We were married on the Saturday afternoon after Thanksgiving, and we were anxious to leave the reception and get away. It was about a three hour drive, and we wanted to stop and get groceries as we were going to my family’s summer home on Long Beach Island for our secluded honeymoon.

 The drive was uneventful, and we stopped to get groceries, beverages, and other necessities, and soon arrived at the shore home.  A bottle of champagne and a joint later found us firmly in a night of torrid lovemaking.

 I awoke to the sounds of a full blown nor’easter and a thoroughly dismal and rainy day. Liz was sleeping soundly and I let her be while I proceeded to make coffee and contemplate the churning, November ocean. After about a half hour, I heard stirring upstairs, and in a few minutes, Liz joined me in the kitchen.

 “Good morning, sweetheart!” I cheerfully greeted my bride as she came into the kitchen wearing an oversized sweatshirt and white anklets to keep her feet warm. “and how is me lovely wife today?”

 (and lovely she was. Although a petite woman, she was a natural redhead with a perfectly proportioned body; full c-cup breasts and a well curved rear)

 She returned my glance. “Not so hot, I’m afraid.” A painful grimace came across her face. “My stomach is turning cartwheels.”

 “Have you tried going to the bathroom?”, I inquired.

 “Yes”, she replied, “and I think that’s where the problem lies. With the wedding and everything, I haven’t gone in a few days and my system is really clogged up.”

 Looking at her pained face with concern I said, “Why don’t you have a cup of coffee and I’ll see if there’s anything in the house that will help. Maybe there’s a laxative or something of the sort in one of the medicine chests. I’ll go look.”

 I knew exactly what I was looking for, and in a few minutes, had found the objects on my desires. There was a jar of glycerin suppositories, and of course, the red, open top fountain syringe which myself and my cousins were no stranger to. However, I couldn’t find the smaller rectal pipe, just the larger curved, black nozzle which as kids we never had used on us. Gathering up these items, I returned to the great room where Liz was laying on the sofa wrapped in a comforter. Her eyes nearly popped out of her head when I placed everything on the table.

 “All I could find were these glycerin suppositories and this enema bag,” I said in my calmest voice. “Which one do you want to try?”

 “Well, you can forget the enema!”, Liz said. “My mom and aunt gave me one about ten years ago and it was awful!” ( Liz remembered back to that day when she was about 12 or 13 and came down with one of the winter flu bugs and was out of school for several days. It was her mother’s sister, Jenny, who suggested to her mom that an enema would be just the thing to help her get over her illness. She remembered being taken across her mom’s lap while Aunt Jenny squeezed bulb full after bulb full of warm, soapy water in her young heinie. To make matters worse, they both followed her in the bathroom to see the result. And if that wasn’t bad enough, she was given a two quart rinse with the hot water bottle and hose attachment when she was done expelling her soapsuds. Again this was administered across her mother lap with Aunt Jenny doing the honors.)

 “Yeah, I can relate to that. We all got them occasionally, but they really weren’t all that bad. I suppose a lot depends on how they’re given.”

 “I suppose you’re right, but I really don’t want to have to take an enema to help me poop,” Liz said. “Hopefully, the glycerin sticks should do the trick and I’ll be feeling better soon.”

 “Can you insert that yourself?”, I asked, hoping for the right response.

 “Let me try,” she replied, taking a suppository from the jar and pulling it under the comforter with her (wrong response, drat!).

 Liz looked over at me, “It’s in. . .now what?”

 “I just suppose you have to wait for it to do it’s trick. Ten or fifteen minutes, I guess. Let’s see what happens.”

 After about ten minutes, a pained look came up on Liz’s face. She leapt off the sofa and ran upstairs to the bathroom, where I heard the door slam shut. After fifteen minutes or so she came back downstairs with the same expression on her face.

 “Any luck?, I inquired.

 “No, all I could manage to do was force out what was left of that suppository, but nothing else,” she replied. “Should I try another one?”

 I pondered the question for a minute. “If the first didn’t work, I can’t imagine another one being any more effective. If you really packed up back there, nothing is going to effective other than an enema or two.”

