Incest Enema Stories

Incest Enema Stories

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Preview — Enema Stories Volume 3
by T.C. Stonefox

Enema Stories Volume 3 continues the traditions of exciting and interesting stories about giving and receiving enemas. A student nurse experiences the power over her patients as she administers enemas as prescribed by the doctor, only to have the tables turned when she volunteers to help a fellow student earn a required competency. After visiting Brazil and photographing i
Enema Stories Volume 3 continues the traditions of exciting and interesting stories about giving and receiving enemas. A student nurse experiences the power over her patients as she administers enemas as prescribed by the doctor, only to have the tables turned when she volunteers to help a fellow student earn a required competency. After visiting Brazil and photographing in the jungle, a young photographer is diagnosed with intestinal parasites and receives three embarrassing enema treatments. In another story, a visit to her aunt and uncle's house finds that the rules her cousins must live by also applies to her! Playing outside with your friends is a much better way to spend Saturday morning than getting a monthly cleanout! These and other stories await you in Enema Stories Volume 3!
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Comment Disclaimer: Comments that contain profane or derogatory language, video links or exceed 200 words will require approval by a moderator before appearing in the comment section. XOXO-MN

There’s mom fantasy and then there’s mom reality. I used to be one of those smug moms to be who swore she wouldn’t let herself go. Post baby life will be glorious! My meticulously styled hair would whip slightly in the gentle breezes, I’d smell like a Bulgarian rose, and frolic at the playground with my two cherubs all day long.
My reality as a mother is beautiful, but it’s the kind of beauty only another mom would appreciate. Beautiful but not always pretty. There is sometimes shame. Secrets I keep to myself and hold on to tightly. In the spirit of camaraderie, I’m opening the vault. Fellow moms, you are not alone. Or maybe my shameful self is alone.
Either way here are a few of my shameful mom confessions for your reading pleasure.
I thought it’d be super cute to make my children little mugs of hot chocolate with a dollop of marshmallow fluff on top after a few hours spent playing in the late autumn cold. They were seated and enjoying themselves so I seized the moment, left the room, and got to work on a pile of dishes. Bad idea. My two-year old daughter rubbed the marshmallow fluff into her hair like candy shampoo while my three-year old soon gleefully cheered her on.
As I picked the large chunks out of her hair I checked the clock. Bedtime. Do I delay bedtime and wrangle two cranky kids into the tub alone, or go about my business as if nothing happened? That’s right. I let my child sleep with some marshmallow fluff in her hair.
I was exhausted and in no mood to endure the horrible shrill screams my daughter subjects me to during shampooing. No, thank you. She wasn’t carried away by a colony of ants in the middle of the night and I gave her a bath in the morning. Shameful? Maybe but I got some much needed sleep.
I wear yoga pants, but I hate yoga. I know I’m not alone but I take yoga pants wearing to shameful new levels. I buy yoga pants with the precision and meticulous research normal people save for purchasing their first home. They’ve got to have the right cut, stretchy fabric, and some sort of stomach panel.
I know what you’re thinking and yes I really should get back to my 18% body fat pre kids shape, but until I have the time to spend two hours a day in the gym – again it isn’t happening. For now yoga pants are my secret weapon. I look fantastic in them and that secret stomach panel keeps everything where it should be like a set of bootleg Spanx.
Of course on days when I have to go somewhere yoga pants aren’t appropriate and try squeezing into my jeans I’m shocked . Where did this weight come from! I looked so good in those pants yesterday! Oh, right I live my life in a deceiving yet flattering casing known as yoga pants.
Oh well. Oh and once I went out in my dressy yoga pants and when I came home changed into my more comfortable hole in the crotch home yoga pants. That’s when I knew I hit rock bottom.
If those aren’t bad enough for you here are a few hall of famers:
What’s your most shameful mom confession?
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Posted on May 13, 2016
- By
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Comment Disclaimer: Comments that contain profane or derogatory language, video links or exceed 200 words will require approval by a moderator before appearing in the comment section. XOXO-MN

