His Carolyn Faulkner (bookstand for reading TXT) 📖

He had things set up perfectly. He liked for her to have to watch herself getting punished or cleansed or inspected or whatever. He believed that it helped her experience her own submission on a different level from the norm, and he knew she hated every minute of it, which is why she was always on orders never to close her eyes when he had her positioned like this so that she was always forced to watch the intimate details of her own violation, as well as feeling them.

She could also feel the coolness of the liquid on that small patch of her bottom it was draped over, before entering her through the douche nozzle he favored, and she could see peeking out from between her forcefully rounded cheeks.

Raina hated this position. She was so horribly exposed, her slick and bare as a whistle femininity hanging down between her legs for anyone to see - not that he would ever let anyone near her; he was much too possessive for that. But she had absolutely no defense against anything he might want to do to her.

None.

And that was exactly the way he liked it.

He knew she wanted to rock back and forth to try to cope with the forceful invasion of the solution he favored as it wound its way through her colon, but he denied her even that comfort. She was his, and she wasn't allowed to comfort herself. He was the only one who could do that, and he had deigned that she didn't need it for a simple enema.

There were rare occasions when he required that she be completely silent while being punished and it didn't matter what kind of punishment it was. It was usually just a notion that took him at the time, and whether it was a cane in his hand or his well lubed hand.

But her enemas, which were strictly administered every three days, using the exact same ritual each time, were not one of those times, so Raina was moaning and sobbing softly as the cramps threatened to overtake her.

The fact that he was so consistent was usually very good for her. But the enemas he forced her to take, even after more than a year with him, had never gotten any easier.

And he liked that. He didn't believe that submission should be easy, so he kept raising the bar.

When she'd first come to him, he'd given her very small enemas, since she'd never had one before that she could recall, and they were simple warm water - nothing added. But when he felt it was getting to be a non event for her, when she wasn't truly struggling to obey him and hold it to the very last, then he upped the ante, adding small amounts of lemon juice, or mild soap or adjusting the temperature down a degree or two. He was in no hurry. She was going to be his forever, and he was in no hurry to force her to take and hold a soapy, crushed ice enema.

But he would, eventually.

He loved bring her along in increments, always making her work for her submission, always taking her just the a bit - or sometimes more - past what she would consider the edge of her tolerance, whether it was this or a punishment or an exercise in humiliation.

He kept meticulous records of everything he did to her, too, even these more routine rituals, noting how much he gave her, what its ingredients were, and how well she took it - as well as notes of what he did if she was unable - or unwilling - to submit to his will.

Raina could see that she was nearing the end of the first part of the enema - the container was nearly empty. But that just meant that the worst part still loomed.

"Looks like you're ready," Master said from behind her, where she finally heard that welcome click that meant he'd shut off the flow.

Unfortunately, it also meant that he would remove the nozzle and expect her to hold her water all on her own - no plug, no nothing - until he deemed she could go and release it.

"Clench, clench, clench," he ordered softly as he removed the nozzle, then began to release her bonds, leaving her that much freer and that much more restrained. Once her legs were free, he brought her ankles together, strategically slipping a pair of pink bikini briefs over her ankles.

She stayed exactly in position, as he required, as he wandered around her, whispering occasionally, "hold it, hold it, hold it."

He could see how hard it was for her to do this, which only made her submission to him that much more precious. It wouldn't have been any fun for him at all if it had been easy, if she hadn't been writhing and wiggling and desperately trying to avoid the horrid punishment she knew would be hers if she spilled just one drop. It was very close to the dance she did on those rare occasions when he fulfilled her pleasure.

She was moaning softly, rhythmically behind the pacifier he'd tucked into her mouth, and it was music to his ears. Low, plaintive music that never let him forget the position he'd put her in. Even if she hadn't been gagged by that small mouth plug, she'd been trained not to beg. To him, a constantly whining, pleading slave needed more training, needed to learn that no amount of annoying utterances would sway him.

She'd learned that.

The hard way.

But she'd learned.

Raina knew that non-verbal noises - as long as they weren't too loud or strident - were permitted, even expected in a lot of the situations she found herself in with him. But unless it was an emergency situation - like a cramp or an asthma attack - she was not allowed to say anything he hadn't given her permission to.

Her master, being the ultimate control freak, sometimes even