A large number of readers have asked what the most severe form of enema punishment is: large nozzle? high volume? cramping? long retention? While all of these certainly do produce intense physical sensations, truth to tell punishment is greatest when control is the least. And there is one setting above all others that maximizes the loss of control — having to expel the enema in front of me, with no privacy, with maximum exposure.
Or, as these stills show, expulsion into a bedpan, facing the corner, misbehaving bottom fully on display. And videotaped, in order that we can watch the correction later. Or she can watch, since as she’s viewing what she did, I’ll be refilling the bag for another dosing of soapy correction.
In these first two images, you see the culprit in position over the bedpan, her eyes on the wall, not sure if I’m watching her trying to keep control of her bowels or not. It’s amazing how much the absence of sensation can *increase* sensation; think of John Cage’s 4’33″ as a perfect example, a musical composition of four and a half minutes of no notes played, the “music” all the more provocatively provided by the sounds of the musician trying to be quiet and the audience reacting to the lack of stillness that occurs even so.
In this case of course, the absence of sensation for the culprit is the isolation of facing the corner and the uncertainty of my presence or absence. And the music of the culprit’s unusual performance? Well, obviously her bottom plays a rude little tune as she voids, as she releases into the stillness of the room in which I may or may not be watching her.
Now we need to be clear on one thing: I’m emphatically *not* a coprophile, a lover of sh*t. Not in the least. What I do emphatically love — and indeed *demand* — is the control I obtain by giving an enema and by watching the recipient expel it in front of me. And I love the loss of control that recipient experiences by having to do both of those things at my hand or, if by phone, under my direction.
But again, it’s not what comes out, it’s the process of releasing it, the giving in to the urges of the body and my steadfast refusal to let those urges be satisfied in private. It’s *regressive*, pure and simple — a very real, very immediate return to early childhood, when bowel control was not guaranteed, when an adult’s presence was common, or even required.
And let’s also be clear that there’s a prior purge or prior purgings to ensure that the process is, while loud and rude, otherwise merely humiliating and not positively and overwhelmingly degrading. For I’m *not* a fan of degradation, whether by verbalization of words like “slut,” “c*nt,” “bi*ch,” or by physical means that go beyond the release that humiliation — of a very confined and specific kind — causes.
We now move on to consider more carefully the usually private activity of the girl’s behind as she holds her position over the bedpan. Again, the camera is running by itself, so she doesn’t know whether or not I’m even in the room — but regardless, I’ve given her explicit instructions to be good and keep still, so that her bottom is well-presented to me or, in the event that I’m absent or otherwise occupied, to the unblinking eye of the videocamera.
The close-ups you see are artfully manipulated to show the presented bottom in excruciating detail while minimizing the view of what the presented bottom is doing. I’ve done this for several reasons, one being decorum, the other the simple fact of knowing that what ends up viewed by others will be less than *could* be presented. And the fact that I could make it worse if I choose acts as a powerful goad to better behavior, and an enormously power stimulant to the imagination of what else I could do, even beyond what I’ve threatened. Could do. Would do. Or, as I choose, *will* do.
What you now see is a series of stills showing the changing positions that inevitably occur as the enema works its way down and out. How high its gone in the first place is dependent on positioning: shallower penetration if she was over my lap or face-down on the bed; deeper penetration if I had her kneel with her head down and her behind raised high in the air; and, in the event that I made her kneel on the seat of a chair and put her head down to the floor, a very deep penetration indeed.
Looking at these stills I wonder at the reader’s reaction: interest? revulsion? shame? arousal? As I say, the process is revealing, not revolting, humiliating without being degrading. The physicality combines with the mental to create enormous intensity — but my voice is always calm, my tone always soothing, my point of view always that this is *necessary* and not elective, and that therefore the culprit kneeling in front of me has no say over the process that I control. No job but to be good and obey me, no matter what the command, no matter her incredible embarrassment at having to *be* good, and do exactly what I tell her to do.
I’ve presented six stills here as an encapsulation of a good long passage of time. Perhaps ten minutes in real time — in her subjective time, crouched with behind outhrust, certainly an infinity. But as you see, although she moved a considerable amount, often thrusting her rump out to her certain shame (and my avowed arousal), she was a good girl and did as she was told. Until she was completely cleaned out of the soapy water I’d administered.
It seems appropriate to end with the empty room, the culprit of this little session having been allowed to the bathroom to shower and freshen herself up. I need not dwell on the bedpan; suffice it to say she took it with her, and, after emptying and cleaning it, put it back where I had first laid it, in the event that more such treatment should be required.
It also seems appropriate to note that the stills I’ve shown here are actually from a commercially available movie; I videotape sessions, but I’ve chosen not to reproduce this particular aspect of them — yet, in any case. And Stonefox (www.my-enema.com) does such lovely work, it seemed worthwhile to reproduce some artful manipulations of their creative output (with permission) here (I believe this is from “Deborah’s enema”).
But rest assured, the reality that I videotaped — and have chosen not to show — correlates quite well with the stills I’ve reproduced here. Like a rear-view mirror, the reality actually exceeded the view I’ve given you; if I showed you the original videotape, you’d see what I mean.
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