Dis-comforting

"Gorgeous, at some point this weekend, you're gonna get an enema. I leave it up to you to decide when you're most inclined for that to happen," i said this upon her arrival home, as we embraced in our customary greeting.

She took it completely in stride, choosing not to offer her response to the presentation. I knew the calculation of precisely where a colonic cleansing would fit into her weekend plans had her internal mental apparatus at full steam. I can't offer exactly why it needed to happen at the time i decided. Out of nowhere, an urge to make a statement upon her rectal passage overwhelmed me.

When finally the time came, i prepared all the necessary materials, lining them up on the bathroom counter. A brand new Fleet-brand, saline enema; one pair of sterile, latex gloves; box of alcohol-free, disposable, sanitary wipes for post-enema cleaning; large, soft beach towel, spread out onto the bathroom floor. I walked back to the living room, where i'd extracted myself beneath her slumbering head in my lap. I gently woke her from her nap, speaking to her with a calm, reserved tone.

"Darlin, it's time."

She removed all of her clothes and met me in the bathroom. I told her to assume the regular position - on all fours, forehead pressed to the floor, buttocks angled up at me. I'd made sure she showered earlier in the day, and inspecting her hairless backside, could unobstructively see the mauve tones that surrounded her squinting asshole. I've viewed many a female anal egress, and even then, i marvel every time i view this one that i possess. Its shape, the extreme bank of the cheeks that form the valley of her crack, the sweaty yet deep scent that it delivers to my nose - all of it gives me a pleasurable gush.

I pushed the nozzle of the dispenser past her sphincter, then orderly squeezed the liquid contents deep inside of her. Once i've emptied the last of the liquid into her pinched rectum, she must hold the prone ass-up position for a good five minutes for the fluids to really exfoliate her gastrointestinals. Time had taken over the power exchange, and it would determine when i would get to watch her writhe in discomfort, as wave after wave of lower bowel nausea washed over her. I sat on the edge of the tub, as she stationed herself onto the toilet spreading her cheeks wide in anticipation of the taxing evacuation. Sweat built on her brow, her temples clenched in strenuous anxiety. All the while, she did her best to respond to my repeated inquiries into her overall state without letting the irritation of the moment and my place in it cause her to erupt in frustration.

"How close are we? Are you doing okay?"

"...y-y-yes, i'm...(spasms rocking her insides)...fine."

I sat there the entire time, watching with fascination and explicit sadistic glee. As i witnessed the effects of minerals sprayed into her undercarriage, i thought about the macabre and viciousness of this act. I put her there, and while i had no reservations, i do have my soft side. I adore her, and spend most of my time looking for ways to worship and spoil her. In most matters, i would flip over a parked car were i ever to see her the victim of atrocities. I have come close to blows with drivers who have carelessly cut in front of us, her arm-in-arm with me, as we cross an intersection. How dare they put this gorgeous creature in a position of danger. How dare they force her body, her mind, her spirit into dysphoria.

That's my job.