His Latest Acquisition, M/f Spanking/enema
Lizbeth
New Bdsm Male dom fiction
Submissive enema & spanking scene
His Latest Acquisition © copyrighted 2000, Lizbeth Dusseau, all rights
reserved.
Emily's third session with her trainer began with a full enema-despite the
fact that she'd given herself one earlier in the day. Instead of meeting her
in Dylan Kincaid's receiving room, nan led her toward the back of the house,
into a black and white tiled lavatory designed for the very treatment she
was about to endure.
With little ceremony to the task, nan instructed her to remove her clothes,
then motioned Emily to a low examination table in the center of the room.
"On your hands and knees is the easiest way to take this."
Emily nodded, grateful that the lovely maid offered her some compassion in
her kind expression.
Following the instructions, she moved to the position, thighs trembling and
arms shivering with goosebumps, as nan's warm hands began to undo the dildo
harness at her crotch. When the woman withdrew the thick shaft, Emily's body
spasmed for one glorious second. A crudely lascivious chill followed. She
was empty, freed of the confining dildo and for just a few moments that
freedom was bliss.
What followed was not as easy to enjoy.
As usual, the humiliation came first when her trainer strode into the room,
looking impeccably handsome in a camel sportcoat, pressed jeans and his
signature white shirt. But ready for work, he doffed his coat immediately
and rolled up his sleeves revealing his sinewy forearms and thick masculine
hands. Desires for him leaped wickedly through Emily's yielding body. He
gave her no reason to believe she was anything more than a job, but without
effort a melange of lusty pictures took hold of her mind. He had a way of
arousing her like no other man-except Justin, and Justin wasn't in the mood
for arousing her sexually-he was still cool, thoughtful and a little put
out.
"Three quarts, em," Dylan Kincaid announced as nan handed him the enema bag
filled with soapy water. "Twenty minutes. it might be rough, but if you
followed my instructions this morning and cleansed yourself there shouldn't
be any problem."
Emily was not so sure, but she had no room to bargain, not with the fat
nozzle pressed to her anus and starting down the channel. The liquid
followed quickly, gushing into the deep recesses of her bowels. Unlike her
own gentle cleansing enema, she was filled with a good three quarts, which
made her feel as if she were being expanded like a balloon.
Squirming fitfully as her inner muscles began to cramp, Emily held back a
verbal protest. After all, her body spoke quite eloquently of her distress.
"You're doing just fine," her trainer countered her silent objections,
while his warm hand caressed her lower back and moved lightly over her
smooth ass.
The cramps augmented painfully. "But I can't." she whimpered quietly-both
afraid and hoping he would hear.
"Oh, yes, you can," he disagreed.
She loved the firmness in his voice, which wrapped her in confidence and a
desire to please. She struggled on, her whole being wincing with fright,
afraid she'd fail, at the same time relishing the touch of his hand and the
fierce determination behind his declaration.
When he finally withdrew the nozzle, he replaced it with a retention plug
to prevent an accident. Emily's groin still churned uncomfortably. though
her resolve to endure was fixed. Taking a deep breath, she relaxed, let go
the pain and finally felt her body settle.
The settling was an uneasy one with her insides bordering on rebellion and
her mind swimmingly moving back and forth from surrender to uncertainty. But
her will was focused with her tenacity stubbornly taking charge the longer
she held on.
"Get used to the feel of this, em. let the desire move you. If you fight,
you lose, you'll be battling your own best interests. Your struggle with
anal sexuality will not end until you make the decision to let it go. I know
your master and I know this is so."
In this matter, he would understand her husband better than she.
Dylan left her for twenty minutes of empty time. She spent most of those
minutes at peace with herself, feeling lewd, naughtily lewd. Every few
minutes the cramps would start again and by force of will, she eased them
off, until the moment when her trainer walked through the door again and her
body started another anxious mutiny.
"Fine ass," she heard a man's voice, though it was not Dylan Kincaid's.
"Shall we work it red?" a second unexpected voice chimed right in with the
frightening thought.
"I don't know," it was her trainer now, "what do you think, em?"
