My aunt used to take care of me now and then. She was an RN and very forward about giving enemas. I think that she would give an enema to anything that moved, or perhaps, more appropriately didn’t move.
One evening when she was taking care of me she asked me if I had had a BM that day. Sort of picking up here, I replied “No,” even though I really couldn’t remember if I had or not. She then asked me if I had ever had an enema. I told her my mother had given me enemas with a bulb syringe. She told me that was more of a wash and that a real enema
like they give in the hospital' wasreally an experience’ and that she thought I was probably going to need one.
We were laying in her bed at the time because I used to always sleep with her when she took care of me. My uncle worked nights and we were the only two in the house. Also, I used to sleep in one of my uncle’s T-shirts that fit me like a night shirt and came almost to the floor. We would lie there at night and scratch each other’s back and butts and put powder on each other’s back and down the crack of the other’s butt and scratch each other’s crack. I enjoyed this very much and was only frustrated by the fact that when I tried to explore lower she always stopped me. Those days are probably the most memorable of my life : sleeping with my aunt who excited me sexually at a very young age and later used to give me enemas on a regular basis.
That night when I replied that I had not had a BM she replied that I needed a regular good old fashioned 3H enema. We got out of bed and she took me by the hand and lead me into the bathroom. I was very apprehensive, a bit scared and looking forward to it like you wouldn’t believe. As we walked into the bathroom I was on an emotional roller-coaster. I had a feeling in the pit of my stomach and a feeling of dread and at the same time a feeling of excitement. One of anticipation, but also a bit of fear.
My aunt used to keep a diary and write in it every evening while we were lying in bed and she would go into graphic detail whenever she instructed new nurses in how to give enemas, and it had always fascinated me. I knew that there was a reason for the feeling I had in my tummy. The feeling of sexual excitement and at the same time a bit of fear. I knew that in a few minutes I was going to be getting an enema like I had never experienced in my life, and at this point I had no choice but to comply and do whatever she said.
Sitting on the lid of the toilet seat, still in my uncles oversized T-shirt, I watched her open the door of the bathroom closet and take out a tube of KY Jelly and a zippered carrying case, a 2 qt. pitcher and a coat hanger. She laid these things on the counter. Then she unzipped the case and took out a blue folding syringe that had white tubing and the customary two black nozzles. To my surprise, she chose the larger curved douche nozzle and attached it to the tubing. “You’re gonna use the big nozzle?” I asked in a kind of meek tone. Yes, “she replied,” it stays in position better and its always better to use the bigger nozzle unless you are giving an enema to a baby or real small child. I didn’t say another word, but just continued to watch as she then proceeded to start running hot water into the sink picked up the bar of soap and started to rotate the bar rapidly between her hands under the running water. After the sink was full, she continued rubbing the bar of soap under the water for a while longer.
When she had decided the water was soapy enough, she dried her hands, picked up the pitcher in one hand and the enema bag in the other. She then filled the pitcher and poured it into the enema bag. At this point I noticed that the enema bag was not shaped like other enema bags I had seen. Instead of having the traditional shape this one looked like a big blue pumpkin (which I learned many years later is exactly what they call it) I don’t know how much water she put in it, but she did dip the pitcher down into the sink twice, since because of the shape of the sink she was unable to fill the pitcher entirely. Then she took the coat hanger and ran the hook part of the hanger through the hole at the top of the bag and hung the bag on the towel rack at the end of the tub. She then ran some of the water through the tube to let the air out of the tube and placed the nozzle into the bag of hot soapy water. She then walked to the sink, picked up the tube of KY jelly and said “OK, we’re ready.”
How much hot soapy water she had in that bag I am not sure. At the time I thought it was full, but I am sure it wasn’t and I am sure she knew exactly how much water was in the bag. She walked over to where I was sitting and in the process of getting to my feet. With tube of KY in hand she replied, “OK time to strip you down for your enema.” With that she ordered me to raise my hands and lifted the oversized T-shirt off of me with one fatal swoop.
