Emma sat in the waiting room with her hands folded in her lap, digging her toe into the carpet and trying to breathe slowly. Karen had told her that breathing slowly was really the only thing to do–that, and pray.
Emma was awaiting her first enema from the reformatory school nurse. All the girls got them once a week to help keep them regular and docile. As a new transfer, Emma had managed to avoid one until now, but from now on, she would be here in the waiting room every week, listening to the girl before her being led down the hall and trading nervous giggles with the girl to go after her.
Though Emma was almost 21, her aunt, also her legal guardian, had made a special petition to have her sent to the reformatory until she was twenty-five and declared a minor indefinitely. Overall the Pennyroyal Reformatory Academy wasn’t so bad. The teachers and matrons were strict and sometimes the prefects abused their power, but the other girls were friendly, the food was good, and the classes were usually interesting. Emma was even on the field hockey team, where she had made several good friends already, including Karen, the captain.
Karen had been a great comfort to Emma. The first night in the dormitory had been difficult enough. Upon arriving, Emma had been led to the long hall where all the girls slept in dehumanizing rows and her bags had been opened. Almost everything had been deemed inappropriate or decadent, including her pink silk babydoll, which had been replaced with a rough cotton nightgown and, worse yet, a thick cloth diaper and plastic pants! Emma had thought that the matron and assisting prefect were making fun of her at first, but it soon became clear that they really did expect her to wear the horrid thing “in case of accidents.”
“But I’ve never had an accident!” Emma had protested.
“Your aunt informed us that you had a history of bedwetting,” said the matron coldly as the prefect, a tall blonde girl, smirked and twirled a pigtail.
Emma blushed. “Not since the first grade. I outgrew it a long time ago.”
“Nevertheless,” said the matron as she laid out the diaper and pulled a bottle of strawberyy scented talcum powder from the nightstand drawer, “You do have a history of bedwetting and the reformatory often has a regressive effect on new girls–especially those with delicate temperaments like yours. I see you are not here to reform a violent nature or tendency to steal, but a tendency toward the carnal.”
The prefect sniggered and Emma blushed even harder, trying to hide her face behind her long, brown hair. “Can’t we wait and see first?”
But of course the matron said no and ordered Emma to lie down on the diaper and threatening to call another prefect to force her if she protested again.
With no other choice and desperate to avoid further humiliation, Emma lied down with as much dignity as she could muster. The prefect held her shoulders down and smirked silently into Emma’s face, but Emma turned away and stared at the wall as the matron instructed her to lift her hips and slid her frilled silk panties off. It was the last pair she would wear before being issued with the plain cotton school bloomers all the girls wore and that were checked each morning. Then there was a shower of cool talcum powder, which the matron quickly smoothed over Emma’s shaved mons, another school mandate. As the matron leaned far over Emma to fit and pin the diaper, the unfortunate brunette could not help but notice the matron’s ample clevage pulling against her sheer white blouse. For some reason, that made the whole ordeal worse and Emma’s eyes began to tear, but she did not cry until later that night, when she met Karen.
Emma was snuggly pinned into her diaper beneath the institutional plastic pants which would prevent leaks. She had gone to bed earlier than the other girls, lest she be tired from her trip. Of course, the other girls were already in bed by 9:30, so poor Emma had been lying there for an hour already, unable to sleep, but too frightened of what type of punishment this place might enforce to risk getting up, even just to get a book.
But the other girls were used to the early nights and the hall was filled with the deep, regular breathing of twenty young women by 10:00 pm and Emma wasn’t able to hold it in a moment longer. She began sobbing into her pillow, perhaps louder than she would have if she had all her wits about her, but she was psychologically exhausted. How could her aunt have done this to her? Perhaps she was a little boy crazy, but a lot of girls her age were and they weren’t sent to a reformatory! They certainly weren’t diapered anyway. And now there weren’t any males for miles and miles around. Even the milk man and meter reader were female!
Then Emma felt the gentle weight of a hand on her shoulder and caught her breath.
“Are you alright?”
Emma turned her head to look into the deep hazel eyes of a handsome brunette girl about her own age. She looked more friendly than concerned, though.
Emma tried to surreptitiously wife her nose on her sheet. “Emma.”
“Would you like to sleep with me tonight, Emma?”
Emma’s heart swelled before she realized that if she were to crawl into bed with this possible sympathizer, her diaper would be exposed and her humiliation renewed. She began to stammer an excuse that would not result in the girl leaving her alone when Karen cut her off.
“They diapered you?”
“Yes!’ Emma cried and began to sob again.
But Karen only laughed a little and pulled up her coverlet, then her nightgown. She, too, was in a diaper.
“They’ll use any excuse to get you into one, you know. Especially Matron Bittern. She seems to have a fetish.”
Emma giggled despite herself.
“Now would you like to sleep with me? Just for tonight?”
Emma nodded and from then on the two had been fast friends. That first night cuddled together in Karen’s tiny little bed, diaper to diaper, and black eyes looking into hazel, had made sure of that.
