After that night in the motel, I couldn’t shake the memory of Amelia’s warm hand in my hair or the card she slipped into my browned briefs—“Call me for a good time,” it said, with that cryptic "clinic" address. Days turned into weeks, and the humiliation faded into something else—a nagging itch, a pull I couldn’t ignore. I kept picturing her green eyes, the way her stilettos gleamed, and the others’ laughter echoing down the hall. What was the dare really about? Why me? And what the hell was this "clinic"? I swore I’d never go back, but one whiskey-soaked night, I grabbed the card and dialed the number.

Her voice purred through the phone, smooth as jasmine. “Took you long enough,” Amelia teased, like she’d been waiting. She gave me an address on the edge of town—the clinic—and told me to come alone. My gut twisted with dread, but my legs moved, pulled by her pull.

When I got there, the place looked teetering between a sterile medical office and a sleazy massage parlor, white walls clashing with dim red lights, a faint hum of something mechanical in the air. Amelia stood at the door, a vision in a tight white latex nurse outfit—short skirt, plunging neckline with a red cross, crisp doctor coat draped over it hinting at something darker beneath. Her blonde hair was swept up, loose strands glinting, and sleek white heels clicked softly. Her green eyes gleamed through a mask covering all but them, her perfume intoxicating. “Welcome to my clinic,” she said, voice low and commanding. “Before round two, I need to ensure you’re fit to survive what we’ve got in mind.”

The others girls lounged nearby, their doctor coats doing a half-hearted job of masking erotic outfits, arousing anyone sharp enough to notice. Sasha’s jet-black hair spilled over a red vinyl bodysuit, the coat open to reveal a low-cut top and fishnet stockings, red platform heels peeking out, her dark eyes glinting through her mask. Tara’s pixie cut framed a green leather harness under her coat, short and laced tight, green ankle boots lacing up her calves, her playful grin sharp behind the mask. Chloe’s fiery red hair cascaded over a silver metallic bustier, the coat barely covering slashed hips, silver thigh-high boots shimmering, her electric presence undeniable. Lila’s chestnut curls tumbled over a black PVC corset, the coat parting to show a micro-skirt and garters, black mules dangling, her wicked eyes piercing through the mask.

“Strip,” Amelia ordered, snapping on her white extended-cuff gloves with a loud crack that echoed ominously, her eyes locking with mine and hinting at something far more sinister than I’d envisioned upon arriving. My hands shook. “Do I have to?” I stammered, voice cracking. She smirked, twirling her stethoscope. “You’ll do what Nurse Amelia says tonight, sweetie.” I shed my shirt and jeans, left in my tighty-whities. Amelia’s gaze zeroed in on my nether regions. “Your member’s starting to get excited,” she said with a smirk, her voice teasing. I flushed, covering myself with both hands, and shuffled slowly toward the exam table. The paper crackled under me, cold and clinical.

Amelia pressed a stethoscope to my chest, her gloved fingers brushing my skin, our eyes meeting again. “Breathe deep,” she murmured, her hair grazing me as she listened front and back, her masked gaze unrelenting. My heart raced—nerves and heat colliding. “Vitals are solid,” she said, stepping back. “Now, to be sure you’ll survive round two, let’s take your temperature.” I blinked. “Lie down, prone,” she commanded. “What’s that?” I asked, voice small. Tara giggled. “Face down, dummy—you’ll get it soon.”

