The summer sun blazed over the upscale suburban neighbourhood in Chicago.

As Ben, a young 20 year old home for summer vacation from college, shuffled across his parents’ driveway, pulling the trash can in his movements sluggish.

His parents were off on their annual summer getaway, leaving him alone in their sprawling house. Normally, the freedom would have thrilled him, but for three days, his bowels had refused to cooperate, a consequence probably of late night partying, junk food binges and cheap beer. The bloating pressure in his gut now made every step feel like a knife was stabbing into his stomach.

“Ben!” a voice called, sharp yet warm, cutting through his thoughts on his discomfort. “Benjamin, come over here!”

He turned to see Mrs. Margaret Harper standing on her porch next door, her plump curvy figure framed against the white railing. In her late 50s, she exuded an air of authority softened by a nurturing sweet charm, her voluptuous body accentuated by a tight navy blue dress that clung to her rounded hips, full thighs, and generous 36DD breasts.

Her auburn hair, was swept into a neat bun, while her hazel eyes sparkled with warmth and scrutiny. The dress’s hem stopped just above her knees, revealing sheer white pantyhose that shimmered faintly, paired with white clogs that clicked softly as she shifted, a nod to her nursing days.

Ben had always admired her curvaceous form, his mind flickered to memories of her, when he’d glimpsed her in a pink maternity nurses uniform, its soft cotton fabric a delicate pastel shade, tailored to hug her curvy, plus size frame, accentuating her large breasts, which would strain against the bodice.

Her knee length skirt, always would rustled against the sheer white pantyhose, an image that was always burned into his teenage mind, a potent mix of maternal care and sexy mature curvy nurse for a forbidden allure. The vivid visual and a few secret photos had caused many a late night masturbation session the thought of what he had done now made his cheeks flush in embarrassment.

Mrs. Harper had been a fixture in his life since childhood, a former maternity nurse who’d retired after her husband’s tragic death in an industrial accident nearly a decade ago. Mr. Harper had worked at a manufacturing plant, and a catastrophic machinery failure had claimed his life, leaving Margaret a widow in their elegant home.

Since then, lives quietly with her only struggle being with the local lawn cutting company, whose prices kept climbing while their work grew sloppier each year with uneven patches and missed corners marring her once pristine and beautiful yard.

Now, she saw Ben as a potential solution, a strong young man who could take on the hard yard work task easily.

“Benjamin,” she said, her voice carrying a maternal lilt as she beckoned him closer, “the lawn’s getting out of hand. Those so called professionals keep raising their rates and doing a half-hearted job. I was hoping you’d take on mowing it this summer while your home. I’ll pay you for your trouble, of course.”

Ben managed a weak smile, crossing the driveway to talk. Up close, her curves were even more striking, her navy-blue dress molding to her curvy waist and full hips, her 36DD breasts pushing against the bodice.

The sunlight caught her sheer white pantyhose, their sheen drawing his eye, and he imagined the soft fabric clinging to her thighs, reminding him of his sexual fantasies again.

He quickly pushed the thought aside, his cheeks flushing. “I’d love to help, Mrs. Harper,” he said, his voice strained, “but I’m feeling a little under the weather today. Maybe in a couple of days when I’m feeling a little better?”

Her hazel eyes narrowed, scanning him with a nurse’s precision. “Not feeling great? What’s wrong, dear?” Her tone was gentle but probing, and Ben shifted uncomfortably, hands stuffed in his jean pockets.

“It’s… uh, nothing serious,” he mumbled, avoiding her gaze. “Just, you know, backed up. Haven’t… gone in a few days.”

Mrs. Harper’s lips curved into a knowing smile, her plump cheeks dimpling. “Constipation, hmm? That’s no good, Benjamin. Come inside, I have the solution that can fix you up.”

She turned smiling “A good maternity nurse knows how to handle these things.” Before he could protest, she turned, her dress swaying over her plump butt, the pantyhose glinting as she moved, her clogs clicking softly, and beckoned him to follow her.

The promise of relief and the thrill of being close to her alluring presence, amplified by memories of that pink maternity nurse uniform drew him into her house.

Inside, the air was cool and scented with lavender, the living room tidy with plush furniture and medical textbooks lining a shelf. She led him to a spacious main bathroom off the main hallway, its white subway tiles gleaming under bright light, the floor a checkerboard of black and white ceramic squares.

