Chapter 7

“There,” Lize said as she manipulated the keyboard on her laptop. “Our site is up and running on the new server. We’ll be paying more but getting more bandwidth. And, now we can accept credit cards directly without resorting to Pay Pal.”

“It’s amazing,” I remarked. “So much of our success is due to you, Lize.”

She made a demure smile. “Think what you like. I believe it’s a combination of good products, good service and good marketing.”

“The basement is full of inventory. Have you thought about my suggestion?”

“Which suggestion?”

“Don’t play dumb, Lize. I know you’re not.”

“Do you mean the one about the two of us living in one unit and dedicating the other one to the business?”

“That is exactly the one I mean.”

She drew in a breath and released it slowly. “Ethan ... I think that’s where we’re headed. I’m not quite ready.”

“When will you be ready?”

“I don’t know. I’m still gun-shy. I need a safe place.”

“If you need a sanctuary, we can make a safe room for you -- keep a bed in it.”

“You told me I set the pace, Ethan.”

“Yes, I said that.”

“When I’m ready -- you’ll be the first to know.” She began reviewing her inbox.

“More fan mail?” I asked. “Do you answer them all?”

“I answer as many as I can. Of course some are off the wall, and others are begging for pictures of me naked...”

“You KNEW that would happen.”

“Yeah, I knew it would happen.”

“You haven’t ... accommodated any requests...”

“Of course not. I know once something like that gets loose on the net, there’s no clawing it back.”

“I’m relieved,” I replied.

“Give the girl some credit, will you? If it is someone’s sincere correspondence, then I believe they deserve the courtesy of a reply. On the other hand...” She opened a message and her jaw dropped.

“Off the wall?”

“Well ... Sorta. Take a look.”

I read the message. Hello, Janice. My name is Erica and I’ve recently become a customer of yours. When I saw the shipping label I realized that we’re local. Janice, I read your story of how you discovered enemas and what an important part of your life they have become. Your story about the marble is classic. I especially enjoyed the photos of your enema, Janice. Without a doubt that was the real thing and you looked so sweet and adorable with your filled-up tummy. You didn’t say, but have you discovered an enema’s erotic potential?

I looked up at her. “You have,” I remarked, “but you haven’t mentioned that aspect on our website.”

“I figured it was no one else’s business,” she replied.

I returned to the email. If you’d like to experience a truly erotic enema, I would be more than happy to oblige. I am a licensed practical nurse with years of experience administering enemas, and I find them intensely erotic -- both giving and receiving them. I’d love to meet you in person, Janice. I’ll bet we’d really click. Attached to the email was an image of a woman in her late thirties or early forties. She had shoulder-length chestnut hair with wide, light blonde streaks. She was wearing a dominatrix costume -- a black leather bustier, fishnet stockings and had on an old-style nurse’s headgear. She was holding a black, large-volume enema bag, its hose fitted with one of our large black plastic butt-plug style nozzles. Scrawled along the bottom of the photo was “Mistress Erica”.

“Whew,” I remarked. “Do you get many like this?”

“I get my share. What’s spooky is -- she’s local. I’ll bet she’s even driven past the house.”

“I use a box at the local UPS store as a return address,” I replied. “I know better than to divulge our street address.” I regarded the image. “That looks like one of our oversized syringes she’s holding -- and one of our nozzles ... Hmm...”

“Hmm what?” she asked.

“I wonder if she has a website.” I manipulated her laptop and entered Mistress Erica into a Google search. “Nothing ... Let’s try Back Page.” I worked her keyboard. “Look at that...” I regarded the page that came back. “She runs a dungeon. Not only does Mistress Erica offer your standard BDSM fare, she also services the medical fetish community.” I read from the page. “‘Bi-sexual, experienced dominatrix accepting clients of all orientations’ ... diaper fetish ... enemas ... along with the usual fare.”

“Isn’t what she’s doing prostitution?” Lize asked.

“It would be if real sex were involved. Charging someone to become aroused isn’t a crime -- otherwise, R- and X- rated films would be illegal.”

“So, it’s your belief she’s not offering sexual services.”

“Not for an instant. The difficulty is proving it. She’s like massage parlors offering happy endings. It’s the greedy or careless ones who get busted. I’m sure she’s experienced in how to avoid prosecution. She no doubt is discreet about to whom she offers her enhanced services.”

“My God,” Lize exclaimed, “what if she were to come into the bank and recognize me?”

“You’d recognize her -- that hair of hers is hard to miss. Seems to me it’d be a horse apiece.” I regarded Lize. “So -- are you going to answer her?”

“No way. I find the enemas you administer to be plenty erotic. But...”

“But what?”

“I’ve never been drawn to other women, Ethan. I don’t have any latent gay tendencies ... but...”

“But what?”

“Something about this photograph ... her website ... intrigues me. I wonder what one of Mistress Erica’s enemas would be like.”

“Only one way to find out,” I replied.

“No. I’m not gonna. But...”