I flipped onto my stomach, the paper crinkling louder. Amelia’s mask showed only her eyes, her twisted hair brushing my back as she snapped her gloves again, the sound igniting me, my underwear tightening. She tugged my waistband, pulling it down slowly, and as my butt crack peeked out, a shiver ran down my spine, cold and electric. “Wait—what are you—” I started, but she chuckled, “Too late now.” She spread my legs wide, squeezed lube onto her fingers, and rubbed my hole—inside and out, teasing me open. My dick gradually enlarged, causing an erection pressing painfully against the table. She noticed and giggled, a soft, wicked sound. “Hold still,” she said, mock-stern. “Not time for that yet.” She lubed a rectal thermometer and slid it in, cold metal hitting my sensitive flesh. I clenched, gasping, as she shook it in and out to tease me, her eyes glinting. “Too easy,” she murmured, leaving it in for five minutes. When she pulled it out, I thought it was over and reached for my underwear, but she snatched it and tossed it across the room. “Not so fast,” she grinned, seductive and evil. Then she peeled off her white gloves, and snapped on a fresh pair of black latex exam gloves, the sharp crack echoing, a deliberate flex of dominance that told me exactly what she had planned next.

The others closed in, their coats shedding to reveal their "outfits"—Sasha’s red vinyl, Tara’s green leather, Chloe’s silver metal, Lila’s black PVC—masks hiding all but eyes and hair, their presence suffocating. “He’s so cute when he’s helpless,” Chloe cooed, grabbing my arm. “No getting away now,” Lila purred, taking the other. They yanked me to the table’s edges—Sasha at my head, Tara at my feet—snapping leather handcuffs tight, locking me prone and spread-eagle. “Please, what’s happening?” I pleaded, voice breaking. Tara laughed. “Round two, silly—just starting.” They fetched their toys—each a tool designed to "punish the patient": Sasha’s studded crop, Tara’s ribbed paddle, Chloe’s tasseled flogger, and Lila’s thin whip.

Now they had complete access to my ass, and I was more vulnerable than ever. Amelia went towards the sink, filling a red latex enema bag—3 litres, warm to the touch. She generously added ivory soap and glycerin to it, sealing it shut. Attached to it was a latex double-balloon nozzle dangling from it. The bag bulged with its load as she brought it out, and she squeezed lube onto the nozzle, slicking it until its matte surface turned glossy, gleaming under the dim light. Looking at it, she chuckled, “You won’t have a hard time getting this in you,” her tone dripping with wicked confidence. She held it high, walking toward me with a seductive sway, her twisted blonde hair brushing my face, her scent overwhelming. “Now you’ll see what our clinic’s famous for,” she whispered, her breath hot in my ear. She inflated the balloons in front of me, their size ballooning huge. My eyes widened, my boner throbbing again as I realized what was coming. She deflated them, leaned in—her hair tickling me—and whispered something I couldn’t catch, her perfume drowning my senses. Before I could process, I felt slickness—the nozzle sliding in.

“Ready for it?” Amelia asked, her smile seductive, not waiting for my answer. She pumped the inner balloon first, one squeeze at a time, watching my face—cracking with that first squeeze, my brows furrowing and lips parting as it stretched me tight, each pump shifting my expression to signal the growing strain. Satisfied, she moved to the outer balloon, pumping gradually, my breaths turning ragged, my body trembling as it pressed against my limits. “Please, it’s too much,” I gasped, but she kept going until I couldn’t take it anymore, then tugged it to ensure it's snug. “Hmm, that’s a perfect fit for the enema I’m about to unleash in you,” she said, unlocking the clamp. The liquid flowed in, warm and comforting at first, a soothing rush that eased my tension. But as I held it, the sting hit—ivory soap and glycerin burning, sharp cramps stabbing my gut, my muscles clenching futilely against the balloons’ tight seal, a searing pressure building as the water churned inside me. I groaned, my face contorting, sweat beading on my brow.

Amelia called her gang over, smirking. “We added a little something to your enema—I assume you’re feeling it now.”, said the girls, noticing my distress. Their sexy outfits gleamed—gorgeous, menacing, toys in hand. I was so aroused staring at them, I momentarily forgot my clenching ass and churning bowels. They took turns—Sasha’s crop cracked, Tara’s paddle thumped, Chloe’s flogger stung, Lila’s whip snapped—blow after blow on my ass. The combo of their attacks and my now-distended belly with enema water twisting my gut was brutal. Sweat poured off me, my body shaking, the pain unbearable as I strained against the sealed flood inside. Chloe, looking at my wrecked condition, took pity—her silver outfit glinting as she deflated the nozzle balloons and unfastened the leather handcuffs. Free at last, I staggered off the table, my bowels begging for release, and started toward the bathroom, desperate to let loose the enema cramping my insides.