A wide porcelain sink sat beneath a polished mirror, flanked by a chrome towel rack and a sleek, stainless steel IV pole tucked in the corner, its hooks glinting faintly. A deep clawfoot bathtub stood against one wall, while a toilet occupied the opposite side.

A red rubber enema bag hung on a hook in the glass walled shower, its coiled hose and black nozzle swaying slightly, catching Ben’s eye. He’d seen his mother’s enema bag hidden in a drawer, but Mrs. Harper’s was displayed openly, almost proudly, a testament to her medical expertise.

“Alright, Benjamin,” she said, her tone shifting to clinical efficiency as she opened a tall cupboard in the corner of the bathroom, its white painted wood creaking softly.

Ben’s eyes widened as he caught a glimpse of its contents. One side was a hanging section, where a red rubber apron gleamed under the light, its slick surface slightly translucent, next to a crisp white surgical cloth smock and several vintage pink maternity ward nurse’s dresses, their soft cotton fabric a delicate pastel shade, tailored to hug a curvy, plus-size frame, with bodices designed to accentuate full breasts.

The other side held shelves stacked with an extensive array of medical supplies: labeled boxes marked “Castile Soap,” “Glycerin Suppositories,” “Sterile Lubricant,” “Surgical Masks,” and “Catheter Kits”; an assortment of nozzles, from slender plastic tips to thick, flared 36fr colon tubes, some stretching four feet long, their coiled lengths glinting ominously; a double-balloon nozzle in sterile packaging, its twin inflatable cuffs designed for secure retention; a vintage metal enema can, its tarnished surface etched with “Hospital Grade,”

Alongside a heavy-duty stainless steel enema syringe with a 500ml capacity, its plunger gleaming; a set of rigid rectal dilators in graduated sizes, their polished surfaces cold and clinical; and a row of inflatable butt plugs, their sizes ranging from modest to formidable, some with attached hand pumps for precise inflation.

Above, an upper section held a formidable collection of enema bags in a rainbow of colours in red, blue, green, and clear rubber, some with wide mouths, others with screw-on caps; a 3-gallon high-volume clear silicone bag with reinforced seams for deep cleansing; a folding travel bag with a compact design; an antique amber bag with a faded label reading “Dr. Young’s Ideal Rectal Dilator”; and a medical-grade 2-liter bag with a flow indicator and adjustable pressure settings, its tubing coiled neatly.

Several boxes of surgical gloves in latex and nitrile, were stacked neatly, their labels promising “powder-free”, “extra grip,” and “extended cuff” with a large canister of antiseptic wipes and large one of baby wipes.

A locked section at the cupboard’s base, secured with a small brass padlock, caught Ben’s eye, its contents hidden but suggestive that there was some items even Mrs. Harper kept secret.

The sight of the cupboard, with its serious medical equipment and locked secrets, sent a shiver through Ben, a mix of curiosity and nervous anticipation about what she might use one him.

Mrs. Harper pulled out a box of yellow latex surgical gloves, oblivious to his staring, and snapped one onto each hand with a sharp, elastic pop that echoed off the tiles, the bright yellow latex stretching taut over her fingers, catching the light. “Tell me about this constipation,” she said, her voice businesslike. “How often does it happen? What do you usually do about it?”

Ben hesitated, his face burning as he stood by the sink. “Uh, maybe twice a month or so,” he admitted. “I usually take Ex-Lax. I was gonna take some tomorrow, but it messes me up for days after.”

She tsked, her gloved hands resting on her hips, accentuating her curves, her 36DD breasts shifting slightly. “Ex-Lax? That’s an irritant, dear. It agitates your entire digestive tract just to fix a problem in the last foot or two of your colon. Why don’t you take an enema? It’s much gentler and more effective.”

Her matter-of-fact tone made it sound obvious, but Ben’s mind reeled. He hadn’t had an enema since childhood, administered by his mother in a blur of embarrassment and discomfort.

“An enema?” he echoed, his voice cracking, his hands fidgeting nervously. “I… I don’t know, Mrs. Harper. I haven’t done that in years…and, uh, I’m…. a…kinda nervous about, you know, being naked in front of you.”

