Note: The following is reprinted with publisher’s permission from the book True Enema Stories, Vol. I, published by and copyright 2009 by Nelson & Jones. All rights reserved.
Girls' Reform School Enemas
from: Barbara N., Binghamton, New York
As a teenage girl, I had a career of wild behavior that including joyriding, drunken driving, driving without a license, shoplifting, and marijuana use. My career ended after a minor arson at my high school that caused an unfortunate explosion in the chemical lab (but what beautiful green smoke!) I landed up in a reform school for repeat offenders and "out of control" girls aged 15 to 21.
I was a guest of the state there for 42 months and 17 days, giving me plenty of leisure to think about my past and future behavior and form an attitude adjustment. Especially on Friday evenings, when all the girls received enemas.
We were told that this was a "standard health and hygiene measure," but we never bought this. I have always thought it was intended as a part of our punishment to be humiliated and degraded at the very time other girls our ages were enjoying their high school football and basketball games, dances or dates.
In fact, from the reformatory we could see the lights from night football games at a high school several miles away. On a clear quiet night we could even hear the cheers and band music. After the game we would see a stream of cars, white lights coming toward us, red lights snaking away, and hear the drivers honking their horns in celebration. You can imagine our feelings when we compared our situation to theirs. Some of the girls would cry.
The usual enema procedure might interest you. Shortly after dinner, the twelve girls in my dorm room were required to strip to our socks and slippers and stand at attention in a row in a tiled community bathroom. The enemas were administered by a "trusty," a senior head girl working under the guards and loosely overseen by the reformatory nurse. The head girl had all the equipment on a cart: Examining gloves, tubes of lubricant, buckets of soapy warm water, extra soap packets, nozzles of different sizes and kinds, and enema bags with hoses. The girl also had an IV stand to hang the bags on. There was often, but not always, a guard with her.
We were not allowed to talk, except to answer questions "yes, ma'am" or "no, ma'am" or to ask permission to speak. However, since the girl receiving an enema would be ordered forward of the line, we all had a good view. I am sure this unnecessary and deliberate loss of any privacy was just done to make the punishment worse.
When the head girl ordered you forward, you had to bend over and hold your ankles, or put your palms on a low bench. You had to move your feet apart shoulder width, with toes pointed in. If the head girl was not satisfied, she or the guard would kick your legs into place. This bending over may not be the usual position for an enema, but it exposed you totally, with perfect visibility and easy access to your anus, and made it almost impossible to clench your cheeks or anus to resist the nozzle.
Then you would feel the head girl spreading your cheeks, an order to "relax," a lubricated finger, cold at first, rapidly and deeply inserted and twisted around, a pop as it withdrew, and then re lubed, re inserted, pushed in and out and twisted around in your already sore rectum.
Finally the head girl would insert the nozzle deeply and release the clamp. The warm soapy liquid would flow in until you were full, but you still had to hold it for at least seven minutes despite the churning and cramps. I never was a head girl, so I never learned what kind of soap they used. The nurse told me once it was "mild hospital soap," but it stung and cramped like crazy, and really cleaned you out. Maybe they just used a lot; you could smell the soap in the air when the cart was rolled in. It sure didn't smell mild.
This was the "usual" enema treatment and bad enough, but it could be made worse. If the head girl or guard didn't like you, or had gotten the word from higher up to give you a hard time, they had several ways to make it worse. You might be roughly dilated for several minutes, perhaps with little or no lubrication on the invading finger. Or even worse, the head girl would use liquid soap on her finger rather then a normal lubricant. So you'd be really hurting and stinging before the enema even started.
Then the head girl might use a special extra large nozzle, or lubricate the nozzle with liquid soap rather than regular lubricant, or put extra soap in the enema, or a squirt of honey or other "special" ingredients. You would endure agonizing cramps while she whispered to you what she had done and mocked your misery.
After you received all the liquid, you were returned to the line with a warning to "hold it in like a big girl," while the head girl ordered the next victim forward for her enema. All the girls had to silently hold their enemas until given permission to release them. If the head girl was "teaching you a lesson," she might just be a little slow to release you to expel. All you could do was wait in agony while others rushed to the toilets, wondering when you'd get your turn.
Thank god there were enough toilets to go around. After a few minutes we were emptied out, but the residue of the soap and maybe other things they'd dumped in the liquid would sting our anus and rectum for hours; there were no cleansing enemas to get rid of the soap.
I think the lack of a rinse enema was also intended as punishment to leave us stinging. But maybe the powers just didn't feel like bothering with a second go round. There was no way we could give ourselves, or each other, relief, because we had no access to enema equipment ourselves.
If any of the girls cried, whined or tried to resist, all the girls would have to hold their enemas longer. If any girl lost any of her water and there were usually a few she would be strapped a few times on her bare butt, then left to mop up the mess, on her knees with a large sponge and a bucket.
All of this was a miserable enough experience, both painful and humiliating, but sometimes it got worse, because we had a bigger audience for the show. There was a nursing and medical assistant school nearby. Now and then the students, our age, barely older or even younger, and about half of them boys, would be brought in to administer the enemas for practical training under the eye of their teacher.
I heard that each student had to do each procedure, such as enemas, at least twelve times under supervision before he could be signed off. Although they tried to be gentle, especially the boys, and most seemed nice enough, their inexperience and nervousness made things even worse. And we would be required to give feedback for their education, while addressing them as "doctor" or "sir" or "ma'am," to their great amusement:
"Yes, sir, this is the usual position." "Yes, doctor, that's the amount they use." "Please, ma'am, they never use the thin nozzle, you have to use the big one or they'll make me have another," "Please, doctor, that's too far," "Yes, sir, I'm feeling cramps now," "Please, sir, slow it down," etc.
Meanwhile, the head girl barely contained her laughter at the humiliating spectacle: a row of naked girls getting enemas from the students, squirming in distress while trying to advise the students and calling them "sir," "ma'am," and "doctor."
By my calculation I received 184 enemas at the reform school, and every one was miserable. I never got used to them, and neither did my fellow inmates there. It seemed like as soon as your anus and rectum started to feel normal again, Friday would have rolled around. That doesn't count enemas at the infirmary where the nurse ordered them for practically every medical problem but hangnails and stubbed toes.
Although the classes were well taught, our treatment at the reformatory was severe in every way. Corporal punishment was routine. Every staff member and guard had a paddle or strap, and the standard method of correction was a paddling or strapping across the bare buttocks.
Upon an infraction of any of the many rules, retribution was swift. Wherever you happened to be, you were bent over a chair, bench, or desk, or were made to stand and touch your toes, and your pants and panties were lowered so you were bare below the waist. Then you were paddled or belted till your butt was cherry red, burning and practically blistered, and you were shaking and crying like a five year old.
Finally you were ordered to stand in a corner, clothes and panties still in a puddle at your feet, for a half hour or so as an example for the other girls. You would feel the effects for days. For especially severe infractions, or for resisting being paddled or belted, you would get paddled or belted, followed by a "punishment enema," and I can't even bear to talk about those.
- End -
Note: The preceding account is reprinted with publisher’s permission from the book True Enema Stories, Vol. I, published by and copyright 2009 by Nelson & Jones. All rights reserved.