Chloe and Me: Our Story
Copyright© 2026 by Unca D
Chapter 4
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 4 - A story from the Klisma Files: An enema lover romance. Two klismaphiles meet in a chance encounter, discover their shared love of enemas and fall in love. [7 chapters]
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Heterosexual Fiction Anal Sex Enema Oral Sex
Chloe opened her door for me. I set my bag on the floor. “I have a surprise for you,” I said. Then I set an object on her living room floor. It was made with two pairs of plywood legs and a piece of PVC pipe. A dowel with a hook slid inside the pipe and was held in place with a screw knob.
“What is it?” she asked.
“It’s a home-made enema stand. I used it for years before I bought a real I.V. stand at a rummage sale. See? The height is adjustable. Now you can take one in your bedroom without making any holes.”
“You dragged that thing through the lobby? I hope no one saw you.”
“Who’d know what it was for?”
I returned to her sofa. Chloe lounged against a cushion with her legs across my lap. I ran my hand along her smooth skin.
“It’s beginning to sink in,” she said. “I did some thinking while you were out.”
“And?”
“How can you be so open about it?”
“I’m not, really. I don’t advertise what I do any more than my orientation or any aspect of my love life. It’s private, but it is part of me. When I find an intimate partner, I tell her.”
“Aren’t you afraid she’ll think you’re ... strange?”
I shrugged. “I AM strange. It’s part of who I am. My life partner will be the woman who accepts me for what I am ... and loves me for who I am.”
Chloe grabbed for a facial tissue. “I ... I ... I...”
“What is it, Chloe?”
“Oh, God why is it so hard to say?” She drew in a deep breath. “I love you.”
“I love you, too, Chloe.”
Now the tears began to flow. “Oh, God I never thought ... never thought anyone...” She sniffled.
“Chloe, you have an issue with conformance, don’t you?”
“What do you mean?”
“You don’t want anyone thinking you’re different. You ARE different. We’re all different. I’ve never met another woman who makes her own lingerie. You keep even that aspect of you in the closet.” Chloe began dabbing her eyes. “Do you get it yet? Chloe, I don’t love you in spite of your oddities. I love you BECAUSE of them.”
She lunged at me, held on tight and sobbed. I held her and stroked her back.
“They’re what make you interesting,” I continued. “Why would I want a girl like any other on the street?”
“I dunno...”
“I wouldn’t.” I petted her honey hair. “I know what it is — why you’re like this. It’s because of your relationship with your parents, isn’t it? They were the non-conformists.”
“I think you’re right. I loved them as a kid ... I just wished they weren’t so odd! I was so embarrassed in school. My whole life I tried to be like everyone else.”
“The enemas are something we can share. It’s private between us — just you and me. That makes it all the more special, don’t you think?”
“I guess it does.”
I held her on my lap. She grabbed the fabric of my shirt in her fist and held on. I put my arm around her and she rested her head on my shoulder. We sat, hugging each other.
“I’m still having trouble believing it,” she said. “I’ll be so happy with you...”
“Let’s not go too far too fast, Chloe,” I replied. “There’s much we don’t know about each other.”
“I know what I need to know. I told you — I have good instincts.”
“We’ve known each other less than a week.”
“Yes, but I feel like I’ve known you all my life.” She looked into my eyes and then kissed my lips.
Chloe kissed me again — this time one of the deep, open-mouth, tongues-touching variety. She began unbuttoning my shirt. I put my hand on her knee and caressed her smooth, cool skin.
“Chloe — we don’t have to prove anything tonight.”
“I want to. I love you, and I feel like a boulder has been lifted from me. I want it. I want YOU.”
I kissed her lips, then her chin and her neck. She caressed my face and ran her fingers through my hair.
Then she looked in my eyes. “How do you use an enema in lovemaking?” she asked.
“Use your imagination. You said you use them autoerotically. Add a partner.”
“Hmmm ... interesting ... mmm ... very interesting. I think I kinda like that idea.”
“Do you think you want to try it?”
“Unh-unh. I KNOW I want to try it.”
I carried the home-made stand into her bedroom and adjusted the height by eye. “Is this about how you have it?” I asked.
“About ... It’s really cool how you made that out of ordinary materials. Why two hooks at the top?”
“In case I want to hang two bags ... dual temperature, extra volume ... That sort of thing. I’ll make your enema. Do you have a measure?”
“It’s in the bathroom — top cabinet. I’m going to change. I know exactly what I’m gonna wear.”
I retrieved the fountain syringe and the measure from her bathroom, carried them to the kitchen and began running water. In the meantime I grabbed a box of baking soda from her cabinet, measured a couple tablespoons and dumped them into the measure.
