A Spanking--and An Enema!I don't like to discuss this very freely, because getting a punitive enema was about as humiliating as a punishment could get, so when I write about my spankings I tend to gloss over the enema part without going into too much detail. But many of my readers have asked me to reveal what the enema was like, what happened during its administration, and, of course, why ever did Mom give us enemas on top of our spankings? It made no sense, skeptics say.
Actually it made perfect sense. Many of you may remember the good old days, or at least heard about them, when a common domestic punishment was a big spoonful of castor oil. People know that it tasted awful, and that was punishment enough! But they may not realize the after-effects of the castor oil treatment. In a few hours the young victim would gallop to the toilet and poo his or her brains out! The effect was long-lasting--that is, there were several urgent trips to the toilet--which kept the kid out of mischief for a while!
An enema works more quickly, but results in the same effect--an urgent trip to the potty.
How did Mom hit upon this great idea?
First of all, Mom was a trained nurse and made her living at it. She received her MSN degree (Master of Science in Nursing) and was far from ignorant. Back when we were growing up, and for a long time previously, many parents believed in the magic power of a good enema to cure many ills. If you felt queasy, had a headache, tummy ache, or were constipated, out came the enema bag to set things right! Such treatment was doctor-approved, too. Some years ago I bought an old book at a library sale, about a country doctor's old-fashioned remedies. Now this looks interesting, I thought. As I read the book, I realized there was one subject the author kept harping on--a sound enema for just about everything, including diarrhea! I got rid of the book fast! But I tell you this to give an idea of what people thought of the enema.
So when we felt out of sorts, Mom got out the red rubber bag, put the ailing girl over her lap as if for a spanking, and pumped her full of a mild solution of warm water and soapsuds. Then she let the girl do her business on the potty. The enema was very unpleasant, and we hated having to get one. My two sisters and I made a big whiny fuss about the prospect. In fact my little sister Audrey would actually beg for death rather than face the enema! "Get a gun!" she would cry. "Shoot me instead!" Now that would have been an extreme alternative, and all of us, including Mom, could not help but laugh at the poor imploring girl. But that gives you an idea of how much we hated the enema.
So when we were pre-teens, Mom decided that if we disliked an enema so much, she would use it as a supplement to every spanking. After all, we were in the same position, and our panties were down for the hairbrush anyway, so while the girl's bottom was bare she would get a nice big enema chaser!
Mom also improved the enema somewhat to make it more uncomfortable than a clinical enema. The water was heated to just over body temperature, an even one hundred degrees. Any hotter could be dangerous, and the purpose of the enema was to punish, not to harm. Besides the soapsuds (Mom swirled a cake of Ivory soap into the water to suds it up, and soap is a natural agent for getting the urge to poo!) Mom added baking soda to give the girl a bloated feeling, and salt to prevent the colon from absorbing the solution. She also obtained a large barium enema nozzle from the hospital, rather than the usual small enema tip, to make the punishment more uncomfortable. All in all, the enema was safe and did not hurt us--except maybe for our pride!
The girl to be punished had to endure a full bag--two quarts--of this dreadful solution, then hold it in for five minutes while the enema worked its magic. Of course, Mom was well-trained enough to determine when the girl could hold no more, and she would halt the procedure. This was especially true of a younger girl like Audrey, who could not hold a full two quarts. My other sister Gretchen and I could hold more because we were young teens by then. Mom's saying was that the enema should continue "until the bag is empty and the girl is full!"
When the time came for the dreaded punishment, the girl in question had to march to the bathroom and take out all the necessary equipment for her discipline--the solid wood hairbrush, the enema set which was kept in its original orange box (I remember it was a DeVol kit), Vaseline to grease the nozzle, and clothespins to hold up her skirt and slip for the procedure. Her sisters had to come in to watch her punishment, so that a lesson would be learned by all of us!
Before long Mom came in from the kitchen carrying a two-quart glass pitcher full of the sudsy concoction, which looked like thin milk. She filled the bag carefully, listening to the gurgles emitting from the mouth, then screwed on the cap, attached the red hose, clamped it shut with a metal stop valve, and hung the dreadful mix from the shower curtain rod with a metal S hook, high above the tub where the spanking would take place. The girl to be spanked had to hold the hairbrush while Mom pinned up her skirt and petticoat, holding them up securely with the spring clothespins, and skinned down her panties and stockings (if any) to the knees, leaving the girl bare from waist to knees. Then Mom sat on the wide rim of the bathtub with her dress hiked up and her girdle showing, and made the girl lie across her stocking tops.
Giving a scolding, then handing down a sentence of how many spanks the girl would get (usually between fifty and sixty), Mom began the tanning with sharp brisk spanks, five on a cheek, then five on the other, while the girl counted them out between yips and howls. I can tell you this method made the bottom red hot after less than twenty of these. I longed for the tanning to be over--but then I remembered that dreaded enema hanging above me, which would start once the spanking was finished!
Finally I reached the end of the sentence, and I had to thank Mom for tanning me. Now came time for the next feature!
The nozzle Mom used was a barium nozzle, bigger than the usual enema tip, with a sort of pear-shaped end and a plastic ring collar at the ba
At first the enema was not too bad, sort of a sensation of a little stream of water running up me, but soon I began to feel the bloating inside my colon, and I groaned some more. Finally I begged Mom to stop!
Mom clicked shut the valve, then told me to take some deep breaths while she gave me what we called the "Rib Rub"--a gentle massage of the girl's back and ribcage. This usually allowed the bloating to subside. Then CLICK! again, and the enema resumed.
"How much more?" I asked, still over Mom's knee and facing the tiled floor. I could not see the bag in this position.
"Not too much more," assured Mom. "You're doing fine." Well I sure didn't think I was doing fine! I had an overwhelming urge to poo and felt like I had the biggest case of diarrhea ever! It felt awful!
At last I heard the bag above me gurgle out its last dregs of soapsuds. Mom clicked the stopcock closed. The enema was finished!
But now I had to hold in the awful mixture for five minutes while Mom pressed my sore cheeks together over the big nozzle. "Now, Pamela Ann," she would begin, "what have you learned from this experience?"
Fighting back the urge to poo, I explained to Mom and my sisters how I intended to amend my behavior and not do again whatever had brought me across the parental lap. I squirmed in distress and begged to be let up.
After the longest five minutes in the world, I felt Mom remove the big nozzle with a wet kissing sound, and I actually could feel my heinie hole shut itself with a silent snap.
"Now," said Mom at last, "you may poo."
She gently helped me off her stocking tops and I hobbled with panties down, and bloated like a guppy, to the waiting toilet across the room. The spanking had sizzled my buns like a sunburn, so this part would not be easy. We called sitting down "The Moment of Truth," because it was the indicator of how sore the girl's heinie was. Invariably the girl let out a yelp as she planted her butt on the hard seat. Mom was satisfied that she had been well-spanked!
While the family was treated to some very embarrassing squeaks, trickles and gushes, I released the pent-up enema, covering my face in my hands in shame. We were forbidden to laugh at the girl in this position, but sometimes it was difficult not to, because of the silly sounds emanating from her pooper. I know I cried from the humiliation as much as from sitting on my sore behind. After all was out of me I commenced using the toilet paper and finally flushing . Then I washed my hands, and Mom marched me to the living room corner, where I had to stand facing the wall with skirts up and panties down--for one full hour. After that it was up to bed to rest and weep into my pillow.
The spanking was pretty bad, but although it was not very painful, the enema was worse with its intense discomfort and deep humiliation. I got my final spanking and enema when I was 19, back in 1978, and if I never see another enema bag again it will be too soon!