The online help wanted ad provoked my interest the moment I saw it: "Special assistant needed for colonic irrigation clinic serving an exclusively female clientele." I knew what that meant. It meant enemas; one of my great fetishes. And the 'women only' detail was essential for me since I'm a lesbian and find any kind of intimacy, clinical or otherwise, with men distasteful. My love for enemas, giving and receiving them, began five years ago, when I was 25, and traveled to Amsterdam where I met a rather depraved lesbian who taught me the pleasures of the nozzle. When I returned home I found others, like me, who enjoyed enemas. And then one day this led further, led to where a love of enemas often leads, a sexual attraction to what some euphemistically call 'brown showers,' but which in simple language is shit sex. Yes, I'll say it. I love the female shithole, I love putting things
in it
, and I love seeing stuff come
out of it!
I was looking for a job, and this sounded right 'up my alley,' as I said to myself, smiling. Madame Dupont turned out to be a very attractive woman of forty, originally from Paris, and had established her clinic is Los Angeles six months earlier. We talked frankly and she was both delighted to learn that my interest in enemas was not simply clinical and professional. She told me what I was not surprised to learn, which was that many of the women who came to her clinic seeking colonic relief, were anal and rectal fetishists, with a deep love of enemas, and many of them with a love of shit play as well. She couldn't have been happier that I understood this immediately; most job applicants hadn't, she said. And so I was employed and soon became her assistant of choice for special and unusual clients.
Then, this afternoon, such a client came into the clinic, actually three clients. They were Monica, a woman of thirty, maybe a few years older, her much younger sister, Kelly, a sophomore in college, and Kelly's best friend, Felicity. Monica was a chic, stylishly dressed woman, and her sister was an absolute dreamboat, a sleek, luscious nineteen year old on the cusp on womanhood, but not quite there. And the friend, Felicity was every bit as alluring, a gorgeous wisp of thing, the same nineteen as her best friend, Kelly, but somehow rather more girlish in manner.
It was Felicity who had the problem. As Monica explained to Madame Dupont rather haltingly and with a certain measure of embarrassment, it seemed her sister and her sister's girlfriend played a rather naughty and girlish game. They would try to hold in their shit for as long as possible to see who could 'win,' who could hold it in the longest! Sometimes they held it in so long they'd have to give each other enemas in order to be able to get it all out. But this time, apparently, Felicity had gone too far. She had held it in so long that her bowels had become completely impacted. Even an attempt with an enema failed, the enema nozzle immediately becoming clogged with fecal matter. And now they were all here, Felicity in dire need of expert clinical help.
Madame Dupont had been teaching me special techniques of fecal extraction, enemas, and other even more intrusive techniques. And she knew immediately when a client was a fetishist and when she was here strictly for colonic cleansing. Monica and the two teens with her were obviously fetishists and so we prepared for them as we do for such clients.
So as we begin this session, Madame Dupont has Monica and her sister Kelly seated as I stand there in my assistant's outfit, which is nothing more than a little white apron over my naked body, my breasts and bottom exposed. She tells Felicity to completely undress. Felicity blushes, but does what she is told. Madame Dupont runs her hand probingly over the contours of Felicity's normally athletically flat, but now rounded tummy, noting that this rounding is probably due to the excessive bloating of her bowels with accumulated fecal wastes, "... with
shit
, dear, to be more blunt," she says to Felicity, who blushes deeply upon hearing the word. This condition, she assures Felicity, will be corrected.
I am asked to help position Felicity on an examining table, her legs spread, flexed, and ankles resting on stirrups, exposing vividly her genital and anal regions. Felicity blushes deeply, rather embarrassed to be exposed so "medically" in front of others, including her best friend and her best friend's sister, as well as two strangers.
Madame Dupont asks me to proceed with an initial digital inspection of Felicity's anal passage and lower rectum, and to report back on the state of perceived fecal impaction.
At the clinic, the staff can decide whether to don or not don a rubber glove for rectal procedures, examinations and fecal extractions. I have chosen to "go in" bare-handed since I find this gives me a better sense of contours and textures. And because I also love it that way! So I apply a generous dab of lubricant to Felicity's anus as she blushes again, seeing how everyone's eyes are upon her. I insert a finger into her anus and as soon as that finger makes its way up her anal passage to the start of her rectal cavity, I feel a wall. I know this wall is the very large mass of compacted shit filling her bowels.
"Is young Felicity as full of shit as I suspect she is?" Madame Dupont asks mischievously and this, of course, elicits another blush of excruciating embarrassment from Felicity.
"Rather full," I say.
"What do you suggest, Carole?" she asks.
"I would begin by administering a 1 liter olive oil enema to help loosen the impacted fecal mass from her rectal walls. And then we can proceed with mechanical and manual removal, followed by a final cleansing enema to get out any debris remaining behind."
"Very good, I approve of this approach, Carole. Please proceed."
I remove my finger from Felicity's anus and on the fingertip is a very vivid brown dab of Felicity's shit, which I show everyone. Monica, especially gazes at my finger, marveling at the sight. Felicity herself only groans in humiliation as her brown wastes are exposed to others. The poor thing hardly realizes this is merely the start of much more extravagant procedures. I wipe the dab of shit on my white apron, streaking it brown. The aprons are used only once, and Madame Dupont encourages the use of aprons for wiping soiled fingers and hands, knowing that with all the shit and enemas those aprons inevitably become profoundly soiled.
I get a rubber enema bag, and attach a big black nozzle with a large hole at its tip, a hole that will not clog immediately with fecal debris. I fill it with exactly 1 liter of already warmed olive oil and hang it from the hook of a stainless steel stand I roll to the side of the examining table. Felicity's anus has already been well lubricated, so now I insert the nozzle as Felicity squirms somewhat at its intrusion.
"Perhaps for her own good we should bind the patient's wrists since the procedures to follow may be quite extreme," Madame Dupont suggests, and so I now attach cuffs to Felicity's wrists, stretch out her arms, and attach the cuffs to rings in the wall above the examining table. I also secure a second set of cuffs binding her ankles to the stirrups.
I then release the clamp on the enema hose and the enema begins to flow into Felicity's bowels. She winces as she feels the oil injected into her already overfilled and overburdened rectum. We all watch in pleased silence as the contents of the bag empty into Felicity's bowels.
"Oh my god! I feel so full!" she stutters, biting her lip, blushing.
"Soon she'll be feeling much better, dear," Madame Dupont assures her.
After the enema empties we allow it to remain inside Felicity so it can do its work, softening the tightly packed shit inside her, making it more easily detachable from her rectal walls.
