Monday morning we walk to the parking lot together, both of us in clean uniforms still smelling of dryer sheets; being alone on weekend nights lets me catch up on laundry and romantic comedies. Drew’s truck is closer, so we kiss goodbye at its door. His foot is on the step to the cab when he says, “Tonight I’m giving you an enema.”

“What?” I hear him just fine.

“It’s a one-bedroom apartment, Sara. I know you haven’t gone since Thursday.”

“At work. I go at work!” It’s a lie.

“You and I both know you would never, ever poop at work. Listen, I’ve got to go. See you tonight.” He chuckles. “With the enema bag.”

I drive to work in a daze. He wouldn’t, would he? Should he?

Drew likes to be in charge. Why not let him choose what’s for dinner or when we go see his brother’s new boat? In the bedroom, it’s kind of fun: I have to obey his orders or get a spanking. We both like it at the time, but afterward, it weirds me out, even though I know it turns him on.

Work is frantic; we’ve been short-staffed for over a year and it’s not looking like they’ll ever hire enough people. We move from one crisis to the next, sometimes literally running. Even if I did poop at work, there’s no time!

I eat cheese crackers from the vending machine for lunch, later a brownie from a plate with a sign that says Thank You, probably from some resident’s family. Tomorrow morning I’ll pack a lunch, something healthy that I can eat fast. Sure I will.

But tonight, Drew’s giving me an enema. It nags me from the back of my mind all that busy day.

As usual, I work past my quitting time. They’ll make me justify the overtime, so I voice-record in my phone, saying what I was doing at the end of my shift and what needed to be done that meant I couldn’t leave. We really need at least three more LPNs.

Also as usual, traffic is a snarled mess. I arrive home more than ten hours after I left, cross and wiped out. “I hate this job,” I announce.

“Hello to you, too,” Drew says. Something savory simmers in the crock pot, he’s changed into his regular clothes, and he’s freed his hair from the ponytail he wears at work. His snug T-shirt shows off his muscles. “You ready?”

“Can I at least put down my purse?” I snap.

“Sure. I just don’t want it to get cold.”

“Like I told you this morning, I go at work.”

“Come on, it’s not a big deal. You need to get used to it, so you’re getting this enema whether you cooperate or not.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me. Are you coming into the bathroom for your enema voluntarily, or am I going to make you?”

“Neither one. Come on, Drew.”

“Damn it, you need to let me do this!” Drew would never hurt me—the sex spankings are for fun and don’t count—but he doesn’t hesitate to pick me up, even though I fight him a little. In no time I’m across his lap while he sits on the closed toilet. He yanks at my scrubs and the tired elastic waist cooperates.

Stupidly, I try to remember what panties I’m wearing, now on display. When Drew swats my bottom, probably harder than he means to, it stops mattering.

“Ow!”

“Charges who don’t cooperate get a good spanking, if not more, then their enema. Don’t make me take off my belt.”

Drew spanks my pantied bottom for a minute. It’s not all that painful, a sharp ouchiness when his hand lands, then growing heat. When he pulls down my panties, he lights into me, smacking my bare butt really hard as fast as he can.

His voice tells me he’s not even winded. His job leaves him time to go to the gym. “Now you’re getting your enema. Unless you want to fight me some more, in which case I’m wearing that brown belt with the stitching. Don’t make me beat you with it.”

He would never. Drew’s stepfather whipped him and his brothers that way. It was pretty awful, he says, and he’d be really good to avoid getting it again, although any time the man was drunk he’d find some reason to beat one of them. His oldest brother Rob taught all the brothers—big boys, every one of them—how to throw a punch, then one night when the stepfather was going to beat Drew, Rob stepped between them and knocked him unconscious. After Rob joined the navy, the second oldest brother Dan decked their stepfather, who didn’t hit any of them again.

