Caution: This Enema Fetish Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Romantic, Heterosexual, Fiction, BDSM, Light Bond, Enema, Slow,
Desc: Enema Fetish Sex Story: Chapter 1 - This is an enema fetish story that explores enemas as an adjunct to foreplay and sex itself. Ethan took an opportunity to retire early at 55 and move into one half of a duplex he inherited from his uncle Al. Lize is his 28-year-old tenant. Both discover a mutual interest in enemas that blossoms first into friendship and then into a sexual relationship. The story is explicit and contains mild BDSM elements.
I sat behind the controls of the 1995 Oldsmobile 88, a road map unfolded on the passenger side and watching the numbers on doors and mailboxes increment as I drove down the block. Then I saw it -- a brick duplex with 375A over one door and 375B over the other. Pulling into the drive I parked the car and headed toward the stoop.
The key I had been given fitted the deadbolt for 375Aand I swung open the front door. The place was cluttered with stacks of newspapers and magazines on the floor. The kitchen sink was piled with dirty dishes and pots and pans. Upstairs I found more stacks of newspapers and magazines.
Shaking my head I headed down the stairs. The doorbell rang and I answered it. Standing on the stoop was a young woman, tall and slender. Her long, rectangular face was framed by shoulder-length soft dark blonde curls. Her eyes were blue with a hint of Asian influence, her nose was long and straight. She had a high forehead and her lips were full. She was wearing a tank top and cutoff shorts. I scanned her from head to toe.
At the same moment she stepped back from me and let out a gasp. "I ... I was expecting to see Al. I saw his car pull in."
"I'm Ethan Moore -- Al's nephew. Al, I'm afraid, has passed away." The color drained from her face and she put her hand to her chest. "Do you need to sit down?" I stepped aside and she staggered into the unit, collapsed into a chair and held her face in her palms. "Are you all right? I'll get some water."
When I returned with a glass she was sitting erect in the chair. "I'm sorry to give you such a shock," I said.
"Al ... gone? How? When? He was here just two weeks ago."
"He went to a funeral..."
"That's right -- I remember him telling me."
"At a reception he became engaged in an argument with a relative -- an in-law. He became too agitated..."
"Heart attack?" she asked.
"A fatal arrhythmia," I replied. "They tried to help him but..." She looked down and shook her head. "I'm here to wrap up his estate. Al didn't leave a will ... not one we can locate at any rate."
"My word," she gasped. "I hadn't thought about that. Al was my friend and neighbor but also my landlord. What's going to happen to this place?"
"That'll be up to the probate judge," I replied, "and, ultimately, the new owner. I'm his only surviving blood relative so the odds are it'll end up coming to me. We'll have to wait for the legal dust to settle. Do you have a lease?"
"Yeah ... It runs through February."
"Well -- a new owner would be obligated to honor that at least 'til it runs out."
"The reason I came over," she added, "was to invite Al to dinner. When I saw his car in the drive I put a frozen lasagna in the oven. I'm wondering if you'd accept the invitation -- in his honor..."
"I'd be happy to..." I looked into her blue eyes. "I didn't catch your name."
"Lize. Lize Furlow."
"As in an extended leave of absence?" I asked.
"It's spelled O - W, not O - U - G - H."
"Okay Lize. What time?"
"Can I bring something? A bottle of wine or some beer?"
"Oh, I can't drink," she replied. "Alcohol gives me a pain in my stomach."
"What sort of pain?"
"Burning ... hard to describe but downright awful. I'd have to lie down until it passes."
"How long does that take?" I asked.
"Half an hour ... forty-five minutes or so."
"That does sound unpleasant. So, I'll see you at six."
"I ... I'll be ... right next door." Lize stood and smiled pleasantly. She gave me a little wave and headed out the door.
I returned to my task at hand, which was to start clearing out Al's unit. From the looks of it I'd have to hire a three-yard dumpster and start hauling stuff to it. I figured I'd start at the top. One of the bedrooms he had used as an office. I figured that would be a good place to start, and with some luck I might even uncover some ledgers or bank statements that would give me a handle on what he had left behind.
I rang the bell on the unit next door. Lize answered it and smiled. The color had returned to her complexion with pink, apple cheeks. "Come in," she said.
