Chapter 1

She must get ready. In the bathroom she strips and looks at her nude body in the full length mirror. The woman in the mirror is gorgeous. Her green eyes look back at the nude woman in the bathroom. She is proud, the woman in the mirror. She is strong, has no regrets.

She runs the hot water and fills a bag with it. She hangs the bag from the shower curtain bar and picks up the nozzle, tops it with a dollop of Vaseline and, with a practiced motion, deftly inserts it into her ass, as she squats on the floor of the bathroom, looking at the woman in the mirror. She has done this before. The hot water, running into her bowels is not unpleasant. After it is all in, about a quart, she removes the nozzle. She will hold the enema for a while, while the hot water in the faucet runs, hotter still.

After she empties herself, she refills the bag, this time with two quarts and repeats the process. She will do it yet one more time, with three quarts. This time, the water flows clear. She looks at the woman in the mirror again, and enters the shower. She does not have time to blow dry her hair, so she puts on a shower cap.

She must get ready. She takes a long shower. The hot water pounds her body, her face, breasts, belly and lower. The lather cleanses her, but it is not enough. The water rinses the lather away. It runs down her body, soaks the blond thatch on her mons, and in rivulets falls to the porcelain floor of the tub.

She leans forward and cleanses her pussy, then leans back and lathers her ass. She rinses well. The shower gel has no fragrance, but she wants no trace of its bitter taste on her skin. She steps out of the shower and dries herself with the oversize white towel. The towel is plush, soft, and wraps her in its tender embrace. She relishes in its softness and warmth.

She must get ready. The woman in the mirror sits on the stool, and carefully examines her labia. Any stray hairs, she plucks. Her thatch is a perfect triangle. Not a single hair out of place, and none on her labia, or between the pink slit, that is already moist, and her puckered brown rose.

She stands, proudly. Her five foot stature is not tall, but her body is that of a goddess. Her legs are long, lithe, toned. Her abdomen is almost flat, only a minimal curve, below her navel suggests her femininity. Her skin, flawless, sports the faintest tan. There are no bikini lines on her breasts, and only a triangle of white skin, in her front contrasts with her tan. If it were not for that white triangle; she would not perceive the tan, so fair is she. She notices her moisture. She can already smell herself. For an instant, her finger traces her slit, and stops, for the tiniest fraction of a second, at her sensitive nub; but no, there is no time.