Author : C. D.
I was young at the time. When I came through the
door, Mother was waiting. I can't remember now what I'd done, but I knew
I was in trouble. Mother told me she was going to spank me.
Mommy, please don't spank me," I pleaded.
"What else can I
do?" she asked.
"I don't know. But, please don't spank me."
I was desperate.
"If not a spanking, what shall I do?"
don't know Mommy, please do something else."
"Well, since your
spankings seem to be soon forgotten, I've been thinking of something
else. Would you like me to try something different?"
"Okay, you asked for it. I'm going to give
you an enema."
My stomach lurched and anxiety washed over me.
Enemas were terribly humiliating. I hadn't thought of that possibility.
"Oh no, Mommy," I wailed. "Please, not one of them. They're worse than a
"It's too late now. An enema it is. This will be
different than the enemas I've given you before. It will be a punishment
enema. Go get undressed and put on your pajamas." She turned and started
for the bathroom. "I'll call you when it's ready."
was afraid to argue further. So, I went into my room and changed into my
pajamas. My stomach churned as I listened to her making the preparations
in the next room. I was filled with dread. Yet, I was feeling a strange
sense of anticipation. When she finally called, I replied that I didn't
want to come. "Get in here!" was her firm response. I knew better than
to defy her. Reluctantly, I entered the bathroom.
take my eyes off the bulging semi-transparent latex enema bag hanging from
the shower curtain rod. It was filled to the brim with two and a half
quarts of warm soapy water. (I know how much it held, because I actually
measured it once.) Soapsuds trickled down the outside. She was holding a
bigger nozzle than I'd ever seen. It was black and it looked menacing. I
learned later that it was a feminine nozzle. A jar of Vaseline sat on the
counter. A towel was spread on the floor. Though she acted very business
like, her expression betrayed her enjoyment of the situation.
told me to take off my pajamas. One last protest was met with a very
inflexible "Mind me!" My embarrassment was intense as she quietly watched
me strip. She waited until I was naked, then let some water flow out of
the nozzle into the bathtub to expel the air from the hose. It sprayed
out from several holes, giving me a preview of what would soon be
happening inside of me. Then, she applied Vaseline to the nozzle. Seeing
these final preparations did nothing to curb my apprehension. I'm certain
she knew it, and did it that way on purpose.
She made me get down
on my knees and chest over the towel, facing away from her. I was totally
exposed. She knelt down between my legs. The embarrassment was nearly
unbearable as she spread my cheeks. My breath caught as she put the
nozzle against my sensitive opening and slowly slipped it all the way in.
It was big, but it didn't hurt. It felt shamefully pleasurable. In a
curious way I wanted the distressing enema I was about to get. At the
same time, I hoped for a last second reprieve.
When I heard the
"click" of the clamp being opened all hope of escape ended. At that
moment something peculiar happened inside of me. I totally surrendered to
her. My desire for release vanished. The warm water forcefully gushing
into me felt good. I was enjoying being forced to experience these
All to soon, the cramping began. It quickly went from
mild to severe. I clenched down, trying to stop the source of my
distress. My effort was futile. I began to cry and beg her to let me
up. She stopped the flow, but refused to release me. She told me that a
punishment enema was supposed to hurt, and I had only taken a little. She
said it in a way that meant she was going to give me more; a lot more.
I settled down a little, Click! The enema gushed into me again. The
cramping began almost right away. It was horrible. When my crying became
desperate, she paused once again. This scene was repeated several times.
last time she paused the flow, the cramping only eased up slightly. She
told me there was only a little water left and I was going to take it
all. Click! The cramping was severe. Helplessly, I squirmed and cried.
My pleading was futile. She knew that when she stopped this time she
would have to let me up.
She made me look up at the transparent bag
and watch it empty into me. There was more than just a little to go.
There was at least a pint left in the rubber bag. Relentlessly, she
allowed it to flow as I writhed and bawled. The water level slowly went
down until finally the bag gurgled empty.
She closed the clamp and
removed the nozzle. As I jumped up for the relief I needed so desperately
she left the room. As the pressure subsided, I gazed in fascination at
the empty enema bag dangling from the shower rod. The glistening nozzle
that had felt so wickedly pleasurable, rested on the bottom of the
bathtub. I felt a pleasant tingle.
When I came out of the
bathroom, she was waiting. "Do you think that will help you remember to
be a good boy?" she asked.
"Yes," I replied. I knew I
wouldn't soon forget the humiliation and pain of that enema. I was just
glad it was over.
"Good," she replied. "I've decided that from now
on when you're naughty, I'm going to give you enemas instead of spankings
to punish you. They're not only effective punishment, a good cleansing is
healthful. Now, let's go back into the bathroom. We're not finished. You
can watch me prepare your next enema." She had a little smile on her face
as I abjectly followed her into the bathroom.