Amelia’s eyes flashed evilly. “Not so fast,” she said, shoving me back onto the table. She forced me into a knee-chest position, grabbed a butt plug. She coated it in liquid ivory soap and glycerin, and eased it in my butt hole. The sensation crept up—a sting at first, growing as it slid deeper, the slick burn intensifying with each inch until it snugged tight against my hole, a sharp, searing pain blooming as it locked in place. Tears pricked my eyes as I clenched hard, my muscles spasming around the fiery intruder, amplifying the ache. Amelia then stepped up, her bare hand—warm and toasty, just like the motel—landing with firm, deliberate spanks across my buttocks till they turned red, each slap a jolt that worsened the sting, my clenching futile against the snug fit. “Please, I can’t take it!” I begged, voice raw. She grinned wider. “Oh, I love when you squirm,” she purred, and after nearly 10 minutes of spanking me hard and leaving me with no strength to hold any further, she saw my limit—my trembling, my tears—and nodded to the others. The girls escorted me to the bathroom, plopping me on the toilet, all crowding in. I flushed red as a beet. Amelia reached between my legs with her gloved hand, locking eyes with me, and yanked the butt plug free. The enema floodgates burst open, the force so violent I jolted forward, my body rocking vigorously, dizziness hitting me hard as the river poured out. The girls, dominant yet kind at heart, steadied me—Sasha and Tara gripping my shoulders, Chloe and Lila bracing my sides—holding me gently until the torrent subsided and I could breathe again, spent but relieved.

They escorted back to the exam room, stark naked, just the way I was earlier. As the girls approached with my clothes to dress me, Amelia noticed my erection still raging, unrelenting. “Let me help,” she said, kneeling before me, her gloves still on, glancing at my straining "member". She took it in her mouth, her lubed fingers slipping into my backside, massaging my prostate. In no time, I exploded, and she took it all, sucking me clean before wiping my now-soft boner with some Kleenex wipes.

She stood, wiping her lips with her wrist and a Kleenex wipe, her eyes meeting mine. “Feel better now, don’t you?” she teased, her voice low and satisfied. I nodded, still catching my breath, my body buzzing with relief yet tingling with something more. “Yeah… but I can’t stop wanting this,” I admitted, my voice shaky, unsure if I should’ve said it. She tilted her head, a faint smile playing on her lips. “Good. I’d be disappointed if you didn’t,” she replied, her tone dripping with control, her gaze holding mine a beat too long.

After that charged moment, Amelia retrieved my tighty-whities from across the room and slid them on, her smirk sharp and knowing, a spark in her eye that told me she relished every second of this game—leaving me to wonder just how deep I’d fallen into her pull. She stepped back, letting the others take over—Sasha sliding on my shirt with a playful tug, Tara pulling up my pants with a smirk, Chloe slipping on my socks with a gentle brush, Lila lacing my shoes with a taunting hum—one cloth at a time, giggling as they worked. “He’s hopeless,” Sasha teased. “Such a mess,” Tara added, smirking.

And so it ended—me, shell-shocked on the clinic floor, a strange calm settling over me, satisfied yet tethered to the thrill they’d unleashed. The night had stripped me bare, from the thermometer’s tease to the enema’s torment, yet left me craving more. The girls’ eyes sparkled through their masks, their eager glances promising my next visit would be even wilder. I caught Amelia’s gaze one last time, her green eyes locking with mine in a slow, seductive pull. “See you soon, pet,” she murmured, her voice a velvet hook, and I smiled faintly, already counting the hours. They were waiting, hungry to draw me back, and I knew I’d let them.