On my trail of enema devotees I unexpectedly came across a small advert in the personal column of a weekly magazine to the effect that the advertiser was willing to ‘give enemas to ladies in their own homes’. As I was keen to get in touch with devotees of the enema I thought an approach to the advertiser might be fruitful.
I was uncertain whether to pretend that I was a woman or whether to write to the advertiser frankly and tell him I would value his co-operation. In the end I decided on the latter course. I told the advertiser (it was not clear from the advert whether it was a man or a woman) of my interest in the enema and anything he could tell me about the replies (if any!) he had had from his/her announcement would be most welcome and would be treated with confidence.
I wrote to the box number given in the magazine and when I had heard nothing for about a fortnight I began to assume that the advertiser was unwilling to help me.
Then, unexpectedly, I got a telephone call from the advertiser. It was a man’s voice and he said he wanted to thank me for my letter and that he would like to meet me. It was arranged that we should meet for dinner at a West End restaurant the following day.
The advertiser was a man called Henry Worth (well, that is the pseudonym I called him) and after introducing myself as Mrs. Blettsworthy, we settled down for a pleasant meal. During dinner it was agreed that Mr. Worth would accompany me to my flat, there to administer the services I required.
After dinner we left the restaurant, Mr. Worth holding the door ajar as I stepped into the street.
As she walked ahead of him, Henry had a chance to get a good look at her legs and he was surprised to see how shapely they were and without the faintest trace of varicosity.
‘Well, Mr. Worth, where do we begin?’ she smiled.
‘In your bedroom, I think,’ said Henry. ‘I really need a stand for the enema but if not I can quickly put a small hook into the wall to suspend it on – that’s if you’ve no objection.
‘Do whatever is necessary. I don’t mind at all.’
By this time they had reached her lavishly furnished bedroom which struck Henry as more of a boudoir than a sleeping apartment. His one worry was that the bed would be a little too bouncy for his purposes.
He went over to the bed and found that it was at once firm and buoyant and he decided that it would be suitable after all.
‘And now, Mr. Worth?’
‘Well, I can leave you while you undress and go to prepare the enema. Could you lie on the bed when you are ready, just put something over you until I come back.’
He went to the bathroom and ran a few pints of hot water. Then he added an ounce or two of liquid soap after which he made his way back to the boudoir.
Mrs. Blettsworthy was lying naked on the bed, not bothering to hide or cover herself.
‘Ah, there you are, Mr. Worth. Well, how are you getting on? Did you find what you wanted?’ she asked him.
He nodded as he put down the enamel jug containing the enema. He wanted to take in more details of the attractive body on the bed but for the moment he had to concentrate on fitting up an alternative to an enema stand. He took a hook from his case, a gimlet and a small piece of cord. At the end of the bed he quickly made a small hole in the wall and then screwed in the hook on to which he hung the enema can, tying it with the cord for safety.
‘There, we’re almost ready. Will you lie on your left side, please,’ he told Mrs. Blettsworthy.
She turned onto her left side and Henry had the pleasure of seeing a very shapely pair of buttocks that would have done credit to a woman of thirty or thirty-five.
He took a clinical thermometer from his case, fairly sure that by now the liquid in the jug would have fallen below 110 degrees. First he felt it with his hand to make sure and then put in the thermometer. When he withdrew it a minute later it registered 107 degrees.
‘I’m ready Mrs. Blettsworthy. Have you had an enema before?’
‘No, never Mr. Worth. I felt it was about time I had. And when I saw your advert it appealed to me. Why did you ask?’
‘No special reason. I wondered whether you had found any difficulty in retaining the fluid. What I want you to do is to tell me as I run the water into you whether you feel you are holding it. If you have the slightest doubt please tell me. Now I’ll just put this rubber sheet under you.
She raised herself a little and Henry placed a small rubber sheet under her buttocks.
Everything was ready.
He quickly lubricated the terminal of the rubber tube fixed to the enema can and parting Mrs. Blettsworthy’s buttocks a little he slid the tube into her rectum.
He picked up the jug containing the fluid and poured about two pints of it into the enema can.
‘I’m ready, Mrs. Blettsworthy,’ said Henry.
It was the first time he had ever turned on a stop-cock with such unnerving possibilities. He suddenly got worried that the liquid might be too hot, but most of all that the enema would simply run out of her either because he had not placed the tube correctly in her rectum or because she was one of those people who were simply incapable of retaining fluid in the colon.
