enema | Mother's Punishment

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Mother's Punishment

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.

"No 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?"

"I 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?"

"Yes Mommy, anything."

"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 spanking."

"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."

I 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.

I couldn't 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.

She 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 sensations.

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.

When 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.

The 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.

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