"You're looking better," I remarked. "Earlier you were as pale as a ghost."
"It was quite a shock to get over."
"I was going through Al's papers and found something you might find interesting." I handed her an envelope.
She opened it and removed some pages on legal-sized paper. "Al's will..."
"Right ... dated 2012 and duly signed, witnessed and notarized. I think it's unlikely anyone can provide one to supercede it."
She read through the pages. "He ... he left everything to you."
"Not quite everything. There are some items enumerated toward the bottom."
"His first editions ... He knew I admired them."
"He wanted you to have them," I replied. "There's a first edition Tom Sawyer among them -- that alone is probably worth five figures. I never knew he collected first editions."
"I'm flabbergasted," she said.
"So am I," I replied.
"What, that he'd leave them to me?"
"No -- that he left everything else to me." I took the papers from her and stuffed them back into the envelope. "Al wasn't on anyone's favorites list. We all regarded him as an ornery, disagreeable, argumentative curmudgeon. I hadn't had any contact with him for ... for twenty years."
"He was nothing but sweet with me," Lize replied. "I'd have him over for dinner. When I started falling out with Jimmy..."
"My boyfriend ... ex-boyfriend. I caught him cheating on me. I found pictures and texts on his phone."
"He must have been crazy to cheat on you," I remarked.
"Well, he did and I threw him out."
"Good riddance to bad rubbish."
"That wasn't the end of it. He started harassing me ... threatening me. I was afraid to be alone at night and Al let me sleep on his sofa." I could see agitation in her expression. "One day he was waiting for me when I got home from work. He accosted me and got physical. Al heard the commotion and broke it up. He called the cops and Jimmy spent some time in jail. I have a restraining order against him."
"I'm sorry to hear about that," I replied. "It's over, now."
She drew in a breath to regain her composure. "Al was more than a neighbor and a landlord to me. He was a friend ... almost like my grandfather. He always was a perfect gentleman. That's why I was so shocked with your news ... I still can't believe it." The buzzer on her oven sounded. "Dinner's ready. "I have Coke and ginger ale."
"Either is fine with me."
"I made a salad. Is Italian dressing okay?"
"Italian is fine."
We sat across from each other at her kitchen table. Lize's unit was the mirror image of the other, but she kept her place as neat as a pin and with sparse furnishings. "This is very good," I remarked of her lasagna.
"Thanks." She gestured toward the envelope. "What exactly does that mean?" she asked.
"It means probate will go more smoothly. There are some relatives who might want to try disputing it ... but they'll have trouble arguing with this document."
"That means, this property will come to you, then."
"What do you plan to do with it?" she asked.
"I'm thinking I might want to move in. This all happened during a life change for me."
"What sort of change?" she asked.
"Retired?" she said credulously. "You don't look that old."
"I'm fifty-five," I replied, "I was eligible for retirement from the force..."
"County sheriff ... I'm a detective ... was a detective. After twenty years I can retire with a full pension. I decided to take advantage. They let me keep my shield."
"May I see it?" she asked. I reached for my wallet and flipped it open. Lize's eyes grew wide." Wow..."
"It's gotten me out of a few speeding tickets." I slipped my wallet back into my pocket. "My divorce was finalized two years ago. I've been renting a townhouse, and I've been devoting my time to a small web-based business."
"You're starting Act Two," she remarked.
"Actually, Act Three. Being a sheriff's deputy was Act Two."
"What was Act One?" Lize asked.
"I wanted to be a doctor ... but I washed out of medical school in my second year. I ended up getting my R.N. and worked as a nurse for about ten years. We had a suspicious death in the hospital and I ended up testifying as an expert witness. I became interested in forensic medicine. It so happened that the sheriff at the time was a buddy of my dad. I enrolled in a law enforcement training program, met the requirements and was made a deputy. Sheriff assigned me to the county's forensics lab and I spent most of my career there working there. I made sergeant and eventually got promoted to detective."
"That's so interesting, Ethan," Lize remarked.
"Now I can retire at fifty-five with a decent pension and dedicate my time to my web business. This duplex would suit me perfectly. I could use the basement to store my inventory and one of the bedrooms as an office."
"What sort of business is that?" she asked.
"Alternative health products," I replied.
"Things like supplements and the like?"
