A few months after I shadow him as he goes about his work, Manager and I arrange a schedule for The Facility, one or both of us there during the busiest hours, on call for emergencies on alternating nights.

“I’m glad to be able to share the responsibility,” Manager says. “At the end of the day, we older people are tired.”

“So are we younger people,” I say. “What’s on our agenda today?”

“We need to discuss Night Manager. He does well in day-to-day tasks,” Manager says carefully, “but seems unable to act decisively on anything out of the ordinary.”

“Which happens so frequently it’s nearly ordinary,” I add. Our Charges are not uniformly well behaved, and neither are all our Clients. “Not the man we want in charge during any crisis.”

“Yes. He avoids some of the responsibility of the position. In his performance reviews, I’ve danced all around it without stating it flatly, which is clearly what he needs. He also needs to be much more closely managed. I’ve arranged to meet with him to review his work over the past week. I hope your Mondays are clear.”

“If they aren’t, I’ll make them clear. What time?”

“Night shift ends at four or six, depending. My thinking was that you and I come in early, meet with him immediately after the end of his work day at six.”

“We can make that work.” I take a calming breath before I add my own suggestion. “He may need additional motivation. Night Nurse for a few hours after our meeting?”

“That would mean her staying late. We try to avoid overtime.”

“Right. He starts his next shift with a visit to Night Nurse, then.”

“Corrections, then Night Nurse,” Manager agrees.

“And a review at one, three, and six months. If he’s not doing better each time, we’ll have to find someone else.”

“I’m sure you understand the inherent difficulty.”

“Of course. Do we have anyone who’s presently a charge but studying for a position like this?”

“We do, but they are nowhere near finished with the necessary degree.” He smiles at me, a rarity. “Not everyone’s studies are as fast-track as yours.”

Which of our Charges could it be? We seek out those who are attractive, or can be made attractive when properly cared for, but none of the present group seems to be collegiate in any way. Hm, maybe I didn’t, either.

Luckily, Night Manager improves quite a bit. Sometimes, visits to Corrections and Night Nurse are the way to go.

Soon after I complete the first year on the job, The Masters and Manager call me in for a performance review.

“Fewer visits to Corrections than might have been ideal,” one of The Masters says, looking at me over his glasses.

“But nearly twice as many visits to Nurse or Night Nurse as recommended, most with two or more enemas, many of them punishments. Do you enjoy that, Assistant Manager?” This Master scowled.

Tact, I remind myself. Tact and honesty. “When I haven’t addressed some issue quickly enough, when the outcome isn’t fully satisfactory, when I’ve avoided confrontation with employees because I dislike it, those are some of the indicators that I need to see Nurse as soon as possible.”

“And do you ask for specific treatment?”

“I ask to be punished. She starts with an SSE, to clear the way, then selects which punishment enema, or enemas plural, I will receive. I don’t believe the person in need of punishment should have any control over it.” Too far?

“Your frankness impresses us as much as your work here, although we would like to see your visit Corrections regularly.”

They go over my work: the hours I keep, my attitude, management skills, how organized I am, the timeliness and accuracy of reports. It’s boring even though it’s about me.

The next question make me sit up straight. “Do you still plan to pursue the doctorate, Assistant Manager?”

“I do, and I’m saving toward that goal. The fact that I get free room and board helps enormously, and I’m most grateful. Although I’d hate to leave my work here even temporarily.”

Another Master says, “We have agreed to fund your pursuit of your doctorate, with certain conditions. You would continue in your present position with half as many hours until you complete the classroom portion, at which time we will discuss your schedule for the dissertation’s research and writing.”

“I’d still work here part-time while you paid for school?”

“It worked quite well when you were a Charge getting your master’s.”

“It will work again. You know how well I focus. Nose to the grindstone, eyes on the prize.”

“Our intention, after you have earned the degree, is to find or create a more suitable position with appropriate compensation.”

For a moment, I’m speechless. “That’s very generous.”

“Any questions, Assistant Manager?”

“Is it too great a burden for Manager and Night Manager to pick up the extra work my absence will cause?”

“They will accept additional duties with grace, unless they’d prefer to visit Corrections, then accept it with grace.”

Manager grins. “I might, on occasion.” He’s a different man than the grim Manager the Charges see.

