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12 Days of Christmas Day 9
He woke. The bed was a mess, but he felt as if the fog had lifted from his mind. He didn’t know what she was trying to do to him, but he was definitely going to put a stop to it. He knew she was not yet awake in the Caribbean, but he phoned her anyway. Of course it went to answerphone. 

Plucking up all his courage, he tried to tell her that he wasn’t enjoying the presents, and it was time to stop all this nonsense and for her to come home. Unfortunately, his stutter came back, as it usually did when he tried to speak firmly to her, and his voice cracked a couple of times. His message ended on more of a querulous, pleading note than he had intended. 

He was so annoyed with himself he stomped his feet a couple of times, and when he went to the kitchen  and found no food except a few bottles of beer, he threw a plate, which smashed against the mirror. After several moments of horror and guilt, he decided to get gloriously, manfully drunk. ‘That'll show her!', he thought. He ripped up the list on the fridge door and reached for the beer. 

Later that day, he was woken from a drunken stupor by the sound of heels clicking on the wooden floor of his apartment. Three pairs of heels. 

The pretty girl from the clinic was flanked by two middle aged ladies in nurses uniforms. They both looked as if they would not put up with any nonsense, and appeared tall and muscular from his vantage point on the sitting room floor. 

His head pounded. 'How can I get out of this' he thought to himself. Rather feebly, he tried to get up. 'Hey what are you doing in here? It’s a private apartment!' 

'An apartment that belongs to GWorld', said the pretty girl. 'Have you taken your pills today? Or listened to your tapes?'

He adopted a surly tone. 'No, and I’m not going to. You can’t make me. I don’t want to...'

The whiny note in his voice was cut short by  the burly nurses picking him up and carrying him to the shower. 

While one of them washed him in the cold water, he couldn’t quite hear the other nurse and the pretty girl talking. 

‘He’s trying to fight the conditioning. Again!'  

'Yes but the fight's going out of him. I’m sure he'll be ready in 3 days. He wore the number 2 plug even when he was rebelling!' 

'We can’t take the risk. He’s supposed to be ready for Dr Brechermann when she gets back'.

‘We’d better take him to the Clinic this afternoon. A couple of nights in the Shell will make sure he is ready'.

'What about the dresser? He’s meant to have opened all his presents'.

'That's OK, we’ll bring him back here for the day. His habits need to be reinforced'.

'Alright, let’s give a pill now and take him to the Clinic'.

'I agree, Doctor'.

The cold shower and the vigorous scrubbing had taken the life out of him. He wasn’t surprised that he was bent over to have the number 2 plug removed and another suppository inserted, followed by the number 3. He was surprised that he wasn’t forced to endure an enema cycle. 

The nurses put him in a pink surgical gown, and strapped him into a wheelchair. The pretty girl emerged from the bedroom holding a pair of panties from the stash, and fitted them over his face. 

‘Wouldn’t want to go out in public without your panty mask, would you, baby?' She whispered into his ear. ‘Wouldn’t want to be naked...'

It was true. Although the larger plug was pressed inside him further by the wheelchair, and couldn’t be ignored, and the wrist and ankle cuffs bit into him, deep inside he knew he couldn’t fight. Her scent on his nose and the anonymity the face panties gave him was a comfort, and despite the pressure, so was the plug.  

Whatever drug was in the suppository was doing its work, too, and it was a relaxed and docile patient who was wheeled into a waiting ambulance. 
Great to have you back, Bonzodoug- and with a sinister edge it would seem. He is already regretting his actions but I think what he is about to experience may well bring him in line longer term.  Big Grin

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