All of a sudden I was standing there naked as a slug in the bathroom with my aunt who was wearing only a yellow sleeveless pajama top and a pair of white nylon panties and the large blue enema bag hanging ominously on the towel rack. I will never in my life be able to put into words the feelings I was having at this moment. Shame, fear, excitement, anticipation, they were all there but still are not descriptive enough. If a 7 year old could ever have a heart attack I think I was close. After I was naked, she ordered me to get down on my knees facing the bathtub and bend over the edge of the tub so that my head was actually in the tub and my bottom sticking up in the air she kept telling me to move further and further over the edge of the tub so that finally my cheek was resting on the floor of the tub and my bottom sticking almost straight up. She then opened the tube of KY and put a big glob on my anus and then to my surprise she went on to insert her finger well up into my rectum, I sort of let out a little grunt or moan but didn’t say a word. After this she took the big black curved nozzle out of the enema bag and I could feel her press it against my anus. It felt warm having been in the hot enema water and was quite a contrast to the cold porcelain I was feeling on my stomach. Then she applied gentle pressure, told me to just relax, and I felt that big black enema nozzle sliding up into my rectum, causing me to have another indescribable sensation.
When the nozzle was in place she began to lecture me on how she wanted me to take the enema. “Listen,” she said, “I want you to take all of this enema and if you just relax and do what I tell you we won’t have any trouble OK?”
Tethered by the nozzle up my bottom, I simply mumbled “OK.” As I looked to the left I could see the bag hanging above me on the towel rack and see she had the shut off clamp in her hand. “Are you ready for your enema?” she asked. Again I just dumbly mumbled yes. With that I heard the click of the shut off clamp, which I thought sounded like a rifle shot in the quiet of the bathroom, and began to feel the first pleasurable sensation of the hot soapy water beginning to fill my bowels. This however lasted for only a minute or so and then the cramps began to set in. I complained to my aunt and told her I was full and ready to get rid of my enema.
To my horror, she told me that I was wrong and that I had not even taken a third of my enema. She had already stopped the flow and she told me simply to ‘relax and pant like a puppy’ and tell her when the cramp went away. I did what she said and she was right, the cramps went away. She started the flow again, the cramps came and when she stopped the flow and I panted like a puppy they went away. After a few times of this however, the cramps didn’t go away as quickly and I found myself constantly panting like a puppy and getting into a very desperate state and begging her to let me up to get rid of the enema.
Finally she stopped the flow again and said, “OK, were only about two thirds of the way through this enema and you have your choice. You can either go ahead and get rid of this enema and then you will have to have another enema, or you can go ahead and finish this enema and that will be the only one you will have to take tonight.”
“Okay,” I said, panting and frantic, “I’ll try to take all of this enema.” With that said I watched her release the clamp. I took a little bit more, but quickly realized it was no use and told her I couldn’t take it all. She shut off the flow, withdrew the nozzle and let me stand up and head for the toilet. When I stood up I couldn’t believe how big my tummy had gotten and when I sat down on the toilet everything really came out as I sat there feeling instant relief, my feelings of relief were dampened as I saw my aunt take down the enema bag carry it over to the sink and begin to once again fill the sink with hot soapy water… “See,” she replied, “I told you getting an enema was an experience.”
My aunt rolled the bar of soap in her hands under the hot water she was running in the sink to prepare my second enema. She then picked up the enema bag and pitcher and once again refilled the bag. She then rehung it in it’s original position, placed the nozzle in the bag of water and walked over to where I was sitting on the toilet and began to softly rub my back with her hand. “Are you all empty yet,” she asked.
I nodded yes. “Okay,” she said, “Wipe yourself off and get back over the edge of the tub.” I took some paper and did as she said, she then went to the sink and wet a washcloth. Then she took me by the hand, stood me up and bent me over her leg so that my bottom was sort of sticking up between her legs, in this position she gently cleaned my bottom. This was another very pleasant feeling, my penis against her thigh and the feel of her nylon panties against my side. After she finished she led me over to the edge of the tub and guided me into position.
By now I knew what I had to do so I simply put my head down low and stuck my bottom up high in the air and turned my head to the side so I could watch her take the nozzle out of the bag, let the air out of the tube and replace it in the bag. She then picked up the lubricant and once again placed a large glob on my bottom hole and again drove her finger up my rectum to the hilt. She then took the tube out of the enema bag and inserted it well up into my rectum. As a one last ditch attempt, in a very weak voice I asked, “Do I really have to have another enema?”
She answered, “You haven’t really even had one yet, only part of one. This one will go better. Like I said, you just have to do what I say and breathe deeply and pant like a puppy, this will keep the cramps away. Are you ready to start your enema now?”