“In that case,” the most dour of The Masters says, “perhaps a visit to Nurse is more appropriate. And you,” he adds, “will make a stop at Corrections before you leave. I’ll telephone them to say you’re coming.”

“Thank you,” I say. Inside my modest blouse and blazer, the hairs on my arms stand tall in fear. What will he order for me?

“We’re done here. On your way, if you please. We have a large agenda today.”

I walk fast, but not today, not on my way to Corrections.

“We were told to expect you,” says the big man who works days and weekend nights. He’s been here since I was a Charge myself. Dave? Derek? Drew? “You can just push your underwear down to your thighs,” he adds without looking up from some paperwork. “Buttocks bare is what the order says. We’ll move the skirt when you lie across my lap for a good spanking.”

Is that all? A good spanking over his knees stings, of course, but he stops before it gets bad. “Up you go.” He’s a gentleman, steadies me when I get to my feet.

“Now the other way.”

“Beg pardon?” It’s hard to think clearly when your bottom is softly burning.

“With your head on the other side, so I can finish with my other hand.”

“Oh, I see.” I get in position and he continues. It’s still not much compared to most Corrections, but the soft burning becomes flames licking at my skin, and I’m so wet underneath it could extinguish the blaze.

“There we go, one good spanking to the bare buttocks as ordered by The Masters,” he says. “Careful, you’ll be dizzy.” Again he holds my elbow and this time makes sure my long skirts fall fully and straight.

“Thank you,” I say. Charges can get extra swats or strokes for forgetting to show their gratitude at being corrected. “Is your work schedule fairly consistent?” I keep my voice calm and professional, as if my backside weren’t hotly throbbing.

“Except for vacation or sick days. Weekdays, nights on the weekend.”

“I’d like to make a standing appointment with you.”

“You bet. What day and time?”

“The Masters think I need more visits to Corrections. They’re probably right.” I don’t know why I felt the need to share that, but I like that he’s clearly interested and approving. “I’m thinking I should just make it part of my regular schedule, like every Monday morning.”

He consults a wide appointment book, turning the pages on the wire spirals binding it, and picks up a mechanical pencil that looks like a toy in his big hand. “No good. Everybody wants to start the week that way. How’s Wednesday? Eight-thirty work for you?”

“Yes.”

“What should I put you down for?”

“Here’s where it gets… tricky, I guess you’d say. It’s tempting to go entirely too easy on myself, but if I do that, what’s the point of Corrections at all?”

“No point. The person being corrected doesn’t call the shots.”

“Exactly. I knew someone with your experience would understand that instinctively. I’d like you to give me a wide range of Corrections, so I never know what to expect.”

His smile is quite handsome. “I can do that. What about when I’m not available? It wouldn’t be very often, but we should have a plan in place.”

“How about a repeat of today? That way I don’t have to be scared half to death of someone whose abilities I’m not familiar with. You, I know, all the way back to when I was just another Charge.”

“Yes, ma’am. I remember you.”

“I wasn’t sure you recognized me.”

“Of course I do. I just didn’t know if I should say anything. I mean, look at you, Assistant Manager, and me still in Corrections all these years later.”

“Is there another position you’d like to train for? The Facility wants to keep our employees with seniority happy and offer them opportunities for advancement.”

Now the smile is easy. “Not really. I love what I do, and I think I’m good at it.”

I make a frowning face. “Trust me, you are.”

He chuckles. “I hope you don’t mind me saying it’s an honor to spank the Assistant Manager, as well as a pleasure.”

My bottom has cooled to an enjoyable arousing heat. “The pleasure was all mine.”

He barks a laugh. “We’ll see if you feel that way Wednesday morning. Do you want me to call for an Attendant to escort you wherever you’re headed next?”

“No. One of the perks is walking around all by myself.”

The semester starts ten weeks later. By then, I’m sure the man’s name is Drew and that he really does love his job as well as excel at it. He should probably be in charge of training others and perhaps write a manual of standards and practices; I’ll have to speak to Manager.

Drew makes sure no one, employee or Charge, observes us during my visits. On my arrival, he shows intuitive business sense, leading me into the back office as if he might be reprimanded or be a part of an important discussion. “The room is soundproofed,” he told me the first time, “or you couldn’t get any of your paperwork done for the distractions. Naked from the waist down today, please. You’ll bend right over the desk.”