She raised an eyebrow, her auburn hair glinting under the light. “Nonsense. I’ve been a maternity nurse for decades, Benjamin. I’ve seen it all, and I’ve given plenty of enemas to patients and not just pregnant woman. I’ve seen people naked, dear, and you won’t have anything I haven’t seen before. You’re not a child anymore, but you’re still my neighbor, and I won’t let you suffer when I can help you.”

As she spoke, she reached into a cabinet and pulled out several thick, white towels, laying them out with care on the tiled floor in a neat, overlapping layer, creating a soft surface. Her movements were brisk, the rustle of the towels punctuating her words. “Now, lie on your back here naked when you’re ready.”

Ben stood frozen, his cheeks burning, his hands hovering over his jeans. The thought of undressing in front of Mrs. Harper in her navy-blue dress, her curvy figure, those pantyhose, the memory of that pink maternity nurse uniform, made his stomach twist with embarrassment, even as his arousal stirred.

Mrs. Harper turned, her hazel eyes narrowing slightly, and used his full name, her voice firm but not unkind. “Benjamin Michael, are you telling me you need me to undress you like a baby?”

His face flushed a deep crimson, and he shook his head quickly, mumbling, “No, no, I can do it.” His cheeks burned as he fumbled with his jeans, unbuttoning them with trembling fingers, letting them slide down with his boxers slide to his ankles.

“Shirt to Benjamin” she said as she turned her back on him, and pulled other supplies from the cupboard obvious to his discomfort.

He nervously pulled his black Batman T-shirt off letting it slide off his arms, his skin prickling with exposure, and pulled his jeans off and lay down on the towels, on his bare back sinking into the plush fabric, his knees bent at a slight angle. As he fidgeting feeling a whirlwind of emotions that he was completely naked in front of his mature woman neighbours.

His fingers twitched nervously at his sides, fingers nervously needing the towels, the position leaving him utterly exposed under the bright bathroom light, the mirror reflecting his flushed face and tense body, his breath catching in his throat as he saw himself.

Mrs. Harper moved with practiced grace, her yellow latex gloved hands gleaming as she turned to the sink, her dress swishing softly against her thighs, the white clogs clicking faintly.

She filled the sink with warm water, testing it with her gloved finger, the yellow latex glove glistening with droplets. “Just warm enough, about 102 degrees,” she murmured, her voice a low hum as she sloshed a bar of Ivory soap in the water, stirring until it turned cloudy, a faint soapy scent rising like a gentle mist.

She dipped a plastic cup into the solution, pouring it into the red rubber bag with careful precision, the liquid gurgling as it filled the bag to about 1.5 quarts, its rubber surface swelling slightly, the weight causing a faint sag. The black nozzle, its tip tapered for ease, dangled at the end of the coiled hose, swaying gently as she attached it with a quick twist.

She carried the bag to the chrome IV pole in the corner, her clogs clicking softly on the tiles, and hung it on one of the hooks, the bag swaying briefly before settling at about 24 inches above the floor, ensuring a slow, controlled flow. A small bottle of K-Y jelly sat on the sink’s edge, its open cap revealing a glossy pool of lubricant, its faint chemical scent mingling with the soap and lavender.

“This is your first enema in a while, so we’ll start small, my sweet boy,” she said softly, her voice soothing and maternal as she squeezed a generous dollop of K-Y jelly onto her gloved finger, the yellow latex glistening under the light.

She rubbed her fingers together, spreading the lubricant with a soft, squelching sound, the glossy sheen catching the light like liquid glass.

Ben shifted and it felt like his pulse was in his throat as she walked toward him “Relax, darling, you’re in good hands now,” she cooed, her tone soothing wrapping around him like a warm blanket, her hazel eyes softening. “Just trust me, Benjamin, and let me take care of you.” she said, her voice a soothingly reassuringly.

Ben’s heart raced hard as she knelt beside him, her dress brushing his naked thigh, the shimmer of her sheer white pantyhose catching his eye, the fabric accentuating the curve of her calves, the white clogs peeking out beneath the hem. “Breathe deeply, my dear,” she instructed, her tone tender, her plump cheeks dimpling as she smiled.

“Grab your thighs and tilt your hips upward so your butt is pointing towards me my dear boy” Ben gulped at these orders and he froze for a sec and then slowly he complied. Giving Mrs. Harper an unobstructed view view of his naked ass and puckered anus.

