The Enema Within
 CONFESSIONS OF AN ANAL ADDICT
By Nancy Ava Miller, M.Ed

I admit it: I’m an enema addict, an enema fanatic, an enema aficionado. Two, three, and sometimes four times daily finds me hooked to an enema tube, enjoying the flow of hot liquid into my body.

How did I come to such debacle? My attachment to enemas began back in 1983 when a medical concern led me to explore colon cleansing as a possible route towards improved health. In a small paperback entitled The Colon Health Handbook: New Health Through Colon Rejuvenation (Robert Gray, Rockridge Publishing Company, Oakland, CA, 1984), I read mention of coffee enemas and decided to try one. Since that first purge, not a day has slide by without my embedding an enema nozzle inside my body.

Was I aroused? —Turned on by such penetration? —By the bloating of my colon with a hot mixture of Maxwell House and water? Well, again, a confession: Once or twice in those early enema days, I did indeed twirl an eager finger upon my drenched clitoris while squirting liquid up my anus.

Despite my initial masturbatory fantasies, however, I soon settled into a colon cleansing routine for health purposes alone. This process precluded a sexual component, at least until I discovered that men—some men anyway—find enemas erotic. This amazing revelation struck me in 1986 when I created PEP—People Exchanging Power S&M Support Network. There, PEP participants discussed all matters of sexuality, many of which were new to me. Who would’ve thought, for instance, that some kinky-types might crave to be pissed, shit, or farted upon, or that the terms "slut" and "pervert" could be viewed, in certain circles anyway, as a compliment! And what a surprise to learn that I—an S&M novice at the time—was considered an enema expert vis a vis my own personal colonic obsession, and that enemas were looked upon as kinky and hot by a certain subset within the fetish community. What a surprise to learn I had for years cultivated a valuable and specialized sexual talent without realizing it!

HOW TO BEGIN—ENEMA EQUIPMENT

For serious enema fans, my own suggestions regarding enema equipment might appear tame, naive, and rudimentary, especially coming as they do from one who calls herself an "expert." No, I’m not lured by exotic medical nozzles and gigantic enema bags, black with a four-quart capacity. My recommendations are simple, inexpensive, and geared to be useful and educational for the novice. They only require access to K-Mart, Wal-Mart, or your local drug store—not intricate and intimate knowledge of "adult" web sites or sex shops with their confusing displays of costly kink toys of dubious quality. Back-to-basics person that I am—and renowned tightwad!—I prefer the old-fashioned enema device used by Grandma and available at most pharmacies for about $10.00. You remember: the rubbery thing, usually red in color, that serves as a hot water bottle, too. It also substitutes as a douche syringe for ladies, by the way. Scrutinize your pharmacy shelves till you locate the box announcing: "Combination Douche, Enema, and Water Bottle System—Reusable"—or some similar description. The graphics on the box may depict the actual water bottle within, or a smiling lady, probably blonde and presumably not constipated. Inside you’ll find the following:

  • A 2-quart water bottle
  • Tubing
  • A shut-off clamp (for controlling the flow of liquid)
  • A douche pipe
  • An enema pipe

News flash!—The douche pipe—longer, fatter and thus more ominous than its cousin, the official enema nozzle—may, in fact, be utilized for enemas. Some enema lovers actually prefer this larger pipe precisely because it is bigger, more threatening, and hence more erotic to those of a—shall we say…?—perverted nature. Aside: For fetishists who covet enema equipment more ominous and extreme than my own preferences, for those who crave access to a vast array of colonic devices, please contact my friend Tom at Arthur Hamilton’s—a respected purveyor of bottles, tubes, pipes, and clamps geared to delight the most committed enema addict:

Attn: Tom

c/o Arthur Hamilton’s, POB 180145, Richmond, NY 11418

Phone—(718) 441-6066

The best enema system, by the way, does not contain a pipe-adapter, the plastic doo-dad which allows the nozzle to screw into the end of the tube. Seek instead a nozzle which glides directly into the rubber tubing. Although the screw-in system with an adapter may leak and make a mess, it still can be effective, sexually speaking. (The diagram on the box indicates if a pipe adapter is within.)