“But what?”

“Would there be a way to incorporate some aspect of this in our enema play?”

“I don’t give punishment enemas,” I replied.

“What, exactly, is a punishment enema?” she asked.

“It’s what it sounds like -- one intended to humiliate or cause pain or intense discomfort -- or, both. I don’t like the notion of deliberately inflicting pain. Besides -- punishment enemas truly can abuse the colon.”

“Abuse? How?”

“Formulas that induce intense cramping -- strong soapsuds, for example ... Epsom salts ... the infamous vinegar-and-soda enema.”

“What’s that?”

“Vinegar and baking soda delivered separately. They mix in the colon, react to generate copious amounts of gas and resulting in intense cramping. If you think your tummy gets big with plain water...”

“I get the picture. I don’t like feeling pain, either,” she replied. “I just thought ... you know...”

“No I don’t know.”

“You know,” she said shyly, “the domination part.”

“I always thought lovers should regard each other as equals,” I replied. “Humans make love face-to-face. It elevates us above the animals. Why would you want...”

“Out of curiosity,” she answered. “Variety is the spice of life.”

“It’s the spice of sex, too. It wasn’t too long ago we tried anal for the first time...”

“You said you were curious about that,” she noted.

“Yes, and we accommodated my curiosity...” I nodded and stroked my chin. “Let me think about it.”

I drove toward the duplex with Lize in the passenger seat. “The Reef makes the best antipasto, don’t you think?”

“Perfect on a Saturday night,” Lize replied.

“You’re quiet tonight.”

“I’m thinking about what’s to come next. You haven’t told me what you have planned.”

“I want it to be a surprise.”

“What would you like me to wear?” she asked.

“Nothing. Enemas are best taken in the nude.” I drove a bit further. “If we’re going to engage in any sort of rough play, we should agree on a safeword.”

“Tallahassee,” she replied.

“Tallahassee?”

“For some reason the word came into my head.”

“You know, if you say the safeword, everything stops. No questions, no arguments, no guilt, no fault. Dead stop. Understood?

She nodded. “Understood.”

I pulled into the driveway and opened the garage door using the remote control. Lize unlocked the door to her unit and I followed her inside. “I’ll go change ... into nothing,” she said.

“I have some supplies next door. Be right back.”

I returned with a paper bag. From her closet I removed the box containing her enema gear and began running water in the sink. Measuring two quarts of warm water I poured this into the bag and added a teaspoon of unscented liquid castile soap. Then I attached one of our exclusive magnum enema pipes.

After flushing air from the hose I carried the apparatus to her bedroom. Lize stood in her white satin robe. I set up the stand and hung the bag on it.

“What position?” Lize asked. “Over your lap?”

“Let’s try the floor,” I replied and tossed a pillow at her feet. Lize stripped off her robe and knelt, nude, on her hands and knees. “Try getting into knee-chest,” I said.

Lize crouched on her knees and elbows and then lowered her shoulders. “Like this?”

“True knee-chest.”

She lowered her shoulders further. “I don’t know what to do with my arms,” she said.

“Put them behind you.”

She rested her face and right shoulder on the pillow. “Like this?”

“Perfect...” I reached into my pocket. In one smooth motion, I grasped her hands, drew them back and, using my sheriff’s issued handcuffs bound her wrists behind her knees.

“Ethan,” Lize complained. “This isn’t very comfortable.”

“I’m sure it isn’t.” I smoothed my palm along her buttocks. “It is a great view of your bottom, though.” I slipped on an exam glove, spread her cheeks and worked surgical lube into her anus. “Ethan!” Lize protested. I eased the nozzle into her bottom. “What are you using? It feels bigger than usual.”

“It’s one of our magnum pipes,” I replied and opened the clamp. “We’ve used it before.” Holding the nozzle in her bottom with one hand, with the other I lifted the bag from the stand and held it up high. “Use your breathing to control any cramping,” I advised. “It’s coming fast.”

Lize opened her mouth and took deep breaths. “What’s in this one?” she asked.

“Soapsuds,” I replied.

“Ethan -- I thought we agreed not to use soapsuds, after my last experience.”

“This isn’t Ivory -- it’s liquid castile -- a teaspoon in a two quarts of water. That’s less than half the normal dose -- and many folks use more than that.”

“Why are you doing this?” she asked.

“I wanted you to have an inkling of what Mistress Erica’s punishment enemas might be like. Don’t tell me you’re going to chicken out now and use the safeword.”

“No,” she replied weakly.

I watched the bag deflate. Once its contents were discharged I closed the clamp and pulled the nozzle from her. “Enema’s all in -- probably in record time. Let’s see how long you can hold this one.”

Lize fell over onto her right side, still hog-tied with the handcuffs. “I’m feeling the soap,” she whimpered. “Can’t I go?”

“Hold it a little longer,” I replied. “Think about what it would be like to be holding a full-strength soapsuds enema -- or worse, something designed to induce some serious cramping -- and your dom won’t release you or let you go.”

