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Subject: Re: Therapy - My brothers Author: AV [ Next Thread | Previous Thread | Next Message | Previous Message ] Date Posted: Wednesday, July 03, 2024, 07:33: am In reply to: AV 's message, "Therapy" on Friday, June 07, 2024, 08:28: am I was around 6-7 years old when mom started giving me enemas. I was a holder basically due to the pain associated with having a BM. I would fight the urges and so constipate myself basically making it harder and more painful for me to go. My brothers were 7-8 years older than me. So they were in their teens when I was given enemas. Maybe 13-14 at the time. Mom would use them to help her get me to the bathroom. I was a fighter of enemas and a runner as well. I resisted the best I could. As I got older as I mentioned mom would give my enemas after the evening bath since I was already in the bathroom and nude. My brothers were also called in to help mom hold me over her lap. One would take my arms and the other my legs. The reason why they were called in was I did a lot of resisting. I would reach back to cover my bottom or stop mom from putting the enema in me. I would kick my feet wildly and wiggle my bottom to stop mom from reaching the target. I did everything I could do. I would reach back and grab her hand. I would reach to take the enema out if it was put in me. Of course there were a lot of “No, Stop, Don’t” from me as well as mom telling me to behave and settle down. When she had enough she would call my brothers in and of course the No got louder. They would come in and take their places taking my arms and legs. I of course tried to resist that as well but lost that battle. Mom would many times tear my bare bottom up with her hand. She would wear me out popping me as my brothers held tight. Before I knew it she would have the enema in hand and putting it inside me and squeezing it. I would react still trying to reach back still trying to kick but my brothers held strong. My bottom was in the right location and mom had full access to it. All i could do was cry and breath deeply as she squeezed the soapy solution into me. I would turn my head and watch her fill the second bulb and listen to the suction of the soap. My “get it out! get it out! I gotta go” cry was my trademark. My brothers held my arms and legs as I would continue to try to reach back and kick but no chance. Mom always gave me three bulbs when my brothers were called in and always skimmed from the top of the water to gather the suds in that third bulb. Mom took full advantage of having my brothers in there tearing my bottom up on the outside and then on the inside. She made sure on those days she cleaned me out as my brothers held on. [ Next Thread | Previous Thread | Next Message | Previous Message ]

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[> Subject: Re: Therapy - oh the soap Author: AV [ Edit | View ] Date Posted: Thursday, July 04, 2024, 09:35: pm One thing I can vividly remember, it’s crazy after all these years, I can vividly remember how soapy and open the first enema made me. Amazing how I could sit on that toilet for as long as mom would allow doing everything I could do but without nothing, no results, completely stopped up. But over mom’s lap I would go and the first 8oz bulb, I could feel the tip perishing its way in and mom squeezing the soapy solution into me. Coated me good as while with soap that the second bulb had no problem going in. I was open and a diesel truck probably could drive on in to me. When that second bulb touched me I could feel the amount of soap all on me and how easy it went in. Mom would squeeze and I would feel the warm, very warm soapy water enter me as I was trying to hold the solution in me but at the same time beg and cry for her to finish to let me up so I could go. When I would release in the toilet, there was so much soapy water that I was in no way able to hold the baseball bat that was making its way out like a freight train. Mom also had a 16 ounce mason jar she would bring in with her filled with more warm soapy water. After she filled the bulb I can remember her shaking it to stir the soap up as I heard the water inside of it. She made sure the water was soapy and she collected the soap suds up through the sucking bulb. She was always determined to clean me out and clean me well. She would either say as she was cleaning my dirty underwear in the sink, “after I clean these out, I am cleaning you out” or she would say, “After I wash these out, I am washing you out.” No one had to tell me what that meant, I knew an enema, a good soapy enema was in my soon future. [ Post a Reply to This Message ]