I didn’t say a word but just dumbly nodded my head yes. Again I heard the sharp click of the shut off clamp, and again felt the first rush of hot soapy water begin to enter my bowels. This time, however, I didn’t even wait for the cramps to start, I started panting rapidly right away. I continued this and as my aunt knelt by my side on her knees I could see her occasionally pinch the hose a bit to slow down the flow of water, but she never did shut it off and I didn’t ask her to. My belly was getting bigger and was tight as a drum by the time it was all in me, I did manage to take the entire enema! I looked up and could see that big enema bag hanging limp on the towel rack, now empty and no longer a threat to me. “You did a good job,” my aunt told me, “You took your whole enema.”
I thought I would now be allowed to get up and go to the toilet and relieve myself, but she didn’t seem to be understanding this and just stayed there with the nozzle up my bottom, not moving. “I have to go now!” I announced. “Not yet, I want you to hold it in for about 5 or 10 minutes to let it work properly and do it’s job.”
Again panic set in. “I can’t hold it I don’t think!” I said in a fairly desperate tone of voice.
“You’ll have to hold it for a while unless you want to do this all over again,” she said, “Do you?”
“No!” I answered. It was all I could do, but I somehow managed to hold it for the required length of time. She then pulled out the nozzle and put a piece of toilet tissue up against my anus and escorted me to the toilet. When I finally sat down I think I voided everything with one big rush and one of the most complete feelings of relief that I have ever had in my life. While I was busy voiding the enema, I was watching my aunt as she was washing out the enema bag and hanging it to dry over the shower rod.
After I had finished, she once again cleaned me with the wash cloth and then put the oversized T-shirt on me and led me by the hand back to her bed. Once back in bed she told me what a good job I had done taking my enema and again began rubbing my back and patting my bottom as she told me that the next time I would know what to expect. She then asked me if I thought she was right when she said getting an enema was a `real experience?!…..
Imagination or fact, I’m not sure which, but the enemas seemed to become hotter, soapier and a lot larger in volume. Also, at the same time, I was receiving more and more spankings from Aunt Ginny. I guess, up until about age 5, I do not ever remember receiving a major spanking from her. Oh, I recall when she was displeased with me and gave me a half-hearted swat to the fully clothed (and quite possibly diapered) bottom, but this paled in comparison to the ordeals she would put me through after about age 5.
Near that age she announced to me that my misbehavior could no longer be blamed on “developmental areas of wanting to establish autonomy,” and I was at the point of “simply being a brat!” As I mentioned in chapter 1, she was an RN, so she was pretty much up on these things, looking back on all of it, I am not sure she was not completely right.
Anyway, she announced to me that from that point forward I would be getting “real” spankings from her which included her “warping” my bottom with her hairbrush., she went on to announce that “I only give bare bottom spankings” I am sorry that I cannot recall her exact quotation here, but much to my regret later on I only paid about half attention, just figuring in my own juvenile and obviously incorrect mind that she was just angry and blowing off steam. Well, I didn’t have to wait too long to find out exactly how wrong I was !
The next day I was out playing in the yard by myself just having a great time climbing on the propane tank and sliding down the side of it when my aunt Ginny asked me to come into the house. It was all so light hearted that I simply replied OK and continued to play on the propane tank, forgetting to go in the house. I think I “forgot” to go into the house for two reasons. One is that by judging from her tome of voice she didn’t seem to care that much if I went in or not and secondly, I sort of had the feeling that I was in for an enema that evening and I wanted to postpone that as long as possible because she always put me to bed after my enemas.
Let me explain here a little bit, it was not that I disliked going to bed after my enemas from her, since they were always so large in volume they would always leave me weak (and sometimes even make me vomit) and make me feel tired, but I just felt it was too early in the evening for me to have to deal with such things. Anyway, boy was I wrong!! When she came back out into the yard she caught me about half way on my sliding trip down the propane tank, took me by the wrist and lead/half drug me into the house and announced on the way, “I am taking you in this house right now and you are going to get your bottom warped like you won’t believe!”
At this point I knew it was serious. Boy was it ever! We didn’t stop at the kitchen for my customary cookies and milk, we didn’t stop in the living room for me to watch my customary Mickey Mouse Club. Things were going a lot different today! She hauled me right into the bathroom and told me to “take off every stitch right now” and I also knew I was not even going to get my “customary” enema…at least not right away. Boy, did she have other things in mind! At this point I knew better than to say anything, so I just busied myself quietly taking off all my clothes and folding them and placing them neatly on the shelf as I was always required to do prior to my enemas, so I was familiar with the routine of how to strip for my aunt Ginny.
