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Subject: Re: Therapy - The early spankings Author: AV [ Next Thread | Previous Thread | Next Message | Previous Message ] Date Posted: Saturday, July 27, 2024, 06:27: am In reply to: AV 's message, "Therapy" on Friday, June 07, 2024, 08:28: am Going back to my younger years between 8 - 10 years of age, not only did I receive many enemas but I received many spankings. During those early years, sometimes mom would have the enema already placed on the sink counter and either send me to the bathroom or take me. She would always give me a chance to produce to no avail of course, and then she would completely bare me, pants and underwear would come off. I would sometimes put up a struggle not wanting to remove my clothes or resist from allowing my clothes to be removed. Mom of course would pop my bottom with her hand a couple of times telling me “remove them! Get them clothes off.” I would be trying to avoid being popped but crying as I’m removing my clothes. There were times I would really avoid the pops by swatting back at her hands trying to stop her from swatting me. That of course was a no no. Mom would grab one of my arms and at the same time be yanking at my clothes to get them off my legs telling me, “step out! Step out of them!” Now, there were a few times where my brothers were even called in to help with this matter. Of course, I never liked my brothers coming in and helping mom at all for any reason. For me, that meant this situation was about to get really serious and I was about to be controlled. There were a lot of crying, begging, pleading, tears, just trying to have more time on the toilet myself and of course trying to avoid that enema. Yes, that enema sitting on that sink counter watching and waiting, yes, waiting for that moment but not only waiting but smiling for when I was finally over mom’s lap, and my bottom was in the right position, that enema filled and ready on call to respond and have that bulb bottom relationship. But before any of that, something else had to happen, a spanking. Those times my brothers were called in to help with the clothes, I was quickly placed over mom’s lap still trying to kick and swing my arms. One brother had my legs and him and mom were removing my pants and underwear and kicking surely wasn’t helping me as I was helping them kick them off. The other brother held my arms from reaching back. Once naked and in position, mom took full advantage with swats after swats on my bare cheeks. Pop after pop, rapid pops back to back on one cheek and then move to the other the same and then alternate back and forth for a while than back to one cheek only firing it up. Yes, fire, hot fire, as my cheeks were warmed up and changed colors to fire engine red as I was making the siren noise for the fire truck to arrive as mom was striking the match to my bottom with those swats. Mom continued to raise her hand up and bring it down as hard as she could on every swat. The result was me crying out loud with every swat on my bottom and jerking on mom’s lap, trying to escape the impact of each swat. Didn’t take long until my legs were trying to kick, as mom was landing every swat evenly on every inch of my bottom especially my sitting area. I was bawling every time mom swatted. I was trying to twist and squirm and kick my legs, trying to free myself, but my brothers were strong and had me secure and pinned in place. I was unable to escape those swats that were setting my cheeks on fire. After a while I zoned and my whole world concentrated on nothing else except my burning bottom as it received fiery blows upon it. And then something changed. Oh, water came, but in the form of an enema, to warm up the inside of my bottom. Could not stop it. Could not squeeze my cheeks with the intense flames a blazing on each one. I felt the tip and then the flush of the bulb touching my skin letting me know it was all the way in and then next came the squeeze. I felt the warm soapy water release into me as I lifted my head and cried even louder knowing that bulb would be smiling sucking that soapy water from that jar for the second time around coming. Taking my mind off my fireball cheeks to the inside of my cheeks as it was now getting warmed up. I was sure that bulb was smiling as it comforted my bottom as it begin the bulb bottom relationship. Afterwards, I quickly discovered the swats did their work when I tried to sit down on the toilet and stood up again fast. It was very uncomfortable to sit down. Following a spanking during those years, may have been where gripping the side of the toilet and lifting myself up stretching my legs out came from as it always seemed to help make the locomotive baseball bat flow out better. [ Next Thread | Previous Thread | Next Message | Previous Message ]

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[> Subject: Re: Therapeutic thoughts over all Author: AV [ Edit | View ] Date Posted: Saturday, August 03, 2024, 10:24: pm Wow! I have written so much the last few weeks/months and honestly I have been writing on my enema experiences for over 20 years on different forums sharing with others. To me, all of this is therapeutic being able to write about something that for me was so traumatic due to how my mom handled it. Yes, it was only an 8 to 10 ounce bulb she was using and I am so thankful she wasn’t using an enema bag like so many others have wrote about or even one of those retention nozzles. Mom didn’t take the time to teach or explain the enema. Her mind set was “if you refuse to sit on the toilet and go, I will make you sit and go.” And that was how it was. She introduced the enema at an early age, 5-6 years old. Now I was potty trained and all but I just hated the pain associated with having a BM so I became a holder. I would hold until I could not hold anymore and as a result I pooped in my pants. I think constipation was a favor as well, eating the wrong foods and all. Mom’s mind set was also that once the enema was made, it was going to be used. No amount of anything was going to stop that from happening. I shed many a tear, crying, pleading, begging, resisting, fighting, swinging my arms, kicking my feet, you name it, I was doing it. Didn’t do any good. As I have wrote so many times, my brothers, who were 7-8-9 years older than me, helped mom hold me. I looked at all of this as punishment. Amazing after so many years, 40 years you can say now, I can still remember laying over mom’s lap, reaching back to cover my bottom, or stop mom from putting the tip of the bulb in my bottom, or try to remove the bulb after it was inserted. I can remember kicking my feet wildly. Being popped on my bottom. Mom was old school. If I put up to much of a struggle, my brothers were called in. I cried. Crying was a part of my enema experience. “Get it out! Get it out! I gotta go! That’s enough!” was my cry. My brothers would later reenact and mock me and how I responded getting the enema. All I know is one day mom decided to give me an enema and start me on this weekly journey of if I didn’t sit and produce a BM, she was going to make me sit and produce a BM. Amazing how I imagined that bulb was smiling at me and I did believe the home for that bulb was not in that mason jar but its home was my bottom and it enjoyed every second and every opportunity it got to let me know it was in control and I wasn’t. It sit on that sink counter waiting and watching and smiling as I put up a struggle and it gleamed with joy once I was over mom’s lap and under control as it made its way inside of me releasing that warm soapy water into my bowels. I lost that battle everytime. For 7-8 years, weekly, I received an enema or enemas. I have read on other forms how some parents have taken control of their child’s bowel movements by cleaning them completely out by giving them daily enemas. The child starts his morning off with three enemas so the parents don’t have to worry about if the child had a BM, because they will be cleaned out for the day until the next morning starting the routine all over. I can only imagine what that child is going through. You know I write about my experience but I can honestly say this, I wasn’t sick like so many other children. Experts say keeping that colon clean and moving helps fight sicknesses. And I can say I wasn’t a sick child growing up. I am thankful I am able to write about my experiences because I have learned from so many others that I am not alone. So many of us have similar experiences or stories to share. [ Post a Reply to This Message ]