But all was well. He ran half a pint of the soapy water into her colon and then turned off the stop-cock.
‘How’s that Mrs. Blettsworthy. Do you feel that you are retaining the water all right?’
‘Yes, I’m sure I am’, she murmured. ‘It’s a most pleasant feeling, just what I hoped it would be like. Please put more in if you wish, Mr. Worth.
His first exercise in enema administration looked like being a success!
He ran another half pint into her and then decided that it would be better on this first occasion to leave it at that. He turned off the stop-cock again and then quickly withdrew the tube from her anus.
‘Now, Mrs. Blettsworthy, I want you to lie there for a few minutes and when I tell you I want you to go to the lavatory and expel the enema. Just relax completely in the meantime.’
He was now relaxed himself and had time to examine his ‘patient’ in a more leisurely way
Perhaps, however, there would be no objection to him sitting at her side.
He edged onto the bed, sitting obliquely almost against her back, giving himself a good view of her breasts, her buttocks and legs. By leaning over slightly he could see her belly and the mound of her pubic hair below.
She certainly had an attractive body for her age, he decided. It was a pity, he began to think, that he had come to administer an enema, for Mrs. Blettsworthy rather regarded herself as a ‘patient’, at once happy to expose herself to him but at the same time keeping a distance between them. He felt he would be breaking the rules that seemed to be implied by their relationship if he were to touch her.
These thoughts were going through his head when she said in a quiet voice that she would appreciate it if he would gently massage her shoulders.
‘You see I get a certain amount of fibrositis and I find it is most effectively dissipated by massage. Do you mind while we are waiting?’
‘No, but I think it better to wait until we have completed the enema,’ said Henry – ‘Then I can massage your shoulders more vigorously.’
‘Of course, you are quite right, Mr. Worth.’ With that she lay silently for another her seven or eight minutes by which time Henry thought it would be right for her to expel the enema.
Evacuation
‘Will you go and evacuate the enema now, Mrs. Blettsworthy?’ he suggested, looking at his watch.
Henry told me that he was quite genuine in his interest in administering enemas. He sometimes got a certain amount of erotic satisfaction from Being the effects on his clients but he never set out to use the enema as a way of taking advantage of a woman. However, if other things developed during the course of a visit to a client he felt that he had no professional obligations to rim away from them.
In the case of Mrs. Blettsworthy, although he had quickly noticed how attractive she was despite her age, he had done no more than get a little pleasure from looking at her body; he had been too preoccupied with applying the enema on this his first visit and he had thrust other thoughts from his mind. However, when Mrs. Blettsworthy suggested that he should massage her back he was only too willing. He particularly liked the look of her smooth flesh and wondered how different it would feel from that of a much younger woman.
‘That was most pleasant and invigorating, Mr. Worth,’ she remarked as she came back into the bedroom some ten minutes later. ‘I already feel like a new woman. You must please come again, Mr. Worth.’
‘It will be a pleasure, Mrs. Blettsworthy,’ said Henry, feeling pleased with himself. ‘Now shall we do the massage?’
‘Yes, I’ll lie on the bed and you can really get your hands working on my shoulders – you know, the trigger spots, where the uric acid tends to accumulate. Do your best to disperse it, Mr. Worth.’
She lay face down on the bed and Henry felt a quivering in his loins as he looked down on her attractive naked body. She had a long straight back which then rose dramatically to plump buttocks, the flesh of which wobbled at her slightest movement.
He sat at her side facing the top of the bed and began to press his fingers into the fleshier part of her shoulders, working his hands a third of the way down her back and then back to the base of her neck. He could see that she was slowly relaxing, almost as if she were opening herself up to him.
Massage
At this point in his story he lowered his eyes before continuing. He then looked up at me and said: ‘I hope you won’t think I was taking advantage of her, but her body looked so inviting that I let my hands stray a little further than they should.’
I nodded my understanding and, reassured, he continued his story:
His hands repeated the movement down her back and up again to the base of her neck but on moving his hands down her back the next time he Went as far as her waist, lightly using the tips of his fingers on her spine. And then, catching sight of her plump buttocks, it was too much for him and with his right hand he started to knead the buoyant flesh. When she made no kind of protest he allowed his left hand to start work on her other buttock and he was soon pressing, kneading and pummeling the almost jelly-like flesh.
