My Latest Humiliation (M Dom/s female, enema, w/s, humilation - True!)

Greetings, reader--

My name is Becca, and I am a submissive into humiliation and pain. As part of
my ongoing training in humiliation, my dom, J Sir, has ordered me to write a
detailed missive about my last training session.

Please remember, this story is totally true. I actually performed the most
humiliating things related here. If what I've written excites or entertains
you, please feel free to contact me or post your reactions to this story,
especially if you have any suggestions for J Sir regarding my further
humiliation and torment. 

J Sir is my phone dom, or I'm his phone whore, depending on your point of view.
In 3D I am a happily married, attractive homemaker. I do, however, have a very
dark side that my husband allows me to explore online and on the phone. I have
had a few other phone doms in the past, but they were into the pain aspect. J
Sir is the first dom to truly explore my craving for humiliation. Being
humiliated both attracts and repulses me, much like people instinctively slow
down to watch the aftermath of a car accident.
 
It's important to mention that in our phone sessions, there are no safewords.
The only limit placed is that whatever we do can't involve anything that would
come back to haunt my 3D life. Since my husband is aware of my activities, this
does not include marking or various other tortures.
 
My heart was pounding as the phone rang. I was standing "in position": my hands
palm-down on the bathroom sink, my legs spread, my ass sticking out, and a full
enema bag hanging beside me, full of warm water. For just a moment my mind
flashed back to a few months ago when I would never have dreamed of being
involved in water games--another reminder of what "no limits" means. I pushed
the talk button on my headset phone and heard the voice of my owner. He sounded
angry. I had not sessioned for awhile and had been a bit snotty earlier in the
day.

He asked if I had bought diapers yet. We had previously discussed a fantasy
involving diapers, but I had misunderstood his order that I was to actually
purchase some. I was instructed to insert the nozzle of the enema into my ass.
(It was already lubed. If I forget to pre-lube, that's my problem--why should
Sir wait on me because of my stupidity and forgetfulness? If I forget to lube
my toys, they go in dry.) I put the enema nozzle in and when ordered, I
released the clamp. The sensation of the warm enema going into my bowels always
gets me wet. Considering I never had an emema until this year, it's amazing how
the feeling is like a familiar friend, warm and sexy at the same time. 

After half a bag I was allowed to reclamp the enema, and insert my buttplug.
Before calling, Sir had also instructed me to drink two full 16-ounce glasses
of water. I was then made to drink another. My bladder was already suffering
from some discomfort. Sir then informed me I would walk to the drugstore, about
a quarter of a mile away, and buy the diapers I had neglected to buy earlier.
He would call back in 25 minutes. Sir hung up, and I began the long trek to the
drugstore.

A quarter-mile doesn't sound like a long walk, but first I had to put clothes
on, which took a bit of time. And a quarter-mile in the midday heat of the
humid South with an enema churning in one's bowels and a distended bladder is
far from a gentle walk to the corner store. The store was being remodeled, and
I wasn't sure if I should get adult or baby diapers. I finally chose baby
diapers with teddy bears, because part of my assignment upon coming back home
was to dress in the most shamefully youthful outfit I owned. After asking the
salesclerk where the diapers were, buying the generic brand, and getting a
magazine (for some reason I couldn't just pay for the diapers, I had to buy
something else), I realized I was running late. The new clerk had a problem
with my check and had to call the manager while I shifted desperately from foot
to foot, the pressure in my bowels and bladder increasing. Finally they gave me
my stuff and I fled the store, jogging back home with two quarts of enema
sloshing inside. I'm not sure if it was psychological or physical, but I could
hear the enema water inside my body. 

Home...upstairs...stripping quickly, the sweat glistening on my skin from
running and the beginning of cramps...I dressed in a pink sundress my mother
had bought me one year. I'm not sure what I did to offend her, but I never wear
pink, nor do I wear ruffled full skirts. I had cut the bottom two layers off
and hemmed the dress, making it into a bathing suit cover, but that made it
look even more youthful. The dress was sleeveless, with buttons going down to
the navel. I didn't wear a bra, but put on a pair of white cotton panties. I
was reaching for a pair of anklets when the phone rang. 

Even though I wasn't in position, I answered the phone, sounding breathless and
off-balance. It was Sir. He sent me back to the bathroom and had me remove the
buttplug. Usually I would just relax and push, helping the plug out, but I was
standing at the sink attempting to hold two quarts of fluid in my bowels, so I
had to clench my asshole tightly and then force the plug out. It hurt, but I
managed to keep the water in and put the plug aside. Sir had me refill the
enema bag, reinsert the nozzle, and place two more quarts of water inside me,
while at the same time forcing me to drink two more glasses of water--32
additional ounces! Sir laughed at how breathless I was and how I was having
trouble thinking. I am always a bit off-balance with him anyway, but now I felt
so out-of-control! 