As Emma turned over these events in her mind, the door to the infirmary was opened by the head nurse, an older brunette woman in a thick, but translucent white uniform and cap, pinned severely to her neat hair. She was pressing a buxom young redhead out the door by the small of her back. The girl’s eyes were rimmed in pink, as though she had been crying, or trying not to, and her hands were clutching her skirt in front of her.
“Next,” was all the woman said and Emma jumped up obediently. Though she didn’t turn to look, she could feel the next girl in line staring after her anxiously. As Emma neared the door, the nurse took hold of her shoulder and guided her, almost pushing, into the room beyond.
It was a larger room than Emma would have imagined, with an antique, wooden examination table, covered over in green leather; a gynecological table; a sterile steel sink; and a countertop laiden with all manner of sundries, but what stuck out the most was the line of red, rubber enema nozzles and thick, plastic disposable diapers.
In one corner was a screen, behind which Emma could see the outline of a chair and nothing else. The nurse gestured to it. “Would you please to remove your clothes and put on a robe.” It was not a question and Emma obeyed, folding her jumper, blouse, socks, and underthings on top of the chair, kicking her brown loafers under it, then deciding to line them up neatly. The last thing she wanted on top of an enema was a list of cane strokes added to her punishment record.
As she undressed, she peered around the screen and saw the nurse preparing a large bowl of solution. Even from across the room, it smelled strongly of peppermint. Once the solution was mixed, the nurse set it on a towel on the counter and lined up one of the red bulbs, a bottle of lubricant, a stack of wipes, a diaper, and some talcum powder. She also slipped into a rubber apron and gloves.
“If you are finished, please come here.”
Emma jumped, embarrassed at being caught watching, and went to the nurse. A towel had been laid on the floor before the exam table.
“Stand over the towel with your legs spread and place your forearms on the table.”
Emma obeyed quickly, but it felt to her as though every action were stretched out. Her arms seemed to float down towards the exam table as through water, her ankles seemed to part from one another as though through a jelly. As she glanced down, she noticed that the front of the open-backed gown she wore plunged down to expose her breasts. Her hand twitched to cover herself, but the nurse was spreading the back of her gown open and she thought better of it.
“Try to relax and we’ll have you back to your class soon.”
As the nurse applied a liberal amount of lubricant to her gloved fingers, Emma reflected that this was perhaps the worst part of the process. She had known that the enema would come, but one was not actually summoned to the infirmary until the slip came. A rectangle of thin, white paper, the slip was marked by a red border. It was delivered to a classroom by one of the prefects or perhaps a hall monitor, handed directly to the teacher, who would read the intended girl’s name aloud. Emma had herself snickered at girls whisked out of class to receive the dreaded poke of Nurse Dalton, as it was called, even as her own time drew nearer. When it had finally happened to her, she had vowed she would not anymore.
Still, there had been more than one girl who had tittered as Emma had risen from her desk and taken the walk of shame down the asile. The girl who had brought the slip, a prefect and, at twenty-five, one of the older girls at the school, had even waited to walk her out, as it was her first time. Crossing to the front of the room, she had noticed Karen giving her an encouraging, though still pittying, smile, but she had been too humiliated to raise her head, much less smile back. The walk to the infirmary with the prefect had not been any better. They had delivered one more slip and picked up another girl on the way. The prefect had been mockingly nonchallant about the whole thing and even stopped to discuss the matter with a hall monitor!
“Just taking these two new girls down for their first poke. I hear Nurse Dalton is in a fine mood today, too. Poor things!”
“Yes, I had the poke yesterday. She was so rough the diaper afterwards was almost welcome! She’s had a bee in her bonnet this whole week. Not even the staff are safe! She’s been recommending the poke for treatment of nearly everything.”
“Really! The staff!”
“Yes, these two little waifs will wish they’d gotten it at the beginning, like the rest of us, I dare say. Won’t you, little waifs?”
As the two girls laughed, Emma and her companion had found themselves unable to respond, but luckilly the prefect was anxious to be prompt for her delivery and had bid the hall monitor farewell.
“Breathe deeply. A little lubricant will make this all the easier.” And with that, the nurse had plunged her fingers into Emma’s rectum. Though she should have been, she hadn’t really been expecting it and a little, “Ow!” escaped her before she regained herself.
“If that’s so bad for you, you’re certain not to like this,” said the nurse, roughly pulling out her fingers and changing gloves.
The nurse took the bulb and filled it with water once, squirting it quickly out, to warm the bulb, then began filling it again, slowly. As Emma watched it swell with the warm, peppermint-scented solution, she began to feel dizzy. Her breathing quickened and she even thought of running for the door. She had never had anything like an enema. Even the lubrication had been a new and horrible experience. As the nurse lifted the bulb, its nozzle dripping water like a snake dripping venom, Emma felt a thin line of urine trickle down her thigh and her leg shivvered. The part of her mind not crazed over the menacing, red nozzle was grateful for the towel.
The nurse’s heels clicked as she took position behind her motionless, yet frantic, patient. She held the nozzle against the quivvering pink anus for a moment, then plunged it in, squishing through oilly lubricant and clenching muscle, to the soft innards of Emma’s rectum.
