By Anonymous

“Ben,” she called to me. “Benjamin,” she yelled louder. “Come over here.”

We had lived next to the Robinson’s for as long as I could remember. We lived in an upscale suburban neighborhood, and I used to spend a lot of time playing in her yard with her daughter, Elaine, who was a year younger than me. I trotted across the driveway and stopped in front of her.

“Benjamin, I need your help with something. The lawn needs mowing and Mr. Robinson is in Europe for two weeks. I’ll be glad to pay you for it,” she said.

I had just graduated from college and, like many of my fellow arts-and-sciences classmates, I didn’t have a clue what I wanted to do next. So, I could use a few bucks and, besides, Mrs. Robinson was an old friend.

“I’ll be glad to do it, but it will have to wait a couple of days,” I said. “I’m a little under the weather today.”

The truth was I hadn’t taken a dump in three days and felt sluggish. I used to eat a lot of junk food then, and that was the price I paid for it. Mrs. Robinson eventually got me to tell her my problem and told me to come inside and she would fix me up. I followed her into the house and she began to interrogate me about it.

“Do you get this way often ? How long do you wait to do something about it, and what do you do”, she asked.

I explained that I would take a laxative, usually Ex-Lax, and that I was going to wait till tomorrow to take it. I hated to take it, because, although it usually worked in a few hours or overnight, my insides were not the same for several more days.

“Well, that figures,” she said. “The Ex-Lax is an irritant, and you are subjecting the whole 30 feet of your insides to it just to fix a problem in the last foot or two. Why don’t you just take an enema?” she said matter-of-factly.

I had been given enemas a few times by my parents when I was much younger, but somehow the thought of taking one now never occurred to me. I guess I watched too many TV commercials for laxatives and assumed that was what one did for constipation.

My train of though was broken when Mrs. Robinson ordered me to follow her into the bathroom. Her douche bag was hanging in the shower, but that is not the first time I had seen it there. Funny, it suddenly dawned on me that my mom’s bag was kept in a drawer.

Before I could think any more about it, she told me to pull my pants down and bend over as far as I could. When I hesitated, she reminded me that she had seen me naked from the time I was born. She had a point. After all, this was just a treatment for my constipation.

She reached into the drawer and pulled out a box of rubber surgical gloves and proceeded to put one on her right hand. Then she took hold of the bag, turned on the water in the sink and waited for it to get warm. Ten she filled the sink with it, and sloshed the nearby bar of Ivory in it until the water was cloudy. She proceeded to fill the bag using a cup that was handy, until it was full, but not bulging.

“I’m not gonna use a lot this time, Benjamin, you are not used to it like I am,” she explained. “Now bend over as far as you can.”

I felt the finger of the rubber glove that she had lubed with some K-Y jelly touch then enter my most private place. From the male folklore I had heard, I thought it would hurt, but it felt strangely pleasant. Then she pulled her finger out and pushed the douche nozzle inside me. Then I heard the click of the clamp and I felt the warm, soapy liquid inside me.

The first little bit of the enema caused an immediate reaction and a spasm in my insides. After a little more went inside it felt pretty good. When about half the bag was inside me the problem started, and I told Mrs. Robinson that I could not hold any more and had to let it out.

“Squeeze down and hold it,” she said. “You have to take it all to do any good.” I fought the feeling and sure enough the urge passed and the rest of the load surged up inside me without too much discomfort.

Then she pulled the nozzle out and re-inserted her finger as far as she could, like the little Dutch boy holding the water at the dike. She helped me to the toilet, then pulled the plug and I dumped all of the contents of my bowels in the toilet in just a few minutes.

“That feels a lot better. Thanks Mrs. Robinson,” I said.

She washed the bag out and hung it back in its usual place then left me to clean myself up and get dressed again. Then I went to the garage and mowed the lawns as she has asked, but I did not let her pay me for it. As I left she told me to feel free to come back again if I had another problem.

It wasn’t long before I was in the same situation again, after a few days of partying and drinking and eating god-knows-what. I stopped in at Mrs. Robinson’s and asked her to give me another enema. When we got into the bathroom, she put on the glove and again probed me with the lubed finger. This time, she stopped and looked somewhat concerned.

“You are really plugged up this time, Benjamin,” she told me. “And I can tell you have other problems as well. Your sphincter is very tight and I’ll bet you sometimes have some pain when you pass a stool.”

She was right about the pain. Sometimes, when I take a dump, it is hard and it stretches me too much. It even bleeds a little sometimes. I told her about this and she knowingly nodded.

“I can make all that a lot better, but you will have to come by here twice every day for the next two weeks for an enema and the other treatments. Can you do that?” she asked.

She explained that the twice-daily enemas were to be sure that during the two weeks I would not have to take a shit except when it was broken up and softened by the enemas. That way my passageway would have time to adjust itself and heal. I was not quite sure what she had in mind, but I trusted her and began my morning and evening visits that very day.

