eenslaved:

“Nooo,” she sobbed. 

“No, you don’t want to show our guests what a good wife you are?” Mark prodded gently. “No, you don’t want to come until your birthday?”

It was December. Helen’s birthday wasn’t for another four months.

She squirmed, perched on Mark’s knee. He waited patiently. Everyone else remained quiet, watching.

“Do you want to come?” Mark prompted.

“Yes,” Helen whispered.

“Then this is the way it’s going to be.”

He unzipped the long zipper that ran down the back of her gray woolen dress. Helen was naked underneath it. Her pussy was bare, and her nipples were hard.

Mark pressed her to sit down on the leather armchair, a solid and square piece of furniture. When Helen raised her legs and draped each shapely limb over each armrest, it split her very wide. They could see everything. They could see the little exposed bud of her clit, and the tight pucker of her anus. They could see she was wet.

Mark already had the equipment assembled nearby. He had known that his wife would capitulate. He kept his gestures slow and steady, so that everyone could witness how he coated the bulb of the hose with the thinnest layer of lube. They could see how he had to push the bulb firmly into Helen’s ass, how her anal ring stretched to fit around the width of the nozzle, and how it was swallowed up into her bottom-hole.

They saw – and heard – when he clicked the release valve. Warm water flooded her bowels, overcoming her body. 

Helen panted. Her face was scrunched in an unhappy frown. One hand pressed against her stomach, which had begun to expand – just a little, but a noticeable bulge. 

Mark knelt behind her. He gave her one of his hands to hold; Helen clutched it tightly as she began to cry. Mark’s other hand roamed freely down her body, groping and fondling this flesh that was his possession, his property. He touched his wife with every evidence that he owned her body, that he was the caretaker of her needs, the custodian who could incite her passions and deny her fulfillment, prolonging her torment for as long as he desired. He squeezed her breasts and drew at her nipples with long, rough tugs, pulling and pinching the pliant flesh.

Helen’s feet twitched in the air, drumming a bit against the leather armchair. Her thighs tightened and quivered. She massaged her stomach, which was surely cramping. Everyone watched her in silence, their mouths dry, while under their clothes, cocks leaked and pussies clenched wetly.

Mark’s hand drifted down Helen’s front to her cunt. His thumb brushed her clit and circled, rubbing, teasing. He slipped two fingers inside her pussy and began to thrust, pumping the digits in and out of her. She was so wet, they could hear how wet she was. They listened to how her pussy sucked wetly at Mark’s fingers. 

The enema bag was empty. All that water had uncontrollably invaded Helen’s body, tormenting her terribly. Her panting was loud. Occasionally, she keened a little.

Mark had trained his wife well. She did not beg to release the contents of the enema, just held it inside of her with groans and grimacing. Her eyes were desperate. They couldn’t imagine how Mark had trained her not to ask. They could see how desperate and urgent her situation was, could see for themselves that she was wondering how long he would make her hold the enema. That must have been so terrible – to not know how long her torture would last, to not know in the face of her guests watching her hold it.

“You’re going to come for us, Helen,” Mark said placidly, continuing to frig her. “You’re going to scream when you come hard, aren’t you? You can’t help yourself.”

“Nooo,” Helen moaned. Her eyes were wide and unseeing with humiliation. 

“Yes,” Mark told her. “You’re being fucked so good up the ass by your enema in front of all your guests, and you love it so much that you’re going to come screaming.”

Helen sobbed. Mark kissed her neck, the side of her face tenderly, even as his fingers moved faster, plunging in and out of her cunt. They could see that Helen wanted to come as much as she didn’t want to, not in this humiliating position, bearing two quarts of water inside her.

“Press down on your stomach now,” Mark directed. “Just like I would.”

Helen pressed down, groaning loudly. She was trying to curl up into herself, and she had drawn her legs up even higher.

“Knees apart,” Mark reminded in a warning tone. “That’s it. That’s my Helen being a good wife.”

Helen screamed. Her body seized up in a hard, wailing climax. Mark never stopped fucking her with his fingers. Over that wet, slippery, sloppy sound, Mark said to their guests, “Helen is not allowed to come without something filling her bottom-hole. Fingers, toys, an enema, whatever. She’s started to beg me to put things in her ass. She’s learned it’s the only way I’ll let her come.”