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Walking from the elevator I reread the address that I was given last week. I found myself on a row of professional looking offices, and while I could not imagine where I had thought that this practitioner might work, the deep pile carpet of the corridor had a soothing effect on my nerves and spirits. It was a long corridor and at last I came to an oak door with no identification other than a copper plate bearing the legend “Maxwell Diagnostic Center.” With a trembling hand, I opened the door and entered into a tastefully decorated reception area.

I had just started to settle into one of the glove leather sofas in the waiting room, when an office door quietly opened and a white-frocked middle aged man said,

“Ms. Kaze Kantel, I presume? Won’t you come in please?”

I followed the Doctor into an office area which overlooked the park and took one of two chairs facing the desk.

“I’m Doctor Maxwell,” he began, “My practice specialty centers on the exploration and diagnostic treatment of what might be otherwise be considered problems of a sexual nature. Your confidentiality is assured here and I want you to feel completely comfortable in discussing the matter which brought you to us. Now how might we be of service to you?”

“Well, Doctor,” I began haltingly, “I’m forty-four years old and have been married once. I’ve been divorced for about four years, sexually active and, well, I, ah, have a real problem, ah, with, ah, anal sex.”

THERE! I’d said it!!

The words gushed out

“My former husband would complain that I was just prudish and uptight, literally, and that I was denying myself, and him, another avenue of physical pleasure.”

“Have you ever tried anal intercourse?” he asked.

“Well, once,” I answered in a small voice. “But the penetration, if any, was very slight, and I told him to stop, it hurt too much.”

“You have to understand,” I went on, “I was raised in a very restrictive and highly religious household … even nudity was ‘wrong.’ Anal was equated with defecation …… sex, ANY sex was just not discussed.”

The Doctor considered this a moment then asked “And why the interest now?”

“Oh, I -have- noticed the beginnings of some very pleasurable sensations back there from time to time, the eroticism of it; but I don’t know where to begin.”

“Not that uncommon,” he said. “And so you have a curiosity about it, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I allowed, feeling a little tingle of pleasure and dampness begin between my legs. “I think I would like to feel the experiences after, perhaps, a little preparation so that I might know what to expect.”

He then asked about my sexual history, writing on a pad while I answered a number of questions and finally, putting the pad down, he indicated that he had reached a decision.

“What we will do is to create an anal-erotic experience for you, while at the same time preparing you for the act itself,” he said.

The Doctor started outlining his prescription:

“First, Ms Kantel, you will be given a brief physical exam, which will include both a pelvic and rectal, to make sure that our experience will be safe for you. You will then be prepared for the administration of dilators which will be introduced into your anus to both expand and relax the sphincter muscles.”

“So, let’s see how this goes for you and whether further visits might be required. If all that sounds satisfactory to you, my nurse will prepare you down the hall. Do you have any questions?”

“I don’t think so…” I whispered, excited at the anticipation of the experience.

“Good!” he spoke to his nurse on the intercom. “Nurse, come and start Ms. Kantel’s program, I’ll give you specific instructions in a minute, thank you.”

Turning to me, he said, “The nurse needs to take you through some preliminaries after which we’ll get together.”

The door opened and an attractive, professional woman in a crisp white uniform motioned me out and down an inside corridor.

The room, which the nurse referred to as an “examination room,” was large in comparison to the small cramped cubicles at my gynecologist’s office. Along one wall was a low padded table, covered with pastel sheets, while at the far end, with well its well-padded stirrups, stood the examination table, though this one had more movable sections.

A door at the far side revealed a bathroom, while the remainder of the equipment, sinks, cabinets and instrument trays were what I would have expected in a medical setting.

The nurse indicated a screened dressing area. I was then instructed to strip completely, handed a cotton, patterned robe, and a pair of terry-cloth stretch slippers. I asked if I might use the bathroom and was told pleasantly

“No, dear, that will be taken care of later.”

As I started to undress, I heard her opening and closing drawers and cabinets, but resisted the temptation to peek out from behind the dressing screen. I removed my jacket, blouse and skirt, slip, and bra. Hesitating a moment, I slipped my bursa escort thong down my legs and stood naked before the full length mirror on the wall.

