A Cleanse

"You're dirty, honey," Maria soothed. "You're not feeling well. We need to get you cleaned up, okay?"

Lois saw she was right. There were stains on her pants, little bits of vomit which would soon dry into clots, and her panties felt wet with sweat and juices.

The reporter didn't struggle as Maria peeled off shoes and socks, then the tight pants, even when she lifted Lois up to slide them down from her ass. A blush burned across Lois' cheeks as her panties came into view—a wet cameltoe with Maria right at eye level. Lois looked away, stared at the walls of the stall as the muscled barmaid undressed her.

Much of the graffiti was crude—and involved figures in poorly-drawn capes, engaged in erotic acts. One phrase that was underlined again and again was The Black Door.

Maria disappeared for a moment, and Lois brought up her camera from her jacket pocket to take snap shots of the graffiti. She managed to put the phone away as she heard the barmaid return.

The pink-and-purple haired girl had a sly grin on her face, as she held up a blue plastic bucket, paper towels, wipes, and other cleaning supplies. Weak and feverish, Lois didn't bother to protest, as Maria began methodically wiping down her clothes, first, to remove any traces of vomit, then her legs. She felt antsy as the barmaid's hands reached farther and farther up her legs, knew she should call a halt to this.

"Panties off," Maria interrupted. Lois started to protest, but the barmaid had already slipped her hands up under the elastic and made a move to pull the down. Lois grabbed at her underwear, only to hear the cloth rip along the seams.

"Ah, too bad." the barmaid said, as she held up the shreds of black cloth. "Now stop being a baby. You're soaking and dirty down there. You want to get a yeast infection?"

"I can do it myself," Lois said...then felt another surge of bile in her throat. Maria recognized the sign and bodily picked the reporter up, flipped her over, and aimed her head at the toilet.

As she puked, she felt a wet cloth wipe her down—clean, efficient swipes over pussy. The matter-of-factness of it caused her to blush. Somehow she admitted to herself, she'd almost have preferred it if Maria had lingered, but this was business like. She felt another cloth then, wipe along the top of her thighs, down the crack of her ass, to brush over her anus.

Nausea hit her again, and Lois faced the bowl. Wondered when she would be empty.

Something hard, wet, and cool pressed against her anus, and Lois looked over her shoulder to see Maria fitting the nozzle of a giant plastic syringe into her ass. It didn't hurt as it slid in—the tip was well-lubed, and the barmaid was firm but gentle in the pressure she applied—but the reporter tried to buck her hips and clamp down her anus against the foe...even as she turned her face back into the bowl to vomit again.

The liquid was cool and had a pressure of its own as it began to fill her bowels. Lois didn't have to see Maria to know she was going to fill her to the brim. "Hold it in, baby," Maria said, as she took the tip out with a wet shuck. In a moment she felt it go back in again, and the fullness grew in Lois' belly, the sudden familiar pressure, all attention focused on her ass.

When Maria took the plunger out this time, she immediately flipped Lois over, so she sat on the seat. The sudden movement didn't do much for Lois' nausea, but it didn't matter. She hung feverish and limp as she voided into the toilet. Bowels clenched and unclenched. Maria held her the whole time, a little croon on her lips.

Then, when it looked like Lois was done, Maria flipped her back over.

This time, Lois tried to screech, but her throat was raw; her arms flailed weakly, the fever hit pulsed in her temples as she felt the cool tip of the syringe smoothly slide into her ass again. Lois tried to struggle, but instinct had her hold it as the tip was withdrawn—and replaced. Withdrawn—and replaced.

The reporter was ready when Maria flipped her again, even as, by instinct, she let go the moment her ass slammed into the toilet seat. Maria held her biceps, but Lois' fingers clawed at the barmaid, tangled in the mesh shirt. Legs kicked, useless from her vantage point.

Maria flipped her again, but this time she grabbed one of Lois' wrists and held it behind her back, to keep her in place. Lois burned at the humiliation of the enema. The cloth came back. Left her smooth and clean as a fresh-wiped baby.

"Why?" Lois asked, voice heavy. She felt empty, utterly drained from both ends.

"To clean you out, sweetmeat," Maria said calmly. "For what comes next."

Lois looked over her shoulder, expected to see the syringe loaded with water again...but it wasn't.