“Ethan...”

“You beg him to let you go ... plead with him. He tells you you’ve been a naughty girl and have to hold it for fifteen minutes or more.

“Ethan -- I need to go -- I don’t think I can hold it!”

“Some of the punishment solutions I’ve seen can induce colitis that lasts for days. Maybe he stuffs a butt plug into you so no matter how bad the cramping there’s no relief.”

“Ethan ... please ... I need to go!”

“Let’s say he adds some humiliation to the mix and keeps you like this until the cramping is so intense you lose control of your sphincter and have an involuntary, explosive expulsion all over the floor. Or, maybe he slaps a diaper on you and then scolds and berates you for soiling it. Sound like fun? Does it arouse you?”

“No,” she replied, her voice trembling. “Not in the least.”

“Well ... some folks think it’s erotic. And, some folks think inflicting that on another is powerfully arousing.” I reached into my pocket and withdrew the handcuff key. “But -- I’m not one of them.” I unlocked the cuffs and released her wrists from the them. Lize got onto her hands and knees and then stood, facing me.

Her lips moved without forming words. “Ethan,” she finally said, “I think in a perverse way you reinforced your care for me ... and my trust in you.”

“How so?”

“You’d never do anything to really hurt me or cause me pain.”

“That’s right. I’d rather die, first.” I regarded her. “I thought you said you needed to go.”

“Right...” Lize headed for the bathroom. I used the time to undress and slip into a flannel bathrobe. In the kitchen I prepared two quarts of mild saline, poured it into the bag and affixed the cap and hose. I ran another pint into the pitcher, set the red bag on the floor and led the end of the hose into the pitcher. Then, I stepped on the bag to force air out. It bubbled up in the pitcher from the end of the hose. Lifting my foot the water in the pitcher started siphoning down into the bag, and its sides bulged from the extra volume. When the pitcher was empty I clamped the hose.

From a box I removed a foot-long, amber nozzle with two fittings. The larger fitting received the hose from the enema bag and onto the smaller one I attached a short length of thin, vinyl tubing. I carried the apparatus to her bedroom and hung it on the stand.

I placed the nozzle in the fold of a towel, along with a large, plunger-style syringe and then covered them. Opening her dresser I rummaged through her sweaters until I found the box containing her vibrator. This I slipped under one of the pillows. Next, I took two lengths of soft, nylon rope and ran the ends under the bed. Both ends of each were tied in a loose slipknot. Finally I dimmed the lights and lit candles on her nightstand and dresser.

She returned from the bathroom, her palms on her abdomen. “How did it go?” I asked.

“Not bad ... much milder than my last experience with soapsuds. It was thorough but not gut-wrenching -- a really good purge.”

“Good.”

“I might try it again ... only without handcuffs.” Lize followed me to her bedroom and regarded my preparations. “It looks like you have something special planned for the second one,” she remarked.

“We’ll see.”

“How do you want me?”

“On your back ... let’s put this under your butt.” I placed a plump pillow covered with a towel on the mattress. Lize lay on her back, her hips elevated. “Are you warm enough?”

“I’m comfortable,” she replied.

“Good...” I knelt by the bed, grabbed an end of one of the ropes and secured it around her right wrist.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“It’s some soft nylon rope,” I replied. Traversing to the other side of the bed I secured her left wrist. “It shouldn’t chafe or irritate your skin.” I began securing her left ankle.

“Ethan -- what are you doing?”

“You said there was something in your makeup that enjoyed the submissive aspect of an over-the-knee enema,” I said. “This is the ultimate submission, don’t you think? I’m not going to blindfold you, though...” I secured her right ankle.

Lize lay with her arms outstretched and her legs spread. “Is that too tight?” I asked.

She attempted to lift her arms and legs. “Not too tight...”

I regarded her, tied and lying nude and spread-eagle on her bed. “Now -- you have no choice but to let me have my way with you...” I leaned over and covered her breasts and belly with soft kisses.

Lize giggled. “That tickles ... You’re not going to tickle me, are you?”

“No...” I donned an exam glove. “I’m not...” I squeezed surgical lube onto my finger. Spreading her buttocks with my left hand I coated her pucker with the slick gel and worked some deep into her rectum. From under the towel I withdrew the retention nozzle and began coating it with lube.

Lize’s sightline focused on what I was holding. “Is that one of those nozzles?” she asked, “with the balloon?”

“It is indeed,” I replied. “You said you wanted to try one. Now seemed the perfect opportunity.” With my left hand I spread her again and touched the nozzle’s tip to her orifice. “Relax,” I said. “This is probably thicker than anything you’ve experienced so far ... except, perhaps, for yours truly.” I rocked the tip. Her sphincter relaxed and began to admit the nozzle and I slid it into her. Once clear of her anal canal I angled it parallel to her tailbone and pushed it deep into her rectum, far enough so the inflatable cuff was well within her rectal cavity.