Mrs. Blettsworthy allowed her legs to slide apart a little and Henry ‘had no doubt by that time that she was giving him some sort of signal to transfer his attentions to her thighs.
His fingers moved down and soon he was lightly caressing the insides of her thighs, his fingers brushing the silk hair as he did so.
He wasn’t sure how far Mrs. Blettsworthy was prepared to let him go, but he would have been quite willing to have had intercourse with her if she had suggested it, for the more he saw of her and felt her body the less he considered her to be an old lady. But when he allowed his fingers to touch her labia she quietly reached down and pushed them away.
It was difficult to understand why she had let him touch and caress her buttocks and thighs if she had not wanted him to excite her sexually but rules were rules as Henry put it to me, and he quickly withdrew his hand and returned to massaging her back.
He gave her a further five minutes’ massage and then told her he thought that was sufficient.
‘Well, it’s helped me a great deal, Mr. Worth, and next time you come I want you to include my shoulder massage in your schedule.’
Enema for a Transvestite
Henry told me that he left Olga’s house feeling rather guilty about what happened. I suggested to him that he would gradually get used to such situations. It seemed to me more than ever that no hard and fast line could be drawn between the erotic effects of being given an enema and actual sexual arousal.
His next appointment lent even more force to my viewpoint.
It was a man. He had telephoned to say that although he was aware that the advert said ‘ladies only’ he wondered whether he could make an exception.
‘You see I am a transvestite,’ the man added.
It was more curiosity than anything else that persuaded Henry to break his rule about giving enemas to women only. He would be most interested to find out more about a man who openly admitted to the practice of cross-dressing, especially as he had never met such a person before.
The man’s flat was in Stanhope Gardens, South Kensington.
When he rang the bell the door was released as soon as he gave his name on the intercom.
Come up to the first floor, will you?’ said a voice.
Henry reached the first floor and a door opened ahead of him.
‘Come in, Mr. Worth1’ said a somewhat husky male voice but it emanated from an impeccably dressed woman.
The man saw the surprise in Henry’s face.
‘Yes, I am Robert Layton,’ he said, ‘but when I’m dressed as a girl I call myself Veronica. Will you do that, Mr. Worth.’
‘Of course,’ gasped Henry, unable to believe that the attractive female standing in the door of the flat was in fact a man.
He eyed him almost blatantly, unable to believe his eyes. For Robert Layton could really pass as a woman. About five feet seven in height, he wore a long fair wig that gave the final touch of femininity to an already sensitive face. He had wide-set appealing eyes, a straight not overlarge nose and wide, full lips, beautifully outlined in an orange shade of lipstick. His eyes were made up skillfully, a mauve eye-shadow starting below his brows, his eyelashes accentuated by mascara.
But it was what he could see of the man’s figure that really astonished Henry.
It was possible that his breasts were false, but there could be no doubt about his legs: they would have called for a second look on any woman. Long and slim, there was no obvious enlargement of the calf muscle, his knees were round and his thighs slender and shapely.
He walked ahead of Henry into the bedroom.
‘Will this room suit you?’ he asked. ‘The bathroom is just opposite.’
‘Fine,’ said Henry. ‘But I’ll have to put a hook in the wall for the enema can. Over the bed there. Is that O.K.?’
‘Whatever you wish,’ agreed Robert, whom we shall now call Veronica.
Henry went into the bathroom and filled a jug with warm, soapy water, making it hot enough to give him time to fix the hook on the wall.
When he returned to the bedroom with the jug, Veronica was already taking off her clothes.
‘I’d like to keep on some of my clothes if they won’t get in the way,’ she said.
‘Well,’ said Henry, with some embarrassment as he looked at the well-padded bra, her suspender-belt, knickers, stockings and high-heeled shoes. ‘As long as you take your knickers off I should be able to manage.’
‘Good,’ said Veronica, slipping out of the knickers and revealing a good-sized prick and heavy scrotum.
Henry noticed that she had shaved under her arm-pits and that she had removed hair from her abdomen to simulate the hair distribution of a woman.
Instead of the usual large triangle of hair more of less covering the whole of the belly from the navel, Veronica had shaved so that she had a well-demarcated inverted triangle immediately above her penis.
When the can was fixed and Henry had poured in the enema fluid he asked Veronica to lie on her side, facing the wall.