Thankful for the slim image there, still firm up-turned breasts with their now erect rose-bud nipples, the light brown strip of pubic hair than, turning around, a peach-shaped posterior. “Enough!” I thought and slipped into the robe, which came to mid-thigh, and slippers. Having made up my mind to go through with this, I stepped out from behind the screen.

“Now, first I will need to take your blood pressure and temperature, so just sit down on the edge of this table and try to relax,” she said and smiled.

Slipping the black cuff over my arm, she counted down the blood pressure and then said,

“Your blood pressure is perfectly normal, now I need to take your temperature.”

From a tray on the counter, she picked up the thermometer, a pair of latex gloves, and a tube of KY jelly.

I opened my mouth in anticipation.

“No,” said the nurse, smiling. “The Doctor wants your temperature taken rectally, so I’ll need to have you stretch out on the table and turn over on your tummy.”

She then helped me climb up on the table, turn over, and then, sitting on the table behind me, she turned up the hem of the robe until it was resting just below the small of my back leaving my buttocks exposed.

I listened as she snapped a glove into place on her hand and then felt the cool latex-clad thumb and forefinger spread my buttocks from either side of my anus. I buried my head in my arms and blushed at the contact in so private an area, then had to stifle an involuntary sob as I felt a gloved and lubricant-laden finger enter my rectum to the second joint after which the bulb of the thermometer was held poised at my anus.

“Now, this may be a little uncomfortable for just a minute, so relax,” she said and with that I felt the bulb firmly pushed on into my bottom.

Once inserted, she then placed the gloved hand across my bottom cheeks, holding the glass tube firmly between two fingers. I could feel the instrument resting in my bowel and then, after several minutes, felt the sliding of the bulb past my sphincter as it was withdrawn.

“Your temperature is also normal,” said the nurse. “Now I’m going to give you an injection of a very, very, mild sedative in your hip, so why don’t you just remain as you are on your stomach.”

Turning my head I watched her pick up the hypodermic syringe from the instrument tray and, turning back to me, felt the cold alcohol swab on my left buttock as she prepared the site for the injection. Her technique was practiced, and I felt only the slightest sting as the needle entered my rump and was withdrawn a moment later. She then lowered the hem of the robe to cover my buttocks.

“Fine, now I want you to lie there while we get you ready for the next step. Have you ever had a colonic or any other type of enema?”

“Only once as a child, and that was given to me by an aunt,” I replied, beginning to feel a strange, giddy anticipation.

“Well, your going to be administered two enemas this morning,” she went on, “The first will be a cleansing enema which, as the name implies, will be started in the upper regions of your bowel. The second will be a more soothing, and lubricating, oil solution to prepare you for the dilation procedure.”

“I’ll need to have you assume a position on your knees with your chest on the table, after which I’ll be lubricating your rectal area for the insertion of the nozzles.”

She grinned as she said, “You’re going to feel quite full as the Doctor wants a full two quarts for each enema!

“Oh, by the way,” she asked, “is the injection working?”

“Oh yes, I feel really quite mellow,” I replied, while in my head the images conjured up by her description of the procedure were causing not unpleasant stirrings in my loins. A part of my repressed anal-erotic fixation had been curious about the feelings that might be provoked by submission to an enema, and now I was to find out.

The Doctors’ prescription was on target!

Eyes closed, I listened to the preparations being made and in a minute I heard a metal stand drawn up beside the table.

“OK, we’re almost ready now, so let me help you up to a kneeling position,” she offered. Placing her hands on either side of my hips, she helped me up so that I was now on all fours in the middle of the table.

“I’ll place a pillow under your head and now I want you to rest your chest on the table, and let the middle of your back relax… fold your arms up by the pillow… that’s a good girl. You’ll need to move your knees apart…… and bring them…… just a little forward … so your bottom is well extended,” she said.

The hem of the robe slipped down to my mid back leaving me naked from the waist down except for the slippers. The forced position had its effect and I felt the surprisingly warm office air on the delicate tissues of both my anus and the lips of my vulva as my most intimate bursa escort bayan regions were exposed.