Something hard pokes between my cheeks. Drew’s hand spreads me a little and it touches me right on the asshole and pushes in easily. He must have greased it up with something. “Okay, here we go. Just relax. It won’t hurt.”

It may not hurt, but it’s the strangest feeling, warm water coming into my rectum at pressure. I guess I can stand it. Soon enough, though, there’s something irritating about it, almost stinging. “What’s in the water?” I ask the floor so near my eyes.

“Castile soap. It helps loosen up everything.”

“Okay, I need to go now. You can stop it.”

He laughs out loud. “You haven’t even taken a fourth of it. You need to take it all.”

“How much is there?”

“Two liters.”

A hair over two quarts, same as the pitcher we use to make fake lemonade in the summer. He’s putting that much water into my ass? “That’s a lot.”

“It’s just right. You’re probably at about a third now.”

I want to announce that’s enough, but I know he’ll disagree. So I stay still and let the soapy water flow into my butt. Soon I’m feeling the pressure as much as the irritation.

Above me, Drew says, “Your butt is really cute when it’s pink like this.”

“Are you saying you want to spank me more?”

“More often. The Masters will ask if you like it.”

“Not as hard as you did it, I don’t.”

“Sorry. We need to work on that, too, then.”

He doesn’t sound sorry. Neither of us says anything for a few minutes while the water streams into me relentlessly.

I shift on his lap, making more room for my belly. “I’m getting really full.”

“Let me slow it down. You’re still taking the whole bag. That’s the rule. I’m being Nurse, the one who decides everything about your enema—what’s in it, temperature, quantity—and you have to take it all.”

“What if I can’t?”

“I won’t use my belt on you yet, but maybe I could bring home a paddle.”

He won’t steal from work. It’s the best job he ever had, and he’s got pretty good seniority now, working the day shift and the weekend nights. “They let you borrow, like a library,” he adds.

“This is so— I’m trying, but it’s so much!”

”

“You’re doing great, Sara. Two thirds, maybe three quarters. In the home stretch.”

Thank goodness. But the internal pressure is becoming brutal, and I have to squeeze the little plastic nozzle to keep the water inside.

Before the bag is empty, I can’t help making these ugly little moaning sounds, not quite a gasp but almost, with every breath.

Drew chuckles. “I know that one. Big hit at work, the enema song,” he says. “All done. Now we wait.”

“No!” My outrage is audible, my self-doubt hidden.

“No is not an option, when they take you. If they take you. Every enema you get, you hold however long Nurse says. Five minutes at least. Ten is better.”

Holding it is so difficult that I have to squeeze, my hips weaving side to side, then my body moving like a mermaid swimming for her life, then back to the other. The enema song moves beyond gasps to oh-no and a few grunts.

“Man…” Drew says. “This is hot, seeing you struggle. They like that.”

“I’m so glad you’re entertained.”

“Whoa, whoa. Be nice. This is for your own good.”

“You be nice. Let me up, and get the hell out of the bathroom.”

“I’ll do better than that. I’m going to run an errand. Back in maybe a half hour.”

It’s good that he’s gone, because air freshener doesn’t do enough. I open all the windows even though it’s hot out.

Twice I think I’m done, then have to hurry back to the toilet because I’m not. But finally I’m sure. I do feel better.

When Drew comes back, he’s picked up my prescription, a loaf of French bread, and a little bouquet, the kind you can buy at the grocery store. “First enema gets you flowers. Love you, Sara.”

“I love you, too. Thank you for the flowers.”

“They had other colors, but this kind of matched your ass. Are you still mad at me for giving you an enema?”

“No, I guess not.” I won’t tell him his enema perked me right up. He’s right, if The Masters expect me to accept enemas, I need to get used to them. Still, I’m glad it’s over.

“Good. Because you’re getting a rinse.”

“Oh, no!” I’m surprised more than angry.

“Yes,” Drew says. “And right about the time you’re done, dinner will be ready, and we can snuggle and watch TV after, and go to bed early like we keep saying we will.”

