I've been doing it myself since I was in grade school. The enema bag sat in the cabinet above the tub, and I was simultaneously terrified of it and fascinated by it. I never liked it when my mother would give me one. It hurt. It was embarrassing. She'd chase me through the house, and I'd run and try to hide, and I'd cry. But when I was alone in the tub at night, with the door shut... I'd get that bag down, fill it with warm water, and rub myself while the water filled me relentlessly, hopelessly full.
Today I passed much of a dull afternoon at work lost in my imaginings. He told me he was going to give me an enema, and I protested, eyes wide, pleading with him not to do that to me, certain that the humiliation would be too much. He didn't back down, knowing that I needed him to push me. He made me fill the bag myself. He hung it from the shower curtain rod and took off my clothes while my face burned with embarrassment and shame, and then he bent me over the tub and inserted the pipe.
His fingers probed my cunt, tight with the bulging of my water-filled rectum, and I was glad he couldn't see my face. One finger, two, three, four, then gone--only to be replaced a minute later by his cock, driving into that warm space and forcing the water deeper into my bowels with every stroke. He fucked me slowly, then fast, then slowly again, never letting me fall into a rhythm, and when the bag was empty, he withdrew both the pipe and his cock... and then I felt him pressing against my ass. With a squelch of lube and little other warning, he plunged his cock into my ass all the way to the ring that held it securely in its harness. I struggled desperately to hold onto the water inside me while he tried with equal fervor to force me to lose control.
This scenario played over and over again in my brain today while I made small talk with visitors to the office and tried to concentrate on what I was doing. Someday, he's going to find out.
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