She did as he suggested and lay there, exposing her buttocks and anus. In the position she was in as Henry made ready to lubricate the tube anyone would have taken her for a woman.
Henry lubricated the tube and was about to put it into her anus when Veronica spoke.
‘I’d like you to lubricate my anus, Mr. Worth, if you don’t mind. I think it might be a little painful to have the injector inserted before doing that.’
An excuse, Henry realized. But he wasn’t unwilling to give Veronica the pleasure she desired.
‘It’s not really necessary,’ he replied, ‘because I lubricate the end of the tube and as it’s only about a third of an inch in diameter there’s no difficulty in getting it past the sphincter without causing any discomfort. Now if it was a man’s penis…’
He wondered whether Veronica was homosexual. He felt that if he was it was pretty certain that he would be a passive one, and might even like to be buggered. He wasn’t certain however; there was no necessary connection between transvestism and homosexuality. He might just be an anal erotic, liking something up his anus.
He rubbed the KY jelly over his first two fingers and applied them to Veronica’s anus. It was fairly tight and when he started to work his index finger into the aperture he made very little headway. He had to push it and withdraw it a number of times before he actually breached the sphincter, and when he did so Veronica gave a cry of pain.
‘Oh, stop, stop, please,’ she cried.
Henry didn’t move, keeping his finger where it was, already an inch or so up her anus. Gradually the pain must have abated for Veronica suddenly said: ‘I’m all right now. Please go on. It was the first time I’ve had anything in my anus, you see.
‘Well, you’re no longer a virgin now,’ laughed Henry as he now moved his finger smoothly back and forth through the sphincter. Eventually he was able to get two fingers in the best of three inches and Veronica began to moan with satisfaction as she felt the thrusting fingers reaching into the soft anal canal.
‘Now I’ll get the enema,’ announced Henry.
He warmed the enema again, took the temperature and then waited while it fell to about 105 degrees.
Now he ran some of the fluid through the tube and after closing the stopcock he thrust it into Veronica’s bottom, some three or four inches.
All right, Veronica?’ he asked her.
‘Lovely, Mr. Worth,’ sighed Veronica, and as the warm water began to flow into her colon she voiced her pleasure more than once.
‘Oh, I can feel the warm water in me,’ she said. ‘It’s getting heavier, almost hurting.’
‘Shall I stop?’
‘No, no’ l like it to weigh heavily in me. I had an idea it would be like this. Oh, it’s so, so unusual, it’s exciting me.’ Henry’ could see that Veronica’s penis was almost stiff.
He went on letting the liquid flow into Veronica’s colon until she had taken almost two pints.
‘That’s enough,’ she gasped suddenly. ‘Oh, no more or I’ll burst. But it’s lovely just like this. Now what happens?’
‘You keep it there, Veronica. Just enjoy the feel of it for as long as you can hold it. I’d say about ten minutes if you can. Relax as much as you can, but if you feel it coming out you d better make a dash for the loo.’
‘OK,’ she murmured softly, obviously getting some sort of kick from the weight of liquid in her colon.
Henry was patient. Anyway he wanted his clients, for whatever reason, to get something from the enema, in addition to the cleansing properties. Already he had come to the conclusion that people took enemas for a variety of reasons, no two people being quite the same. He had seen a girl almost reach a climax when he had given her an enema and now a man was finding some sort of erotic pleasure from one. Perhaps it was the heaviness of the water that please him, making it almost painful. If Veronica was a masochist, it might well be that an enema would give him a special kind of ‘kick’.
Ten minutes elapsed and then Veronica made her way to the loo. She was away for some time but when she came back her face glowed with excitement.
‘It was an extraordinary feeling getting rid of all that,’ she said. ‘I suppose it must be something like that having a baby.’
Henry had never thought of enemas in that light, but he was getting used to getting different reactions both to the retention of the enema and also to its evacuation.
The Perfect Client
His ‘perfect’ client, he told me, was a Mrs. Elizabeth Roden.
She lived in a large house in Nottingham and it was soon apparent that she was divorced and spent most of her time enjoying herself.
‘Will you come on Thursday afternoon?’ she had asked Henry on the phone. ‘But come early as I want plenty of time. I know all about enemas and I enjoy them very much, but the nurse who used to give them to me has gone away. Luckily I saw your advert.’
‘Have you any special kind of enema in mind, Mrs. Roden?’ he asked her.