I both eagerly anticipate and dread Wednesdays. It’s difficult to make my expression one of neutrality or annoyance, as would be apt leaving a private meeting, when I’ve received ten with the drilled paddle or three with the cane. Once the initial blaze fades, I want nothing more than a visit to Nurse and an orgasm—but I’m not going to get it.

When classes start, I make a difficult decision: I wear my work clothes to the university. What do they think when they see the long black skirts swirling above boots, the snug jacket over a high-neck white blouse? My best guess is religious cult of some kind. I like that people respect it without question. I also like that it means people leave me alone.

***

Because my twenty hours a week often becomes thirty, it takes me seven years to complete the doctoral degree in operations management, by which time Manager is ready to retire to a well-deserved seat on The Board of Masters. At age thirty-one, I step in at a higher position than the one he vacated, Division Manager, my first task being to hire a Manager. I’m happy to promote Night Manager and post the Night Manager vacancy. I also promote Drew to Corrections Manager.

We have a little ceremony acknowledging all of us who are being promoted, attended by any employee who cares to wish us well and get a free gourmet dinner, which is nearly everyone. Night Nurse—the original Night Nurse who gave me my first enemas when I was so disappointed at not being chosen by The Masters as right for a Client, takes me aside.

“We’re all so proud of you. So, so proud. You’ll do nothing but good for The Facility. And so young! Think how you could shape our future, instead of a bunch of old men. Not that there’s anything wrong with old men, or with what The Masters have done so far, but you, you have this enormous opportunity and thirty years to use it.”

“Or forty,” I agree. “Later tonight I’d like to discuss this more, and get your professional treatment. All this rich food…”

“Maybe a little punishment, for over-indulging? Or a lot. Not for you to say.”

Armed with The Statement of the Board of Masters’ Goals and Purpose for The Facility, I write out my fresh concepts and dig in to research feasibility. Our client base has slowly grown and we could use more Charges, but finding quality individuals willing to commit is difficult. We were lucky many times, but unlucky too, with Charges who refused to do their assigned tasks, who managed to obtain drugs or alcohol, whose behavior was beyond Corrections’ ability to change.

I float ideas about offering rehab, specific job training in two or three fields, signing bonuses, and more, although none of them is a clear winner.

“That vacation idea is excellent, though,” one of The Masters notes at our board meeting.

“A guaranteed money maker, the amount dependent on the duration of the vacation as a Charge and whether the Charge’s real-life partner hires their services. I could easily see it netting six to ten thousand dollars for a week.”

“And a vacation they’d never forget. Or bore others with photographs.”

Geography is also not in our favor. Our city is not centrally located, not an airline hub, not a tourist favorite. “We could profit from weekend pop-ups,” I tell the board. “And if that goes well, we might send our best people to establish a small site for Charge vacations in a city that has an existing network of like-minded individuals.”

“Such as renting a vacation house?”

“Not residential. Commercial. We rent space in an empty office building where no one will be bothered. Send someone from Corrections, a Nurse, a handful of Charges. Contact all the play groups in the greater region. The locals and anyone who drives in could become Charges for a price, or be the Clients who pay the going rate. Something for everyone.”

We set it in motion, tapping Drew from Corrections and his wife Sara, now a Nurse, as the first pop-up staff members. We take over a table in the employee dining room several nights a week, hashing out details, often with the aid of the now-retired Manager. I take lots of notes. There’s an enormous amount of risk and we have to plan for every possible contingency, from fire to a police raid.

I finish many of those long work days with a visit to Night Nurse. I need to relinquish control, allowing her to fill me as she will, sometimes touching me in a way that eases every bit of anxiety my work entails. I leave feeling calmly serene.

One night I’m surprised to find Sara on duty. “The regular Night Nurse had an emergency cholecystectomy—gallbladder surgery? She’s doing fine, they said, and I can always use the extra hours until she recovers. What are we doing for you, District Manager?”

“Ah, I usually leave it up to Night Nurse to choose. Soap suds followed by a punishment.”

“Fully do-able. Come with me. I have one patient already, due for the same. You two will get matching enemas tonight.”