By the time I had all of my clothes off she had a hairbrush in her hand. It was one of those wooden hairbrushes with the big flat oval back and I recall thinking to myself at the time that when she bought it she must have had other things in mind to do with the hairbrush other than brush her hair. I was right! She closed the toilet seat lid, sat down on it and ordered me to walk to her. As I walked to her I knew now that I was into a walk to my executioner. My legs were turning to jelly, I had a lump in my throat, my stomach had turned upside down and I had butterflies flying below the upturned stomach. I was a total wreck!
She had me lightly by the hand and as I started to climb across her knees she stopped me and directed me to stand between her knees and had me stand there and wait while she pulled her dress up to the very top of her thighs, lead me between her legs and then had me bend over her left knee and took her right leg and clamped it over the back of my thighs, pretty much making me immobile and making my bottom feel very vulnerable. To this day I will never forget that dress. It was a light cotton dress that came to about her knees and had wide straps at the top and had aqua, yellow and gray stripes running lengthwise. After she had me bent well over her knees she told me that I was going to get a “warping like you aren’t going to believe” She then went on to tell me that if I put my hands back to try to protect my bottom the spanking would start all over again and she then instructed me to clasp my hands together telling me that this might help me from clasping back. Once all of this was said she reached up on the shelf and grabbed the hairbrush.
I will never forget how quiet the room seemed at that moment and feeling that it would get really loud when she started the spanking. But I was wrong. The first blow of the hairbrush just sounded like a dull “splat” and that first dull splat hurt me so terribly that I was temporarily unable to respond to the pain! By the time the second blow landed however, I let out such a blood curdling scream that I couldn’t believe it came from my own throat! This woman who I had always loved as my caring and loving aunt had in less than 10 seconds placed me into a living hell at her own determined hands. I do not remember the details of this terrible spanking, but I do remember me screaming begging and having the quite specific thought run through my mind that I might die. All of this seemed to not deter my aunt in the least, and god did she keep laying it on! By the time she was finished I was almost screamed and cried out and just hung over her knees in a blubbering mass.
I barely remember her standing me up and guiding me into the bathroom corner and her telling me to stand there until she said at the end of the sentence “until I am ready for you again” At this point I remember dropping to my knees and grabbing her hand and begging her, “Oh please aunt Ginny, don’t spank me anymore, Oh God please don’t, Oh God please don’t, I love you so much, I love you, please don’t spank me anymore, don’t spank me.. please?”
She very calmly responded to this blubbering and begging, “No, I am not going to spank you anymore, but you still need your enema this evening, so you go ahead and stand in the corner and think about your spanking and how you are going to behave in the future while I get your enema ready, OK? At this point an enema was the best offer I had had all evening, so I just eagerly shook my head “yes,” and went to the corner.
I was standing facing the corner, but could hear the sounds of my enema being prepared. From all of the previous enemas I had received at the hands of my aunt Ginny I could pretty much figure out what was going on. I could hear her reaching up into the bathroom closet and taking down the big blue “pumpkin” bag that held 3.5 qt. and hear her running the water into the sink until it was really hot and then hear her even pick up the bar of Ivory soap and swish it in the sink. I could hear her picking up the pitcher and dipping it in the sink and hear the familiar sound of hot soapy water filling the enema bag. The next sound I heard was as she hung the enema bag from the towel rack.
“OK, your enema’s ready, get over here and get over the edge of the tub.” I turned and walked from the corner very gently because even at this short period of time after my spanking I could feel that my bottom cheeks were already swollen and walking was somewhat painful. However, I made my way to the edge of the bathtub and assumed my, by now very familiar, position bending over the edge of the bathtub, face almost straight down in the tub and my bottom stuck well up into the air to receive my impending enema.
When my aunt Ginny started to work on me with the enema, I could tell she was disgusted with me. All the other times she would go to great length to make sure I got my enemas just the way she wanted. That is to say, she would constantly coach me on how she wanted my bottom presented, tell me to pant like a puppy when cramps set in, etc.. This time she simply put a large glob of KY on her finger and ran it up my rectum as far as she could reach and no longer had she pulled her finger out than she ran that big black curved douche nozzle right up into my rectum without hesitation. I was a little upset by this rough treatment and sort of missed her gentle fashion with the enemas, which I had learned to lovingly accept over the years. Even though she always insisted on giving me hot soapy large volume enemas, her technique was always so gentle I could always endure it. Her rough treatment of my fanny this time caused me to wonder and my wonder changed to certainty when I looked over my shoulder and saw that she had another half pitcher of hot soapy enema water waiting at the ready.
