I can’t possibly think of a better job than mine. I think of all my friends, sweating away in their cubicles for 10 hours a day, making next to nothing and hating every minute of it, and it’s hard not to laugh. What is it that makes my job so special? Well, I’m a personal trainer, of sorts. Women of all ages are sent to me for training in various sexual practices and techniques, and I’m paid quite handsomely for it; of course, I’d do my job for free, but that’s beside the point :)
My newest trainee was a girl named Abbie. Abbie is a 19-year-old college student, who is currently dating a young, extremely successful entrepreneur named Mike, who has peculiar tastes known in the local kink circles: he’s an anal junkie. The normal anal fetishists are obsessed with tight, young assholes. Of course, there’s a lot to be said for that - few things rival the sensation of breaking in a teenager’s ass with fingers or cock. Mike, however, is not a normal anal fetishist. Mike is obsessed with the engineering of the whole thing; basically, he likes to see as much crammed into an asshole as is physically possible. In my dealings with Mike in the past, he’s constantly amazed me with his imagination; I consider myself quite good at my job, but the amount of ways Mike has found to stretch rectal tissue is astounding. Normally, I’d think Mike would take great pleasure in training Abbie to serve his purposes, so I was surprised when he came to me and asked me to help him out with her. He explained that he was going to be out of town for a few weeks, and wanted Abbie ‘in shape,’ so to speak, for when he returned. It’s hard for him to find willing partners on his short business trips, so he tends to go without sex when he’s away. Needless to say, he’s quite horny when he gets back, and I knew I’d have to go the extra mile with Abbie to really satisfy him.
Abbie showed up at my house bright and early on a beautiful Saturday morning. It almost broke my professionalism to see how beautiful she was. With brown hair, and green eyes beyond the descriptional capabilities of the English lexicon, her face was enough to make me want to send her home and save her the ordeal she was to experience in the upcoming days. The only thing that changed my mind was her body, which made me think that several millennia of Darwinian natural selection had been aimed solely at fashioning a body designed entirely for sex.
Her legs were long and slender, but not in the Super model style that is so popular today. Abbie, it was immediately apparent, was a runner, and her legs were those of someone who spends a few hours a day out on the jogging path in shorts and a sports bra keeping herself in shape. Her bare feet were shapely and tanned, her toenails impeccably trimmed and filed, and lacking in gaudy colored polish which would been misleading given her reserved and quiet demeanor. Her ankles were slim and tapered, leading up to legs which seemed to stretch on for miles. Her ass was barely covered in a skirt that would perhaps better be described as a belt, and I highly doubted that any one gave her trouble about it. Her tight, firm buttocks were separated by what I’ve heard described as the “three-finger gap,” indicative of a truly in-shape body. All that came to mind was all those pictures flooding the web of Anna Kournikova with her skirt flapping in the wind.
Her midriff was muscled to the point of being sexy, yet not masculine. Make no mistake about it, there was nothing UN-feminine about Abbie. Her pelvic bone was so narrow that I immediately despaired of ever being able to train her as Mike desired. Immediately above her toned stomach were breasts that seemed sculpted on to her body, rather than being the result of cell division and subsequent growth. Covered by a pale blue tank top, they were neither small nor absurdly large, and it was obvious that they were completely natural. I’ve never seen the point in absurdly large breasts; isn’t anything more than a handful or two a waste?
A swan-like neck led to a heart-shaped face that smiled happily at me. I wondered, did Mike tell her why she was here? I introduced myself and we exchanged pleasantries for a while, and eventually we wandered our way into the living room, where we sat down and continued our conversation. Abbie appeared to be almost cliche in her personality, in that she was exactly like every sweet young thing you see victimized in those sappy Lifetime movies. She was sweet, funny, and intelligent, and had a certain aura about her that suggested, perhaps, an affected innocence so prevalent among girls who are the subject of male deviant fantasies. I asked her if she knew why Mike had asked her to come to my place for the week, and she admitted that she knew only that she was to obey whatever I commanded of her, and that Mike had promised the experience would improve their relationship. “Oh boy,” I thought, “She has no clue what Mike is in to?!” Well, I guess it was up to me to explain it to her.
“Abbie, do you know what exactly it is that I do?” I asked her in a cautious tone. She looked at me askance and scrunched up her brow slightly.
“Well, Mike told me you were some kind of Sex Doctor. But I guess I’m not real clear on what I’m here for.”
“Hmm, a Sex Doctor,” I said. “I guess you could call me that. What I do is train people in the art of sex, give them experiences which enable them to pleasure their partners better without the awkwardness of the initial phases. Mike has paid me in advance for your visit here, and he’s instructed me to take extra-special care of you.”
