him was nothing like what he did to us, but it still made me happy that His Majesty... that Nathan chose that method of death.” We were supposed to call him Nathan now unless we were in a formal situation.
“That’s why you told me you’d clean yourself out when I offered to help?”
I nodded and the room swam violently. I held onto the bar to try to stabilize the room. Or me. Or maybe both.
“I feel like he owns that part of me. Like he owns something you don’t. I need you to give me enemas. I need you to take control of it, but no soap, at first. Gentle. Sweet. Eventually, I think you’re going to have to put soap in and make it a control thing, but maybe not. I want you to do it, but the reality may not work.” I took a breath. “And I’m going to need a safeword for this.”
He shook his head. “You know I don’t work with safewords. You also know I’ll stop if you’re in genuine distress.”
Yeah, I knew, but I’d still had to try. I glared at him, but I had a feeling my drunk-assed-glare wasn’t terribly intimidating. “Okay, then we won’t use a safeword, but the first time you give me one, stop is going to have to mean motherfucking stop.”
He gave me a half-grin. “You’re adorable when you’re drunk. We’ll talk about it again when you’re sober. We’re also going to talk about the fact I don’t want you cussing when we have sex. I’m thinking maybe your tongue will need to be punished if you do.”
I crossed my arms and glared at him. “Fuck you.”
He smiled. “Yes, I think I will.” He touched my chin and met my gaze. “For the record, that’s your last free cuss word. Any further while you’re supposed to be submissive will earn some kind of consequence.”
Twenty seconds later, I was lying on my back on the dining room table, my jeans were ripped open and tossed on the floor, my knees were up by my ears, and Squatch’s fat cock pushed into my slippery cunt.
Squatch
Enema’s aren’t my kink. They’re like doing the dishes, or brushing your teeth. A necessary chore. Usually, you can poke around in a cunt with your finger and feel for solid matter in the rectum, and if it’s there and I want anal, I’ll give them a quick Fleet to wash it out, because scat isn’t my thing, either.
I’d never had to clean Kitty out, though a couple of times I’d felt solid matter and opted to just fuck her cunt. Most of the time when we have time together and it isn’t spur of the moment, she’s been clean, and yeah, I’d assumed she was taking care of it.
But if she needed this from me, I’d do it.
I wasn’t going to half-ass it, though. If we were going to do this, I’d do it my way. Something different. She thought she needed gentle, and she probably did, at first, but what she really needed was for me to make it different than Mike had. Something unique between the two of us.
While I’d fucked my still-tipsy girlfriend, I’d made her tell me what he’d used. Turns out, he’d used the old-fashioned red rubber bladder.
So I went online and ordered a bucket-style enema, two butt plug nozzles, and two dick-shaped ones — one of which was nearly as fat as me. I also ordered the hardware to install a plumbed enema system into my shower, so I could give them to her without needing to set anything up.
But our first experience, before the shipment arrived, was going to be a let-down for her. By design.
I didn’t want to send a prospect to the store for liquid suppositories, so I went myself. They’d make her go with minimal cramping and not much fuss, but they’d get us started. Crack the door open, so to speak.
After breakfast, which followed ten hard smacks of her favorite paddle during our morning routine, I put her to work with a few boxes of things from her apartment, with orders to distribute them throughout the house. Her cast iron skillet, spatulas she liked, cookbooks, a floor lamp, some throw pillows, an area rug. Completely random shit that felt like she’d picked them out with purpose and not because they’d been cheap, or items she’d brought from home when she escaped the ambush. Or, in the case of the cookbooks, that she’d replaced because there