‘Yes, as a matter of fact I have. I like one that stimulates me a bit more than the ordinary cleansing enema. I like you to add a cup of black coffee to the fluid.’
Henry had read about stimulating enemas but had never come across the use of coffee. He saw no reason, however, why he shouldn’t add a little to the fluid.
When he arrived Mrs. Roden was wearing a housecoat, underneath which she still had on a bra and knickers. Otherwise she was naked.
She led Henry to her bedroom where at one end of the room she had a small divan fitted specially for the administration of enemas. Near to the bed was a metal enema stand with a glass enema ‘can’, graduated in half-pints.
‘Now I like to be in the right mood, Mr. Worth. Nothing too hurried or clinical. As a matter of fact I’m rather glad I came across you for I feel that a man’s presence is more congenial than that of a nurse.’ She lay back on her own bed, the housecoat falling to her sides to reveal her in bra and panties.
‘Come and sit near me, Mr. Worth,’ she said, pointing to her right side.
Henry was in his shirt and trousers. He sat at her side and looked down at her attractive face with its sensual, almost aggressive mouth. It was a mouth meant for kissing, he was quite sure of that.
She took his hand and then placed it between the two bra cups.
‘Perhaps you would unfasten my bra,’ she said.
It wasn’t clear whether it was an invitation simply to undo her bra or whether she was implying something more. Henry, his fingers trembling with excitement at being so close to such a beautiful mature woman and being asked to touch her in the intimate cleft between her breasts, could hardly manage the clasp. He fiddled for two or three minutes before he managed to undo it, and then, his hands still shaking, he drew back the bra, to expose her massive breasts.
She slid the straps from her arms and lay there with her shapely breasts jutting from her soft fleshy body like two inert volcanoes, but volcanoes that could erupt at any moment. Henry desperately wanted to touch them, but he was not sure that he had interpreted her message correctly so withdrew his hands.
‘What I really like before my enema, Mr. Worth is a little gentle massage,’ she said, pouting her lips and smiling at him.
‘All right,’ murmured Henry and he put his hand on her belly, only very slowly risking a movement in the direction of her breasts. In the end his fingers reached the foothills and when he felt sure that she really wanted him to massage her breasts he took them, one in each hand, and began to squeeze them between his thumbs and the palms of his hands.
She almost shuddered as she felt the pressure of his fingers on the soft, sensitive mammary flesh. She was aroused more quickly by his hands on her breasts than Henry had ever known a woman before. Her eyes closed and she began to roll her head from side to side, murmuring as she did so and almost inaudibly telling him not to stop.
He squeezed the soft flesh even more vigorously, feeling for the glands beneath, sometimes gripping the swollen nipples and twisting them until Mrs. Roden was writhing to his every movement.
He felt sure of himself by that time and without telling her he now bent over and began to lick her right breast with his tongue, finally taking the nipple between his lips and rapidly flicking the tip of his tongue over it.
She continued to writhe ecstatically, inflamed by the contact of his lips on her breast, but when he slid his hand between her thighs she resisted him.
‘No, no, for God’s sake, I’ll come if you do that. Now I want the enema. I’m sufficiently stimulated to have an orgasm when you give me the enema. I can’t always succeed but when I do it’s fantastic.’
Henry wanted to go on, to feel her body all over and to caress her genitals but he was there to do the job and he resisted the temptation.
He got to his feet, quickly prepared the enema and forgetting all about the coffee he inserted the catheter into her rectum, quickly releasing the stop-cock and allowing the liquid to flow into her colon.
She was able to take almost two pints.
When she asked him to stop she began to wriggle on her side, moaning with excitement, quivering on the very brink of a climax.
‘I think I’m going to come,’ she murmured after a few moments, ‘the trouble is that I’ll be unable to retain the enema when I do. Will you bring the bedpan. It’s in the small cabinet.’
He brought the bedpan and slid it under her.
A moment later she was in the throes of what was obviously the most intense orgasm Henry had ever witnessed. She writhed and cried out her joy as her’ climax overtook her, releasing the enema as she did so and quickly filling the bedpan.
‘Oh, that was lovely,’ she gasped as she expelled the last of the enema and the orgasm subsided. ‘It was fantastic, Mr. Worth. You were very kind me.’
She got to her feet quickly took up the pan and took it to the loo. When she came back, she lay on the larger bed and invited Henry to remove his clothes and join her.
