So Monday (in a fit of possible insanity), I posted a Challenge here…
…and on Fetlife:
…and on Twitter.
Ya’ll came through with flying colors–well, several of you did!–and I (and W) thank you!! Some of the suggestions were less…practical…than others (I still had to work all day, and one in particular involved an innocent bystander, something we don’t engage in.) But even those two W thinks he can use elements of for future Picture Requests. So if yours wasn’t the one he chose, don’t worry, you may get a chance to see it, or some permutation of it yet. 🙂
As you may have guessed from the title of this post, the Challenge he chose involved an enema, a buttplug & rope. (The rope may have been his addition. This is W, after all.)
Oddly enough, he and I have never played with enemas before. The Ex played with me with them, and I have played with Ad and another Top with them, but for some reason W and I never have.
Enema play is loaded with some heavy-duty humiliation triggers for me. I love how small and vulnerable they make me feel, how exposed, how utterly controlled by the one administering it–and by my own body. There is the humiliation of bodily functions, of course, a theme that I have explored here in my writings, and that W and I have explored many times with piss and blood play. I love those themes, love the raw emotional spaces that that kind of play takes me to.
Because this involves my anus, the humiliation is even more heightened. There is the embarrassment of having him…look at me there…and touch me there, so impersonally, almost clinically… It’s hard to describe the depth of feeling it evokes in me. To have him see me in that position, to have to submit to what he’s doing, willingly, and know that he knows I am just that: willing.
But it’s more than that.
It’s the idea of being penetrated anally in such an impersonal fashion, with a tool, of having that instrument slid up inside of that most secret part of me–and then to have him deliberately push a liquid into my body…the feel of it, of his hands, adjusting, administering…and of the liquid itself, filling me.
It’s more than that though, too. It’s the idea that he is causing a reaction in my body that once begun, I will have absolutely no control over, that he is forcing my body to do something completely involuntary, like making my heart beat, or my blood flow. That he is causing that, doing that to me…
And, ultimately, there is the humiliation of feeling myself get excited when it’s happening. And of knowing that he knows it excites me.
Because it was a Work from Home Day, and because I actually had work to get done, we didn’t get to explore this in its entirety. But I hope (and dread!) that now that we’ve gone there once, we’ll get to play this way again.
Then he took me by the rope and led me into the bathroom. I literally set my feet in a balk when I saw the enema bag hanging from the shower rod and he had to drag me over the threshold. He was only too happy to do so, and soon had me secured by the tub.
But ultimately, I accept.
Of course it couldn’t be that easy. Because what goes in must come out.
He sent me back to my desk.
(Check back Wednesday for a peek behind that closed door!)