Redhead looked sidehead the tobacco package she was holding in her hand. Colourful box, with a gruesome photo advising against it that, as mostly everyone else, she ignored; recently opened, 2 cigarettes already missing. That exact same brand brought her some memories back…. Oh, of course, not THAT old; Redhead is a young lady in her late 20’s. But not that, THAT young, either. So, memories from some time ago, when she was 18; memories form a rebel chick coming from a loving home.

Redhead remembered, every detail: after classes, 16’o clock, in the park behind school. Alone, she thought, with Curly & Glasses, her best friends; both shy and introvert; Redhead, not so much. Exceptionally good girl, excellent student, a bit rebel. Talking about this particular good-looking boy in class… Then, the cigarette. She inhaled; tasted, swallowed. That was the last time she put that poison in her mouth… then, she coughed. Smell, awful; taste, even worse. It’s not like she was used to it. But it looked SO cool… That good-looking boy, he smoked too. Chit-chat lasted minutes before their cover blew up and both Redhead’s parents caught her red-handed: luck, bad planning, both. Nothing she may say would sound anything less than a poor excuse, because neither Curly nor Glasses would have come up with that idea on their own. She realized how bad she f*cked up just seeing her mother’s face: for she, Vic, as her husband calls her, is a sensible-reasonable woman, Dad normally the strict one, but, when roles reversed… Unwelcome news. Mom HATES smoking, Grandpa dying of lung cancer too young making it no less than sacrilege at home. Dad stopped that awful habit just two months after Grandpa passes away, so insistent Mom was about it.

Redhead remembered, with detail, reluctantly getting on the car, and then, heatedly argue with his mother about her supposedly enough age to smoke, to make her own choices… Lots of things she said that day, but, today, she admits, it was all bravado: she wasn’t old enough, at all. That fight only managed to get Mom even more livid. Her sister, Vic Jr., looked aside to the window, trying her best to avoid getting involved. Redhead couldn’t get Dad in the picture in her memories during the ride back home, probable because Dad (surprisingly for him) could add little to Mom’s arguments, her wife in charge all the time. Experience finally gained the upper hand, and she realized she had put herself in a tough spot, Mom angry beyond reason: her problems just got started when her, severe, sentence was imposed upon her. Apart from mobile, computer, Tv privileges banned and grounded for a month (later, negotiable), what was to be her most immediate punishment would be the very worst of them all, and from that, she couldn’t get away no matter what. Lively flashbacks about her reactions: an initial strong need to cry; then, a deep breath, and somehow, she found courage in her anger to hold it in, as much as her face surely looked like she would crumble anytime soon. Back home: sent to her room while Mom prepared the scenario, her sister disappeared in her own room for a while: it was “tradition,” she’d be there to witness 1st hand her punishment, so she’d think twice before making the same mistakes as her older sister. She heard the sink, some minutes, then stopping; that waiting felt an eternity, trying to gain “composure” from every part of her body, calming down (trying to) this mental breakdown what would only make it worse: angered both with the impotence she felt, and the clumsiness of her own actions. Those were some strong feelings. -Come- Mom said from her own room.

Redhead remembered, then, the smell. Smells is said to bring the strongest memories of all main senses, and, Ma, how she could forget that one; that smell to soap, hitting her, hard, as soon as she entered their parent’s bedroom, so much it overpowered the awful stench of the poison she breath earlier and held tight to her school clothes. Ivory, extremely concentrated, unmistakable. She, already full just 2h after eating (and an additional coffee), has her bowels groaning in fear about what was to come to them. Another unsuccessful attempt to avoid her penance, abruptly interrupted with a stern gesture from her mother, pointing her bathroom: no room to argue back, sentence was firm and to be served; her sister was already there. She hated that, to have witnesses: it that lessened her intimacy, making the punishment even worse. Part of the idea, of course. Although she never stopped whining, murmuring, to the air, she knew in the end she had to obey if she wasn’t to get an additional spanking from Dad, and Dad had a quite good swing. Oh, Redhead remembered that swing REALLY good. She prepared herself for the worst: adjusted her hair, her red blouse, got up her green skirt; green pantyhose and white panties down to knees, and bent over the bathtub edge. Immediately parted her legs as told. Sideways, her mother hanging that, OH, BIG enema bag, high up as possible, full of white, chalky water. It looked very, very full, even if later she could confirm it was surely less filled than Redhead suspected; it also looked very, very soapy, and that enema was, effectively, as soapy as it seemed: Mom may be gentle about temp, quantity, rhythm, sometimes time; never with soapiness. That picture forming in her mind about the sure-to-be-miserable time she was to pass made her broke into deep whimpering that only got her mom swearing she was never to even think about smoking again… something she was right about. Moms know best, she supposes.

