Author:
AV
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Date Posted: Friday, June 14, 2024, 04:46: am
Now my brothers did catch me straining sometimes and instead of telling mom they would do something else to make sure I still got an enema. I would be sitting with my legs crossed or one leg under me and would press down with both arms straining to hold and stop the urges so I would not poop in my pants. I would be either sitting on the floor playing with my toys or sitting on my bed playing. Either way, when my brothers noticed I was straining and fighting the urges they would even ask if I was. And of course I would deny deny deny and so my brothers would wait until I was back to straining or had evidence I was fighting the urges to avoid pooping and they would each grab one of my legs and stretch them out and basically lift them into the diaper position as I would fall on my back so i could not press down against my bottom. At the same time I would still be trying to press with my arms down and try to kick my legs loose but to no avail. Once they got my legs bent back and my bottom up and im laying on my back, there was no fighting them and at the same time fighting the urges. Of course they would laugh as I would start crying to be let up and let go but they would simply watch and wait and hold me. What they were waiting for would happen, I would simply let go and let loose my bm which I could not control any longer. The bulge would appear as the baseball was smearing against my pants. They knew then they didn’t have to tell mom they caught me straining because they knew i would get an enema for pooping in my pants. They would threaten me that If i said anything they would make sure I got an enema everyday. All I could do was cry knowing they would. The room smelled with the oder of poop. Mom would hear me in the room making all kinds of noise and would come in to check on me. She would know immediately what happen but still ask, “did you poop in your pants? Get yourself up and to that bathroom right now!” Of course I would jump up and waddle myself to the bathroom. I would basically empty my underwear in the toilet as I was trying to take them off. Mon would come in and say, “run some bath water and clean yourself up.” She would take the underwear and put it in the sink and run some water on it. She then would leave. I would be sitting in the tub as it filled up and wash and clean my self up. I would hear water running through the walls and knew what was happening but always hoped something else was taking place. Mom would return with the bulb and solution jar and sit it on the sink. She would not say anything but would start cleaning and washing my underwear in the sink to put them in the dirty clothes basket. We both knew what was going to happen or should I say all three of us knew as I always imagined that bulb smiling at me knowing it was sitting there filled and ready for action. Eventually mom would look at me and say those words, “after I wash your underwear out, im washing you out young man.” Of course, i would try to talk her out of it and cry some more as she would tell me to sit on the toilet and try to go. I dared not say anything about my brothers making me poop my pants because their threat was real. Few minutes later she would take me by the arm and lift me up and close the lid and sit down. I knew I didn’t want my brothers to come in and be a part so I tried to go over mom’s lap without any resistance. Once in place, my head looking down at the floor tile and my bottom in the right position, i could feel the tip slide in and press against my bottom. Mom would squeeze and I would feel the soapy warm water enter me. I might reach back to try to get the bulb out but mom would tell me to stop and threaten to call my brothers in. I might lift my legs straight out but mom would tell me to put them down and I might start kicking them. She would take the bulb out as she finished and I would turn my head and watch as she dipped the tip and fill the bulb again. I would try to breathe and even count the floor tiles or something to get my mind off of what was happening. She would tell me to hold it as she would press the second enema tip inside of me. I might even start crying by this time begging her to let me up to go. She would squeeze the bulb and i would say hurry up hurry up i gotta go. I learned to do a lot of breathing and relax but not relax enough to lose my BM. She would finish up, let me up, stand up, and I would quickly sit down. I had already pooped pretty good in my pants earlier but mom was going to make sure I was cleaned out. She would start the cleaning up process at the sink and I would go through my motions of releasing water, fighting urges of not wanting to release all the water, and finally lifting my legs and gripping the side of the toilet as the soapy water took over and more poop would come out. Mom would say as always, “now that wasnt so bad was it.” She might even give me a lecture on going to the bathroom and not waiting so long and quit fighting the urges and just come in and sit on the toilet and poop. I did have plenty of those non resistant days but i still hated the enemas and losing the war.
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