Case Study: B__, Where Regular Spankings And Punishment Enemas Were Never Enough

I’m often asked about the effectiveness of my methods — after all, while I admit I take a certain selfish pleasure in administering spankings, punishment enemas and the occasional session of unrelenting sodomy, punishments should fundamentally be for the recipient’s good, not just my enjoyment at administering them.

I’ve now been doing this for almost 40 years, so there’s no general answer to the question of effectiveness. So I’ve decided that the easiest way to answer the question is to give what might as well be called “case studies” of some of the young ladies I’ve had under my tutelage. What follows is one such case, that of a young lady I dealt with some time ago, who I’ll call “B__” in the rest of this recounting.


I met B__ through a personal ad I’d placed regarding spankings; when we met I was very pleasantly surprised at her attractiveness as well as by her obvious receptiveness to being spanked (in fact I vividly recall smacking her backside over her skirt when, on our first date, we’d stopped in a deserted region of an otherwise busy area).

B__ was pretty, bright, and ambitious, but she also lacked focus. Or perhaps it’s more appropriate to say that she had considerable focus, but that that focus disappeared as events pressed down on her. That’s hardly an uncommon situation for any of us: we function well when we have one thing to do, less well when there are five things we have to deal with and, in the full-blown adult situation, not at all well when we’re juggling perhaps 50 such critical things.

B__ was like all of us in that regard, but with one key difference — for her the easiest and most effective way to break the log-jam was corporal punishment, at the very least of the underpants-down-bottom-on-fire variety. That’s hardly exceptional, the need for regular discipline not necessarily for any particular thing, but just for things in general. The need to let go, to submit to someone else’s control, to be punished and, along with the pain and humiliation, find the release that only that pain and humiliation can bring.

And soon enough I found myself involved with B__, administering regular corporal punishment to her bared behind. She’d been spanked growing up — paddled in fact, and so the adult discipline I gave her inevitably consisted of similar paddlings, although I chose to apply a Spencer spanking paddle to her backside, rather than whatever lesser instrument her father had used.

Different implements, but I’m sure the effects were similar: first, the unending stream of self-justifications and “truths” which were, on analysis, only barely deserving of the term; then, once the underpants had come down, and I had her across my lap, a great deal less talk and a great deal more pleading, as I crisped her bottom with the Spencer paddle until it was, quite frankly, blistered.

But it was the aftermath of the spankings that was most moving to me — an effect I first saw with B__ but now realize is fairly common, the calming down, the letting go, the change of energy that occurs under correction. As I spanked B__ she changed, her pupils dilated, her argumentativeness stopped, she submitted herself to something that, only moments before, she had been resisting.


It should be clear from what I’ve just written that I truly enjoyed spanking B__, but from the outset I’d told her that our relationship would also necessarily involve enemas. At that point in my life I’d already given a few enemas, but they were preparation for anal sex rather than discipline, and I told B__ that, if she wished to be involved with me, she should expect to get enemas for punishment whenever I felt that was appropriate.

It’s still amazing to me how quickly things moved: the first time I had her to my apartment I dropped her shorts, bent her over a stool and made her hold her position while I spanked her and then spread her cheeks for a fleet’s enema. I’m pretty sure I took a picture of the occasion — it was that momentous for me — and in all likelihood I have it somewhere still. But I don’t need a picture to recall how excited I was to have her bottom spread for the insertion of the fleets, or how much I enjoyed sliding in the pre-lubricated tip, or how hard I was as I squeezed the little bottle of fluid into her ass and made her wait there until she pleaded with me to use the toilet.

And, finally, I allowed her to do so.


If the relationship sounds perfect, there was one major fly in the ointment: her refusal to have anal sex with me. Needless to say I wasn’t happy, but I soon found ways to transfer my displeasure to sacrifice on her part. Specifically, I began to insist that, when we made love, she would have to take and hold an enema, as a way of making up to me the refusal to take me in her behind.

Soon I had developed a standard procedure for dealing with her: we would meet at my apartment, and, after listening to the newest set of sorry excuses for bad behavior, I’d sigh, make her bare her behind and then, with her panties down to her knees, waddle to the table where I had set out the Spencer paddle. Back to me she’d come, and, after bending over my lap, I’d apply the paddle to her cheeks, usually 50 strokes, sometimes 100, until she was red and sore and very sorry.

And then to the bedroom, where I’d make her watch as I filled the enema bag to bulging, hung it from a stand by the bed, and attached the double bardex inflatable nozzle. I’d bend her over the bed, spread her cheeks and slide the KY-coated first balloon into her behind, and inflate it and the second balloon. Then, after she’d sucked for a little while to prepare me, I’d lie on my back and have her lower herself onto my cock and, as she rode up and down, I’d open the clamp and let the water flow into her bowels.

She submitted, quite willingly, something that never ceased to turn me on — in fact, she put a nail into the wall over her own bed in order to facilitate my hanging the bag. I’m still not sure that she enjoyed the enemas, but I do know that she responded to the loss of control, to the submission to me, particularly after I’d spanked her.

As for me, I made sure the sex lasted as long as possible, in order that I could prolong the enema and her retention of it. I know she begged to be allowed to expel; I also know that I denied her pleas. Those enemas were always plain water, but still, given the length of time I made her hold them, there were still punitive; I don’t think she or I would have wanted it any other way.


Over time I discovered other aspects of B__ that I really liked: one of these was her exhibitionism. One of the hottest scenes I’ve ever carried out occurred when I picked B__ up from the airport only to find her in the company of a stewardess friend of hers; later that night I shaved her friend and then fingered her friend’s bottom as she (the friend) administered an enema to B__. Perhaps that’s too short a recounting of what happened, but it sounds so much like a fantasy from a men’s magazine that I’m loathe to tell the story for fear it will be treated as lies rather than fact.

When I look back on it, there are of course things that I regret. I think I let B__ get away with far too much — perhaps I was too eager to make love and therefore willing to overlook transgressions that I’d not now let go uncorrected. And, even when I did punish, there was more I could have done. I know I only gave a few punishment enemas, soap to cause cramping, time in the corner, no privacy to expel. I wouldn’t make that mistake now.

I often wonder what ever happened to B__; we lost touch years ago and I have no idea if she’s still in the same place, doing the same things, exhibiting the same behavior and in need of the same regular correction. Given the chance I’d renew the interaction, although I’m sure it would be long-distance; still, I’ve given enough enemas by phone to feel that I could probably provide at least a modicum of the guidance I once afforded her.

I also wish I had recorded at least some audio of her corrections, since there’s no way to convey the change in her mood without at least hearing the changes in her voice as the discipline proceeded. But that’s something else that I didn’t do, although I would do now.

And that’s enough for this case study. At least for the moment.

M.R. Strict

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