THE ENEMA STOP

A work of fiction

I was driving home from out of town, looking forward to the enema I would give myself when I arrived, when I decided to stop for a cup of coffee. I had not been along this street for a year or so, but I remembered where there was a coffee shop on a corner, and headed for it.

Imagine my surprise on reaching the building to find that the name "Coffee Shop" had been changed to "Enema Stop". I was intrigued and pulled into the parking lot. As I approached the door, I saw notices which said "No one under 18 allowed in", "By entering this door you affirm that you will not object to seeing persons who are partly or completely naked, or to seeing nursing procedures being carried out." The last notice said "No sexual activity allowed".

The room had been laid out with cubicles whose walls were about 3 ft high: in each were a toilet, washbasin and small shelf. One had two toilet bowls facing each other: apparently a couple could enjoy their enemas together. An air register and duct lead from each cubicle to a large exhaust fan. A young man was going round cleaning up each cubicle as it became vacant.

I waited at the counter where a young lady was taking orders. Behind her was a list of enemas available, with sizes (10, 20 or 30 ounces) and mixtures (1% soap, 2% soap, glycerine, salt, and so on) with prices. At the bottom of the list, it said "all enemas are delivered at between 100 and 110 degrees F (38 to 43 C)". When a cubicle was ready, I ordered a 30 ounce 1% soap and paid, and she poured me a coffee: she directed me to cubicle number 2 and told me to remove my shoes and pants and to wait for my number to be called. From my seat I could see the couch where the enemas were delivered.

I was soon called to the couch. A female operator put down a clean towel, hung a full orange enema bag on a hook and put a new nozzle in the pipe. She checked that I had ordered 30 ounce 1% soap. She put on a pair of plastic gloves. I lay on the couch on my left side and pulled up my right leg to my chest. She pulled down my thong, then lubricated her finger and inserted it well into my rectum and gently stroked my prostate: my cock stood to attention. She asked me whether I wanted the enema pulsed or in a stream. Pulsing breaks up the lumps, which spoils half the fun of the expulsion, so I asked for a stream. It took nearly a minute to fill my belly with the delicious soapy water. She pulled out the nozzle, gave my bottom a bit of a wipe and pulled up my thong.

Back at the cubicle, I sat on the seat and held it in for at least 5 minutes, then let it out slowly, savoring the moment. Besides the sound of the exhaust fan and a washing machine, I could hear the occasional explosion, followed by a flush, from other cubicles. I watched as a young female customer lay face down on the couch: she had a tight little ass and the operator had trouble parting her cheeks to find the hole. The next customer was an older man who had taken off his underpants as well as his pants: he knelt on the couch with his head down, pulled up his shirt and held up his ass to be filled.

After three expulsions and three flushes, I felt very satisfied. I cleaned up, finished my coffee and prepared to leave.

As I was heading for the door, a man approached me and asked me what I thought about my experience. Evidently, he was the owner. I told him that I had enjoyed it and that I would certainly come back.

"Do you have regular customers?" I asked.

"Oh yes" he replied. "One man comes in every Wednesday afternoon for two 30 ounce 2% soaps at once. We make sure he does not have far to go to his seat!"

"Do they ever spill on the way?"

"Occasionally: then we wipe it up straight away. After we close, we scrub the whole floor."

"What if a customer might leak on the way home?"

He pointed to a showcase containing adult diapers for sale. There was also a Higginson enema syringe (in-line bulb), and some white rods about 3 inches long and an inch diameter, with rounded ends. I asked what they were, though I had a suspicion.

"They are soap suppositories" he said. "A customer may want to insert one into the rectum with some warm water to induce a movement: after a few minutes the soap pushes its way out, towing a turd. Sort of an appetizer before the main course."

I looked around the room. "It must have been a lot of work, installing the partitions and the ducting" I said.

"Oh no, that was the easy part - just carpentry and sheet metal." he replied. "The hard part was digging up the floor and installing the plumbing."

Another thought occurred to me. "Why are the bags different colors?"

"They are coded for the solutions which are to go into them: Orange for 1% soap, red for 2%, blue for salt and so on. That way we don't get our orders mixed up. Besides, we don't have to purge each bag between uses."

"Do you get much call for the two-holer?" I asked.

"Yes, it is quite popular with some couples. We have even given birthday parties where several friends have enemas together."

"Is there really no sex?" I asked.

"We sometimes notice people jerking off" he replied, "but we turn a blind eye."

I thanked him, went back to the counter and bought a packet of soap suppositories to try at home, then left.

As I drove out of the parking lot and down the street, I saw three police cars coming the other way. They blocked all exits of the Enema Stop: cops jumped out and raided the building. It was going to take a long and expensive court case to defend against a charge of running a house of prostitution. I felt I was lucky to have narrowly escaped being held as a "found-in".