 A long look came over her face at the mention of the word ‘enema’. “Oh, god! I promised myself many years ago I’d never have another one. . . I guess I’ll have to break my promise. Jack, can you help me with this?”

 “Sure, sweetheart,” I replied. “Look at the bright side, It’s not being administered against your will, and we can stop it any time you feel uncomfortable. Why don’t we go up to the bathroom and I’ll try to get everything together.

 Reluctantly, Liz agreed and of they went to the upstairs, detouring to the kitchen to get a pitcher, wooden spoon, and soap flakes. Upon arriving at the bathroom, Liz took a seat on the closed commode, while I placed several towels on the low wash stand by the tub. Then letting the water in the tub run, I made a batch of warm soapsuds in the pitcher, stirring them with the wooden spoon until they were frothy and bubbling over the top. Hanging the bag from the towel hook, about two feet over the table, I let the air out of the tube and signaled to Liz that it was time for her enema. She peeled off her sweatshirt, stood up and came over to the washstand.

 I positioned my bride across the towels I had placed on the washstand so the she was face down. Looking at the mirror on the bathroom door, Liz could see herself from the front with the red bag hanging on the wall behind her.

 “Are you comfortable?”, I asked.

 “Yes, this isn’t bad.”, Liz replied. It was certainly more comfortable than having to squirm totally naked across her mother lap on the bed during her previous, and only, enema. Now here she lay, again totally naked,  across a bed of towels, about to have her bare bottom penetrated by her husband of only a day.

 “Now let me get you ready.”, I said. Taking a glob of vaseline, I parted the cheeks of her well rounded and perfectly cleft ass exposing her anus, still glistening from the suppository, and slowly inserted my greased finger. “I want to make sure that you are well lubricated so that the tube will go in easy. Now push out just a little bit, like you’re trying to poop.” With that he heard an audible gasp from his young bride as his finger easily slid into her pretty rear.

 “Did I hurt you, hon?”

 “No,no. . .It just felt. . .well, unusual. . .but not much different that the suppository. I’m OK with it. . .after all, we are married and I guess that this is something that married couples have to do to one another at some point in time.”

 Removing my finger, I then put a thin coat of lube on the tube as well. “OK, here we go. . .now push out gently again.” As she pushed, the tube, due to its excellent preparation, slid in easily to the hilt, buried deep in her anal furrow. “Now, if you feel any cramping, or discomfort, tell me and I’ll slow down the flow.”

 With that caveat, I opened the stopcock and the warm, soapy water began its journey, high into Liz’s clogged colon. The bag was running freely and was quickly filling Liz, until it appeared half empty.

 “Oh! Oh! Stop it, please! I’m cramping!”, Liz sang out.

 Clipping the stopcock to halt the flow, I told Liz to take a series of shallow breaths while I reached under her spread legs and began to massage her swelling tummy. “Is that better?”, I asked.

 “Oh, yes. . .that feels better. . .whatever it was, it went away. But I’m really starting to feel full.”, she said as she shifted position somewhat across the washstand. “OK, I’ll try to take some more”, she continued.

 Opening the stopcock again, the big, red bag continued to empty its contents into my wife’s bowels. “You’re doing really good!”, I said. “It’s just about all in.” And with that, the once bulging bag was now empty and limp. (But that was the only limp thing at this point of the proceedings).

 “I’m sure that for a good result, you’re going to have to hold this in you for a few minutes,” I said allowing the greasy tube to slide out of her bum-hole, and just as quickly replacing it with my finger. “Just so it won’t leak out,” I added.

 “So say you. . .Uh, I can’t believe all that went inside me,” she said as she stood up with my finger still in place and began to rub her swollen belly. “Now I know what it feels like to be pregnant!”, she joked. “But enough levity, I got to let go, and I mean now!”

 Removing my finger, she sprang to the toilet, raised the lid, sat down and unleashed a torrent of water into the waiting bowl. Then her eyes went wide as a huge turd exited her over stretched rectum and plopped into the bowl below, followed by another torrent of water and several noisy farts. Another minute passed and another large turd slid into the toilet again followed my more noisy farts.

