat on the sofa, holding a coffee cup. On the table before her were laid out a bunch of cosmetics, it looked like, and glossy printed materials in pinks and beiges. She thought, with sudden horror that this might be a Multi-level Marketing call.

At first, she was sure she wasn't wrong about that.

The girls had both gone to an Affixia meeting in an upscale hotel where they had heard the dazzling claims about how The Program could improve their lives. Vicky explained that the pitch was compelling: stay at home (if you wanted to), Great Products (with capital letters) you Could Not Get Anywhere Else (also with capital letters), and best of all: Guaranteed Results (capital letters with trademarks).

Hannah listened to them explain The Pitch--a meeting that had signed up, so far as they knew, everyone who had come. It was allegedly No Risk. Hannah, having listened to this, thought they needed a lawyer more than her, even if she did have a lot of skills in math and logic.

Then, they said, they started The Program.

"The Program," Hannah repeated. This was some kind of cult? Something they would try to press her into? Would she stand up to them? Now that they were all out of school, she felt sure she could avoid any blowback from hurt feelings if she just got up and left--but another part of her knew that if these two leaned on her, she'd fold. She'd been doing it for three years even when some of the requirements had made her terribly uncomfortable. That little voice warned her she wouldn't stand up to these two now.

"What does The Program make you do? Sell this stuff?" She waved a hand over the items on the table.

"No," Vicky said quickly. "They make you buy it."

"Buy it." Hannah was trying to work out how the scam worked. Surely they didn't just make people buy Affixa branded toothpaste or whatever. That was no way to run a pyramid...

"You have Pink Dollars and Blue Dollars," Vicky explained, tentatively. Hannah could see Vicky knew how it sounded. She plunged ahead anyway. "So you have to spend the Pink Dollars on the catalog and use them. That gets you Blue Dollars--also your upline--"

Hannah frowned.

"It's an advanced member who has completed parts of The Program already and they can issue you Blue or Pink Dollars. It's called an Allowance. They do mentoring and... things. Help if you're struggling---like that."

"Like that," Hannah said. "You get issued these dollars and you buy--" she gestured at the coffee table. "This stuff? What is this stuff?"

Vicky blushed--she was clearly very embarrassed by this but she got up and moved around to sit nearer to Hannah. "This is... this is Pink Dollar stuff," she said quietly. "The Program comes with all these rules--and you follow the rules to get Blue Dollar stuff--if you break the rules you get more Pink Dollar things."

She made a face.

"You don't--" Hannah started. "You don't want Pink Dollar stuff?" Both Amy and Vicky shook their heads. "But you buy it?"

"You have to spend the Dollars," Amy said.

Hannah picked up one of the tubes. She examined it, brow furrowed. She looked up glancing at both girls. "This is rubbed on either the urethra or the anus and causes urgency and... voiding?"

Vicky was red faced. She nodded.

Hannah looked at the canister next to it. She opened it up. Inside was a fine green powder. It had a sharp, unpleasant smell of pee. She read the label marked, simply, Green.. "Place in the bowl, below the squatting subject, and encourage them to retain their bathroom needs."

Vicky and Amy exchanged looks.

"What--what is the point?"

The point, it turned out, was the 'Blue Dollar' things.

# # #

3 Months Ago in the conference room of the Wolfdorn Resort Hotel. Vicky and Amy had attended the Affixia convention together after hearing hints about it and seeing some brief but mysterious testimonials online. Information was maddeningly hard to come by: there were references all over but details were scarce and it seemed most of the conversation was people outside the program talking about it.

It sounded like a multi-level-marketing scheme with people talking about how their coworker had gone off to some retreat or how their friend was ordering packages from Affixia--sometimes wearing branded shirts or, erm, panties.

There had been a several of unsuccessful attempts to "infiltrate" Affixia meetings. Two were turned away at the door--firmly but politely. Three of them... three of them went in and that was the last the producers heard from the infiltrators.

It was mostly pitched to women. Mostly those in a relationship or not in a relationship but very much wanting to be. It was about 20% male or less--it was impossible to be sure. Affixia, so far as anyone knew, owned factories in South Korea and some African nations. They manufactured, according to the material, lifestyle and cosmetic goods. They had some kind of agreement with Gwyneth Paltrow's Goop. The exact products and goods were impossible to nail down.