There is no visual more horrifying for me than catching my child in the middle of a sexual act in our home.
My son has a beautiful girlfriend who I adore. They have been dating for a while, and I understand how it is to be a 21-year-old with raging hormones. But the rule in this house is NO SEX AT ALL…and that includes me (unless I’m married). There is another rule: no drugs under this roof. This is the second time I caught my son and his girlfriend in the act. I lost my mind and threatened to throw everyone out for not obeying the rules. I was so upset at the blatant disrespect of his actions that I needed to leave my house and cool off, so I wouldn’t end up doing bodily harm to someone!
Sexual behavior can be animalistic and reckless or done with feelings of love, longevity and respect. I realized that I didn’t have a conversation with my son about which way he views sex and felt a conversation was in order. I am not the “cool mom.” I am not going to put condoms in a jar and allow girls to come “hang out” with him in his room. I am more of the if-you-have-time-to-hang-out-then-you-have-time-for-work-and-school mom. I am not comfortable knowing that my son is having sex in his room. Nope…can’t do it.
I called him into my room the next day to find out why he made this poor decision once again. This is how the conversation went:
“First off, I wanted to apologize for the way I behaved yesterday towards you and your girlfriend. I said many things I meant, but I shouldn’t have said them out loud. As a parent I have to show restraint even in difficult times, because I would want you to think before you speak. Ok?” I said. He looked shocked and slowly shook his head
“Is this a joke? You are apologizing to me because I broke the rules?” he said.
“No I am apologizing for the way I behaved regardless of the situation. I can’t allow you to take me to a place where I am out of control. Speaking of control, are you in love with your girlfriend?”
“I don’t know, I guess so, maybe,” he responded.
“Let me explain something to you about the responsibility of having sex. I understand that you want to get it on and be very physical due to your hormones raging out of control. But most women see sex differently than men. Your girlfriend loves you; she was still googly-eyed yesterday while I was cussing you both out. She traveled over here to see you and displayed every action indicating she is very interested in you. If you are having sex with her without your heart in it, then do her a favor and stop immediately.”
“What do you mean my heart, Mom? What are you talking about?” he said.
“Women take men “IN” we hold you FIRM and try not to let you go. Do you understand that statement? Women are sensitive creatures who, for the most part, have a direct connection between the vagina and their heart. It is your responsibility as a man to spend your time with those you want to really spend your time with. I don’t want you being a man just slinging your thing at every hole that comes your way. It is irresponsible and it hurts women. It hurts us to know that we have let you “IN” yet, you never wanted to be there for more than that moment. Sex should couple emotion and love; it should be done with thought. I hope you are thinking about her heart, or anyone else’s for that matter, before you give them your penis.”
His attitude during the conversation went from laughing nervously to being pensive. Then he said, “I love her, but I didn’t tell her yet.”
“Ok, well, if you love her, treat her with kindness and use thought. Please don’t be a man whore. I will be disappointed if I spent all this time acting like Mother Teresa around you to find out you are an ultimate whore.”
“Mom, OKAY. I understand; I got you. I am not all over the place; it’s not my way, Not everyone can get this.” He said as he walked away
It was the first conversation I had with him about feelings and what to do with them and how to manage them with sex. He is 21. After I spoke to him, I felt like this should have been something I spoke about all along as I do with my daughter. Raising thoughtful young men who are sexually responsible creates men who have a slimmer chance of treating women like a pieces of meat. In a perfect world, he would take that information and be the best boyfriend/husband the world has ever seen, full of compassion and romantic gestures, sweetly in love with his partner. That is what I wish for him.
What do you think about your children having sex in your house? What message are you sending to them while allowing them freedom to express and grow? I would love to know!
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I Was 10 When My Grandfather Touched Me “Down There”. My Parents Were Just Upstairs.
I Made Some Extra Cash Last Week Just By Doing A Little Swiping, And Unlocking My Phone

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Partnered Post | Joycelyn Tan

8 Jul 2022

It happened when I was 10. It’s not like most stories that you might have read about; there was no struggling, no screaming, no taunting or violence. It was silent—mostly because I had no idea what was going on.
It didn’t happen in an alleyway, or in a sleazy motel room. Not even in my own bedroom. It was in a dusty half-lit store pantry on the ground floor of my grandfather’s house. With about 9 other relatives on the first floor. It happened when I wasn’t alone.
Was it frightening? Hardly. If anything, it was confusing. I was only 10.
I grew up in a conservative home. I didn’t know the word ‘f*ck’ until I was 15. I only understood its meaning a whole year later. And yet now we have 8-year-olds using the word in grammatically correct sentences. My parents were traditional in their ways (and very strict).
I never once asked them, “Mommy, where do babies come from?” Maybe I wasn’t quite an inquisitive child. I knew there was a hole somewhere in my nether regions but I thought it was just for peeing.
So when grandfather asked me to follow him into the pantry and put his hands down my panties, I just stood there like the good doll I was while he sat on a stool behind me. He was gentle. But determined. Quick—before anyone else came into the kitchen—but long enough for me to remember his stubby beard rubbing against my neck.
I can’t remember when I realised the disturbing intentions of his action. Maybe it was when I discovered porn by accident. Maybe it was when I studied Chapter 4 of Science in Form 3. Maybe it was during “girl talk” with my guy friends in school.
But even before I figured it out, I knew my grandfather did something bad. Bad enough for my parents to tell me to avoid going near him when we visit after I told them about how he touched me “down there”. However, in my 10-year-old mind, it couldn’t have been that bad since they never confronted him about it. There wasn’t any big hoo-ha or dramatic family intervention. They simply told me not to tell anyone about it—sorry, mom and dad, for this.
In their defence, they couldn’t have prevented it. Not before it happened anyway. They couldn’t have known that they shouldn’t leave me alone downstairs while they chatted happily just several metres away. They couldn’t have known that they should have told me from a young age to “scream for help and run if someone touches you here or here “. And for that, I’ve never blamed them.
That’s not the case for my grandfather. Although I listened to my parents and avoided him, it was out of obedience and ignorance. Not because I actually understood why I should. And when I finally did many years later, I hated him for it. Which is a difficult task to do even after all these years.
It might be because it’s hard to hate someone who’s been dead for at least 10 years (I don’t keep count of the exact number). There’s only so much hate that you can give to a dead person because you can’t really do anything about it.
I don’t have any extraordinary lesson for you, other than the predictable ones. Educate your children so that their understanding of “down there” is not lacking; be observant so that any changes in your child’s behaviour doesn’t go by unnoticed; and do something when your child confides in you so that they know they can trust you.
Because not every case of child sexual abuse and molestation is about a child kicking and screaming.
Sometimes it’s a silent one, not because they are unafraid, but because they are confused, unaware, and simply just don’t know any better.
I consider myself very lucky. It only happened once and I was still ignorant. Nevertheless I’m in no way belittling it. I’ve heard of horrific experiences from victims of abuse, and even if it happened once, twice, or many times, there is always one similarity between them—they will be affected.
I sometimes wish that my parents did make a big deal out of it. I wish my relatives knew what a creep grandfather was.
On the other hand, I’m relieved that they didn’t. I can’t imagine having to face the embarrassment and the humiliation. More importantly, I also can’t imagine handling the rejection if they all knew but still did nothing about it. Or worse still, didn’t believe me.
Am I traumatised and never able to trust men again? Not quite.
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