ENEMA PREPARATION

Your enema bottle is home. Now what? Before using, rinse out the bag, tubing, and pipes with hot water. Soap off the outside of the nozzle, too, and kiss it three times before inserting.

Precede every enema experience by eating lightly or by fasting, incidentally, and always expel a spritz of liquid from the bottle, via the pipe, before penetration, otherwise you’ll inject air into the bowel. Air won’t harm you, but it could cause cramps, uncomfortable and painful, which only a devout masochist might covet as kinky or sensual.

ENEMA RECIPES

My favorite enema recipe, as alluded above, is the famous coffee enema; a hygienic concoction used by the medical community and lay folk alike to fight various ills. The coffee solution creates strong peristalsis , the rectal contractions which cause evacuation. During enemas, the caffeine enters the bloodstream directly and powerfully through the walls of the intestines and provides a buzz of energy and a clarity of mind which lasts for hours, a sensation not unlike the high of amphetamines! (Incidentally, if you wish to avoid caffeine for personal or for health reasons, the coffee enema, obviously, is not for you.)

How do you mix this recipe? Merely add one cup of strong, caffinated coffee—instant is fine—to the rest of the two-quart enema bag of hot water. The fluid should be slightly above body temperature. Thus when—say—dripped on your wrist, the enema solution will feel a bit warm, but not scalding.

Another fun enema recipe: The Dr. Bronner’s cleanse! Mix one or two tablespoons of Dr. Bronner’s pure, castille peppermint soap, found at health food stores everywhere. This fragrant liquid causes intense cramping when over-used, so stick with small amounts at first. And always whoosh out your colon with two-quarts of clear water, warm or cool, following the expulsion of any soap recipe; this purges soap residue and potentially gas-producing "bubbles" from the bowel.

YOUR ENEMA JOURNEY

Your bottle is bulging with hot liquid! Your belly is empty and your tight slut-hole longs for penetration, violation…What next? Hang the bag about four feet above the spot where you’ll recline, where you’ll actually "do" the enema, so gravity will push the enema liquid from the bottle into the tube and deep inside you. You may prefer to lie in the tub, in case of dribbling. Or, perhaps, for greater comfort—a bed will suffice. Humiliation? Try curling up under the toilet on the bathroom floor, upon the cold tile where you belong. No matter where your location, however, always begin by resting on your left side, in a semi-fetal position. This left side position, due to the construct of the colon, allows for greater absorption of the enema solution.

Insert the pipe into your slut asshole, of course, but first prepare yourself for entry by tickling and teasing the anus with that lubricated nozzle-tip. Go ‘round and ‘round, encircling your targeted orifice. Poke the pipe in and out, in and out, deeper and deeper until the device fits snuggly up you. Then release the clip on the tube to allow that rush of hot liquid into your bowel. When the bag is empty or nearly so, shift so that you’re on your back with legs spread and pelvis gyrating like the little enema pig you are! Hold the enema solution as long as possible—10 to 20 minutes? –before expelling. If aroused, you have permission to touch yourself. At the point of orgasm, please state the following three times: "I am Nancy’s little enema pig slut!" And make sure there is a lot of cum—hot, thick, creamy, white, milky, shooting, spurting, nasty exploding, firey, uncontrollable cum—all over your hand, your belly, your groin, your chest. Don’t hold back! I want a lot of cum!

ENEMA ASSIGNMENT—FOR ENEMA PIG BOYS, WITH LOVE
By Nancy Ava Miller, M.Ed

Firstly, you are not to have an orgasm for at least two days before embarking upon this nasty enema assignment. During the hours preceding it, eat lightly—soup or fruits—or fast on broth and juices, or on other clear liquids. Dress only in crotchless ladies’ panties, tight and silky—red, black, purple, or pink. In lieu of panties, consider tying a snug, bright bow around your little pee-pee. Otherwise, you are naked.

Prepare your enema recipe—the famous coffee enema or Dr. Bronner’s peppermint soap cleanse (described along with enema equipment in my article "The Enema Within"). When your enema bag is filled with hot liquid, hang the contraption approximately four feet above the site of your assignment—spot where you’ll submit to my colonic torture; the location, that is, where you’ll recline and accept the enema fluids. For this assignment, I suggest you lie on your bathroom floor, upon cold tile or linoleum, near the base of the toilet, where you belong.