There are two vinyl-clad tables in the treatment room now, and Drew sits on the far one, wearing a gown, a sheet covering his lap.

“District Manager? Ah, hi.” He looks at his hands, knotting and reknotting in his lap. “I heard her say matching enemas. You should know I pissed her off earlier today. It’s probably not too late for you to back out.”

“I look forward to seeing just what you—we—deserve. What did you do?”

“Nothing too awful.” He peers around, confirming Sara is in the outer part of the infirmary, and keeps his voice low. “Just enough to make sure she’d do this, because it gets her totally hot. When we get home…”

“I’m a little jealous.”

“You could have any man—or woman—you want. Take a Charge, if you want. We got some real pretty boys just now. Some good looking men in Maintenance, too.”

“No, I—”

“Here we go, you two. Oh, you’re not undressed yet? Better hurry.” Sara rolls a stand with squealing wheels, a silicone enema bag swinging with the motion, near her husband’s hips, then moves it just a little more so it won’t block my view. “Assume the position,” she says.

I soften my challenge with a smile. “Do you get to give the District Manager orders?”

“When she’s in my care, I sure do. I’m in charge here. Everything off, put on the gown, and take the Sims position.”

I undress as quickly as I can while watching Sara put on one glove, bare Drew’s backside, lift his upper cheek, and apply lubrication outside, then in. His back stiffens.

By the time she has the nozzle planted in him, I’m ready. She’s quick, rolling in the second stand with a matching bag and putting a sheet over my lower body, leaving my bottom exposed. A quick glove change and lube, and I have a nozzle in me, too, bigger than Drew’s.

I curl a finger, inviting Sara to come close enough to hear my whisper. “I love being able to see Drew get his.”

“She likes watching you get your enemas,” she says at normal volume, so he can hear, then adds, “Whoever is around is going to see Drew’s series of enemas, but I’m glad it’s you.”

“I give District Manager her privacy when she comes to Corrections,” Drew says. “Wait, series?”

“Series. Now, this first one is just soap suds. I’m going to start your flows at the same time. Whoever finishes first will use the toilet in here after the holding time is up. Runner-up will have to walk to the main bathroom in the medical suite.”

“Yes, Nurse,” I say, the way the first Night Nurse taught me.

Sara’s hand slaps her husband’s bare backside hard enough to leave a handprint.

“Yes, Nurse,” he says.

She opens the valves on our hoses at the same moment. Oh, my, it’s hot! Please, please, let me finish first. Holding a hot one is so hard, I’m not sure I could walk to the other side of the suite.

Drew’s ass is magnificent, a completely different shape when he squeezes the nozzle. He does it repeatedly, so rhythmically it’s like he’s fucking his enema. I love watching it and almost forget I’m being filled, too.

Soon enough the pressure won’t let me overlook the hot water filling my bowels. I think I’m first to make little noises, but Drew is not far behind, a whine riding every exhalation.

“Oh, almost done, almost. Neck and neck, you two. Almost there, District Manager! Uh-huh, uh-huh… And we have a winner, District Manager by three or four ounces.”

“Please hold your applause,” I say, the words lighter than I feel, weighed down with the sheer quantity of hot water in my gut.

We only have to hold our enemas for five minutes, but Drew spends that time in a most humiliating way, Sara putting an adult diaper with an extra absorbent liner on him. “I am not cleaning up any mess you make walking to the other bathroom,” she announces. “Ready? On your feet.”

I’m glad they go, because even with the big nozzle, my enema wants out. I thank the enema gods for my win and the closer of the toilets.

By the time Drew shuffles back in, without a diaper and with a red face, I’m fully empty, clean, and waiting on the table, a sheet covering me where it needs to. Drew’s entire bottom shows as he climbs onto the other treatment table without looking at me.

“Drew’s mad,” Sara says in a fake whisper. “There was a little accident. Nothing major, but he got pretty upset with me for making him walk.”

“Maybe you should write him up for Corrections.”

“Can she do that?” he asks.

“She can. Or I can. What do you think, Nurse?”

“He’s never once been there except as an employee.”

“He’s overdue for one of Daniel’s paddlings, then.” The man has a knack.

