Mr. Cyril Silverstone had been constipated going on two days now. He even brought a bottle of laxative to work at the accounting firm and drank most of the pink liquid during his lunch break but it didn't do any good.

That night he had a dream brought on, he suspected, by his lack of bowel movement. He was strapped to his office desk by long, yellow colon tubes, they tightly bound his wrists and ankles, and he wore his pin-striped suite. His trousers were down around his boney knees so his boxer shorts showed.

In walked Miss Xavier from the secretarial pool. She removed her glasses, untied her hair, and shook it free so her long brunette tresses fell around her shoulders. The wall where his elderly mother's framed photograph hung was a large blackboard and Miss Xavier looked exactly like a teacher he had years ago in school. In fact, Mr. Cyril Silverstone had never noticed how tall and voluptuous she was. The tips of her torpedo bra beneath her tight gray sweater scratched the chalkboard when she turned to write.

'Today is enema class,' she informed him.
Mr. Cyril Silverstone glanced down at his boxer shorts which were now down around his knees. He was strapped across his desk on his stomach with the nozzle of an enema bag cord up his rear end. He raised his head, trying to make out Miss Xavier over at the blackboard and could feel warm liquid pumping into his rectum. Miss Xavier tapped the blackboard with her pointer and the valve halfway up the enema bag tube shut off.
'And what does this word say?' she asked.
'Enema,' said Mr. Cyril Silverstone.
'Very good!' said Miss Xavier. She cleared her throat. 'And what are those words?'
He squinted at the blackboard.
'Mom's soapy enema, 'said Mr. Cyril Silverstone. 'At least I think.'
'Right and that one?'
'Enema fun.'
'And this?'
'Enema mistress.'
'One more?'
'Mayo enema.'
'Another.'
'Embarrassing childhood enemas.'
'And, and, and…'
'Enema lust, enema torture.'
'You're ggggreat!'
'Soapy punishment enemas, champagne enema, grape soda pop enemas.'
'That's enough now.'
The valve magically turned on so liquid pumped into his rear end again.
'But I said it correctly,' groaned Mr. Cyril Silverstone. He was having trouble speaking.
'That's why it's on.'
'What if I…say it…wrong?'
'THEN IT'S STILL ON!' crowed Miss Xavier, throwing her head back.

Mr. Cyril Silverstone saw the enema tube expand as the liquid flowed down into his rear end and he felt himself getting an erection. He had not had an erection like that in years. He squatted over a hole in the floor and great amounts of liquid gushed out of his rear end like a fire hydrant. A penny he had swallowed as a child rattled to the floor, a small round stone he remembered finding on the beach dropped out too, and finally a blue and yellow toy truck rolled out. Mr. Cyril Silverstone didn't remember swallowing that one, then again maybe he had. Much more flushed out of his rear end including Miss Xavier from the secretarial pool who primly got up, carefully adjusting her slip.
'It's warm in their,' she said, and she wiped her brow.
She wore a starched white nurse's uniform and white stockings and suddenly stopped what she was doing, squeezed her clipboard to her breast and glared at Mr. Silverstone. 'It's time for your enema,' she said.