Before penetrating your anus, kiss the nozzle-tip three times and then expel from the pipe a small stream of liquid so as not to force air into the bowel. For greater liquid penetration, rest on your left side, in a semi fetal position. Rotate the lubricated pipe end around your slut-hole before inserting. Titillate and tease your ass. Make your ass long for the liquid, long for invasion, crave to be raped, violated, hurt, and humiliated. Once the pipe is high inside you, undo the clamp on the tubing. Now your enema recipe will enter, bloating and cramping, making you squirm and, perhaps, moan. Allow approximately 1½ cups to enter. Then shut the clamp and touch your little pee-pee, bring yourself almost to the point of orgasm, and stop! Do not cum! Now allow another 1½ cups to flow inside you. Clip off clamp again, caress your penis, but stop just before orgasm. Force the remaining enema solution into your body, roll on your back, and, like a whore-boy, spread your thighs wide and, move your ass up and down, up and down. Grip your helpless balls gently and squeeze in a pulsating fashion (as if you are cupping a sick bird in you your hand, trying to revive it). Squeeze harder. A little harder still. Do not touch your penis for at least 12 minutes, however. Once these minutes pass, though, release your balls; you now have permission to touch your little dick in whatever manner feels best—harsh or gentle, gooey with K-Y or raw from the friction of your fingers.

Your goal now: to experience a "full-body orgasm." A full-body orgasm is felt everywhere within and without you—not just in the head of your little pee-pee, but in your hair follicles, your toes, your nose, your elbows, your arm pits, and, yes, of course, in your groin—your balls, your dick, you asshole, too. I want every part of your body throbbing and exploding with the heat, the sweat, the intensity of your orgasm—not just your little dick. And I want a lot of cum—hot, thick, white, milky, creamy, nasty, disgusting, squirting, firey, pulsating cum emanating from every pore, every cell, every particle, every crevice, every nuance of your physical being—but most importantly from your heart, your soul, your mind, your brain—not just from your worthless dick. And the way to experience a full-body orgasm is to keep that slut ass spread and moving. I want your ass spread so wide, so far, that you actually feel an ache, a spasm of pain at the point where your inner thigh joins the torso. Spread yourself! Move it! And, in addition, I want you to forget your dick for a change and think of me—my cunt, my own asshole—clean and fresh because of my own enema proclivities—clean and fresh as a field of daisies, as clean damp air following a rainstorm in early Summer, so clean you could slide your tongue or nose safely into my ass crack or even up the orifice and smell and taste only sweetness. That is what you should think about instead of your genitals—my pussy-meat—red and moist—the mysterious cunt-hole, and my puckered tight asshole which you’d love to lick and—if truth be known—love to insert your little dick deep within—which, I can assure you, will never occur! So, with these instructions for a full body orgasm—to keep your own ass spread and moving, to place your perverted little thoughts not on yourself but on me—on my cunt, my ass—the smells and wetness—with these thoughts and these commands, you now have permission to cum. And, remember: do not hold back! I want a lot of cum! I want your dick to go wild with cum, like a fire-hose squirting out-of-control, like Old Faithful exploding and spitting its spew into the sky. Do not hold back! You’ve held back your entire life; you are not to hold back from me now. And at the point of orgasm you are you utter: "I am owned! I am owned! I am owned!" Yes, state this three times, and when every last ooze of cum is milked from that dick, smear some of the goo on your lips, your chin, your mouth, your face and imagine you are wet with my piss, my cum.

And, now, expel your enema water into the toilet, enjoy a warm shower, clean your bathroom and your enema equipment, and recall forever the warmth, the glow, the passion of enema-love.

 

Excerpt from
KIDNAPPED AND KEPT —A FANTASY OF FORCED SUBMISSION
by Nancy Ava Miller, M.Ed.

The men tell me I am nothing but a cunt, throbbing and wet. They tell me they will keep me tied forever to the table. My table. The men control me, except my thoughts, the mental games I play when they are not present. They feed me liquids through a straw, which I swallow eagerly.