I’m pretty good at judging temperature by feel and I wanted to make it nice and hot. I filled the measure — it held a quart — stirred it, dumped it in and repeated.
Chloe emerged from her bedroom barefoot and in her morning-after robe. She had tied her hair in a ponytail. I scanned her up and down — I could tell she was wearing something black under the robe, but I couldn’t see what. “Do you have the douche tip?” I asked.
“What for? I think it’s in the drawer...” She ducked into the bathroom and returned with it. “Here ... why use this?”
“It’s bigger, and there’s a bulge at the tip. It’s easier to hang onto.” I attached it to the hose and flushed out the air. “How about some lube?” She headed back into the bathroom. “Grab a towel while you’re there,” I called after her.
Chloe followed me into her bedroom. I hung the bag on the stand and draped the hose over the hook. Then I spread the towel on her bed, slipped out of my shirt and jeans and softened the lights.
She untied her robe and slid it off her shoulders. Underneath she was wearing a baby doll top made of the sheerest black fabric. The hem grazed the tops of her buttocks. I could tell it was designed to be worn with a pair of briefs or tap pants, but tonight she wore nothing else. It closed at the bodice with a pair of buttons, but otherwise was open, and it left nothing to the imagination.
“Did you design that one, too?” I asked.
“Of course.”
“It’s sensational. You’re sensational.”
“I’m nervous,” she replied. “My heart’s pounding.”
“Nothing to be afraid of. What position do you normally use?”
“On my back.”
“Me, too.”
“I like watching the bag.”
“Me, too. You can also watch your stomach get big.”
“I never noticed that. I notice I look big when I get up.”
I patted the towel and she stretched out on it. “Get comfortable.”
“Oh, I am ... You know I’m sorry I didn’t have a stand like that before. This is so much better than lying on the floor.”
I flipped open the cap on the tube of Vaseline, squeezed out a glob and smeared it on the nozzle. Then I turned to her. She regarded me, then reached and felt my very firm member. “My, my...”
“This is quite a thrill for me, too,” I said. “You’re the first woman to agree to let me do this.” I knelt by the bed. “Lift your legs.”
Chloe hooked her forearm under her knees and pressed her thighs against her breasts. I squeezed another dab from the tube and began lubing her pinkish-brown hole. Then I picked up the nozzle, touched the tip to her spot and rotated back and forth until the tip eased past her sphincter.
“Okay?” I asked.
“Okay.”
“Your anal canal is pretty much straight in from your orifice,” I explained, “but your rectum lies against the base of your spine. If I were to push this in further, it might run into the wall of your rectum. But now that its tip has cleared your anal canal, I can tilt it back so that it’s aligned with the base of your spine...” I tilted it so that it was now aimed toward her head. “ ... I can slide it in easily.” I gently pushed the nozzle into her rectum, watching it disappear into her pinkish brown pucker until its hilt was tight against her anus. “Now, how does it feel?”
“It feels okay ... not too big. I see what you mean about hanging on to it.”
“It’s less apt to slip out. Go ahead and put your legs down.”
I climbed onto the bed and knelt, straddling her thighs and began caressing her chest, running my hands along the sides of her breasts. Then I reached for the hose, snapped open the clamp and then notched it down to a trickle.
“Mmm ... It’s warm ... Warmer than I make them.”
“Too warm?”
“No ... The warmth feels good. It’s flowing in really easily.”
“It ought to, if you had a good series this morning. I put some baking soda in the water.”
“What will that do?” she asked.
“It’s soothing to the colon ... makes it easier to hold for a while. It also adds some electrolytes so you’re less apt to absorb it and spend the night peeing.” I reached for the bottle of lotion on her nightstand, poured some into my palm and smeared it on her belly. Then I began a slow, counter-clockwise, circular massage of her abdomen.
“Oh, that feels good,” she said.
“Does it turn you on?” I asked.
“Yes, but it’s way more complicated,” she replied. “You see — my father used to rub my stomach like that when he gave me enemas. It brings back feelings.”
“Good feelings?”
“For the most part ... It makes me feel a little guilty enjoying it, now. I guess there’s always something sexual between fathers and daughters.”
“Mothers and sons, too,” I replied as I continued to rub her belly.
“Whatever it was, my dad never acted on it. He never showed it. He never did anything inappropriate ... at least not in my eyes.”
“Only in the eyes of some stodgy school nurse.” I filled my palm with more lotion and held it to warm it. Meanwhile, with my right hand I unbuttoned her bodice and let the fabric fall to her sides. Then I smeared the lotion on her nipples and began massaging her breasts.
“Oh ... That’s nice, too...” She lifted her arms above her head and expanded her ribs to press her breasts against my fingers.
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