Enema

From under the vanity, she pulled out a large, red enema bag, the hose and nozzle dangling. She filled it at the sink, the water running loud and clear. John watched, mesmerized by the horror of it, as she added a generous squirt of liquid soap from a jasmine-scented bottle, the same scent that filled the room. The incongruity was dizzying.

She hung the bag from the shower caddy, the nozzle swinging like a pendulum. “This will get you clean all the way through.” She coated the plastic tip with a glistening layer of lubricant. “On your side. Knees to your chest.”

He curled into a fetal position, his back to the women. He felt her hands part him again, then the cold, insistent pressure of the nozzle as she pushed it into his exhausted hole. It slid in easily, his body too broken to offer any resistance.

“Okay, here we go,” she said brightly.

A moment later, he felt it. A slow, relentless influx of warm, soapy water. It wasn't painful, not at first. It was a deep, internal swelling, a feeling of being filled beyond capacity. He moaned, a low, gutural sound, as the pressure built in his colon. The water kept coming, a steady, unstoppable flow that stretched him from the inside. He clutched his knees, his knuckles white, his stomach distending into a tight, painful globe.

“Looks like he’s full,” Allison commented from behind the phone.

Lily turned the valve, stopping the flow. “Now, you have to hold it for ten minutes. If you let it out early, we start over. And we'll punish you.”

The pressure inside him was a living, expanding entity, a hot, soapy ocean that threatened to breach the weakened dam of his self-control. He clenched every muscle, his body trembling with the strain, sweat beading on his forehead despite the cool tiles beneath him. Lily’s eyes, cold and amused, tracked his every twitch from where she leaned against the vanity.

“Five minutes down,” Allison announced, checking her phone with a bored sigh. “Think he’ll make it?”

“Doubt it,” Caroline replied, popping a piece of gum into her mouth. “Look at him shake. It’s kinda pathetic.”

A sharp, twisting spasm seized his lower abdomen, a white-hot cramp that stole his breath and made his vision blur. His control shattered in an instant. John lets out a little trickle due to a cramp, and the warm, soapy fluid escaped his grasp, pattering audibly against the shower drain.

John’s body convulsed, another cramp tearing through his gut and forcing a hot, soapy torrent from his ass. It splashed against the shower floor, the sound a wet, ragged confession of his complete loss of control. He groaned, his face burning with a shame deeper than any he’d felt in the college bathroom.

“Well, that was faster than I expected,” Lily said, her voice cool and amused. She tapped the enema bag, making the water slosh. “We’re definitely starting over.”

Allison lowered the phone, frowning. “Do we have to? This is kinda gross now.”

“It was always gross,” Caroline replied, rolling her eyes. “But he’s the one lying in it.”

Lily stepped closer, her shadow falling over John’s trembling form. She nudged his hip with her foot, a dismissive gesture that made him flinch. “You really can’t do anything right, can you?” she whispered, her words slicing through the humid air. She leaned down, her hair brushing his cheek, and her hand moved to the nozzle still protruding from him.

He felt her twist it, the plastic digging into his sore flesh. “Let’s make this one count,” she said, her voice dropping to a intimate, terrifying calm. “I’m going to fill you until you’re begging to pop.”

The water began to flow again, a cold, relentless invasion that stretched his insides to a blinding ache. John bit his lip, tears mixing with the residual piss on his face, as the pressure built into a white-hot sphere of agony. Lily watched his struggle, her eyes dark with pleasure.

She smiles cruelly. The water was a cold, deliberate invasion, a bloating pressure that made his vision pulse at the edges. He could feel every inch of the tube inside him, a foreign implement delivering this unbearable fullness.

"Looks like a water balloon," Allison giggled, her phone now pointed at his distended stomach.

"Don't pop him yet," Lily purred, her hand resting on the valve. She watched his face, studying the tears tracking through the drying filth on his cheeks. His body was a rigid arc of suffering, every muscle straining to contain the flood.

A high, thin whine escaped his lips. The cramp was a serrated knife twisting in his gut, erasing all thought, all pride. "Please," he gasped, the word tearing itself from a raw throat.

"Please what, John?" Lily asked, her voice soft, almost tender.

"I can't... I can't hold it."

She turned the valve off. The sudden cessation of flow was its own kind of agony. "Then don't." She leaned close, her lips nearly brushing his ear. "Let it all go. Be my good, filthy boy and make a mess for me."

Her permission was the final key. His body surrendered with a gut-wrenching shudder, and the dam broke. A torrent of soapy water and God-knows-what else erupted from him with a guttural, wet roar, splashing violently against the glass walls and flooding the drain. He collapsed onto his side, panting, empty and utterly spent in the warm, reeking pool of his own voidance.

Lily didn't flinch. She simply pulled the nozzle out with a slick, final sound. "There. Now you're clean enough." She stood and looked at her friends. "Who wants to break him in first?"

Allison bit her lip, her earlier hesitation replaced by a dark, curious light. "I do." She handed the phone back to Lily and stepped into the shower, her shoes avoiding the worst of the mess. She looked down at John's prone form, at his soft, **** cock lying against his thigh. "He doesn't look so scary now."

