Dom’s Sissies Pt. 13: The Enema (Patreon)

Breakfast was almost over by the time Corey began to feel halfway normal again. Certainly not good, but normal. Getting something in his stomach helped, even if it was just a small bowl of yogurt with sliced fruit and granola, along with some sort of floral tea.

He sat at one of the sissy tables in the lowered section of the dining hall with “Lily,” “Minnie,” and “Sophie,” though quietly they still used their real names. The other four beginners sat at the next table over: Aidan, or Cherry, with his fire-red wig, striking green eyes, and permanent blush, delicate Peter, now Petal, Chris in a bright pink wig that made the purpose of the name Candy depressingly obvious, and Maurice, or Misty, a "stripper name" if Liam ever had heard one.

Naming scheme wise Cherry really was the odd one out. Chloe, Lily, Minnie, Sophie, Petal, Candy, Misty, all had an obvious connection to their prior male name, a small humiliation Dominic just had a thing for. But "Cherry", as a name, wasnt even remotely close to "Aidan", because Dominic had simply wanted to fulfill his fantasy of a green-eyed, redheaded sissy sex kitten named Cherry, and Aidan had been unlucky enough to match the fantasy.

All eight of them wore their beginner uniforms: white blouses, short pleated skirts, soft pantyhose, wigs, and the plastic chastity cages hidden beneath their panties. When compared to what the sixteen other sissies also sitting in the lowered section wore, Corey couldn’t help but count himself lucky.

The intermediate sissies wore the same basic idea taken several humiliating steps further: shorter skirts, tighter blouses, thigh-high stockings instead of pantyhose, little bows at the throat, and heeled Mary Janes that made every step more careful and deliberate. They, already, had no more need for wigs, instead wearing their hair grown out and styled femininely.

The housegirls were the finished fantasy, their uniforms barely pretending to be school uniforms at all anymore. Pink pleated skirts sat high on their waists, glossy stockings climbing their thighs, garter straps showing on purpose, and black heels made their legs look long and exposed. Looking down at his own white pantyhose and plain little flats, Corey had no choice but to admit that what he was wearing right now, was rather modest.

The housegirls... the finished sissies... They really were the part Corey’s mind still couldn’t make fully real. That these had once been guys... or were guys, who had been taken in one side of Mercer’s machine and come out the other like this, was just hard to reconcile with how thoroughly they had been feminized. It was one thing to know that millions of dollars and a number of targeted, high-end surgeries had been employed to feminize them, but it was quite another to be able to accept that Corey existed in a world where this was possible. Not just possible. If nothing changed, he was on the same trajectory, but this too felt unreal to him.

“If I have to eat one more fucking yogurt bowl,” Liam suddenly muttered, pulling Corey out of his thoughts.

Max, or Minnie, chuckled dryly. “Yeah, I miss bacon... but sometimes I still get some vegan bacon when I visit home, so there’s that.”

Liam scoffed from beneath his dark-brown wig. “Vegan bacon?”

Max nodded. “Mercer got to my folks at home, and they want me to ‘watch my weight a bit.’ And my sisters wouldn’t let me eat the real stuff anyway. You know, real animal-lover types, those two.”

Samuel, or Sophie, made a small nervous sound into his tea at that and pushed his round glasses up his nose.

Max looked at him. “What’s wrong with that?”

“No,” Samuel said. “Not that. Behind you.”

They turned and saw Ashcroft and Roxy descending from the raised section, walking straight toward their table. That abnormality in an otherwise ordinary morning was enough to make conversation in the entire sissy section die down. The raised section was not far away, only separated from the sissy section by a single broad step running across the dining hall, but the difference might as well have been that of a magical barrier.

The step itself was nothing. Anyone could cross it. It was low enough that anyone unfamiliar with the peculiar culture of the mansion might have missed it entirely. But for any sissy who had been here for some time, that single rise in the floor eventually took on an almost mythological significance. It was the dividing line between the sissies who got punished if they stepped up and the very people who would administer said punishment. Sissies were literally looked down upon. That was just how it was, and unless someone was in trouble, usually no one from the raised section actively came down.

