I turn my prescription in at the pharmacist’s counter, trying hard not to blush. As always, he is professional, but with a lift of the eyebrow over the horn-rim spectacles that tells me he has noticed my embarrassment and is delighted in seeing it so vividly displayed on my face.
“This’ll take about 15 minutes, Miss,” he intones flatly, turning his attention to the next customer in line with a final quirk of the eyebrow and a sardonic little grin.
Blushing furiously, I steer the tiny shopping cart away from the counter and cruise through the rest of the store. I figure 15 minutes will fly by if I indulge in a little shopping. The book- and-magazine aisle is uninteresting, save for the latest bodice ripper romance novel. I pick it up to admire the handsome, if overly muscular, male figure, naked from the waist up and frowning sternly down at the impossibly bosomy young blonde in his grasp. Her expression is halfway between horror and delight at being held so, and I feel a ripple of arousal at picturing their delightfully intimate adventures together.
I slip the book into the basket and continue to shop, wondering what exactly he will do with his dewy-eyed, blushing prize once they retire to her boudoir? Will he simply remove her clothing and have his wicked – if very “conventional” – way with her? Or will he, perhaps, try something a little…wilder?
Passing the hair care aisle, I have a luscious – if blush provoking – thought. What if the girl on the cover were the fellow’s runaway wife, and upon returning to their bed chamber, our broad-shouldered heart-throb divested the weeping, sighing, trembling heroine of her garments – slowly, sensuously, and one-by-one – then draped that young lady across his strong, muscular lap for a little bare-bottomed attitude adjustment with her own wooden hairbrush? My fingers trembled as I reached for a broad-backed wooden model, imagining myself as the one about to receive the stinging comeuppance and suppressed a moan. I dropped the brush into my cart, imagining the stern but loving words, “…you know you’ve had this coming for a very long time, my dear!” *CRACK*
“Oh, please, stop – I implore you *sob* I can bear no more!”
*CRACK* *CRACK* “Our reputation, madam, is at stake. As your loving husband, it is my responsibility to take you to task when you stray…”
Oh, how my little gothic heroine would squirm and beg as her spanking progressed. The stalwart disciplinarian of my fantasy would watch as her cheeks changed from alabaster to rose to crimson. Would his equally stalwart manhood quiver erect at the delectable sight of those blushing, well-spanked hemispheres? But of course it would. After her spanking, Milady could look forward to a lot of sighing and cuddling and eventually, the lovers would once again be reunited in the marriage bed, wedded bliss restored.
By now, I was halfway across the store and feeling very moist. I steered the cart into the aisle containing digestive and laxative preparations, and my eye caught sight of a very familiar logo on a pre-packaged enema preparation. And there, nearby, was the familiar red bag syringe. What if Milady’s spanking…weren’t enough?
Would the handsome hero part his wife’s charming buttocks so he could introduce a soapstick – or perhaps a clyster syringe – into her most secret orifice? I envisioned her, still tearful, her adorable little bottom still a brilliant scarlet, held firmly over his lap for an thorough and intimate internal cleansing.
One bronzed arm held aloft the red bag, its white hose coiling toward its target until the hard, lubricated tip disappeared into the soft, rosy folds of her anus. Doubtless, she squirmed as the hose penetrated her bottom and the warm solution began to flow inside her. Did our golden godling stroke her swollen little clit with his free hand? Did she beg her lord and master for release? And of which kind? I had gone from damp to wet. Biting my lower lip, I selected a fountain-type enema bag and syringe and placed them in my cart.
Oh – and as I was passing the prophylactic display, another thought occurred to me. What if our hero decided to finish his wife’s lesson in love and submission by bending her over the tub and taking her bottom – still full of the warm enema? His golden cock, so thick and hard, stands erect and ready. She is bent over and spread, at least submitting to his desire and her own. Her pussy is sopping and her clit stands as erect as his member. Her soft little rosebud – so recently invaded by the enema – twitches and quivers, awaiting a greater penetration. Gently, he parts her rosy bottom-cheeks, aiming the great golden glans at the glistening aperture. As the head slides past her sphincters, she cries out in passion and lust. The thick shaft slips in easily as his hands grip her hips, and she slides back onto him, begging him in a throaty whisper to, “…take me, take me NOW.” Her naughty, spanked and cleansed little bottom is full of him – full to the hilt, and they explode together in a —
“Miss? The pharmacist is calling for you. Your prescription is ready.” The cosmetics counter clerk looks puzzled at my lack of attention and I flash an embarrassed smile her way and wheel toward another encounter with the pharmacist.
The pharmacist has my prescription filled and places it in my hands with a wicked glitter in his eyes, magnified by his spectacles. “If you have any questions about insertion of these suppositories, Miss, just fire away. I’d be glad to…pass on a few pointers.” Spying the syringe in my cart, he cackles. “Well, hopefully you won’t need THAT, Miss. But then again, a good, old-fashioned SSE is the fastest way to clean out yer system when the pipes are clogged!”
Mortified, I slink away from the pharmacist’s counter, aware of his eyes on my retreating back, aware that he is picturing me, spread out or bent over and inserting the enema hose or a suppository into my own lubricated anus, my feminine charms spread for viewing…
I look back at him over one shoulder and manage a wink and a wiggle as I proceed to the check-out stand. A penny for your thoughts, old man. A penny for your thoughts.
