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Message-ID: <50521asstr$1108840202@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "J Doe" <John@Doe.net>
NNTP-Posting-Date: Sat, 19 Feb 2005 06:35:21 MST
Subject: {ASSM} Enema Story F/F
Lines: 133
Date: Sat, 19 Feb 2005 14:10:02 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d



I am a 43 year old female anal erotic.  This is a journaling of my
introduction into the world of anal eroticism.  I can recall my first anal
induced orgasms occurred when I was in eighth grade.  My parents are very
wealthy and sent me off to an all girls boarding school in the South rather
than deal with my rebellious teenage bullshit.  I lived in a dorm with
students my age and older, up to high school seniors.  The older students
were supposed to act as sort of big sisters to the younger kids, although
there was always the role of superiority and quasi-dominance that came into
play.  They called it "respect".

   The dorm rooms were much like two hotel rooms back to back, only with a
large common bathroom between allowing access from either room.  The
bathroom had a shower/tub as well as a large multi head shower booth. 
There was a doublewide marble vanity with a full width mirror and a potty.

   One morning, I was feeling a need to exert my independence and decided
to skip my first class and get some sack time instead.  I rolled out of bed
about ten o'clock.  Feeling kind of hungry, I went out into the hallway to
get a candy bar out of the snack machines.  I was trying to be as quiet as
possible lest I garner the attention of the house mother whose suite was
across the hall from the vending area.  Klink, klink, klunk.  The vending
machine dispensed the chocolaty snack.

   Suddenly, my attention was drawn to the sound of a door being unlocked
and before I could duck out of site there stood Broom Hilda aka house mom.
Damn.  Busted.  She inquired as to what I was doing and why I wasn't in
class.  I always prided myself on my ability to think on my feet so I
stammered out something about not feeling good, sick to my stomach; yes
that was it.  She glared at the recently dispensed candy bar in my hand and
inquired as to my intent.  Before I could reply, she grabbed my arm and
directed that I visit the school nurse immediately.  I was marched to the
clinic location where I was turned over to the student assistant Beth, a
senior I recognized from the adjacent room I shared a bathroom with.  She
was interested in a career as a health care worker and assisted in the
clinic as a practicum.  She inquired as to the nature of my illness, and I
stuck to my story so as to not get into any further trouble.  I explained
that I wasn't feeling well, my stomach didn't feel right.  I was taken to
an exam room where I was told to take my clothes off and put a skimpy paper
gown on.  I tried to indicate that all that attention was not necessary,
and I was feeling better already.  Beth invoked her role as a senior and
explained that the school had a policy to check out all medical complaints
and it would be wise for me to shut up and do as she said.

   I shed my clothes and unfolded the gown, awkwardly trying to figure
which appendage went in what hole.  The rough paper scratched against my
nipples made hard by the coolness of the exam room.  What a curious
feeling. I hopped up on the table and waited for the doctor to appear. 
After about fifteen minutes, the doctor appeared and introduced herself. 
She inquired as to the nature of my stomach ailment and as I explained how
much better I was feeling, the subject of my eating habits came up. 
Apparently the tale of the vending machine preceded me.  She invited me to
lay down on the table and began her exam.  She pressed on my stomach and
abdomen, mumbling to herself in tones of agreement, as if her exam was
conferming her diagnosis.

   She moved to the end of the table, and fitted it with stirrups.  As my
feet were guided into them, the bottom of the table dropped away and my
private parts were now afforded full and unfettered access.  She moved to a
side table where she donned rubber exam gloves.  I did not like the looks
of this situation.  A small package of lube was torn open and applied to
the gloves.  She moved back into a position between my legs.  She asked if
I had ever been examined down there.  I replied that I had not.  She
explained that I would feel a little pressure as the exam progressed, but
it should not be uncomfortable.  Then two fingers were inserted into my
vagina as she pressed on my stomach.  While I was technically still a
virgin, I usually only masturbated with one finger or a tampon and the
insertion was producing unusual feelings in my crotch.  She withdrew her
fingers and then began to lubricate my anal opening.  Sure enough, two well
lubricated fingers were inserted in there as she pressed on my stomach and
abdomen some more.

   She withdrew her fingers and removed her rubber gloves with a snap.  She
moved from her position between my legs to a position behind my head where
I could not see what she was doing.  I heard her running some water and I
assumed she was washing her hands.  A few moments later she returned
carrying a bulging red rubber bag with a rubber tube attached to the bottom
and a small hard plastic piece attached to the end.  She asked me if I had
ever had an enema before.  The mere word sent shivers up my spine.  An
ENEMA!  The things I had heard of about them from others ranged from awful
to sexy.  While I was curious, I never had the facilities to actually have
one.  I explained that I had never had one and she began to describe the
procedure in purely medical terms adding that a lot of girls who were away
from home for the first time needed them because they had adopted poor
eating habits.  She raised a pole from the end of the table and hung the
bag there; taking the tube with the nozzle she lubricated the end and
guided it toward my anus.  It went in without difficulty sensing only the
change in temperature of the nozzle from my body.

   A clamp in the rubber hose holding the water back was released and a
warm tingly feeling began to build within my body.  Then the worst thing
happened.  The nozzle began to slip from my anus.  I guess what with all
the lube and having two fingers stretch my hole open just moments ago, the
small nozzle had no chance.  Plop.  Out it came spraying water all over my
ass, the table and now the floor.  The doctor quickly retrieved the
flopping hose and shut the clamp.  She called for Beth to assist in the
procedure.  Beth responded between my legs at the end of the table where
the doctor warned her that it was probably not a good place to stand lest
she get sprayed by an errant expulsion, not to mention the puddle on the
floor from the nozzle mishap.  Beth was positioned at my right side with
her left arm draped across my abdomen, her hand in direct contact with my
pussy as she held the nozzle firmly in it's proper place.  The clamp was
again released and the squishy feeling of the water entering my body
resumed.  As the pressure built I squirmed a little to get comfortable.  I
became more aware of the feelings in my pussy as it brushed up against
Beth's hand.  I was getting really turned on by the whole scene.

   It seemed like it took forever to finish the whole bag, but I did so
without cramping.  Beth removed the nozzle and instructed me not to do
anything for ten minutes.  About half way through, I felt the need to go
and cum building.  I wiggled a little more to ease both feelings.  Finally
it was time.  Beth helped me from the table and lead me to the bathroom to
release the softened waste along with the enema water.  My fingers found my
swollen clit and massaged it as the water flowed from me.  As I began to
cum, the torrents of water pulsated in rhythm in unison with my orgasm.  I
wiped and exited the restroom to find Beth standing outside smiling.  I
wonder if she heard me coming?

   See part deux for more...
   

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-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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