Amy wasn't any kind of computer genius but she wasn't dumb and had tracked down images of an Affixia 'catalog.' It was illegible. The text looked like several type faces and colors overlaid. The images were out of focus and looked like a cross between 3D red and blue images and those magic eye things. The whole catalog was like that. Impossible to read, but printed on glossy paper with high production values.

What had convinced the girls to go was an invitation from Kate Landis. Kate had been a year ahead of them in school and went to an ivy league university. She'd been the prototypical "mean girl." Both Vicky and Amy had been in fear and awe of her in high school and relieved when she graduated.

When she appeared on their instagrams, it was clear she had absolutely "made it." Handsome husband, Bentley SUV, and absolutely gorgeous pouting photoshoots. It was, as is social media's way, envy inducing--but she included a few "unboxing" images (and a couple of videos) of Affixia gear. These were quiet in the ASMR way with her voice, a silky purr, bringing hard to identify items out of the delivered boxes.

There was an air of trepidation or, what they now knew, was embarrassment at bringing the material out. She talked a little bit about how the "unboxing" was one of the more advanced rules and how it might be hard to follow the rules--but it was well worth it.

She attributed her and Greg's (her husband's) relationship to The Program--to Affixia. It was an off-hand remark that linked his success to The Program--but what she said more concretely (if only slightly) was that they'd been having a rough patch in their young marriage, but her joining Affixia had solved the problem. Sorted it out. Now it was a different kind of hard, apparently--but one she vastly preferred... most of the time.

This had been the opposite of a sales pitch, Amy had thought. She'd asked questions though, and Kate, of course, remembered her from school. She'd said they didn't disclose--that was the word she used 'disclose.'--but she sent Amy and Vicky invitation codes for the next Affixia sign up.

She said she highly recommended it... but they should listen carefully and make their own decision.

Vicky had joked that she had sold her soul.

"I wish," Kate had said, laughing. Vicky hadn't known what that meant.

# # #

"It's called Mystery Marketing," Hannah said, frowning. "The online posts are probably from Affixia itself--part of an underground effort to build interest and curiosity. They do it for movies sometimes."

"Affixia has been in business for like five years," Vicky said. "That's pretty long for a mystery. Plus, they have some stores in big malls. I don't know how that works--but they do have a presence."

"What do they sell?" Hannah asked.

"Stuff," Vicky said. "I mean, a bunch of different things. Big plush stuffed animals, cute pajamas, branded underwear, teas, uh... they have like an Affixia Tarot deck. I mean, it's a bunch of different stuff--but once you're in The Program, you understand it better. You can pay with normal money--or with Pink or Blue Dollars if you're In. They have some areas you can't see into unless they take you."

Hannah sat back. None of this made sense.

"Okay? So you got the invite..."

Vicky nodded. "I--we--well, seeing Kate kind of, I don't know, glowing, you know? I was curious."

Amy nodded. "Like a cat."

# # #

The conference room of the Wolfdorn Resort Hotel was a big wood paneled room with expensive plush carpet and soundproofed walls. They came in past a two-stage entry gate. The first checked Id and the pass code. The second re-checked them and asked them to stow their phones in sealed bags that blocked signals. They were 'wanded' for any electronics or other metal and then waved past.

The workers were all women and dressed in light pink uniforms reminiscent of old Pan Am stewardess outfits. They were smiling and friendly and did a good job of putting the guests at ease despite the strangely high security.

Inside were a few rows of seats--12 and a set out set of expensive looking desserts cookies (also in pink) and "designer" coffee.

There was one man out of the 12 people there and no one looked very comfortable or especially happy. When the hostess woman clapped sharply for them to take their seats, everyone scurried. At the lectern was an Affixia logo and behind it was a large projection screen. A well coiffed woman in her late 40's and absolutely gorgeous stepped up and smiled out at the group.

"Welcome. I'm pleased to meet all of you on the cusp of making the best decision of your lives!"