"Yeah, supplements ... supplies and the like." I drained my glass of ginger ale. "What do you do for a living?"
"I'm still in Act One," she replied. "I work as a bank teller. I have a business degree in marketing but the only work I could find was as a teller. Now I'm head teller at my branch."
"Good for you."
"I've been there five years."
"What are you, then? Twenty-five?"
"I'm twenty-eight," she replied.
"I thought you looked younger." She gave me her pleasant smile. "Head teller is nothing to sneeze at."
"The bank has posted an opening for branch manager at another branch -- one that's actually closer to home. I've applied and I have an interview next week."
"Well -- good luck."
"Thanks. I'll need it."
I picked up my plate and carried it to her counter. "Thanks, Lize, for a delicious dinner," I said.
"You're very welcome. Ethan -- if you need help going through Al's stuff..."
"I may take you up on that. The basement is full of shelves groaning with canned goods. I have to believe most are way past their sell-by date."
"I think Al was a bit of a hoarder," she remarked.
"Ya think?" Lize escorted me across the stoop to my door and gave me a little wave.
I backed a U-Haul truck into the drive. Lize greeted me wearing a tank and running shorts. "How did the estate sale go?" I asked.
"I haven't seen the final figures yet ... and the agents will need to take their cut. The dumpster got hauled away yesterday."
"You have those first editions in a safe place?"
"Yes, I have them stashed."
"At some point you need to get them appraised and insured. I really do appreciate you taking care of things while I settled my affairs. You've certainly gone above and beyond the call of duty. I should give you a break on this month's rent."
"Well ... That is something I had wanted to talk to Al about. I was hoping I could convince him to give me a break in the rent ... now that I'm here alone."
"So with your boyfriend gone, you're having trouble making ends meet."
"I guess you could say that," she replied. "The lease is in my name -- Jimmy's credit record was too poor."
"That figures. How much are you paying?"
"Twelve hundred a month ... that includes heat and water."
"You could be telling me anything," I replied.
"That's the truth," Lize protested.
"I believe you. Remember -- I'm a retired detective. I know how to read people. How much can you afford?"
"Any break at all would be welcome," she replied. "I was thinking..." She bit her lip. " ... seven hundred?"
"Can you do eight?"
"I know it's a nice unit but ... how about seven-fifty?"
"You drive a hard bargain," I remarked.
"The worst thing about kicking Jimmy out ... I hate being alone."
"You're not thinking about taking the bastard back -- are you?"
"Oh, no -- we're done ... finished. Al told me he never liked the guy and I was better off without him ... and I agree. I just don't like being alone at night. I was happy knowing Al was next door ... and I'm happy knowing you'll be next door, Ethan. I'll sleep better."
I rolled up the tambour door of the truck. "This truck isn't going to unload itself," I remarked and picked up a carton.
Lize followed me into the unit and down stairs to the basement. "These shelves will be handy for storing my inventory," I said.
"They're where Al kept his canned goods. I think I threw out stuff that had expired eight years ago ... Where do you want this?
"Anywhere. I'll figure out a system later."
Lize slid a carton onto a shelf and we both headed back to the truck for another load. "You sell this stuff?" she asked.
"Indeed I do."
"You said you sold alternative health supplies. What sort of supplies?"
"I specialize in products for colon health," I said.
"Do you mean like fiber supplements and the like?"
"Among others. Hey -- I have an idea. I've been wanting to update my website and take some fresh photos of the merchandise. Maybe you'd like to help me."
"Help you, how? I don't know anything about photography."
"You're a pretty girl, Lize. I was thinking you could model them."
"Hold them up so I can photograph them."
"I get it -- sex sells. We learned all about it in marketing class."
"I'm not looking for sexy, " I replied. "I'm looking for a sweet, wholesome girl-next-door who can model some product. You fit the bill perfectly -- with your peaches-and-cream complexion and natural blonde hair."
"What makes you think I'm a natural blonde?"
"Your hair color matches your eyebrows and lashes," I replied, "and your eyes and skin match, too. You don't wear eye makeup."
"My eyes are shaped funny -- I never could figure out how to apply it," she replied.
"You have a healthy, wholesome look," I said.
"I've never done anything like that before."
"So? I can credit your time against your rent."