"He's not," Lily said, zooming in with the camera. "He's just a hole."

Allison hiked her skirt up around her waist, revealing she wore nothing underneath. She nudged his leg with her foot. "On your knees. Face me."

With a strength he didn't know he had left, John pushed himself up. The world tilted, but he obeyed, kneeling before her in the soapy water. She placed a hand on his head, her fingers tangling in his wet, piss-smelling hair.

"Go on," she said, guiding his face toward her cunt. "You know what to do with that tongue."

Her skin tasted of salt and a faint, clean perfume, a stark contrast to the foulness coating his mouth. He tentatively licked her outer lips, and she groaned, pushing his face harder into her. "Don't be shy. Eat me out like you mean it, you fucking pervert."

He buried his face in her, his tongue delving into her folds, lapping at her clit with a ****, learned rhythm. The enema had hollowed him out, leaving only this robotic obedience. Allison’s thighs tightened around his ears, her moans becoming louder, more urgent.

"Yeah, just like that," she panted, her hips starting to buck against his mouth. "You're better at this than talking, that's for sure."

He focused on the mechanics of it, the flicking and sucking, using the shame as a kind of fuel. He could feel her swelling, tightening. Her hand fisted in his hair, holding him captive as her body went rigid and a sharp cry echoed in the tiled room. She ground against his face through the waves of her orgasm, then shoved him away, breathing heavily.

"Not bad," she breathed, smoothing her skirt down. "Your turn, Caroline."

Caroline was already undoing her jeans. She was quieter, more methodical. She pushed John onto his back again, his head lolling against the wet floor. She straddled his face, lowering her cunt onto his mouth with an air of clinical efficiency. "Don't stop until I tell you to."

Her taste was different, muskier. He served her with the same numb dedication, his jaw aching, his world reduced to the smell of her skin and the sound of her measured breathing above him. She came with a low sigh, a slight quiver in her legs, then climbed off without a word.

Lily watched it all through her phone, a satisfied curator. She set the device aside on the vanity. "My turn." She stepped into the shower, now ignoring the mess completely. She looked at the other two. "Hold him down."

Allison pinned his shoulders while Caroline gripped his hips, her nails digging into his skin. Lily knelt between his legs, her eyes locked on his. She spat into her hand, a thick glob of saliva that she slicked over his limp cock. It twitched under her touch, a traitorous response to any stimulation.

"It doesn't get to be soft for me," she whispered. She leaned forward, and before he could process it, she took the head of his cock into her mouth.

The heat was shocking. Her tongue was rough and insistent, swirling around the tip before she plunged down, taking him deep into her throat in one smooth, practiced motion. He cried out, a strangled sound, as she began to move, her head bobbing relentlessly. She was punishing him with pleasure, her throat constricting around him, pulling a hard, aching erection from his exhausted body.

She pulled off with a wet pop, his cock now fully hard and throbbing. "See? You can't help yourself." She positioned herself over him, guiding his tip to her entrance. "This is what you wanted when you were spying, isn't it? To see this? To be here?"

She didn't wait for an answer. She sank down onto him in one vicious, seamless motion, sheathing him completely inside her. She was tight and impossibly hot, a wet, clutching fist around his cock. She let out a sharp, gratified sigh.

"Fuck, you're finally useful," she breathed, and began to ride him.

Her hips pistoned, driving him down into the hard, wet tile. Each thrust was a punishment, a claiming. She used him like a toy, her fingers digging into his chest for leverage, her tits bouncing with the brutal rhythm. He was just a body, a thing being used, and a pathetic, blinding pleasure was building in his groin, fueled by the sheer degradation of it all.

"Look at him," she grunted to her friends, not breaking pace. "He's gonna come. He's gonna fucking come from this."

The orgasm ripped through him, a seismic shock that left him blind and gasping. He emptied himself into her with a helpless, broken cry, his body convulsing under the combined weight of the three women.

Lily rode him through every last spasm, milking him dry. When he was completely spent, she lifted herself off, his semen already dripping down her inner thigh. She looked down at his wrecked form, at the mingled fluids smeared across his skin and the tile.

She smiled, a genuine, thrilled smile. "See? We're just getting started."

Lily’s smile widened as she glanced at the remote in her hand, her thumb hovering over the single, worn button. "You thought that was the end?" she whispered, and pressed down. The shock collar seared into John’s neck, a white-hot wire of pain that locked his muscles and stole his breath, leaving him twitching on the wet tiles.

His body arched against the cold floor, a silent scream trapped in his throat as the current tore through him. Allison giggled, a high, nervous sound, while Caroline watched with detached interest. Lily kept the button depressed, extending the agony until his vision blurred at the edges.

When she released it, he slumped, panting, every nerve ending screaming. "Now," Lily said, her voice cutting through the humming aftermath. "We see how many times you can come before you pass out." She knelt beside him, her hand closing around his half-hard cock, already working him roughly back to life.