Redhead remembered, then, her cheeks, getting wide apart one from the other, between complain and complain, exposing to her little world that pink, hidden entrance to her body. Redhead’s asshole was tight, but offered mostly no resistance to that black, balloon nozzle passing by, thanks to its good lube, in her inside. -Oh…- She lamented the invasion of her most intimate opening, nozzle going up into her until reaching a satisfactory spot to remain. Not a single drop of that solution resting in the bad had passed into her colon, but in Redhead’s mind it was already taking effect; Mom’s warning about the balloon getting pumped got home late, Redhead moaning loud as it felt the nozzle growing inside her, until making impossible for even a droplet to escape her. Another bad sign: if an enema needs the balloon, the enema was sure hard as f*ck to hold in. -This is SO unfair… SO, so much¡- She protested once more… but had no time to get used to the tight seal blocking her bowels before Mom gave her something more to think about: CLICK, and the worst omen from this not-so-big-girl came true, the hot fluid passing from the heights into the dark depths of the girl’s bowels. She waited no time to feel her already distended belly protesting profusely about the liquid collecting into her colon, her rectum expending to make room for the enema, violently finding the balloon placed in Redhead’s asshole as a closed door; only thing for her was to moan, and whine, about how uncomfortable the enema was. -MMMM.... ¡ OGH…. - HARD enema, for sure. She had not to swear it, because the steadily growing discomfort was easy to read in her beautiful, blushing face; the need to use that toilet just two steps away from her was skyrocketing, a rhythm the girl was having lots of trouble managing; she even bended her legs in a vain attempt to ease her misery, but got a soundly, but not painful, smack from her mother as a sign to get back into position; with difficulty, she managed.

Redhead revived all those moments in her head. Trying her best to make it through, the bag emptying on her ass little by little, slower than she wished to by a wide margin… her best to make it through was simply not enough for her to retain her composure, cracking under the pressure, not only the one against the nozzle, but also the one Mom was putting on her, as she gave her daughter one of her hardest lectures she received in her life, taking about “not knowing nothing about being health and responsibilities”, “showing poor judgment taking those decisions”, “hardly proving she’s the adult she says she is” the same time she told her “She would ensure her daughter got that shameful attitude flushed by”; which was less of a threat than a promise. Little space to reply, too many open fronts for the “adult” to handle, Redhead’s nasty attitude quickly diluted into a more compliant one, poor girl willing to admit she messed up so she could alleviate the cramps stirring her inners and the ever-growing need to expel the hot liquid collecting inside her bottom. -Please, Mom, please…. I can’t take more… I’m sorry…. - She apologized. One, two, three times; more. Tried unsuccessfully to convince Vic she was unable to accept more liquid, expressed vividly how much she need to use the bathroom, described in detail how she felt she was about to explode anytime. None of those pleas came to fruition, Mom mercilessly answering with a stern tone, a harsher lecture, and the promise she was to take until the very last drop. She was later to wait for the enema to “settle” in, or, more precisely, for the lesson to sink while the enema wreaked havoc upon her system, which could be one minute to one hour, because Vic never announced how much an enema was to be hold in. Once she accepted in her all the volume put in the bag, Redhead was left a sobbing mess: took no time to apologize, once more, more than once, admitting the absurdity of smoking just to impress a boy. Of course, her body was speaking volumes about her sorry state, too: she was just unable to remain in the same spot and her bowel growled something crazy. Cramps, hotness, imperative urge to expel, all boiling up on the misbehaved teenager. -MOOOM…. Please, never, NEVER more I will smoke, I swear… I’m making a dump, please, please…. - Redhead remembered, exact words. Some change she made in the tone Mom thought she was finally telling the truth (or all that insistence finally softened her), and so Redhead was to hold still as the balloon was deflated and the nozzle slowly taken out of her. She made the effort of her life to retain and was finally allowed to sit on the toilet while her mom put things to wash.

Redhead remembered how her body reacted upon seating on the toilet. Her face, red, swollen, still crying; embarrassed seeing Mom next to her and her sister so close to her when she was to mess, badly. Her belly grumbled… Nothing to hold back. Her asshole opened up, she unleashed a loud, LOUD gush of nastiness that lasted minutes, followed by some more. Gas exploding out of her, too. Noisy, and smelly. She could not even help herself than remark it -It stinks…. - Her Mom, quick to say that was coming from her attitude and the tobacco. Nothing to reply. 10 awful minutes of cramps, bouts of plops & mud coming out of her, more tears, and a washed-up attitude. Redhead remembers learning a lot of that experience, never seeing tobacco the same again once she finally managed to expel every ounce of soapy liquid placed on her, and then some. She remembered, so very well. She knows know how to handle those things. She carried her own soapy enema bag to the bathroom, her lovely, but a bit disobedient boyfriend already showing his butt, placed in the edge of the tub. Complaining, of course. He was to learn too. Oh, man… He will remember this day, SO very well.