Page 88 of Brandishing Beginnings

“How’d you get home?” Jason spoke over me, cutting me off. He stared at me emotionlessly, almost coldly.

I swallowed thickly. “Rideshare.” I barely mumbled the words.

Nico hissed, shaking his head.

Marcos growled low in his throat.

Jason continued to stare at me with that unattached gaze in his eyes. “Go to your room. We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”

“But—”

“Tomorrow.” Jason lowered his voice, deepening it.

I gulped. Nodding blankly, I fought back tears as I headed for the stairs. I knew they would be upset, but I’d never seen the three of them like this before. It was almost enough to push me to using my safe-word. Something I hadn’t had to do in a very long time in our relationship.

No, I decided.I made my bed, now it’s time to lie in it.I made my choice earlier in the evening—a very sober choice—I would face my consequences head on and accept whatever punishment my men deemed fit. As was the nature of our dynamic. We chose this lifestyle. I made my choice to use a rideshare, not once, but twice tonight.

I slept fitfully, waking up cold several times—not used to sleeping alone—before I finally gave in and got up around six-thirty. I hoped to make my guys a big breakfast before they had to leave for the day.

Instead, I found the house empty. They had left already. Or had they even gone to bed? I couldn’t remember what time I had gotten in, but I knew it was late.

On the kitchen counter I found a note, though. Jason’s neat slanting script was evident even from across the room. My heart sank as I slowly walked across the kitchen, dreading what it might say.

I let out a shuddering breath. It was impersonal as a note could be. No name, no other emotion giving away his feelings, besides the all caps and underling ofthoroughly. I knew what he was hinting at there, how he expected me to clean my asshole in prep for their punishment tonight.

It was another little punishment that I would be expected to carry out myself: an enema.

God, it was embarrassing. The thought alone had my face turning red and my body heating. My heart sped up. It wasn’t my first time doing an enema. With all the anal we did I had looked into ways to keep things cleaner while playing. I usually did one every couple of months, discretely, on days I knew they wouldn’t be home.

I kept the supplies in a storage bag under the bathroom sink and my guys only knew about it because said sink had leaked at one point and they had to clear out everything to clean. Thankfully my stuff had been in a sealed bag and hadn’t gotten dirty, but I still made sure to thoroughly clean everything before my next use.

After a brief conversation about what had been in the bag, they let the topic go. Nico occasionally bought me new tubing or inserts, but they showed up in packages under the sink, and no one spoke of them.

This was the first time they were using it as one of my punishments, though. It was the first time I was being directed to cleanse myself so thoroughly. My heart raced as I reread the note from Jason.

I had a busy day ahead of me, I better get started.

I was shaking slightly as I filled the one-liter enema bag with distilled water. After a full day of cleaning, I had forgotten to eat. It had been for the best, though. I had a cup of coffee to cure the slight hang-over I had woken up with and then hit the ground running, cleaning every square inch of the house.

After my body had had its regular bowel movement post coffee, I figured it was time to clean myself out. Filling the liter bag, I set down the jug of water and then pinched closed the top of theblue medical bag I had filled. The bag was hanging from a hook I had attached to the towel bar and I had the anal probe attachment clipped to the side of the bag with a binder clip as to not fall and get dirty. The probe was attached to a six-foot clear tubing that ran up to the blue medical bag full of water.

I laid a couple towels down on the floor, just to be safe, but at this point I was confident I wouldn’t need them. I was pretty much a pro at holding things in by now—both figuratively and physically.

Unclipping the anal probe—a narrow four-inch hollow cylinder with a slightly flared opening with a small hole for the water to pass through—I laid myself down on my left side and slid my right leg forward. Not bothering with lube, I ran the probe through my slit, gathering my own juices, before I brought it back to my ass and slowly slid it inside my asshole.

The idea of this being used as a punishment, both degraded me and turned me on. I always got off on the idea of enemas before I started doing them to myself. The idea of it was degrading and embarrassing, but I couldn’t help that the process of it turned me on.

With the probe fully inserted, I reached back for the stop lever on the tubing and slid it open. I moaned softly as the cool water invaded my bowels, filling me. This part was always nerve wracking. How much could my body take? Would my stomach expand?

I had worked myself up to a full liter of water in the time I’d been doing this, but it still was uncomfortable the more the bag emptied inside me.

Breathing through the coolness as my intestines slowly began to cramp, I glanced back at the bag to see it was almost done, almost completely inside me. I took another deep breath as the bag emptied, before I slowly pulled the probe out of me. I had to clench down to hold the water inside of me, knowing it would be more beneficial to the cleansing process if I held the water in as long as possible.

I had read many medical articles regarding safe enema use, knowing full well the risks of the procedure. The kink community websites I followed also drilled in the importance of safety, while understanding the benefits ofcleaning. In the end, I had found a safe balance of when to use and how often.

After a full ten minutes of holding in the water, my stomach was cramping hard and I barely had time to stand and move to the toilet to empty myself. In the end, the pain, hassle, and the mess were worth it. When I was fully empty and cleaned up, I inserted the lubed up, bejeweled stainless steel butt plug into my now cleaned ass, and groaned as I got used to the stretch.

Jason had set out the largest of the plugs that we owned, meaning he fully intended to be inside me later that evening, Jacob’s Ladder and all.

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