story codes: Group, BDSM, Fisting, Enema


ZOLA AND THE PHOTOGRAPHER
by Robert White©

CHAPTER THREE


The room that Zola lead me into appeared to at one time have been
a large master bedroom that had been converted into a giant
surrealistic bathroom, the remodeled room putting forth all the
ambiance of a movie set. It was almost as large as the room in which
I had just finished performing my ass stretching routine for the
entertainment of the three merciless women.

"I'll bet you've never filmed somewhere like here, Mr. Photographer."

"That's correct, Zola, that's correct."

Every where I looked in this new room, up, down, or around, the
ceiling, floor, and walls were coated in smooth shiny white tiles. Other
than the tiles, the first thing anyone entering this room would notice
was a large glass box, looking to be at least seven feet tall,
positioned approximately three feet out from the walls at the far end
of the room. Around the top of the box were more than a dozen
shower heads, each with a separate control to enable a user to be
able to turn it on or off.

I guessed from my years in photography, this shower was positioned
for the convenience of camera men, who could easily encircle and
photograph anything taking place inside from any angle on the
outside. The shower was easily large enough to accommodate a half
dozen people at a time and a metal ladder mounted to each end
would enable camera men to climb up the sides for overhead shots.

There was an adjustable light bracketed in each corner of the room
with three more along the length of the room and one in the middle of
the width. A movie maker's dream. The door of the room was closed
and Zola was standing beside me.

"You're here because The Fireman has decided to do a manual body
cavity search. This search is better known in a prison as a 'booty
check.' It's actually possible that you'll enjoy this one. But before the
booty check will be performed by The Fireman, I have the nasty little
job of seeing to it that you're cleaned out. I'm sure you understand
what I mean."

Following her short indoctrination, Zola gestured to a single white
marble toilet that, along with a white marble sink on a pedestal, was
positioned near the center of the room, again leaving a camera man
or two more than enough room to circle the fixtures. Near the fixtures
was a white marble bench at least eight feet long. The bench had
eventually seen enough action that the top surface was beginning to
show more than a slight amount of wear.

"Yes. I understand you perfectly, Zola."

The enema was nothing new in my life. I had a mother who thought
that an enema would cure anything. If I had a cold or a cough, I got an
enema. If my stomach was upset, I got an enema. If I so much as said
I didn't feel right, I got an enema. These were administered by my
mother. I don't remember how old I was when I first really became
aware of them but my mother must have continued with them until I
was at least nine years old.

She would heat a blue and white metal container of water on the
stove. As the water warmed, she would use a paring knife to shave
off thin strips of Ivory soap which she would melt into the water. I
assumed that she took many enemas herself as she seemed
practiced in preparing the water and then pouring it into an orange
hot water bottle. She would fill the bottle almost full, then seal it by
screwing in a plastic plug with a rubber hose attached. A simple
metal clamp on the hose kept the water in the bottle. At this point I
was called in the bathroom and removed my clothes while she closed
the door before slipping a string that was threaded through a rubber
tab on the bottom of the bottle over a clothes hanger attached to the
inside of the door.

The earliest position I remember was on my left side on a chenille rug
placed on the floor of our small bathroom. After testing the
temperature of the water on her wrist, my mother would gently slip the
white plastic nozzle into me, check to make sure it was inserted all
the way, then undo the clamp that was keeping the water in the bottle
from leaking out through the white rubber hose. Yes, I remember the
enema well.

Pointing at the marble bench, Zola said, "On your back, Mr.
Photographer."

It seemed bizarre. Two naked people alone in this large room. Well,
not quite naked. Zola still had her body-hugging metal belt on that she
claimed kept her chaste.

I sat down on the bench, swung my body into a parallel position, and
stretched out the length of the bench.

"Now move your feet back toward your buttocks as far as you can
while still keeping the soles of your feet on the bench. That's not
difficult, is it?" I shook my head no.

While I squinted due to the circle lights blazing down from the ceiling,
Zola walked to the white porcelain sink and began preparation for the
enemas that she was about to administer.

Without going into the details, which I'm sure you can imagine for
yourself, Zola gave me three large enemas, having me hold each one
for ten minutes, which seem like an exorbitant amount of time even
while relaxing on the top of the marble bench. After each injection of
water, I'd begin to cramp at around three minutes and would be in
excruciating pain by the time the ten minutes were up. But, under
Zola's watchful gaze and with Zola's help, I manage to hold the water
for the allotted time. Zola's help came in the form of a butt plug that
she decided would assist me in holding the water during the second
and third enema.

After expelling the water from the third and final enema, I was a little
shaky getting to my feet and walking away from what was probably
the most beautiful toilet that I had ever seen let alone used. With
assistance from Zola, I made it to the bench and sat down between
The Stallion and The Fireman, who had entered the room as I was
expelling my final enema.

The Fireman was now wearing what appeared to be a form-fitting
black opera glove on her right arm that stretched well past her elbow
and glistened under a thick layer of some type of lubrication. It made
her appear to have an artificial arm made out of a material that was a
cross between flesh and black rubber with a thickness that appeared
to me to be about 3/16th of an inch. She lightly touched my shoulder
with her left normal hand.