Each session started more or less the same. She would put on the rubber gloves, then probe my anus with a lubricated finger. Then I would get on my hands and knees and she would give me the warm soapy enema she had prepared, except that the volume was gradually increased until, near the end, I would take a full 3 quarts. The other thing that changed after a few days was the nozzle. About the fourth day, she stopped using the douche nozzle and began to use a long rubber tube that she would lube heavily with Vaseline and slowly insert it into me. The snake, as we half-jokingly came to call it, was almost a half-inch in diameter and about 4 feet long. I later learned it was called a colon tube and that it was a size 40fr.

Each time she used the tube she would insert it a little further. It was both pleasant and exciting as I felt the intruder slither up inside my abdomen. By the end of the two weeks she was inserting the tube its whole length, gradually letting the enema flow as she went. Then I would stay in the same position for as much as 15 minutes until the watery, soapy mixture finally worked its way down to the escape hatch and I had to sit on the toilet to empty myself.

The “treatment” always came after I have had my enema. I would lie down on my back on her bed, with my knees propped up high on some pillows and my head on a pillow. All in all it was a comfortable position. She told me the first day that the object was to stretch my asshole so it would be able to pass the large, hard stools I was apt to have without injury. The treatments, however, proved to be lot more than just that.

At first she would just lube her gloved hand well and insert her finger, then, over the next couple of days she gradually started to insert a second and eventually a third finger. Each time she would push and stretch me to the point where I was in a little pain, but not so much as to tear the skin. After the stretching with the finger she would insert the strangest device of all. It looked like a length of rubber garden hose, about 10 inches long, but had a rounded tip at one end. After lubing it generously, she would insert that end about 4 inches into me. The other end was made like some sort of pliers. After she inserted the business end into my hole, she would squeeze the two handles and the tubing would get a little shorted, and a little fatter. She would continue expanding the stretcher until I could not take any more, then she taught me to push out on it to relax my muscles and the pain would become bearable for a little while. Each squeeze would ratchet the device into a still-fatter shape. Over the two weeks, she was able to eventually expand the stretcher to a whopping 3 inches in diameter. I always left her house sore, but, by the next session, it had healed enough to continue the treatments.

There is one other detail about these sessions that I should tell you. From the first enema to the last stretch, I got a raging boner the second she put the first finger in my ass. The first time, when I mowed the lawn, she didn’t notice, I don’t think. After that, when I was lying on my back ready for the fingering and the stretcher, there was no way to keep it a secret. The first time she saw my hard nine-inch cock, she glanced at it, then at me. “Don’t worry, happens to all men, it’s an automatic reaction.”

At the first treatment session, after I got off the toilet and my hard-on was obvious she also said. “The least I can do is give you some relief from that.”. I was much too aroused to put up any resistance, so I let her do whatever she wanted each time to get me off.

The first time she just made sure her gloves were well lubed, and while the stretcher was inside me she stroked me slowly and tenderly. I shot my cream just as she slid the invader out of my ass. She un-emotionally cleaned my up and sent me packing. The later sessions got much more elaborate.

By about the fifth day, she was sucking my cock and taking my whole load in her warm, wet mouth. Around the tenth day she figured out a way to squat over me and get my cock to fuck her as the stretcher did its job.

I had mixed emotions when the last day arrived and we were ready for the last session.

“Benjamin,” she said, “I have a surprise for you.”

Considering what has transpired between us the last two weeks, I wondered what surprises were left. As it came to pass, she had one more trick up her sleeve. After my cleansing enema was taken and expelled, I laid down on the bed on my back, in the usual position for the stretcher. Mrs. Robinson didn’t get it out of the drawer however, and instead she reached in and found a large jar of what looked like cold cream or something. She scooped a large amount of it into her hand and began to rub my ass with it. She began to insert her fingers, first one, then two and three into my hole, which was, by now, pretty accustomed to this treatment.

Then, without any explanation or warning she began to press and stretch my opening even more. Somehow she moved her thumb into the hole with two of her fingers and started to push and stretch me in a way I had never experienced.

“Benjamin, this is your final test,” she said. “I’m gonna try to put my whole hand up inside you.”

“Mrs. Robinson,” I replied with a broad grin, “ I think you are trying to seduce me.”

She laughed and kissed me as she continued to work her hand into me. Then, as she took my pulsing cock in her mouth and sucked a long stroke on it, her petite rubber-encased hand slipped past my sphincter and up into my rectum. It is impossible to tell you what it feels like unless you have experienced it yourself, no matter how many times you have been finger fucked, or had a dildo in you ass. Even if someone was an expert at pressing and massaging your prostate they could never touch the places and feelings that she so expertly touched, massaged and excited.

She continued to fist fuck me slowly, but never quite enough to make me cum. Finally she removed her hand and let me rest a couple of minutes.

“Now, Benjamin, I have a special favor I need from you.” she said as she began to climb into the bed with me. “I want you to fuck me, fuck me good and hard one more time.”

She got on her hands and knees and made it clear that she wanted it doggie style. I was certainly ready to oblige her by this time. I got on my knees behind her and entered her quickly, and pumped her until I shot my cum deep into her. We both then collapsed on the bed and hugged.

As I was leaving her house she told me that we would not be able to see each other again. Her husband was returning tomorrow and we had to get on with our lives.