Ashcroft reached their table first. The tall, straight-backed, impeccably dressed man, with his immaculately groomed white beard, looked comically out of place between the pastel-colored tables and little plastic chairs. Roxy arrived a step behind, looking like the muscle to Ashcroft’s authority, with her fitted black top, cropped hair, and dark training pants.

“Chloe. Lily,” Ashcroft announced. “Stand up.”

Corey rose, only noticing that he had obeyed almost immediately after he already stood, and silently cursed himself for it. Liam, by contrast, stayed seated for one extra second, his jaw tight.

“Now, Lily,” Roxy said, and he finally rose.

“Why?” Liam asked as he rose.

“Medical evaluation,” Roxanne answered.

“What kind of medical evaluation?”

“Enough!” Ashcroft interrupted, before adding, “The kind of medical evaluation for which your presence has been requested.”

As he and Roxanne escorted them out of the dining hall, Ashcroft considered Lily’s behavior. Ashcroft, like all staff, had been informed of the talk Dominic had with Lily, and he knew that any serious resistance was unlikely. However, it was interesting that Lily was still boundary testing nonetheless. He likely felt a need to push back every once in a while to soothe his ego, Ashcroft guessed.

Walking behind Ashcroft, Liam noticed how the older man’s shoes struck the floor with clean, solid clicks. Somehow, it was a very masculine sound to Liam’s ears. He couldn’t help but compare the sound, or rather lack thereof, his own steps made. Liam’s steps made almost no sound at all. Instead, the black flats on his feet whispered against the floor, soft and light and humiliatingly delicate. He hated them suddenly with a force that surprised even him. He hated that the whole room could hear the difference. Everybody could hear Ashcroft’s confident stride, but he was made to walk like a good, quiet sissy who knew better than to attract undue attention.

In response to all this, a suitably bloody image of Dominic at his mercy, and receiving none, flitted across his mind, helping him calm again.

Doctor Keene’s clinic room was not far from the dining hall, waiting behind a frosted glass door that made the room beyond look pale and, to Corey, strangely futuristic. That notion was reinforced by the door silently sliding into the wall as they neared, revealing Clara Bell and Veronica Keene waiting within.

Clara looked even smaller here than she did in her classroom. She wore a neat little dress with a ribbon at her throat, her light-brown bob perfectly framing her pretty, innocent-looking face. Her hands were folded in front of her, one finger incessantly tapping against the other hand. When she saw Corey, her smile brightened.

“Oh, there she is,” Clara chirped, and Corey felt his stomach make a weird tingling, lurching sensation. Not entirely unpleasant, a bit like what one felt on a rollercoaster before the drop. It was so odd being referred to as a “she.”

Ashcroft stopped at the doorway. “Chloe, you’ll stay here with Doctor Keene and Miss Bell. Lily, you will come with us,” he said, indicating himself and Roxy.

Liam turned. “No, I’m gonna stay with him.”

“Separate evaluations,” Keene declared calmly, and Liam, surrounded by four of these fucks and not at all sure he could count on Corey in a physical altercation, relented.

As the door slid out of the wall again, leaving Corey alone with the doctor and Clara, he thought, for a moment, that he was being spared something. But the realization set in soon enough. He wasn’t being spared anything. They just didn’t really consider him a threat the way they did Liam. Ashcroft and Roxy for Liam, because he had to be dealt with. The headmaster and a woman who looked like she could drag him down the hall if necessary.

But for him, they apparently thought Clara Bell, who was smaller than him, was enough.

“That’s just fucking great,” he thought. “Apparently I’m already beaten.”

The room was dominated by white, clean and orderly. Smooth walls, metal cabinets, counters lined with sealed containers, folded cloths, and disposable gloves. In the center stood a padded examination chair with outstretched leg supports on either side and a small rolling stool beside it, on which Doctor Keene already sat.