“When you want to go to bed early, we both know what that means,” I say.

“Not always.” His grin is charming. “Come on, let’s get you a nice rinse enema.”

This time he has me get on all fours in the bathroom. He kisses my anus before he inserts the nozzle. “You’ve got lots of cute parts, but this one, wow. I love seeing it in good light like this.” He starts the water without warning, flowing fast.

Wow. “Is it supposed to be this hot?”

“Yes. Your first one was even hotter, but you were so late it cooled way off. I was this close to dumping it and starting over when you finally got here.”

“Oh.” I’m terribly aware of the temperature as well as the pressure as the hot water pours into me. “You’re sure it’s safe?”

“It’s five degrees cooler than the hottest that’s safe. Still hotter than you, though.” He snorts back a laugh. “I mean, you’re totally hot, you know I think that. I meant temperature-hotter than 98.6. That reminds me, I got a rectal thermometer for you.”

The hot water pours in so fast it commands all my attention. I’ll think about the thermometer another time.

I feel it first on my scalp, like a bug crawling, then my forehead and upper lip are suddenly damp. Gross. “The enema’s so hot I’m sweating.”

“Clears your pores while it clears your colon, right? The enema beauty secret. Gives you that youthful dewy look.”

I can’t laugh. I’m in trouble. Seconds later, I can help the moan. “It’s too much. Stop it, Drew, please stop it.”

He does, right away. “You’re most of the way done. We’ll do the last part real slow.” A minute later the little ratchet sound starts the flow again, but at first I can’t feel it. Drew’s hands are on my lower back, just above my butt, massaging hard. “You relax and take the last little bit. You got this.”

Without me even doing it, my buttocks push themselves up and backward, asking for more attention, more enema, more everything. The massage feels wonderful, but the enema reclaims my full attention. “O-o-o-oh. The pressure’s getting really bad.”

“You’re okay. Just let it happen. Nearly done. Hold it, hold good and tight, yeah. There we go. You did great. One last step, and we can have dinner.” He pulls the nozzle out of my anus.

I have to clench even tighter. Can I control myself until I reach the toilet? But Drew’s hand on my lower back pushes me down gently, telling me to stay where I am. Something large and cool presses where the nozzle was.

“Got you a new butt plug,” Drew croons, “blue because that’s your favorite color, and big enough to help you hold this enema.”

“What?”

“You’ll be plugged sometimes,” he says calmly, “so you need to be okay with it. We’ll put it right up your ass, slow and easy, and then you’ll wear those thong panties I got you, so it can’t slide out. It’ll help you hold your enema however long I say.”

Inserting the new plug takes a good five minute that feels like three times that. The plug stretches me outrageously, then narrows a little before I’m done hissing in pain. It’s in.

“I got your panties right here.” He threads them over my feet and up my shins and calves. “Lift one knee. Good. Now the other. There we go, let me pull these all the way up. Here, I’ll adjust them so the thong is right up the middle of the plug. All set.” He helps me up.

I’m dizzy for a long moment, then I reach for my scrubs pants and the panties inside, folded on the vanity.

“Don’t bother. You won’t need pants tonight. Plus you look fabulous without any.” He offers his arm to steady me, then escorts me to the kitchen like a debutante. “They’re going to love you.”

Upright, the pressure of the enema is worse. If it weren’t for the plug in my anus, I’d lose control for sure. My walk feels very strange, my legs wanting to bow to accommodate the new plug while my overfilled belly would like me to hunch forward, protecting my rounded abdomen.

“We’ll eat in a bit,” he says, “but for now, we’ll have a glass of wine. You earned it.” Drew hands me a glass of red. “Come sit on the couch.” Drew walks the short distance ahead of me and folds a towel over before patting it, telling me to sit, like I was his pet.

Maybe I am. Better to get my obedience training from Drew than strangers.