The warm water came like a flood, too fast, too gushing, leaving Emma too dazed even to try to push it out. She felt herself filling with it, felt it slosh about inside of her, warming her and loosening her bowels. Again and again the nurse plunged the nozzle into the basin of water and plunged the water into Emma. On the fifth bulb, her body began to give.
“Oh, please, ma’am, stop!”
“The whole basin. You have about five more,” said the nurse calmly.
“No, I can’t.”
The nurse sighed and filled the bulb again. “That’s what all you girls say and you all take it.”
“You d-don’t understand,” stammered Emma. Something in her body was going to release. She could feel it. The water inside of her was balooning and pressing down on her bladder. When was the last time she’d used the ladies’ room–not counting, of course, the little accident just now? This morning? Before breakfast? With every bulb, the pressure increased.
“I have to use the bathroom,” quavered Emma.
“That’s what the diapers are for. Please don’t speak. You make it difficult.”
Emma trembled, the nurse must see it. Her whole body shook with the effort of not disgracing herself, of not angering the nurse and gaining who knew what punishment, but as the nozzle slid back into her rectum, she felt herself begin to gush.
The first wave was the worst. Emma could feel the water shoot out of her, then trickle down her thighs. She gave a little scream and tried to press her legs together, but they were shaking too much.
The nurse said nothing until the last of the liquid had drained away.
“Oh my. Undress.”
Emma obeyed, but couldn’t keep herself from sobbing as she did. She removed the dressing gown and held it uncertainly.
“In the sink,” said the nurse, with a hint of annoyance. She was wiping down her gloves and apron, though as far as Emma could see she hadn’t been splashed. As Emma placed the dressing gown in the big, stainless steel sink, she glanced at the floor. Most of the liquid had been absorbed by the pad, but there were still splatters on the floor. She was relieved to see that it was clear, but it smelled.
As Emma stood over the sink naked, wondering what would happen next, the nurse thrust an apron at her, along with a pair of rubber gloves, a spray bottle, and a rag. Emma stood dumbly.
Nuse Dalton appeared to be getting impatient. “Put the apron on, you stupid girl. Clean up that mess you made on the floor, then we’ll wash you properly. After you’ve been disciplined, you can have a suppository and go back to class.”
Emma reached for the apron and put it on quickly. No one else at the school had spoken to her that way before. They had been firm, but always respectful. She was already embarassed by her accident and being called a “stupid girl” only deepend her humiliation.
“Did you expect somene else to clean up after you sprayed used enema water all over the floor?” The nurse sneered as Emma got down on her knees and began mopping up the malodorous water. “Honestly, it’s just disgusting. The problem with girls like you is that you have no control. I’ve been giving enemas for twenty years and the handfull of accidents have all been with unwilling, uncooperative, disobedient little girls like you.”
Emma’s eyes began to tear. She could smell her own waste and knew that it was true: she was disgusting. But she hadn’t done it on purpose! She would never, ever do something like that on purpose. She knew better than to correct the nurse, though. She was in enough trouble already.
After the water was mopped up, Emma threw away the pad and cleaned the floor with the sharp contents of the spray bottle. The alcoholic smell of the cleaner was, however, preferable to that of the enema water and Emma could also blame the fumes for the tears in her eyes. When the floor was sparkling clean, Emma dropped her gloves and apron into the sink as well and put the spray bottle down, then stood with her hands clasped in front of her, waiting to be told what to do.
Nurse Dalton inspected the floor, but failed to find anything wrong. She nodded once to show that the job was adequate, then took Emma by the arm and bent her over the sink, dropping another pad onto the floor. She took a clean rag and saturated it with warm water and soap and began scrubbing Emma’s hindquarters. She scrubbed hard and fast and indiscriminately. No part of Emma was safe, from the rose of her anus to the curtains of her sex. The washcloth was rough as a cat’s tongue, but Emma shivvered as it flicked against her clitoris. Oh please, not there!
The only thing that could humiliate her further would be to become aroused while being cleansed of her own filth. She squirmed this way and that to try to avoid contact with the cloth, but Nurse Dalton chased her down, pulling the cloth between her legs and even slipping a bit of it inside of her struggling patient. Emma let out a little moan, half of frustration and half of longing.
Finally, the nurse moved onto her legs, scrubbing and scrubbing til Emma’s thighs were red. She also scrubbed the girl’s calves, feet, and each one of her little toes. Finally Emma was rinsed with the same wash clothed, soaked in warm water that was wrung out over her lower body. The trickling water further teased her swollen clit. But Nurse Dalton wasn’t finished there. When Emma tried to take the towel to dry herself, the nurse snatched it back and told her to stand still. “You’re not even self-reliant enough to hold your bowel. You’ll be towel dried like an infant.”
The drying was rough and just as intrusive as the washing, but Emma shut her eyes and tried to think of being back with Karen, relating an edited version of the events and being fawned over and petted.
“There,” said the nurse, tossing the towel into the overflowing sink with everything else. She stood up and patted her hair into place. “Now I shall have to beat you.”
To be continued…