Daily, they sponge me with warm water to keep me clean, always focusing on my cunt and ass, soaping my crotch over and over again. I am shaved, oiled, powdered, perfumed.

The men tell me when to piss, when not to. Sometimes they keep a catheter in me for hours or days, draining me or filling me on whim.

When they are not with me, they harness a bulbous plug up my asshole, to prevent me from shitting without permission. Also, everyday, I’m forced to take an enema. What choice? What option?

"Time for your enema, bad girl!"

"Nice hot enema, bad girl!"

"Three quarts today, bad girl. You better not leak."

For my enema, they mix a solution of water and coffee. Luke dangles the enema bag a few feet above my tabletop. The butt plug is removed. For a moment, my ass feels cool, neglected, rejected. Then the men invade my rectum with a nozzle attached to tubing which, in turn, swoops down from the enema bag. This is not an ordinary enema nozzle, however, in size and shape. It more resembles a long, wide dick than those four inch hollow things the drug store sells for douching. Harry takes his time with the nozzle. He rubs it around my anus, courting entry. Then he plunges it inward, upward. He pumps it harder, softer, deeper, deeper. Someone’s finger rotates atop my clitoris. I moan.

"Her cunt’s wet! She’s wet again!" Luke announces

I pump my pelvis in rhythm with the nozzle; I strain towards the finger on my clit.

"Move, you whore. Move that ass!"

I obey with rapid fluctuations of my groin.

The scalding coffee solution enters me. The nozzle lies still now, pressed in hard and deep. I stop my pelvic dance and grow fuller and fuller from the enema. One quart. Two quarts. The caffeine courses through my bowel. It causes intestinal cramping, intense contractions that create tremors in my body. Then I sense that urgency: I have to shit. I need to shit.

"One more quart, girl," says Harry.

"No more, Harry!" I shriek silently while mumbling into the gag. "No more!"

The final quart flows in with starts and stops. Fingertips massage my clit with soft strokes.

"Don’t leak, you hear, girl?"

I focus all attention on my rear end and make great effort to prevent seepage. I suck in my asshole (or so it seems), tighter and tighter, like some crazy isometric exercise.

My belly cramps, relaxes, cramps again. My colon pulsates. The fingers swirl faster on my clit. As usual, my cunt grinds towards those fingers, sometimes moving up and down, sometimes in a circular fashion. Then comes a cramp like a punch to the gut. It reverberates my lower torso. I grow rock-ridged. My body oozes sweat, from every pore, from every cell.

"Just a little more water, girl."

The liquid continues. The fingers play.

Finally, the men remove the nozzle. It sticks for a moment before gliding out. I’m released from the table and, still blinded by my hood, led awkwardly towards a bathroom. I shuffle on stiff legs and contract my asshole, concentrating, trying to keep the coffee stuff from gushing out.

"You’re lucky we don’t make you crawl!" Harry threatens. "We should make you crawl like a hurt little doggie."

They insist I keep my thighs spread on the toilet seat, so they can observe my cunt. A torrent of enema water rumbles out.

"Open your legs more," Luke tells me. "Open that pussy."

But I don’t even care that the men are watching.

Later, emptied and bathed, I’m latched again to my tabletop and left in aching solitude. I recreate poems in my head, poems I wrote when young and free:

How fast a childhood twinkles by

Like lights from fireflies

That floated there at dusk

Near the woods off Cool Springs Lane.

How fast a child forgets

The rainstorms, forts, the graves, the dead,

The woods that bordered Cool Springs Lane.

How fast a girl forgets

Speaking of regrets…

In the depths of my brain, I meditate. I play with the secret mantras, half-forgotten Sanskrit chants I learned once on the coast of Spain. They ring like soothing bells beneath my hood—like the wind chime a former husband once bought me for our anniversary. I recall the melody of the chime and wish for sleep. I court sleep—tempt it. Finger by finger, toe by toe, I concentrate on relaxing each minute part of me. When sleep fails me, I wish for the men. When will they return? I crave the diversion, the attention they provide. I even crave the pain—a catheter, an enema, tit clamps. Anything but this—lying naked, bound, cold, deserted.

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