I had an uneasy stomach right from this morning, and I couldn’t seem to relieve it. I tried moving my bowels, but that wouldn’t work, either. My wife noticed that I didn’t seem up to par, and asked how I was feeling. I really didn’t want to get into it because I just KNEW what was going to happen.
I hesitated, but then slowly, little by little, I explained what was going on. She asked some pointed questions about my bowel movements over the past few days and what I had eaten. When she was through inquiring, she told me to just relax and left the living room. I thought that was the end of the story. We’ve been together for some time now; enough time to get to know each other’s minds a bit. I should have known better.
About five minutes later, she called to me from upstairs, telling me to report to the bathroom, as she was going to “take care of my problem.” I knew what THAT meant, since I had used practically the same words when it was her turn to bend over for the nozzle. My stomach started to knot and a million thoughts went through my head–I guess I really knew at that point what she had in mind. When I got upstairs, she told me to go into the bedroom and remove all my clothes except for my jockey shorts. At this point, there was no doubt in my mind that I would receive an enema. I was thinking of all the excuses I could use to get out of it and hesitating in getting my clothes off. As if reading my mind, she told me to forget about protesting, disrobe and just get in there. She came into the bedroom and forcibly “assisted” me in getting the rest of my clothes off as quickly as possible.
Taking my hand, she led me into the bathroom. As she stood at the sink mixing some bar soap in a 2-qt. red enema bag with a white plastic hose and a white douche nozzle (the kind with the little holes all around the enlarged tip), she told me to lie face-down on the rug near the toilet. Once I was down, she stopped preparing the solution, and knelt down next to me. I felt her cool fingers slip inside the elastic waistband of my shorts. Slowly she began pulling my underpants down to just above my knees, resulting in a neat roll across the backs of my thighs. She could plainly see by the grimace on my face that I was embarrassed and uncomfortable lying bare on the hard floor. With a slight smile, and presumably to give me at least a bit of relief, she placed a Kleenex lengthwise over the cleft in my buttocks to lend a bit of modesty while she finished preparing the enema.
When she completed preparing the solution in the bag, she told me to get up on my knees, spreading them as far as my now useless underpants would allow, with my chest on the floor. This had the effect of naturally spreading my buttocks and shamefully exposing my puckered brown anal opening, my testicles hanging between my legs and my prostate area nestled in between. After burping the air out of the hose, she handed me the lubricated nozzle to hold while she prepared me further. Now I had to look at that big nozzle and think about it being inserted into me in a few moments. What an unsettling feeling!
While I was looking at the nozzle, she had already squirted a glob of K-Y jelly on her right index finger, and with her left thumb and index finger, spread my cheeks even further–nothing was hidden from her now! She warned me to be still. I felt her finger press gently against my anal opening, and then it slid right in, in spite of my clenching my sphincter to resist this most unwelcome invasion. She pushed it in and out and twisted it a few times to be sure I was lubed properly, then withdrew it slowly. I told her I was feeling much better to try to get out of the rest of this procedure, but she saw through that and told me to behave and take it like a man. Any more fussing and squirming and she would call over our young neighbor, Diane, to hold me still while she finished the treatment. Boy, did THAT ever get my attention. I almost started shaking with fear; just the thought of being treated like this in front of another female, a neighbor no less! I wasn’t happy, but I complied for my own good. She’s threatened this in the past, and I have a sickening feeling that she’s waiting for the right opportunity to actually do it!
She spread my cheeks again and after I handed her the nozzle, began slowly inserting the large rectal tube until it went in almost all the way. With only a brief warning, she unclipped the hose and began the flow. While the water was slowly flowing in, she held the nozzle between her right middle and index fingers with her hand across my buttocks to keep it in place. With her left hand, she examined around my anal area and checked my testicles, moving them from side to side to look around, up and down, commenting on how hairy I looked from her perspective. She also had to comment on my very large erection, since she knew how I always try to hide it out of embarrassment.
When the bag was empty (she didn’t fill it with the whole 2 quarts, thank God), she slowly withdrew the nozzle and told me I had to hold it for a few minutes. She placed the tip of her right index finger up against my anus to help me in that regard. When the time was up, she helped me to the toilet, where I relieved myself with great force. I must have looked a real sight, sitting bare on the toilet with an erection sticking straight up in front.
After I was finished expelling, she made me lie down on my back with my knees up and my heels at my ass, legs apart. She relubricated the nozzle, then lifted my scrotum with her left hand while with her right, she guided the tube into my pulsating rectum. After another similar cleansing, this time with plain water, she decided that I was clean enough, and told me that there would be no further enemas administered that day. (Whew!) She sat on the toilet, made me bend over in front of her, grab my ankles with my buttocks facing her, and cleaned me off with toilet paper and a washcloth. She told me to stand up and face her, then she pulled up my shorts, getting them over my now totally swollen and straining cock with no little difficulty. With a spank on my butt, she sent me in to get re-dressed.
Although she’s really not into enemas as deeply as I am, I know she doesn’t miss a chance or an excuse to administer an enema. Unlike this time, she usually precedes it and ends it with a rectal temperature just to make sure there are no “surprises.” Boy, does THAT make me squirm!
(How she relieved my front end later is another interesting story. She did not permit me to touch my penis during the entire procedure.)