“What’s that other pitcher of water for?” I asked, already half -way knowing the answer. “I am going to put you through a bag refilling tonight!” she exclaimed. “My mother always had me lay on my back with my knees drawn up to my chest in the bathtub when she gave me enemas and I had to lay on my back and watch the bag empty and then watch her refill the bag. She took me from bulb to bag when I was only 4 years old. I always thought I was treated too harshly by her and that is why you never got the large volume bag enema until you were five years old. Now I am wondering if I didn’t make a mistake. You are now six years old young man and I can tell you right now you are going to start getting at least one enema a week that involves a bag refilling.” In my present position, with a large black douche nozzle placed up my rear and a spare pitcher of enema water at my aunt’s side, I didn’t feel like I was in much of a position to debate the issue (either literally or figuratively) so I just said OK.
No sooner had I answered than I heard the click of the shut-off clamp and felt the hot soapy water begin to course its way up my bowels. The enema was very hot and very soapy and she never slowed the flow even when I began to complain about cramps. Every previous enema I had received from her, she would always quickly stop the flow and say “pant like a puppy” and try to help me through the ordeal of the enema, but this time, no! She simply said, “You’d better handle it, you have another bag to take!” So….I did. I heard her lock the shut-off clamp, looked over my shoulder and saw the limp enema bag hanging to my side on the towel rack. I then saw my aunt reach to the other side of me, grab the pitcher with another quart of hot soapy enema water in it and pour it into the enema bag. The next sound I heard was the click of the shut-off valve being reopened and I felt more hot soapy water begin to fill my bowels.
That was when I really began to panic, cramp, and I started to beg…”Oh Lord aunt Ginny, please stop, no more please, I’ll be good, I love you, I love you, I can’t take anymore please, I’m so full. I’m so full, please stop!” And she finally did, but only when the bag was empty. I looked to my side and saw the now limp enema bag hanging from the towel rack. My panic was only starting to partially subside because I thought she was going to make me hold the enema for the traditionally required ten minutes, but tonight I was finally to get some mercy from my aunt Ginny.
She immediately withdrew the large douche nozzle from my rectum and told me, “Go ahead and get rid of your enema and we will talk after you are finished.” I immediately climbed up from my position over the bathtub, went to the toilet and had the most pleasurable sensation I had had all evening releasing my enema water. In the meantime, my aunt stayed in the bathroom and washed the enema equipment and then drew me a hot bath. When I was finished getting rid of my enema my aunt Ginny put me in the bathtub and she washed me herself and I let her and didn’t protest in the slightest even though she had not bathed me in about a year.
After my bath she took me to my bedroom and sat on the bed next to me and began to talk. “Listen, I love you very very much and I would do anything in the world for you. But, I will not tolerate the way you behaved this evening. If you wanted to stay out later this evening you could have done that. All you had to do was come up to me when I called you in and told me that you would like to stay out a little longer and play because you knew you had to have an enema this evening and wanted to take it later. That would have been OK. What you did instead was ignore my request. That is not only misbehavior, it is a rude way to treat other people to not acknowledge their requests, and that is why you were punished tonight, do you understand?”
By now I again had tears welling up in my eyes and in a very choked voice I said “Yes aunt Ginny” and I put my arms around her waist and hugged her for all I was worth and she stroked my hair back and kissed me gently on the forehead. She tucked me in bed and after she was done with that and had left the room I immediately turned on my stomach, off my sore bottom, and enjoyed a great nights sleep. The next morning, all was forgotten…with the exception of the valuable lesson I had learned the previous evening, which was never forgotten.
Well, that is my story. I am now 45 years old, and perhaps, because of the direct administrations of my aunt, I am now a total Klismaphile and have a total sexual attraction to enemas. The way I was treated on the evening I have just written about is now considered child abuse. However, I can guarantee you that even to this day, when someone asks me to do something or requests something, they get a very direct answer or inquiry immediately and they are never ignored. Also, for the record, I am sure that my aunt didn’t give me 4.5 qt. of hot soapy water. More likely she put in only one quart and then added another from the pitcher just to scare me. To a small child the bag always looks full !