“Barry needs an enema.”

No ! I don’t need one, Barry silently protested. I never need one, but they won’t listen, he cried to himself. Barry stubbornly pretended not to hear or understand.

“Barry needs an enema.”

Those four awful words, spoken by his step-mother to his older half-sister, announced to all that he had bowel problems. Couldn’t she understand such matters were private? Why, wondered Barry, did she insist on announcing it to the entire family? She might as well have said, “Shame on Barry, he can’t go potty. He needs help. He needs to given an enema.”

It wasn’t fair that his step-sister was involved. She would see Barry naked. All his pink flesh visible to her critical gaze. His private parts no longer private. No longer his alone. Barry was forbidden to ever see her undressed. Why was it she could see him naked?

“Barry come here for your enema.”

He knew what his step-mother was actually saying.

“Fat Barry ate too much junk.”

“Tubby pudgy Barry is constipated again.”

“Dough boy needs a good enema to clean him out.”

And she requires help from her daughter because fat Barry doesn’t fit across her lap.

Too bad, Daddy-wife, he sobbed to himself. I don’t need an enema anyway!

His step-sister brings him to the bathroom. She ignores his simpering protests. Daddy-wife is already there. She makes him undress while his sister watches impatiently. The humiliated child tries to leave his shoes on but is told to undress completely.

His sister makes a crack about Barry needing a bra. The remark earns her a stern look from her mother but she has the satisfaction of seeing her brother crimson with embarrassment.

There is a strong smell of soapsuds in the tiny room. The lavatory basin is full of soapy water, a white bar of soap floats near the cold water faucet. Sitting prominently on the edge of the sink is the white rubber enema bulb. Next to it is the Vaseline jar.

Daddy-wife picks up the enema bulb, dips the tip into the Vaseline and begins to fill it. Barry is terrified of what is to about to happen. The wet sucking sounds coming from the sink cause his scrotum to shrink and his testicles to bury themselves.

“On the floor.”

“No, I don’t want one.”

His sister had shut the bathroom door. There is no escape. Barry whimpers and begins to cry.

“No, I don’t want it,” he insists.

His sister’s hands grip his shoulders. She forces him down. Down, on his back, onto the old bath mat. Barry reluctantly lies down. He keeps his legs firmly together.

His step mother sighs with impatience, “Don’t make me punish you ! If you don’t cooperate you’ll get a spanking right here and you’ll still have to take the enema.”

Barry studies her face. It penetrates his fear-filled mind that she means it. He tries to relax. “I’ll be good,” he stutters.

“Carol,” his step mother tells her daughter, “Hold his legs open for me.”

Carol nods and kneels next to Barry. She grabs his legs behind the knees and lifts to expose Barry’s anus and penis. She openly stares at his eleven year old boyhood.

Barry’s step-mother crouches. Barry cannot see what she is doing. Soon enough he feels the hard nozzle probing his clenched anus. He makes an effort to relax but she doesn’t wait. The nozzle is forced into his closed anus. Barry screams like he’s been mortally wounded.

“Oh hush, don’t be such a baby,” Carol admonishes. “It’s no bigger than a pencil, for goodness sake.”

“It still hurts,” Barry sobs in self defense.

The hot, soapy water jets into his rectum as his step-mother squeezes the enema bulb. Four fast squeezes and the nozzle is removed. Uncontrollable sobs wrack his body. “No more,” he pleads. “Please, no more. Oh please oh please…”

“Stop acting like a baby!” his step-mother orders as she refills the enema bulb.

Carol again lifts his legs in preparation for the next invasion. She observes that Barry’s little penis isn’t so little any more. His organ is elongated and devoid of wrinkles. The skinny rod of flesh points at the fat rolls of Barry’s stomach. When her mother inserts the nozzle, the rampant gland twitches and appears to grow even longer.

Barry screams in protest. “That’s enough! I tell you, that’s enough!”

“Barry, you’re being so silly…” Carol’s voice cracks. She swallows twice before gaining the confidence to continue. “It’s…it’s not that much water,” she finishes.

What she wanted to say, but dared not, was, “It’ll feel good if you give it a chance. You already have a boner.” A small one, anyway. Carol strains not to smirk. Mother could be very strict with her as well.

Barry is whimpering now. Much of the fight is out of him. He is resigned to the enema ordeal. One more bulb full and it will be over.

Then he has to face the agony of passing it out.

His step-mother refills the bulb and injects the soapy water into his tortured rectum. Barry squirms as the final load squirts into his bloating guts. It hurts and it cramps and they don’t care.