Sir ordered me to get some packing string, unbutton my dress, and pull out my
large breasts. I then had to wrap the string tightly about 20 times around each
breast and tie it off. Breast bondage was new to me. Once before Sir had me tie
my breasts with rope, but not this tightly. Both breasts looked like water
balloons--full, swollen, purple, ready to pop. I could feel the string cut into
my skin. Next I was sent downstairs for a wooden spoon, while he waited. When I
returned Sir had me put a diaper into my panties. I did. 

I was so ashamed! He asked if it turned me on, and I was so into subspace I
didn't even know. So I ordered to put my hand down and feel my pussy. It was
soaking wet and so very hot! These humiliating things were indeed turning me
on. Following orders, I took the wooden spoon and begin hitting my swollen
tender breasts. Because the blood was pooled, they bruised easily, and there
were reddish marks all over my skin, marks that later became purple bruises. 

Next, I had to go into the bedroom, get on my hands and knees, and rub my
breasts against the floor. Doing so lifted my ass into the air, and the enema
went deeper into my bowels. The cramping was becoming increasingly severe--I
wasn't sure how much longer I could fight gravity. I then was ordered to dance
for my Master, shaking my tits and ass like a bimbo, standing inches away from
the door with my breasts not quite touching the hard wood. When they did touch,
J Sir knew because of the low moans of pleasure I couldn't contain. My breasts
were so damned sensitive, even the lightest brush made me want to orgasm.
Finally I was allowed back into the bathroom, where he ordered me to put
clothespins on my nipples. I stupidly thought the string would have made my
nipples numb, but instead the pain of clothespins on my nipples was tripled,
bringing tears to my eyes almost immediately. I was again made to hit my
breasts with the spoon, each bounce sending pain rippling to my nipples and
back.

Finally, gravity began to win--the enema began to leak slowly down my legs. I
started crying as I informed J Sir of this. The diaper wasn't heavy enough to
hold the enema. He then made me kneel on the floor, with the enema still
leaking, and pee my diaper. I felt so out of control and vulnerable. I couldn't
help the tears. Sir made fun of me for crying. The more he laughed at me, the
harder I cried, and the more enema leaked from my diapers.

Finally he allowed me to sit in the toilet with the seat lifted and my ass in
the water. Sitting there in my own foulness, I was allowed to rub my pussy and
clit until I came, telling my owner what a filthy, bad girl I was...a filthy
whore who wears diapers and can't control her own bodily functions...who pees
herself and poops herself…who needs a diaper because she is such a bad,
disgusting bimbo.
 
After cumming himself <smile> and making sure I was emotionally OK, Sir let me
hang up and clean myself up. As always, I had to write a summation of our time
together. Here's part of the letter I wrote:

************** 

Hello Sir,

Just the thought of writing to you about what we did today has me so wet I'm
sitting on a towel. We hadn't played for awhile, and I knew today would be
rough. I was both afraid and terribly excited at the thoughts of what you might
do to me.
 
I still have the string marks on my breast... and the spoon bruises...and I am
almost wetting myself with excitement. Binding my breasts is incredibly
exciting, a major trigger I didn't know existed for me. I've seen pics of it,
but the breasts only looked disgusting--it didn't turn me on at all. But being
bound like that, the poor things purple and grotesque--the feeling went from my
breasts straight to my crotch. Hitting them, pinning them--the pain was so
amazing. I'm unbuttoning my blouse and looking at my poor, bruised breasts
right now, the string mark still visible. Excuse me--I am going to touch myself
now and cum. 

I'm back... licking my fingers. Jeez, that did it for me...

Perhaps the bathroom games excite me so much because it's only recently I've
admitted to wanting them. The amount of enema you gave me was almost impossible
to keep inside. I was so ashamed when I couldn't. I really did feel like a
naughty little girl who couldn't control herself. I was crying and leaking. I
just felt so bad and helpless and vulnerable. Then on the potty, it was hard to
relax, but then my body just kept pushing and pushing. Telling you how nasty I
was until I came excited me incredibly. I wanted to be told how I was naughty
and out of control. And then you came, and then asked me if I was OK, which was
so incredibly sweet. As always after an enema, my breasts are incredibly
tender, and I am wet from writing this--and cumming again.

I look forward to the next time you want to use me Sir.