Looking back slightly beyond my bared and upraised rump, I watched as the nurse proceeded to hang a hospital-type enema bag on a hanger stand which had been placed by the table. The bag had a valve in the bottom to which was attached a length of surgical tubing.

From the tray she picked up another section of black flexible tubing about 18 inches long and about the size of my little finger. The tip at one end was smoothly rounded while at the other was a small double bulb, another inch of the black tube and then a connection.

Opening a jar of Vaseline, she coated the length of tube until both it and the bulb were shiny, and then, holding the lubricated tube in one hand which she rested on my back, she dipped her gloved index finger into the Vaseline jar and moved until she was at the rear of my upraised bottom.

“I have to lubricate you well now; I’ll be introducing the length of the irrigator into your rectum after that. The small bulb will help you retain both the nozzle and the fluid while it does its job.”

“Now this may be just a little uncomfortable, but try to relax by breathing through your mouth.”

I gave a little involuntary start as I felt her forefinger enter my rectum and slowly work its way in a small series of in and out movements until she had entered me fully. She then slowly withdrew the finger and repeated the process with more of the Vaseline.

“Now I’ll insert the irrigation tube and I’ll be slowly working it down inside you until I have the bulb in place,” she explained.

I felt the nozzle pass my sphincter and really felt the tube as she slowly inserted more of it into my bowel. Finally she said that she was about to insert the retainer bulb, and I felt my anus distend to receive the small object as she firmly and slowly pushed it into my behind. She said that she was going to turn the flow on and, as she did, I could feel the fluid, somehow, as it started draining up into an area that felt as though it was somewhere near my diaphragm.

“This takes a few minutes, we don’t want to rush the process, and once you have taken this much I’ll have you retain it for a few minutes longer. Now you should start feeling full in a bit, but the retaining bulb will prevent you from expelling the fluid, so do try to relax,” she called over her shoulder.

My abdomen was visibly swelling now and the Doctor chose that moment to open the door and ask how everything was going. I hid my head in embarrassment at the spectacle I must have presented, half nude with my rear high up in the air and the enema tubing sticking out from my rectum.

The nurse saved me from comment and said that everything was fine. She stroked my buttocks while we waited for the contents to empty.

I felt as though I would burst when she announced that we were done and, turning a valve at the connection point, disconnected the tubing that was inside me to the beaker. She told me to hold my position, breath through my mouth, and, a few minutes later, helped me slowly off the table and followed me to the bath room carrying the tube which trailed from my behind. Once inside I sat down on the toilet, and reaching up underneath me, she slowly removed the retainer bulb, following which I felt as though I exploded into the bowl even before she had removed the remainder of the tube.

My nurse was at the door when I came out, and after making sure that all was well, helped me back up onto the table where I was instructed to assume the kneeling position once again. The gloved and lubricated finger once more was introduced into my backside and I noticed with relief that the nozzle she was lubricating for this round was only about six inches long. I settled my head into the pillow and waited for the insertion of the tube.

“Now this one won’t be as uncomfortable as the last one,” she said, and then introduced the nozzle into my rectum. I felt the liquid drain into my bowel, and then, some minutes later, abdomen distended once more, made my way to the bathroom.

When I returned from the bathroom, I was motioned toward the examination table.

The nurse escorted me to the examination table, which she had covered with a pastel sheet. I sat on the raised bolster section at the end, and then laid back assuming the pre-requisite position: knees up, each foot in a stirrup, thighs widely separated with my buttocks near the end of the table.

The robe had shifted up to around my waist and, except for the slippers; I lay naked from the waist down. Dr. Maxwell entered the room and stepped up beside me as I lay on the table.

“I hope that the cleansing enemas didn’t make you too uncomfortable,” said the Doctor, “but for anal sex, you might find that you’ll be less inhibited if you’re not worried about cleanliness there. You can easily obtain any of the drugstore pre-bottled solutions and simply use it before you and your partner start making love.

“I’m going to examine escort bursa both your vaginal and rectal areas. I’m certain that we won’t find any obvious abnormalities; the nurse noted that you did not, for example, suffer from hemorrhoids as she lubricated you, but I want to make sure that there’s nothing else of note.”