"Hmm ... Okay -- I'll give it a try. But -- I reserve the right of final approval."
The doorbell rang and I answered it. Lize stepped in wearing a short-sleeved, lavender dress and sandals. She was wearing her curly, blond hair in a ponytail. "Is this suitable?" she asked.
"Perfect. I have things set up in the living room. I thought we'd start with some new products I'm adding to my line."
"What do you want me to do?"
"Just hold the product." I led her to a spot near the living room window over which I had drawn the drapes. On a tripod was my digital SLR camera. On either side were some flood lamps.
"That's quite a camera," Lize remarked.
"Yeah -- I dabbled in photography for a while. This has a nice lens but not the resolution of the new ones. It suits my purposes, though." I handed her a large container of psyllum husk. "Let's start with this."
I snapped photographs as Lize regarded the product, held it up and smiled. "Good," I said and handed her a pint sized plastic bottle containing a clear fluid.
"What's this?" she asked and read the label. "Vegetable glycerin?"
"It says it's for skin and hair care."
"It's also food grade," I remarked. "Some folks use it as a sugar substitute." Lize held up the bottle and I snapped the photograph; then I handed her another jar.
"Powdered neem leaf?" she asked as she read the label.
"Yes -- it's a natural antimicrobial." I snapped one of her holding the jar. "One or two more," I remarked.
We finished the photo session and I switched off the floods. "I've been wanting to go to The Reef for dinner," I said. "I've heard great things about it. Care to tag along?"
"I'd love to," she replied. "Is what I'm wearing suitable?"
"What you are wearing is perfect."
I sat in my study working on my website layout. I saw Lize's bright blue Ford Focus pull into the driveway. She parked it in the garage on the side assigned to her unit. I heard my doorbell ring. "It's open," I shouted.
Lize stepped in wearing her bank teller's uniform -- black slacks and white blouse. "I'm beat," she announced. "I've been on my feet all day. One of the tellers called in sick so I had to bounce between the drive-through and one of the counter positions."
"Maybe we should call for takeout for dinner," I suggested. "How about something from Ling's? They deliver."
"Tonight, anything I don't have to prepare sounds wonderful."
"I'll show you the photos I picked from the other night."
"I'm going to go change out of these clothes."
I took a folded sheet from a folder. "Look this over."
"Ling's menu... char sue ding -- it's my favorite. I think I'll have that."
"I'll call in the order while you're changing."
Lize returned wearing shorts and a blouse. She sat before my laptop and flipped through the photos while I looked over her shoulder. "I guess these are all right," she remarked.
"All right? They're terrific, Lize. You really project personality in these shots. I think you must be a natural actress."
"If you say so."
"You don't seem yourself tonight."
"There must be more to it than that," I replied.
She sighed. "I was offered a promotion today -- to branch manager."
"Congratulations. That doesn't sound like something to be down about."
"I don't know if I'm cut out to be a manager," she replied. "It's one of those careful-what-you-whish-fors"
"Right. You might get it. I'm sure you'll do fine. If the bank is convinced of you; I am, too."
"Thanks. You're sweet, Ethan, On top of that, in two weeks I have to fly to Minneapolis for a management training course. I'm dreading it."
"You're dreading a management course?" I asked.
"I don't travel well, Ethan. I hate flying, I hate living out of a suitcase and I hate spending nights in hotels ... in an unfamiliar bed with all those funny smells and noises. When I was a girl I suffered from night terrors. I grew out of them; but when I'm in a hotel, at least one night I'll wake up with a start in an absolute panic. My heart will be racing and I'll be shaking ... It might be some light from a streetlamps filtering in or the red light on the smoke alarm ... or a noise that startles me." She regarded me. "Will you be around? Maybe you can water my plants while I'm away."
"Of course, Lize. Just give me some directions. I'll pick up your mail, too."
"I'm really happy you decided to move in, Ethan. You're a good friend and it's a comfort knowing someone next door. You remind me in ways of Al ... of how Al must've been when he was younger. It's like part of him lives on in you, Ethan. I do miss him, though."
"You must've been fond of him."
"I was. I don't make friends easily."
"I find that hard to believe," I replied. "A pretty girl like you..."