He than felt her gloved finger, slick with K-Y, touched his anus, the cool, slippery sensation making him tense, his muscles clenching involuntarily, his breath catching in his throat. “Shh, sweetheart, just relax for me,” she murmured, her hazel eyes warm and encouraging, her auburn hair glinting as she tilted her head slightly.

She pressed gently, her finger probing with slow, deliberate care, the yellow glove latex glove gliding past his tight ring with a faint stretch that made him gasp softly. The intrusion of her finger was strange yet oddly pleasant, her expert touch easing his resistance as she rotated her finger, her gloved hand steady, the latex creaking softly with each subtle movement, her other gloved hand resting lightly on his knee to ground him.

She clicked her tongue, her dress shifting slightly as she leaned closer. “You’re very impacted, my poor boy. No wonder you’re uncomfortable. This enema will clear you out nicely.”

She withdrew her finger slowly, the yellow glove latex glove now smeared with a thin layer of brown poop, the faint odor mingling with the soapy scent in the air, a sharp contrast to the lavender.

Mrs. Harper’s lips pursed slightly, and she murmured something under her breath “…needs more than I thought…” but Ben didn’t catch it all, his ears ringing with embarrassment as he lay exposed, his knees trembling slightly. She peeled off the soiled yellow glove with a quick tug, tossing it into a chrome trash bin by the sink with a soft clink, and snapped on a fresh yellow glove with a sharp pop that echoed off the tiles, making Ben flinch, the bright latex gleaming anew.

“Nothing to worry about, darling,” she said, her tone reassuring as she prepared the next step, her gloved hands moving with clinical precision, the latex catching the light with every gesture.

She picked up the douche nozzle, coating it with a thick layer of K-Y, her gloved fingers working the lubricant over the black plastic with meticulous care, the glossy surface glistening, as it reflected the light. “Here comes the nozzle, my sweet,” she said, her voice a soft lullaby, her eyes locked on his with maternal warmth, her plump cheeks softening further.

“We’re going to take this nice and slow, Benjamin. You’re doing so well already.” She knelt closer, her 36DD breasts shifting under her dress, the fabric stretching slightly, a faint rustle echoing in the quiet bathroom, and positioned the nozzle at his anus, its tapered tip cool against his sensitive skin, sending a shiver through him.

“Just breathe for me, darling,” she cooed, her gloved hand resting on his thigh, the yellow glove latex glove warm and steady, her fingers pressing gently to ground him, the touch both comforting and commanding.

“Let your body open up, nice and easy.” She pressed the nozzle gently, easing it forward with a slow, twisting motion, her gloved fingers guiding it with delicate precision, the lubricated tip slipping past his tight ring with a faint pop that made Ben gasp, his hips twitching slightly on the towels. “There we go, sweetheart,” she murmured, her voice dripping with encouragement, her free gloved hand stroking his thigh in slow, soothing circles, the latex glove gliding smoothly over his skin.

“You’re taking it so well, my good boy.” She continued to insert it, inch by inch, pausing to let him adjust, her gloved fingers steady, the nozzle’s smooth surface gliding deeper until it was three inches inside, nestled securely in his rectum, the sensation both foreign and intimate.

“Such a brave boy,” she praised, her hazel eyes sparkling, her smile both maternal and commanding, her gloved hand giving his thigh a gentle squeeze, the latex creaking faintly.

With a soft click, she released the clamp on the hose, and warm, soapy water surged into Ben’s rectum, a gentle but insistent flow that filled his lower colon, the liquid gurgling softly as it entered, a faint hum in the quiet bathroom.

The initial rush triggered a sharp cramp, like a fist squeezing his insides, and he groaned, his face contorting, his knees drawing up slightly in his vulnerable position on the towels, his fingers digging into the plush fabric.

“Oh, my poor darling, it’s alright,” Mrs. Harper said, her voice a soothing balm, her auburn hair catching the light as she leaned closer. “That’s just your body getting used to it. You’re doing beautifully, Benjamin.”

She sat beside him on the floor, her plump hips settling on the tiles, her dress riding up slightly to reveal more of her pantyhose covered leg, the sheer white material shimmering, accentuating the curve of her thighs, the white clogs gleaming faintly.