Moving to the end of the table, he stepped between my widely parted thighs and rolled a latex glove onto each hand.

The nurse handed him a tube of lubricant which he applied to his now gloved fingers. With one hand, he parted the lips of my vulva and, gently holding the lips of my labia between thumb and finger, worked down each side.

“You obviously take care of yourself; no lesions or gland inflammation”, he observed.

Holding back the covering hood of flesh, my clitoris was revealed and it, together with the area surrounding my urethra, came in for their share of diagnostic probing.

His finger traced the sensitive ridge sending a tiny chill of pleasure up my spine. Moving his hand down to the opening of my vagina, two fingers were inserted and moved up inside me until I felt them at the tip of my cervix. He then rotated the fingers, pressing against the walls of my vagina and uterus in each direction.

“Just breathe through your mouth, Ms. Kantel… And let yourself go”, he soothingly advised.

Withdrawing his gloved hand, the nurse handed him a vaginal speculum. The nurse once more told me to relax and I felt the instrument enter my vaginal cavity, and then a bit of pressure inside as the sides were opened. The Doctor adjusted the work lamp and peered down intently.

After perhaps a scant minute, and withdrawing the instrument, the Doctor walked to the head of the table, “Everything looks just fine there, you’re a very healthy woman. Are we ready for the next step?”

I gave a thumbs-up and flexed my back, “Ready!”

“Good, good … I’m going to be examining your anus and rectal areas for fissures or any other problems, and for this, the nurse is going to adjust your position so that I have, ahmm, maximum entrance. Nurse, if you will please?” he said, and gestured toward my legs.

The nurse gestured with her hand, “Kaze, I’m going to need you to scoot down a little farther… There, that’s a girl.” And thus my buttocks were now off the edge of the table.

With a hand on my knee and another under my ankle, the nurse guided each leg back toward my head until it just about touched my breast. The stirrups were adjusted upward and to the rear, so that, after replacing each foot, I found myself in a jack-knifed position… my bottom fully extended in mid air, the lips of my vulva gaping open, soles of my slippers nearly parallel with the ceiling!

I could feel the air on my anus now that my buttocks were fully spread, and watched the nurse liberally lubricate the forefingers of the doctor’s right hand with KY jelly.

“I’m going to insert one finger, initially, to examine you as far up as I can without instruments, then I’ll introduce more as I feel you begin to acclimate to the exam. We’ll be changing your position once more for the dilators… I know this isn’t very comfortable, but it will only last for a few minutes”, he explained.

I could only lay there while images of me so very extremely exposed swirled in my head. Stepping to my now prominently displayed perineum he first probed around the perimeter of my anus, separating the opening on either side, after which he inserted his forefinger to the second joint, and rotated the finger at an angle to the rim.

“I’m just checking muscle elasticity at this point”, he said. I felt him continue working the finger up inside me until his hand rested in the cleft of my stretched buttocks. He then described a circle with his finger deep in my bowel, pushing at the tissue in either direction.

I was glad at that point for the enema preparation as I felt as though a bowel movement would have been imminent.

Withdrawing his finger completely, he said, “Excellent! Next, I’ll be introducing two fingers into your rectum; this to help you with the dilators later.” Placing one finger over the other, I felt the firm, insistent pressure of the insertion. “I want you to push down on my fingers, as though you were trying to go to the bathroom, to relax your sphincter muscle.”

I strained as instructed and felt a hollow feeling as the fingers made their way up my rectum. I felt his hand at my bottom again, and then a pressure as he rotated the fingers in place. I could feel the moisture from the liquefied KY jelly trickle to my tailbone mixed with the perspiration from my exertions.

He paused for a moment; fingers still buried in my rump, then looked up at me. “I can see why you had a problem with anal intercourse; your rectal sphincter is very tight and well muscled.”

Continuing his movements, he added, “You, or your partner, need to be very generous with the lubrication… I suggest, also, that you include graduated dilatation, which is what we’re doing now, as part of your foreplay until you really get the knack of relaxing this muscle.

“OK… three fingers. You’ve accommodated the two-finger stage without difficulty, I gather; a bit of fullness perhaps?” he asked.

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