He was asking her advice? As if he'd actually cared to hear. "I would be
glad to do as you order," she answered without stating her opinion.
"Humm. The more you think like that, em, the better you'll survive your
life."
"Yes, sir."
He turned to his friend. "Be my guest, Sir Lowry. Her owner has requested
that she be taken to extremes. She's already held the bath for twenty and we
're stretching it out to twenty-five. Polishing off her ass might be just
the encouragement she needs to hang on."
A painful sixty seconds followed before she felt the first biting strike of
a wooden paddle. A dozen strikes followed, and then a dozen more landed from
the hand of another man. Each jolt rocked her inside and out. Holding on
seemed almost impossible. But she remembered what her trainer told her-about
her master, Justin, and the life she'd chosen.
It became a matter of pride. The pain swelled and she breathed deeply. Her
arousal fired, and yet, the more the rough wood smacked on her sweltering
bottom, the more she could take, until it seemed as if she could handle any
amount of physical grief.
It must have been endorphins sending her to slave heaven. shudder after
shudder wracked her body. lusty, limitless and immense. These were tenuous
moments that seemed to keep her flying unbounded forever; and yet
eventually, the urgency in her body could not be ignored. When the spanking
stopped, her trainer moved her to a commode in the corner of the room.
Tucked behind a Japanese screen, she released, the pressure easing while her
space of physical ecstasy went on now unrestrained.
Once she was finished and cleansed, Emily returned to the outer lavatory
and knelt at the feet of her trainer and the two other men who participated
in the session. Sitting back on her ankles, she posed elegantly, back
straight, head held high, though her eyes lowered submissively.
"She has a ways to go," Dylan Kincaid acknowledged to his friends. "There's
still a tendency for her to struggle. But she's novice flesh, came to me
unskilled and awkward. She learns well and her heart is where it belongs."
"Given what I've seen of her files, she seems naturally talented," the one
man said.
"She could have handled more," the other observed.
"I don't let them get that close to their limits," Dylan remarked. "I'd
rather they feel their success than show them their failure."
"Good trainers do that," the first man agreed. "Masters on the other hand
can be devious, they can plot and scheme and show their slaves the shameful
truth about who they are. That is my favorite sadistic game. Because they
are loyal to me, they will live through it."
His mockery made Emily flinch. Turning her head, she looked for his face,
receiving an instantaneous whap on her rear from the cane in Dylan Kincaid's
hand.
"Maybe when you're done getting your ass prepared, your master should send
you back for etiquette training?" he admonished her.
He expected no reply and she was smart enough not to offer one.
"She'll learn," one of the others piped up. He sauntered around the
kneeling slave, inspecting her body, her form, the poise, the grace, the
lilt of her head and her soft face. "She'll learn."
"She's been a cultivated princess according to her master," the trainer
added.
"The whip works well to drive that out."
"She'll get that, too," he assured them.
Another deep tremor of fear worked its way up Emily's spine.
Her trainer crouched on one knee in front of her, taking her chin in his
hand, and forcing her eyes on his. The move like a father might offer a
penitent or sorrowful child. There is something of a child in every
slave-this was Dylan Kincaid's point of view. Their need for rules, for
discipline, for reassurance, reward, praise and punishment. He had the gift
to see this in women like Emily who were initiates in their chosen
lifestyle.
"Don't fret, little one," he told her kindly. "Your training has just
begun. Whether I conduct the rest or your master takes you back or you move
on to another trainer or Dom, you have my assurance that in this soul of
yours there is a true slave." He touched her between her breasts where her
heart beat fast and anxiously. "Trust your instincts. You'll make few
decisions for yourself, but the ones you make will be important ones that
will effect the rest of your life. Trust your instincts."
"Yes, sir."
Though he was referring to things she knew nothing about, Emily knew that
the truth would eventually unfold. She wanted nothing less than the
mysteries of this life, having finally come alive after a long, dormant
season of waiting.
Abruptly moving to his feet, Dylan Kincaid strode toward the door with his
friends following.
"nan?"
"Yes, sir," the maid stepped forward.
"Fit her with a larger dildo, next size should do fine. Then send her on. I
think she's had enough for one day."
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