“Hah,” she said, “I bet he paid you well! That fiber optics company he got in on is doing so well we just can’t find enough things to spend money on now. Anyways, if Mike sent me here to learn new sex techniques, what exactly is he in to? I mean, I never though our sex life was lacking in anything, really. I admit to not being too experienced, but I figure I get points for enthusiasm if nothing else!” She smiled winningly and I knew I was in for an interesting time.
“Well, Abbie, Mike is ... well. Let me ask you, have you ever had anal sex before?”
“Not really, not with a guy. None of my previous boyfriends have been into that kind of thing, So I’ve been forced to experiment some on my own; you know, fingers and pencils, that kind of thing.” I was astounded at her willingness to talk about such issues, but was glad that perhaps a degree of curiosity would, shall we say, ‘lubricate’ the upcoming proceedings.
“Well, Mike’s ‘thing’ is assholes. To put it quite simply, he likes to see them stretched beyond dimensions most people can imagine.”
“Oh my god ... I never knew. What kind of dimensions are we talking about here?” Abbie looked slightly scared, but more curious than anything else.
“Well, that changes from girl to girl, bone structure and pure physical size contribute a lot of limiting factors. Basically Mike sent you here to find out what your limits are, and to ease you into this fetish of his. Does this scare you?”
“Not really, I don’t think so. I’m pretty open-minded about sex, and if Mike thinks this will strengthen our relationship then I’m all for it. Of course I’m a bit hesitant, I know how tight my bodily orifices are and I can’t imagine anything like what I think you’re describing ever happening. But, you’re the Doctor, so I’ll let you make those judgements,” she said with a nervous smile.
“Well that’s very good of you Abbie; I promise you no permanent damage will occur here, and if you ever seem truly beyond your pain threshold I promise to back off. I’ll warn you though, I’m pretty good at my job and my concept of a pain threshold is pretty high compared to most other peoples’. However, to keep you from wiggling out, so to speak, of this experience, Mike has authorized me to take steps to ensure you stay here. Depending on your level of cooperation, this could mean anything from a stern glance to genuine ropes and straps. I’ll need you to sign this waiver before we get started. Read it carefully and keep in mind what I said about letting you go.” I handed Abbie a clipboard with a photocopied page on it, which she read through carefully while biting her lower lip, and then signed.
“Alright, in for a penny in for a pound. We starting right now?”
“If you’re ready, sure. Lets head down to the workroom right now.” I chuckled under my breath, and said “I feel like a real bastard, I didn’t even take you to dinner and a movie first!” Abbie smiled agreed that it was probably best to keep our relationship strictly business. Nervously, I asked “Uh, on a less pleasant note, when was the last time you had a bowel movement?”
Abbie started momentarily, and then realized the significance of the question. “Oh, about an hour ago.” We stopped briefly at a closet in the hallway, and I retrieved a home enema kit.
“For the sake of our little project here, I’m still going to need to administer an enema. I know neither Mike nor myself are into scat, so it’ll be best to get you in the practice of giving them to yourself anyways.”
We arrived in a large bathroom, where an IV-bag type device sat in the middle of the floor. There was a long cord attached to a bag dangling from a hook on the stand, and Abbie immediately recognized the device. I explained its use to her, detailing both form and function, and sat down on a stool while Abbie began administering her very first self-enema. Within minutes, her clothes lay piled in a corner of the bathroom, and her already-taught stomach was swollen with warm soapy water. Noticing the uneasy look in her eyes, I stopped the flow of water and motioned her to relieve herself in the toilet. She walked slowly over, sat down, and did as I had suggested. Her relief was visible. I checked the color of the water now in the toilet, and determined that, in truth, the enema had probably been unnecessary. However, I thought, better safe than sorry.
Gathering her clothes and leading her out of bathroom, I paused long enough by the door to throw her garments in a hamper. “You probably won’t be needing these anymore,” I said. Glancing down at her naked form, reality began to sink in a bit and Abbie began to blush.
We walked down the hallway a short way, and entered the workroom. Neatly appointed and impeccably decorated, the room resembled nothing so much as a fashionably doctor’s office, complete with exam table and medical implements on a stainless steel rolling tray. Abbie briefly examined said instruments, and her eyes widened slightly when she figured out the use of some of them.
I guided her to the exam table, and indicated that she should lay face-down, with her head resting on the specially designed doughnut-pillow common to a massage therapist’s table. I grabbed hold of her ankles and gently guided them into stirrups on either side of her torso, so that her legs were folded up to her sides, rather like a frog in resting position. This, I’ve found, gives the nether regions the greatest exposure; in Abbie’s case, it was almost completely unnecessary, given that even leaning forward was enough to expose her asshole. Seeing the puckered little hole so exposed as it was in this position gave me a renewed love for my job. Her gorgeous pussy was plainly visible as well, and I could see that Abbie kept her bikini line cleaned nicely, but was not shaved completely. That’s good, I thought, today’s society’s obsession with shaving is at times disturbing.