What we have been discussing reminds me of the punitive enemas my aunt used to give her two teenage daughters. One day I arrived at my aunt’s house just as one of my cousins was about to undergo correction for having deliberately torn her sister’s dress in a fit of envy. The culprit tried to rectify the situation by apologizing, but undauntedly my aunt was gathering the enema equipment. I was too fascinated to make a polite exit, until my cousin blushingly asked her mother to send me home. To my surprise, my aunt decided I could stay, as an additional embarrassment for the malfeasant.
In honor of my presence, she was permitted to retain her bra and panties. But I was not disappointed. I have always considered her attractive, and seeing her in a tight pair of silk panties gave me quite a thrill. The recalcitrant was ceremoniously ushered into a bedroom and reluctantly laid face-down on some towels spread over the bed. She whimpered as my aunt lowered her panties in front of me and her giggling sister. The silken undergarment was arranged as a useless decoration below her knees, leaving her shapely buttocks and thighs fully exposed. Then, while my curiosity rose, my aunt attached a rubber hose to the enema bag and inserted a nozzle at the loose end. I noticed that she used a larger hygienic nozzle rather than the regular device provided for enema usage. She carefully greased this threatening plastic tube as its intended victim stared in horror. Ignoring her entreaties, my aunt prised apart the unhappy girl’s fleshy cheeks and the glistening black nozzle was slowly pushed into her rectum until it nearly disappeared inside the forced opening. Having checked that the hose was properly secured, my aunt instructed her whining daughter not to move and then went to the kitchen to prepare the special enema solution.
During my aunt’s 15-minute absence, my cousin, doing as she was told, maintained her awkward position, looking absurd with the red enema hose stretched like a strange clothes line from her quivering behind to the limp bag hanging on the bedpost. Her sister was beside herself from enjoyment, and our continual taunting and banter aggravated her ordeal. Unsupervised for so long, we took advantage of the opportunity afforded by the slightly protruding nozzle. To our amusement, we discovered that, by merely manipulating the implanted object, we could obtain splendid reactions from its unwilling possessor. We were like children mischievously torturing a captured dog by twisting its tail. Much like a helpless animal, my cousin was at our mercy. The muffling noise of a radio rendered her screams for help useless, while a great fear of my aunt’s wrath prevented her from freeing herself. So, submitting to the inevitable, she meekly held her pose while her sister and I each took turns experimenting with the nozzle. We were treated to an exciting show of squirming, fanny wiggling and childish complaints.
Just when we heard my aunt returning, my partner-in-mischief suddenly jerked the enema hose from its moorings in her alarmed sister’s mid-posterior. I was at first mystified by this unexpected maneuver, but its purpose was to become apparent. As my aunt came back onto the room, she found her errant daughter frantically trying to restore the nozzle and immediately misinterpreted her intentions. Wrongly identifying the prankster and ignoring the victim’s self-vindicating accusations, my aunt swiftly re-inserted the nozzle and carefully filled the enema bag with the pitcher of solution she had prepared. With all in readiness, she opened the stopcock, starting the flow into the pseudo-patient. My aunt skillfully released the liquid in intermittent spurts by pinching the hose. First, she would let it gush, causing the recipient to writhe in distress as the pressure quickly mounted. The she would stop it momentarily, allowing the pressure to subside to a tolerable level. In all, well over a quart must have been emptied out of the enema bag.
My cousin believed that the completed enema concluded her degrading public exhibition, but my aunt insisted on scrubbing her heretofore private areas with a wash cloth and toilet paper in much the same way that one might clean an infant for a diaper change. Even after that, my aunt made her wait at the bathroom door and stand facing the wall only steps from the physical relief she craved.