Ben, despite the cramping discomfort, couldn’t help but steal glances at her, his eyes tracing the swell of her 36DD breasts straining against her navy-blue dress, the fabric taut over her cleavage, and the roundness of her hips, and ass a soft curve against the tiles as she shifted, the dress rustling softly, his mind flashing to that pink maternity nurse uniform.

Her presence was magnetic, her sexy curves a distraction even as his bowels protested, the memory of that pink nurses uniform amplifying his arousal and late night masturbation sessions.

She placed her gloved hand on his abdomen, her yellow glove’s latex fingers splaying wide over his slightly bloated gut, the latex glove cool against his warm skin, its glossy surface catching the light with every movement.

She began to massage in slow, firm circles, her gloved fingers kneading with deliberate pressure, as if sculpting his flesh, tracing the contours of his abdomen with a tender yet authoritative touch, the latex glove squeaking faintly as it glided over his skin.

“Breathe with me, sweet boy,” she urged, her voice soft and rhythmic, her gloved hand moving in a hypnotic pattern, pressing gently to ease the spasm, her fingers dipping into the taut skin, then circling upward to coax the solution deeper, the motion both clinical and intimate, like a mother soothing a child.

“In and out, nice and slow. Let the water do its work, my darling,” she murmured, her other gloved hand resting lightly on his knee, the yellow glove latex glove warm and steady, grounding him as the cramps pulsed inside him.

The soapy solution flowed steadily, bubbling faintly inside him, the warmth spreading through his bowels like a gentle tide, its faint gurgle echoing off the tiled walls.

His abdomen began to swell noticeably, the 1.5 quarts stretching his colon, creating a tight, heavy sensation that was both uncomfortable and strangely arousing, the weight pressing against his insides like a living thing.

Mrs. Harper’s gloved massage deepened, her gloved fingers kneading his distended belly with increasing intensity, her gloved thumbs pressing into the skin, tracing the rounded swell as it grew, her touch both firm and tender, the yellow glove latex glove gliding smoothly with a faint squeak, her fingers splaying wide to cover the bloated curve.

“Look at that, my dear,” she said softly, her voice laced with pride, her hazel eyes flicking to his swollen abdomen, the skin stretched tight under her gloved touch. “Your tummy’s taking it all so well. Just a little more, and you’ll feel so much better, my sweet,” she cooed, her gloved fingers pressing gently, then circling outward, coaxing the solution deeper, her movements rhythmic, almost musical, the latex glove catching the light with each stroke.

Her gloved hand occasionally brushed against his erection, which had sprung free, and was sticking upward, his penis head pulsing and glistening with pre-cum under the light, a stark contrast to the clinical setting.

The accidental contact sent jolts through his body, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment, his breath hitching as he stole another glance at her, his eyes lingering on the curve of her ass as she shifted, the navy-blue dress hugging her hips, and the shimmer of her pantyhose, imagining her in the pink maternity nurse uniform and seeing higher up her pantyhose.

Mrs. Harper’s hazel eyes remained focused on his abdomen, her expression unperturbed, though a faint smile played on her lips, her plump cheeks dimpling as she continued her massage, her gloved fingers kneading with expert care.

“Shh, you’re doing wonderfully, sweetheart,” she soothed, her gloved fingers easing another cramp as the bag reached the halfway mark, the red rubber sagging slightly on the IV pole, its contents draining steadily, the hose swaying slightly.

The water gurgled inside him, the pressure building, building, and Ben’s breathing grew ragged, his knees trembling slightly in his exposed position, his fingers gripping the towels beneath him.

“You’re so strong, Benjamin,” she murmured, her gloved hand pressing gently into his swollen belly, her fingers splaying wide to cover the rounded swell, coaxing the solution deeper with slow, deliberate strokes that sent ripples through his skin, the latex glove squeaking softly.

“Just let it fill you up, my brave boy. I’m right here with you,” she said, her latex gloved hand grazing his erection again, a fleeting but deliberate touch, the yellow glove leaving a faint trail of K-Y on his shaft, igniting a wave of arousal that mingled with the enema’s warmth, his body trembling under her dual assault.

Ben’s erection pulsed, impossible to ignore, and Mrs. Harper’s sharp eyes finally acknowledged it with a knowing look. “Oh, my dear boy,” she whispered, her tone matter of fact but with a hint of amusement, her voice warm as honey.