Corey recognized the shape of it immediately. He had seen it in medical dramas before and knew it was meant for pregnant women or gynecological exams. The realization that, with two women in the room, the chair was meant for nobody but him made his stomach tighten with humiliation.

“Nothing, fucking nothing, can be normal here,” he thought, distraught.

“Well?” Keene said expectantly. When he didn’t move for several more seconds, she said, “Undress already, and as a reward, you’ll be uncaged for a couple of minutes.”

He stared at her. At least being allowed to be cage-free for a few minutes would be a relief. The annoying pressure had been constant since his shower this morning. But the idea of being uncaged here, in front of Keene and Miss Bell, made his face burn. Apparently every relief, no matter how small, had to be paired with some form of degradation.

Corey slowly began undressing, setting his clothes on the counter until he stood there in only his cage and wig. Keene lifted her phone, and the little pink cage clicked.

“Remove it,” she said.

Corey crouched awkwardly and began pulling the cage apart into its component pieces, which, now that it was unlocked, was suddenly possible again. It was important to remember, if he and Liam ever had to make a run for it, that they would have to steal a staff phone to unlock their cages, with their embedded shock units and tracking devices.

“Oh, she’s very excitable,” Clara observed playfully, thoroughly enjoying herself.

“The expected response, really,” Keene said. Then she ordered, “On the chair.”

After a couple of seconds of hesitation, Corey decided that it made no difference because he saw no option where he didn’t end up on that chair. The chair was angled back, wide like it was made to hold him, with the leg supports jutting out on either side to literally spread his legs so he could be examined like... like a pregnant woman.

He climbed onto it stiffly, pointlessly trying to keep his knees together for as long as possible, as if it made a difference. His bare skin touched the cool padding as it gave under his weight, and he shivered.

“Feet in the supports,” Keene said absentmindedly, after noticing him trying to angle himself in any way other than the obvious one the chair was made for.

“Go on, Chloe,” Clara said, smiling brightly. “It’s only embarrassing if you make it embarrassing.”

He had to give it to Mercer, that pervert knew exactly what to do to humiliate a sissy. The position Corey found himself in now seemed perfectly designed to create vulnerability. He was on his back, looking up, his legs had been forced apart by the supports, literally leaving him open, and then there was his hard cock, almost suggesting he was into this. But he wasn’t. It just always went hard when it could these days.

“I see no significant regrowth of body hair,” Keene observed with satisfaction. “I take it, then, that you followed the prescribed cleansing regimen. Very good.”

“Like I have a choice,” Corey thought.

Clara remained standing near the counter with her hands folded, smiling like a moron. Her finger also kept tapping lightly against the back of her other hand, irritating Corey. Keene, meanwhile, began reading from her phone. “This is a progress evaluation, Chloe. You will answer clearly and honestly. If you don’t know the answer, say that. If you attempt to hide information, I will know.”

Corey swallowed. “Yes, Doctor Keene.”

“Good,” Clara said brightly. “Much better than mumbling.”

Keene’s eyes moved down the screen. Question after question was asked, and the answer was noted down in Keene’s phone. The topics ranged from sleep quality, to his appetite, to any skin irritations or discomfort caused by the cage, to questions regarding dizziness, nausea, or headaches.

“Very well,” Keene said at last, lowering her phone. “We can proceed with today’s preparatory hygiene protocol.”

Corey looked at her. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” Clara said brightly, before Keene could answer, “that Doctor Keene is going to make your little sissy pussy presentable before training.”

Corey stared at her.

For a moment, the words failed to attach themselves to anything real. Sissy pussy. It sounded too stupid, too grotesque, too deliberately humiliating to belong in a medical room. Keene had called it a hygiene protocol, which was bad enough, but Clara had translated it into the language this place actually ran on.

The thought made his skin go cold.