When I sit, the plug moves deeper, pressing my bladder a little. It feels like I need to pee even though I know I don’t.

I take a big sip of the wine, even though I don’t like red very much at all.

“Is this what it’s like?” I ask him.

“At The Facility? Yes. No. Sometimes? I mean, I’m just Corrections, don’t have the run of the place, but once in a while I see Charges with their butts plugged, hunched over like you. I didn’t know they were holding enemas at first. How you doing with yours?”

I sip again before I answer. “All right, I guess. At least I got used to the plug. It felt like it would split me, going in.”

“You know I follow the rule they have. Pain, not injury. I’m fine with hurting you there, but not hurt-hurting you.”

“I know.”

“It’s really smart, Sara, letting me do the things you’d need to be good with before you even get in. I really hope they’ll take you. Why shouldn’t they? Beautiful, willing. Takes her enemas like a good girl, holds them when I say. Maybe I should give you one more, after we eat.”

“Do we have to?”

“Do you want me to go to the Board of Masters and tell them my girlfriend wants to be a Charge if they’ll send her to nursing school after two years?”

“Yes, please.” My voice is small and tight, like my anus before it met this plug. Having an employee ask on my behalf is a huge favor, possibly a risk to Drew’s career, going outside the usual channels. They don’t recruit Charges by referral.

I’ll never be able to afford to get my RN any other way, though. Nobody can work full time and do the degree, too.

“And if they say they’ll consider it, what will happen?”

“They’ll put me in a room with a Master and he’ll do whatever he wants to me. See how I do.”

“And if they’re going to take you, you want to be good with all of it. Sex, of course. Oral, anal. Dildos. Butt plugs. Enemas. Punishment enemas, maybe. Spanking. Paddling. Caning. And there’s different kinds of paddles and canes.”

I close my eyes, imagining myself in tears, my nose running, trying not to scream. And enemas, as many as some stranger decides to give me!

And I imagine myself at a small college with an LPN-to-RN program, taking classes and studying hard, coming home to this apartment and Drew every night until I get that RN. A paycheck at least two-thirds more than I’m getting with my stupid LPN, maybe even double. Working for doctors in private practice, in hospitals, clinics, anywhere but understaffed nursing homes. Two years of giving my body to clients, with my boyfriend’s blessing, in exchange for a better life forever.

“So if you’re serious,” he says, “then you need to be ready for all of that. You want The Master to think you’ll hardly need any training.”

“But I’d be okay?” I ask. “You promise?”

“It’s a bunch of kinks, not a bunch of monsters. I’m not a monster.” He glances at the clock on the shelf. “Time’s up. Go empty your enema. Come back here when you’re done.” He picks up the remote.

Once I take down the thong panties, the plug shoots out of me into the toilet, along with a lot of water. I put on a rubber glove to fish it out during a break in the action, then I’m back on the toilet.

The bathroom window was open from before, so the room is hot and I sweat even more. It must be a half hour before I’m empty. I take a fast shower and come out naked.

Drew looks up from whatever he’s watching. “Good girl. Now it’s your choice.”

“What’s my choice?” I think he’s going to offer to eat a fast dinner and go to bed early. To make love for hours. Probably anal, which I’ll enjoy as much as him for a change, since I feel so clean and open.

“You pick between the belt and a punishment enema.”

“I thought you’d never hit me with the belt because of your stepdad.”

“I won’t hit you the way he hit me. I’m a professional, Sara. Welts, not bruises or pinpoint hemorrhages. If you go with the punishment enema, I’d just do a little cayenne in warm water, since it’s your first. You’ll need to get where you can handle both whatever Corrections gives you and any enema that Nurse wants you to have. Or a client.”

“Then give me both.” I bend over the back of the couch. “Belt first.”

His belt buckle clinks and there’s a soft snick as he pulls it through the loops.