Punishment Routine
The final client Henry told me about was a woman who wanted him to administer an enema to her husband as part of her routine of punishment.
‘I give him an enema myself sometimes,’ she said, ‘especially before I whip him. But I thought it would be even more humiliating for him if I employed someone else to carry out that part of the routine while I sat and watched.’
She was a very large, heavily-built female, with enormous breasts held securely in a black leather bra. She also wore black leather knickers and a suspender-belt to keep up a pair of sheer black nylons. Her ensemble was completed by a pair of stiletto-heeled black shoes.
She led Henry to what she called the ‘punishment room’ where her husband, a man of about fifty, lay strapped to a bed covered in a rubber sheet.
‘I suppose I’ll have to release him,, she said as they entered. ‘But it’s a pity an enema can’t be given with him on his back.’
She undid the straps and the man quickly placed himself on his left side at the command of his wife.
The enema can was already in place over the bed and Henry quickly prepared the fluid.
‘Make it as hot as you can, my dear,’ said the woman whose name she gave as Cleopatra.
‘Well, I think 115 is the maximum that is safe,’ he said. ‘I can’t give it at a higher temperature than that.’
He tested the water into which he had also put an ounce or two of liquid soap and found it to be about 112 degrees. He felt that was quite warm enough for safety.
He plunged the tube into the man’s anus and at a signal from Cleopatra he switched on the stop-cock. He watched the liquid run from the can and when two and a half pints had been run in he turned it off.
‘Give him more,’ barked the woman. ‘I want to fill him with it.’
He let another half pint run in and then said he thought that was as much as he could take.
‘Right!’ Then she turned to her husband.
‘If you allow one drop of that to trickle from you, George, I’ll thrash you within an inch of your life. So take care.’
The man lay there doing his best to retain the heavy weight of liquid while his wife watched him closely, occasionally feeling his anus for the slightest indication that he was not holding the water.
This went on for some fifteen minutes when the man begged to be allowed to evacuate.
‘You’ll wait another five minutes,’ she said. ‘By which time it’ll feel cold inside you. Then we’ll see if you can hold it.’
Five minutes elapsed and by this time the man was groaning with anguish on the bed, gripping the hand rail on the wall to help him to control himself.
‘All right,’ his wife now shouted. ‘Get to the lavatory and evacuate. I’ll get the whip ready.’
When her husband left the room she asked Henry if he would kindly stay to watch her whip him.
‘It won’t really hurt very much, of course,’ she told him. ‘I use a short whip, more like a riding crop and give him a dozen strokes.’
Henry hadn’t much choice. Anyhow he was rather curious to see a woman whipping her husband, an experience that he found extremely novel, though he had -read about such things in the papers.
Cleopatra Uses the Whip
Cleopatra had got the whip from a shelf and was holding it ready for her husband’s return, but they had to wait almost ten minutes before he came back.
‘Now, over the end of the bed,’ she shouted.
The poor man did as she had told him, placing himself over the bed end, his feet just touching the carpet.
The bulky Cleopatra now stood over him and swishing the crop in the air she brought it down sharply over the man’s buttocks, forcing him to cry out in agony.
‘Shut up, you wretch,’ she told him.
She hit him again, this time on his left buttock9 the crack of the whip and the impact on the white flesh echoing through the room.
Despite the force of the stroke the man was silent this time, but there was no doubt that he must have been feeling the stinging pain of the whip for within a few he started to moan.
Again the crop whistled through the air and again it struck him with a noise like a pistol shot. He wriggled to one side under the force of the blow, this time on the other buttock.
Swish! Swish!
She gave him two more strokes in quick succession, first on the one side, then on the other, criss-crossing where he had been struck before. George by now was distressed enough to moan with agony and started to beg her to stop.
But had no intention of giving up.
She hit him again and again until ten strokes had been administered by which time the whole of his buttocks were sore.
Two more strokes came down on the man’s sore bottom, the last of them almost knocking him off the bed.
‘There,’ she cried out. ‘Next time it will he twenty-four.’
She ushered Henry down to the hall.
‘You see it’s the only way to treat a man,’ she said. ‘But, of course, I’ve no doubt that he really enjoys every moment of it. When can you come again, Mr. Worth’ she then added.
Henry was only too willing to administer another enema to George now that he was assured that he really enjoyed his humiliation and he made an appointment for the following week, the same day at the same time