"I'm rather shy around men ... men my age, that is. I'm more comfortable with someone older ... someone like Al ... or you. I feel at ease when I'm with you." She placed her hand on mine and squeezed it. I looked into her blue eyes and she smiled one of her pleasant smiles.
The doorbell rang. I figured it was delivery from Lings and I returned with a paper bag containing white, carry-out boxes. "Char sue ding, I said and set one on the table. "Here's mine -- kung pao tofu. Have some rice."
Lize pressed her hand against her abdomen. "Mmm ... This hits the spot, Ethan. I was hungry. I had to skip lunch, today was so crazy. Hunger doesn't help my mood any."
"Maybe after dinner you'll look over my website and give me some marketing feedback."
"Sure, Ethan. I'd be happy to."
Lize sat in my study looking over my website. "When you said your business was colon health, I didn't think you meant enemas," she remarked. "I mean ... I'm not sure what I thought but I didn't expect all this ... strange equipment."
"What's your opinion from a marketing perspective?"
"Well ... You obviously know your customers better than I do..." She flipped through pages. "Why would anybody do this?"
"Because some people believe that regular enemas are good for you. It certainly makes you feel better. Have you ever had an enema?"
"Once. When I was a senior in high school I had to have my wisdom teeth removed. I had a prescription for some pain-killer ... Vicodin or the like. It made me seriously constipated."
"Opioids can do that," I replied.
"My mother took me to our family doctor who recommended an enema. It was a little squeeze-bottle from the drugstore."
"Did it work?"
"Yes, it worked ... but I wouldn't say it was an experience I'm eager to repeat."
"Well," I replied, "what I recommend on my site are the old-fashioned, large-volume water enemas. The squeeze-bottle types contain a strong phospho-saline solution. They work by irritating the colon, and by pulling water out of your tissues. They have a large amount of phosphate in them, and that's not good for your kidneys. The plain water kind work by mechanical stimulation of the colon. It's gentler and a more natural action."
"Do you mean colon cleansing?" she asked. "I just read an article in the News Weekly critical of that procedure."
"I saw the same article," I replied. "It was regarding colon hydrotherapy. That's when the colon is repeatedly filled and emptied. Their detoxification claims are, I think, exaggerated; and you are exposing your colon to too much water. A simple enema will effectively treat even the most stubborn constipation."
"When I start getting that way I take some senna," she said.
"Why take something that affects your entire digestive system when it's only the last four feet of it that need treating?"
"Is this something you do, Ethan?"
"Of course. A good enema makes you feel great afterward."
She chortled. "How do you even get started down this path?"
"Well ... I'm old enough so that when I was a kid, enemas were part of the home-remedy arsenal. For the first half of the twentieth century enemas were routine -- they were considered part of a healthy regimen. A regular internal bath to accompany a regular external one. My grandmother thought regular enemas had a tonic effect on the colon."
"By exercising the colon and improving its muscle tone. It was only in the sixties they started to fall out of fashion."
"If they're so beneficial, they why did they fall out of fashion?"
"In the last fifty years we've seen medicine change from small practitioners into a big industry. Look at all those drug commercials on TV. If you were part of the medical industry, which would you prefer? Something someone can do at home for free or something for which you can collect a fee?"
"That's a cynical way of looking at it."
"Well ... Don't knock it 'til you've tried it," I said.
"Fair enough. I won't knock it ... but I won't guarantee I'll try it, either."
Lize sat beside me in the Oldsmobile as I drove toward the airport. "Relax," I said.
"I am wound pretty tight," she replied. "God, how I hate traveling. I appreciate you taking me to the airport."
"I don't see any need to pay fifteen bucks a day to park your car here -- even if it is on an expense account." He drove a bit further. "By the way -- I posted those new pages with your photos."
"You're getting fan mail, Lize. I'll show you some when you get back. I told you -- you project personality in your photos."
She blushed. "Oh, God ... What sort of things do they say?"
"Oh ... they want to know more about the lady in the pictures. Maybe we should make up a biography for you -- come up with a pseudonym. What do you think?"
"I'm thinking maybe posing for those pictures wasn't such a good idea." I pulled up to the curb and released the trunk. Lize climbed out and retrieved her bag.
"I'll park the car," I called to her through the open window. "I'll come inside to make sure your flight gets off okay."