“Can’t,” Drew says. “He got fired, four or five months ago. He was using.”

“I’m sorry to hear it.”

“He had a pretty hard time for a while there. His mother died. He had trouble dealing with the loss, I guess.”

I’ll see if we are able to help him get into a decent rehab facility. Daniel was a good employee for a long time. “I’m sure they can find someone else to give you a memorable paddling.”

“I feel like you two are conspiring against me.”

“Not until you’ve had your punishment enema,” Sara says.

This one is smaller and pretty bad. “Vinegar?” I ask her.

“At exactly the right ratio with the water.”

It stings, and my pussy is ridiculously wet. Sara walks back and forth between Drew and me, moving the nozzles, adjusting the flow, and such, and she must see how my body is reacting to the ano-rectal discomfort.

“Drew, how would you like to get out of the paddling I want you to get?” she says.

“I’d love it.”

“You’re done already. Here, use the toilet and we’ll talk after. You’ll be empty before Miss Pokey here has taken all of hers.”

“The toilet, in front of you two?”

“Yes. You don’t want to argue with me.”

He eases himself to the seat and lowers his head, presumably in shame, then releases the punishing solution. “Fuck, it burns coming out, too.”

“Please watch your language or we’ll have to see to that paddling after all.”

“Yes, Nurse,” he says right away. “Sorry.”

I finish taking my punishment enema at about the time Drew finishes releasing his, so the toilet and its attendant humiliation are mine. He’s right, the burning is renewed on expulsion. Even after I think I’m empty, my rectum and anus feel the bite in a way that’s pleasing—and hot, a light sparkling pain as bad as an itch that needs scratching. I’m desperate for something I’m not going to get.

In fact, I haven’t had it since I had Clients. So long ago! But where would a woman like me find a man who’d understand my needs, unless it was one of The Masters. I’m not interested in old men. Or in letting a Charge or Maintenance touch me, not because I have anything against them but because of the power imbalance.

Sara has taken Drew aside, talking to him in low tones, looking directly into his eyes, her face serious. Maybe I should slip out once I’m sure I’m empty, let them talk through whatever they’re dealing with.

“All done? Good, you wait right there.” Sara scowls at the vinyl-padded table’s controls, then does something that makes it bend slightly, more or less in half. “District Manager, you lie on your belly with your hips at the bend, please.” She covers my bottom with the sheet before I’m in position. She works a manual control that reminds me of the beautician’s chair during childhood haircuts, a series of mechanical ratchet sounds, each bending the table a little more and raising my bottom a little.

“Stand right here,” she tells her husband. A new and different sound of seldom-used gears and controls changes the angle of the table by small increments.

“One more,” Drew says. “No, another one. There.”

Behind me I hear the snap of a rubber glove a few moments before Sara touches cool get to my anus. “Since you’re District Manager, you get a choice. A three-quart hot-and-cold—”

“Which is?” I ask.

“A tea made of cinnamon and cayenne for the heat, mixed in cold water. Drew whimpers when he gets that one.”

“Just that one time,” he protests.

“And he’s never forgotten to call when he’ll be late again,” she says with a little laugh. “Your other choice is Drew’s nice big cock up your ass and my hands on your pussy until you’ve had enough.

“I know which one I’d choose,” Drew says.

So do I. “You’re a married man,” I protest. I’d just started writing my dissertation, my hours as Assistant Manager still curtailed, but I’d made it my job to find them the perfect wedding gift from The Facility. You want a contemporary to pick, not a group choice made by old men who think every young couple needs a candelabra or silver chasers.

“It was my wife’s idea,” Drew says. “I mean, I thought about it, like a fantasy, but she thinks making it real would, you know, honor you.”

“Honor me?” Ridiculous.

“I’d truly be honored, ma’am.”

“So would I,” Sara says quietly, “honoring you with my hands. My mouth if you want it.”

I do. More than want. Need.

“No vaginal sex,” I say firmly. I can’t risk an unwanted pregnancy.

“It’s your pretty asshole I want,” Drew says.

“Yes, but not here.”

“We have an apartment,” Drew offers. “Sara’s shift ends in… what, about two hours?”

“Time enough for both of you to get two more,” she says. “We’ll start with the hot-and-cold, shall we?”