Each stroke is a bite of loving fire, the welts still flaming when he fills me with water that stings my anus and rectum. The feelings complement each other. “Take it, take it,” he murmurs, “ you know you can take it, you love it, I love it… That’s my girl, you cry if you need to, God, I am so fucking turned on.” There’s another enema to rinse, and a hard hand spanking, then anal sex. I come five or six times.

We don’t get dinner until after we’d usually be in bed. The next day at work, my bottom is still welted and my anus terribly sore. Remembering how wonderful it was fills me with resolve. I’m going to get out of this horrible job, be a Charge who does this all the time, then get my nursing degree. All I have to do is learn to like, or at least accept, all the things that might happen, with Drew’s help.

By Halloween I truly look forward to whatever Drew has in store for me after work. The enemas that punish are many and painful, yet always exciting, which he says is real good. “The Masters will be totally impressed, and clients are going to love you,” he says. “Promise you won’t run off with some rich old guy who’ll give you enemas because he can’t fuck any more.”

I don’t like the beating part nearly as much, but Drew does. I love how he kisses my welts like they were holy, and the way he’s rough when he fucks my ass.

Regular sex is boring now.

#

The Masters agree. I give two weeks’ notice then move into The Facility. I’m scared but way more ready than most new Charges; Drew prepared me both physically and mentally. Whatever a client wants, I’ll do it without question or complaint. Some of them love butts in every way possible. And some hate women, I think. I accept it all and love most of it.

Drew and I see each other rarely and do not speak or even smile. Not one hint of favoritism. I am a Charge like any other, and he is Corrections.

I’m sent to Corrections occasionally; they make sure every Charge is. Drew is never there, but Daniel’s paddlings makes me squawk, and once Marcus canes me until I’m crying so hard I can’t catch my breath. Every time they clip up my nightshirt, my butt on display as a lesson to others.

It’s weird. I’m either ashamed I need to be punished or angry at the unfairness, but really proud of the marks for all to see. A Purple Heart, only for my ass. They assign tasks that display it, usually floor scrubbing in the hallways. I hope Drew gets a look, but I don’t know.

The client I get that caning night tells me the marks are why he chose me, and he adds some more, which technically isn’t allowed but sometimes happens. He can’t get hard but sort of comes just the same, and I ask if he’ll rub it on my stripes. He promises a large gratuity.

The Attendant sent to escort me back instead takes me to Night Nurse, who gives me a salve and three enemas of increasing size, the last one kept in me by an expanding pear butt plug that locks open after insertion. “You’ll retain this last enema until morning. Report to Nurse after breakfast to remove the pear.” She pins my nightshirt up and I scuttle alongside Attendant, handing me over to the Attendant at my shared quarters, beds on three of the four walls.

She clucks her disapproval. “Everyone look at Sara,” she says. “Would you like that to be you?” Attendant has me stand next to the big desk for a half hour so everyone can see my stripes, the big metal plug, and my cramped discomfort.

There’s no water in me in the morning. My colon drank it all.

When my two years is up, The Masters review my personnel record and go over my account, showing me tips, bonuses, and interest earned.

“It’s not enough.”

“It’s what you earned, plus interest. You signing bonus, everything’s there.”

They let me talk to Drew. “You’re not going to like this, but I signed up for two more years.”

“I waited two years already!”

“I hope you’ll wait again, but I’ll understand if you can’t. It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine! Damn it, Sara, it’s not fine at all!” Drew storms out. Rumor has it he quit.

So I do a second two-year session as a Charge. The Masters like me, and so do the clients, but that’s it. The college with the LPN-to-RN program that takes five semesters agrees to defer my enrollment for two semesters. After that, I’ll have to re-apply. The Masters’ money is secure in a trust fund.

I have two semesters to find Drew on almost no money. Then I’ll do my RN. After, I can probably get a Nurse job at The Facility. If I don’t find Drew, I’ll send myself to Corrections at least twice a week for losing the best boyfriend a woman like me could hope for.