"I want to assure you that I've done this procedure many times. All you
have to do is relax. Don't worry. I'm a nurse. I won't hurt you." I couldn't
believe how soft and comforting The Fireman's voice sounded.

Then, one on each side of me, The Stallion and The Fireman helped
me to my feet and lead me over the glass box which The Stallion
opened while The Fireman helped me inside.

When the three of us were inside, The Stallion closed the door and
The Fireman once more spoke to me. "I want you to bend down and
take hold of the lower rail that runs along the back wall of the shower.
Grip it securely with both hands. There is quite a bit of force to this
water and the first blast to hit you will feel quite cold. But don't worry.
You will get used to it in a couple of minutes."

I bent so my body was in an L shape while the two ladies began to
turn handles and within moments I was hit with what felt like a wall of
water. I couldn't look up to see how many of the shower heads they
had turned on but all three of us were being blanketed in a sheet of
cold water.

Not surprisingly, I felt The Stallion use both hands to spread my
asscheeks apart while The Fireman insert a well lubricated finger of
her right hand deep into my rectum. After the earlier stretching I had
done to myself, the lubed and rubber coated finger slipped easily in
followed by a second and then a third finger.

The Fireman spent several minutes sliding her three fingers in and
out of my ass. Then she removed her hand, evidently to get more
lubricant, then reinserted all four fingers and, from the feel of it, even
her thumb back into my asshole. This time it felt like she had inserted
her hand up to her knuckles. Then, with a back and forth rocking
motion, I could feel her knuckles slide in and The Fireman had her
whole hand inside me, the ring of my asshole stretched tightly around
her wrist.

"Congratulations. You now have my hand all the way up your
poopchute."

I was surprised that it seemed to go in so easy. "Is this what's called
being fisted?"

"No. I still have my fingers straight. But hold on. You'll enjoy it as I work
my fingers into a fist."

As the water continued to pour over us, I could very slowly feel her
hand expand as The Fireman closed it into a fist. Tonight was the first
time I've ever had something alive and moving inside my body and it
felt amazing. Once she had her fingers clamped into a ball, she very
gently worked her fist up further inside me. Zola was right. There was
something exotic and exciting about what was happening deep
inside me.

Then, in that soft, reassuring voice, The Fireman said, "I've got my
arm into you about a third of the way up to my elbow. I'm going to stop
here."

"You mean you can go into me further?"

"I can safely go into you about half way to my elbow if you want."

"No, no. That's okay. You can stop where you are."

After the work of getting her fist up into me, The Fireman rotated her
hand and moved her thumb outward which, combined with the water
still pouring over the three of us, had a tremendous erotic effect
throughout my whole body. Finally, taking her time, The Fireman
genitally pulled her arm out of me until I could feel the bones in her
wrist against the inside of the opening of my ass. Then she slowly
opened her fingers and, with a slight twist, slipped her knuckles out of
me. Her open hand slide out giving me the calming feeling of
discharging a giant turd.

The Stallion let go of my asscheeks while The Fireman said, "You
wouldn't believe how dilated your asshole is."

Yes I would. It felt about the size of a saucer. The Stallion held me as I
slowly stood up while The Fireman shut off the water.

Zola open the door, enter the shower, and handed each of us a towel
so we could begin the drying off process. Then, Zola tossed me a
green plastic bottle.

The bottle, with a snap on plastic lid, had a label on it that in big black
letters that said "SWALLOW ME," and contained three pills. Two
capsules, one red and one a metallic green, and a small yellow pill. I
dumped them out into the palm of my left hand. While I was examining
the pills, Zola returned with a paper cup of water.

I paused for a moment before placing them in my mouth. Then I took
the water from Zola, and quickly swallowed the three pills with one
mouthful of water. By the time the pills reached my stomach, I was
already beginning to feel a surreal effect as if I was somehow coming
out of my body. Zola, who was closely watching me, had The Stallion
take hold of me and help me out of the shower and over to the marble
bench.

I turned to Zola. "Where did The Fireman go?"

"She's in the basement. Each Sister has brought a 'volunteer' with her
tonight. You're my volunteer. Now we'll go to the basement so you can
meet the other two volunteers, both frequent Friday night guests here.
Oh, and once you're in the basement you are not to speak without
permission from one of the Sisterhood. Clear?"

"Yes." My legs felt like I couldn't control them. Sort of like they weren't
attached to my body. Yet, amazingly, I could still walk. Zola led me out
of the strange room I had spent the last hour in, down a hall, and
opened a narrow, old-looking door. I could see a dim light at the
bottom of the stairs. Looking down, I couldn't tell if there were a dozen
steps or 50. I instinctively knew it was going to be a long night as I
started down between the women, my feet cold against the cement
steps. I tried to count each step I took but soon gave up. I had both a
sense of dread and a sense of excitement at the events I sensed
were soon to happen at the bottom of the stairs.

To Be Continued


Read Chapter One
Read Chapter Two


© 2007 Robert White


Robert  lives by himself in the USA and likes to watch bondage videos
ZOLA AND THE PHOTOGRAPHER