“That happens to men sometimes, Benjamin. It’s just a natural response to stimulation down there. Nothing to be ashamed of, my darling.”

Her gloved hand brushed his shaft once more, a lingering touch, the yellow glove gliding briefly over his sensitive skin, the slickness of the K-Y glove amplifying the sensation, before returning to his abdomen, her gloved fingers resuming their rhythmic kneading, massaging the bloated abdomen with a tender intensity as the bag neared empty.

“You’re almost there, darling,” she encouraged, her voice a soft caress as the bag reached three-quarters drained, the pressure in Ben’s gut urging him to expel, his abdomen visibly bloated, a rounded swell that seemed faintly glowing, the skin stretched tight under her gloved fingers, quivering with each breath.

“I can’t hold it, Mrs. Harper,” he gasped, his voice thick with strain, thick with effort, his body trembling, his cheeks flushed as he gripped the towels, his eyes darting to her latex gloved hands and than up to her cleavage, the navy-blue dress straining over her 36DD breasts.

“Squeeze down and hold it, my brave boy,” she ordered, her voice firm yet gentle, her gloved hand resting gently on his thigh, her yellow glove latex hand warm and steady, pressing lightly to anchor him.

“You need the full dose to do any good, Benjamin. You can do this for me,” she said, her other gloved hand continuing to massage his bloated belly, her gloved fingers gliding over the swollen curve with slow, rhythmic strokes, easing the cramps as the latex glove squeaked faintly, her touch both soothing and commanding.

“Just a little longer, sweetheart,” she cooed, her hazel eyes bright and reassuring, her auburn hair glinting as she leaned closer, her 36DD breasts swaying slightly, the navy-blue dress rustling softly. “You’re making me so proud,” she murmured, her gloved fingers pressing into his belly, coaxing the final trickle of the flood solution into Ben’s bowels, filling him with a warm, soothing weight that filled him breathless, his bloated abdomen quivering under her expert touch.

She clicked the clamp shut with a sharp snap, the sound cutting through the quiet bathroom, and eased the nozzle out with a gentle twist, her gloved fingers guiding it carefully, the plastic tip slipping free with a soft pop. “Now to hold the solution in place,” she re-inserting her gloved finger as she put it, the yellow glove sliding inside with a slick, probing motion that sent another jolt through Ben’s throbbing erection, amplifying his arousal, his hips twitching involuntarily on the towels.

“Good boy, my darling,” she whispered, her voice warm and maternal, as she helped him to his feet, her gloved fingers steadying him with a gentle grip on his lower back, guiding Ben’s trembling frame to the toilet with its black-seated lid. “Now, sit back and let it all out.” She said as she pushed him to sit and pulled her finger out of his rectum.

Ben collapsed onto the toilet seat, his knees bent, his body leaning forward slightly, his hands gripping the edge of the seat as he trembled, his body release a rush, his bowels emptying, the soapy water exploding into the bowl in a torrent of loud, splashing spurts, the sound reverberating off the tiled walls, a raw, relieving release that left him gasping.

His body felt lighter, though his raging erection remained. Mrs. Harper stood by, unruffled, her gloved hands moving as she rinsed the soapy enema bag at the sink, the water splashing against the porcelain in a steady stream, her gloved fingers scrubbing the nozzle with practiced efficiency, the yellow glove gleaming with suds.

“Much better, now isn’t it, my sweet?” she asked, her tone gentle as she hung the bag back on its hook in the glass-walled shower, the hose neatly coiled neatly, its black tip gleaming faintly.

Ben nodded, catching his breath, his voice hoarse. “Yeah, thanks, Mrs. Harper. That… really helped.” He reached for his cloths but her voice stopped him, with a sharp yet soothing voice.

“Not so fast, dear,” she said, her tone shifting to a clinical edge. “I can’t help noticing you’re still…rather excited.” She gestured toward his raging erection with a yellow gloved hand, her hazel eyes gleaming with a knowing glint. “It’s quite normal,” she added, “but it must be uncomfortable. Let me help with that, too.”

“Uhhhh… what do you mean?” Ben asked, his throat tight, his heart pounding in his chest as she said these words.

She smiled, her expression a blend of maternal care and professional detachment, her plump cheeks flushed. “Just a little relief, Benjamin,” she said, her voice warm reassuringly warm. “It’s part of the process for some patients. Nothing to worry about.”