“I think,” his step-mother states as she stands and straightens her back. “That next time we use the enema bag.”

Barry crawls to the commode, hoping against hope that they will leave him alone, knowing they won’t. He must suffer the embarrassment of expelling in front of an audience. He whimpers when his step mother’s comment seeps into his pain fogged brain. Not the enema bag!

Carol looks up at her mother, her step-brother forgotten for the moment. The enema bag? The idea of sharing their pink enema/douche bag with Barry disgusts her. She blurts out a protest. “Mother, surely you can’t mean to use our syringe on him!”

Her mother gives her a withering glance. “I do. I think it will suit him nicely.” She picks up the enema bulb, points to the brown streaked, Vaseline-coated nozzle. “We’ll use this nozzle, of course.”

Barry can no longer contain the contents of his rectum. He must release it. He screams in exaggerated pain as his sphincter lets loose.

His step-sister wrinkles her nose and makes a disgusted face. “Oh gross,” she says to him.

“I can’t help it,” Barry whines. “It hurts.” Another burst from his spasming guts interrupts his complaints.

“Phew!” Carol exclaims. “Mother, can I leave now?”

Her mother stops washing the enema bulb and looks at her daughter. “Yes, all right.” She dismisses Carol with a careless wave of a soap covered hand.

She turns her attention to her simpering step-son. “The next time,” she lectures him, waving the enema squeeze bulb, “You will behave better. I’m tired of bending over you.” She points to the pastel pink open top fountain syringe hanging on the wall behind the door. “We will use that for your next enema. It’s time you took more water.”

Tears well up in Barry’s eyes and roll down his puffy cheeks. Not that! he thinks in humiliation. It’s for girls. Silently he curses Daddy-wife and his step-sister. He lowers his head in resignation and weeps.

“Wipe yourself,” his step-mother orders.

Barry slowly does as she commands. It’s very messy back there and he hates to touch it.

“Don’t use so much toilet paper, you’ll clog the toilet.”

Barry nods, but does not comply. He finishes, stands and reaches for his underpants.

“Wash your hands first and use soap.”

Blushing, Barry goes to the lavatory to wash his hands. The nozzle and squeeze bulb rest near the faucets. In spite of himself he stares at them while he scrubs his hands. Sobs still wracking his naked body cause his loose flesh to vibrate.

He dresses quickly and leaves the bathroom without saying anything or meeting Daddy-wife’s eyes. He goes to his room where he remains, feeling sorry for himself and depressed.

Carol, in her own room, is agitated. Her nipples hurt. They were so hard back in the bathroom that she feared her mother would notice and say something. Even though she had hunched her shoulders forward to conceal the fact, it felt like she had two blazing beacons of sexual arousal pulsating from the center of her blouse.

Boys get boners in their pants, girls get spikes in their bras. That wasn’t fair. No one looks down at a boy’s crotch, but everyone sees a girl’s chest.

She hopes Barry didn’t notice. The though of her creepy brother noticing something so private makes her shudder.

Now mother is going to use their fountain syringe for his enemas. She feels invaded. That pretty bag used to be for their use exclusively. Mother gave her countless enemas with it. Carol doesn’t mind enemas. Carol, who menstruates regularly for someone her age not on birth control, has been getting an enema regularly from her mother ever since menarche.

Her mother pays strict attention to Carol’s period and gives her daughter an enema a day or so before it is expected to begin. She also taught her to douche when it ended. Carol can douche by herself but enemas are solely the domain of mother.

Carol enjoys her mother’s enemas but she loves to douche. She does it every time she has the opportunity. The lovely fountain syringe is so handy, it is nothing at all to fill it with nice hot water for a relaxing douche. Mother only permits her to douche after her period. That’s when she can do it properly, lying in the tub, with vinegar mixed in the water. She takes several bagfulls then, to make the most of it.

The rest of the times, she sneaks them at her bath time. Carol, sprawled naked on the toilet, legs obscenely wide apart, leaning back, holding the nozzle inside her vagina. Warm water running out around her hand and into the toilet as she moves the hard shaft back and forth and in and out.

Carol, who couldn’t imagine allowing penis to enter her, manipulates the long thick douche nozzle in imitation of sexual intercourse. When the water stops she leaves the nozzle embedded and squeezes her legs together. She touches her clitoris. By then a few deft strokes is all that is required.

She decides to make the most of the new situation. She resolves to be there when Barry gets his first enema from the fountain syringe. He may not enjoy it, but she fully intends to.