 “Oh my god!”, she cried, “This is so embarrassing!” As she sat there naked on the commode, she began to regain her composure. “And what’s that sticking out from under your robe?. . .Don’t tell me you that you’re enjoying all of this?”

 I couldn’t lie. . .this whole experience had answered a fantasy which I had hidden since my childhood when I was witness to one of my aunts giving an enema to her daughter during a summer visit many years previous. “Well I have to admit, sweetheart, your ass did look pretty cute with that big nozzle stuck up it.. . . .and seeing it there really made me horny . . .especially when you let it all go.” (My dick got even harder as I tried to explain all this).

 Liz wiped herself and arose from the seat, “Well, we better not let this go to waste,” She said as she touched my throbbing love club. “I have to admit. . . I was kind of really turned on too. . .That was totally different than what Mom and Aunt Jen did to me. . .Do I have to have another one?”

 “Not for at least another hour,” I replied as I picked Liz up and gently laid her back on the towels on the bath stand and proceeded to thrust into her where multiple orgasms were enjoyed by all.

 We finished our torrent of lovemaking in the master bedroom and drifted off into an early morning nap. After about an hour, Liz nudged me. “Aren’t I supposed to have a rinse?”, she said.

 “Yes, a good baking soda and water rinse will do you a world of good . . . get rid of anything else bad you that might still be up there”, Jack replied. “Why don’t you just stretch out on this towel while I go to the bathroom and get the equipment. You may as well have it here. Now let me put this towel over a few pillows and you crawl across them until you’re comfy. . .I’ll be right back.

 On that note, Jack left the bedroom and went to the bath where he gathered up all the necessary supplies for his wife’s next enema; again selecting the fountain syringe with the larger, black nozzle. Running the water until it was warm, he proceeded to add a few tablespoons of baking soda and a pinch of salt to the pitcher, and then added the water, stirring it with the wooden spoon until the salts were completely dissolved. Filling the bag to capacity, he let the air out of the hose, grabbed the jar of vaseline, and returned to the bedroom.

 While Jack was gone, Liz arrainged the pillows so that she had a clear view into the dresser mirror to watch the proceedings from both angles from the wall mirror. Satisified with the set up of the bedroom, Liz took her place face down across the pillows as she had been instructed. The thought of getting another lovingly administered enema from her husband sent gave her shivers to the point of euphoria.

 Jack returned to the bedroom and saw that Liz had gotten herself ready for her second dose. He hung the bag on the clothes tree and placed it near the bed. “Why don’t you spread your legs a little bit for me and I’ll put some more vaseline in you. . .it’ll let the nozzle slip in easier.”, He said as she silently spread her supple legs across the bed exposing her anal furrow. Taking the nozzle, he gently inserted the curved, black tube high up into his young bride’s perfect ass. Releasing the clamp, the warm water again flowed deep into Liz’s beautiful buttcheeks.

 “Oh, Honey! It’s going in a lot easier this time.”, She spoke softly. “I can see it in the mirror. . .I’ve just about taken it all, but I don’t feel that full. How long should I try and hold it?”

 “At least ten minutes, Hon.”, Jack replied as he clamped the tube shut and withdrew the nozzle from his wife’s bum. “I think you may need some help in holding all that in for ten minutes, so I’m going to put a plug in you.”, Jack said as he then proceeded to place a ribbed condom on his swollen cock and slowly push it into Liz’s waiting rosebud, still shiny from the vaseline.

 As his hard dick reached the deepest depths of her ass, Liz feverently began to rub her wet pussy until she reached the heights of orgasm after orgasm. After her fourth or fifth (She lost count), Jack erupted inside her ass just she reached her final cum. Jack quickly withdrew, allowing a panting and sweaty Liz
to make a mad dash for the bathroom for her relief. Jack heard the sounds of  Liz’s expulsion, and dozed off for a quick nap.

What Happens Next? Perhaps Jack is going to be on the receiving end?