She peeled off her latex gloves with a quick snap, tossing them into the chrome trash bin with a soft clunk, and swiftly snapped on a fresh pair of latex yellow gloves, the sharp pop echoing off the tiles, the bright yellow glove gleaming under the light.

She squeezed a thick dollop of K-Y onto her gloved finger, the glossy lube spreading as she worked the lubricant into the glove, creating a slick, glossy sheen that glistened faintly, and dripped slowly onto the towel, the faint chemical scent mingling with the lavender and soapy air in the bathroom.

“Lie back down, my sweet boy,” she said softly, her voice firm yet tender pointing to the plush towels, her gloved hands poised like a surgeon, ready for action.

Ben followed her instructions, his body trembling with anticipation as he reclined his hands gripping the towels as he leaned back onto them, his back sinking into the soft, plush fabric, his knees slightly bent, his hips tilted to expose his erection, which jutted up, hard and pulsing.

Mrs. Harper knelt beside him, her latex gloves brushing against his thigh, her 36DD breasts swaying gently under the tight fabric of her navy-blue dress, rustling faintly as she moved.

Her latex gloved hand in slow motion it felt to Ben closed around his shaft, her gloved fingers gripping with a firm yet gentle grip, the cool, slick yellow gloved latex enveloping him like a slick second skin, the texture sending a sharp thrill through to his core, the latex glove’s texture amplifying every touch and sensation.

“Relax, my dear,” she whispered, her voice soft and maternal, as she began to stroke with slow, deliberate strokes, her fingers gliding with a smooth glide over his sensitive skin, the K-Y producing a slick, wet squeaking sound that echoed faintly in the tiled bathroom, a rhythm that matched the pounding of his pulse.

Her hazel eyes locking onto his with a calm, professional gaze, though a faint, knowing smile played on her lips, her plump cheeks dimpling softly. Her sheer white pantyhose glimmered faintly as she shifted her weight, the fabric catching the light, accentuating the curve of her legs, and Ben’s mind flashed to the cupboard to the vintage Pink maternity nurse’s uniform, and the locked section with its forbidden secrets.

“This is just a little relief,” she said, her voice a soothing reassurance as she tightened her latex gloved grip slightly, her strokes becoming more insistent, more purposeful. “It’s going to make you feel better,” she murmured, her gloved hand tightening around his shaft, the yellow glove slick with K-Y as her fingers moved, her gloved thumb brushing over the sensitive tip of his head with a deliberate touch, the slick latex glove teasing the sensitive ridge, sending electric shocks jolting through his body, his hips bucking slightly.

Ben’s fingers gripped the towels, his fingers twitching, as a low moan escaped his throat as her gloved hands worked, the slick latex glove sliding with a relentless precision, the faint squeak of the latex glove as she moved, the sensation building, building, building.

“That’s it Ben, let it all go,” she whispered, her voice laced with tender encouragement, her gloved hand gliding with a gentle glide, her gloved fingers forming a glistening cradle.

With a sudden, shuddering loud gasp, Ben came, his body bucking and tensing as hot, thick waves of creamy cum erupted, flooding into her latex gloved hand, pooling in the palm of the glossy latex glove, some dripping down her fingers, the slick latex glove glistening with a vivid white sheen, against the bright yellow latex glove.

Ben gasped loudly, his chest heaving, his eyes wide with shock, his head spinning, from the intensity of his orgasm was overwhelming, the sensation of her latex gloved hand catching every spurt, the slick warmth of the latex glove against his pulsing shaft, left him breathless, and in shock.

Mrs. Harper continued stroking, her gloved fingers moving gently through the aftershocks, milking every last drop, the K-Y and his cum mingling in a slick, glistening mess on her latex glove, the latex glove gleaming faintly.

She then calmly cleaned her gloves with some tissue, her movements quick and unemotional, then she pulled a pack of baby wipes from the cupboard, snapping one out with a brisk snap. She began to clean his cock with a cool, moist baby wipe, her gloved fingers moving with clinical efficiency over his sensitive skin, the faint scent of baby wipe mingling with the room’s lavender and soapy air, her actions precise and businesslike.

“There we go,” she said, tossing the tissues, and wipes into the chrome trash bin with a soft clunk. “Get yourself dressed and meet me in the living room in a moment Ben.”

She stood, her navy-blue dress swishing softly as she moved, her white clogs clicking on the tiles. She snapped off her yellow gloves with a sharp tug, the latex glove peeling off with a faint squeak, and tossed them into the chrome trash bin, the gloves landing with a soft thud.

She left the bathroom, her clogs clicking rhythmically, her ass swaying slightly under her dress, the pantyhose shimmering faintly, a vision that lingered in Ben’s mind as he lay panting on the bathroom floor still catching his breath.

He dressed slowly, his legs shaky, pulling on his boxers, jeans and T-shirt the mirror reflecting his flushed cheeks and disheveled hair, his mind and body still reeling from the intensity of her latex gloved handjob, the slick latex gloves, the way her gloved fingers had coaxed him to release, the memory searing itself into his sexual thoughts.

A few moments later Ben joined her in the living room, where she turned to him, her plump cheeks dimpling, her hazel eyes twinkling with a hint of thrilling control. “Thank you, Mrs. Harper,” he said, his voice hoarse, his throat dry. “I feel a lot better now after that enema.”

“You’re welcome, Benjamin,” she replied, her tone warm, her auburn hair catching the soft light of the living room. “If you get backed up again, don’t hesitate to come back. No need for those harsh laxatives when I can take care of you properly.”

“Ohh and let me know about the lawn. It’d be a big help this summer.”

Ben hesitated, then nodded, the relief in his body giving him a burst of energy. “Actually, I can do the lawn now, if that’s okay,” he said, his voice steadier now, as he recovered from his orgasm.

Mrs. Harper’s smile widened, her hazel eyes bright. “That’s wonderful news, dear. I’ll make sure you’re paid for your time.” Ben shook his head, insisting it was no trouble, and headed to her garage to fetch her old lawn mower.

The hum of the machine grounded him as he worked, it over her grass the scent of fresh-cut grass mingling with the lingering memory of her gloved handjob, the slick yellow latex glove, the way her gloved fingers had curled around his penis, the intensity of his release still made him blush and feeling a stirring in his penis.

When he finished, the lawn was crisp and even, a stark contrast to the company’s shoddy work, the grass neatly trimmed under the golden afternoon sun.

Mrs. Harper emerged from the house, carrying a glass of lemonade, the ice clinking softly, the glass sweating in the heat. She handed it to him, her navy-blue dress hugging her curves, her sheer white pantyhose shimmering in the sunlight, her white clogs gleaming faintly.

“This looks marvelous, Benjamin,” she said, her tone sweet and maternal, her hazel eyes locking onto his. “So much better than those overpriced lawn people. You’ve done a fine job.” She paused, her gaze steady, a faint smile playing on her lips.

“Now, you promise me you’ll come back if you have any more issues, alright? And how about mowing the lawn every week? It’d be such a big help.”

Ben sipped the lemonade, its tart sweetness refreshing, and nodded, his mind still fixed what had happened. “I promise, Mrs. Harper. I’ll mow every week, and I’ll come back if I need any help with….ahhh…. That issue.”

“Good boy,” she said, her smile carrying a hint of authority, her voice warm and commanding. As Ben walked home, his steps light on the warm pavement, his mind was consumed by the memory of Mrs. Harper’s yellow gloved handjob, the slick, glossy latex glove glistening as it enveloped his cock, her fingers curling with expert precision, the way she’d caught his creamy release in her glove hand, the faint squeak of the latex glove as it glistened, a sensation that pulsed through him with every step, both concerning and intoxicating.

He could still see her gloved fingers glistening with his cum, her hazel eyes calm yet gleaming with happy command, the image searing itself into his thoughts, a forbidden thrill that made his cheeks flush.

Mrs. Harper stood on her porch, watching Ben’s retreating figure, a faint, secret smile curling her lips, her hazel eyes glinting with quiet triumph, as she knew he’d return for more of her care, her fingers brushing the edge of her navy-blue dress as if savoring the moment. “Hmmm I wonder if you will be the one.” She mused under her breath.”

She turned back into the house, the door closing softly behind her, leaving Ben as he walked home with a mix of confusing, and swirling emotions at what happened. The odd excitement of hoping he would need to visit with Mrs. Harper again very soon burned in his mind as he entered his house.

End: Chapter 1