This was how they did it, apparently. They took something medical, something practical, something that could be explained with words like hygiene and irritation and preparation, and then Clara Bell stood there smiling and told him what it actually meant in the world Dominic Mercer had built.

For one wild second, he thought of Friday. His phone and calling the police. Jail, maybe. But then came the memory of the creditors, their voices, the absolute certainty with which they had promised that Liam and he would not be the only ones hurt if the money disappeared. Dominic was monstrous, but Dominic was also rich enough, connected enough, and vicious enough to keep other monsters away.

Corey needed protection from the man protecting him. The thought was so absurdly bleak that he almost laughed.

Keene, however, had no interest in letting him sit with that thought for long. “Up,” she said, gesturing toward the side door.

Corey pulled his feet out of the supports and sat up awkwardly, immediately trying to close his legs. That, naturally, only reminded him that he had been spread open in the first place. His face burned as he climbed down from the chair, still naked except for the wig, while Clara opened the side door for him with a cheerful little flourish. “This way, sissy. Don’t dawdle.”

The next room was smaller, warmer, and even more clinical. A narrow padded table stood along one wall, beside a counter already prepared with gloves, lubricant, folded towels, a covered basin, and several sealed medical packets. What Corey did not know was that all of this had been set up here deliberately, out of sight, so he would not have time to panic before Keene was ready for him. Now he panicked anyway, his eyes moving over the objects on the counter, trying to understand them in the second before his mind did.

“No,” he said softly.

Keene had already put on fresh gloves. “This is a low-volume cleansing enema. It is standard before initial internal training.”

Corey stared at her. “A what?”

“A cleansing enema,” Keene repeated. “Your first training plug will be fitted today. Proper hygiene reduces irritation, infection risk, and unnecessary mess.”

“And it helps make sure everything is tidy for your first little plug,” Clara added, as if she were explaining the importance of clean shoes before entering a classroom. “We can’t have a messy little sissy pussy on your very first day of proper training, can we?”

Corey looked at her with open disbelief. “I’m not doing that.”

Keene’s eyes lifted to his. “You are.”

The simplicity of it stopped him for a moment. Not because it convinced him, but because it made argument feel stupid. Keene was not trying to persuade him. She was informing him of the next step. “On the table,” she said. “Left side. Knees slightly drawn up.”

Corey did not move. Keene waited. Clara leaned in slightly, her voice sweet and bright, but with a sharper edge beneath the sweetness now. “Chloe, sweetheart, the faster you behave, the faster the embarrassing part is over. Unless you want Doctor Keene to wait while you stand there pretending you still have choices.”

He hated that this was probably true. With his stomach tight and his whole body hot with shame, Corey climbed onto the padded table and turned onto his side. The vinyl was cool against his skin. He drew his knees up as little as possible, but Keene corrected him with one efficient touch to his thigh. “More.”

Keene worked behind him, calm and precise. “You will feel pressure and possibly some cramping. Just relax, breathe slowly and tell me if you experience any sharp pain.”

Corey stared at the wall. Clara stepped around to where he could see her. Of course she did. She positioned herself just inside his line of sight, smiling down at him with her hands folded, making sure he could not pretend he was alone with a doctor. “Deep breaths, Chloe. Nice little beginner breaths. That’s right. No squirming unless you want to look even sillier.”

“Shut up,” he muttered.

Corey immediately regretted it, but Clara only giggled. “Oh, she still has some spice. That’s all right. We’ll rinse that out too, sooner or later.”

The procedure itself was not painful in the way Corey had feared. Keene was too controlled for that. The lubricant was cold, the contact humiliating, and the pressure strange enough to make his whole body tense, but she went slowly. That almost made it worse. There was no chaos to hide inside, no sudden violence he could call cruelty. Just careful hands, medical patience, and Clara Bell watching him learn another new way to be ashamed.

“Relax your abdomen,” Keene said.

“I am.”

“You are not.”

Corey closed his eyes and tried to breathe. Warmth and pressure spread inside him, unfamiliar and deeply wrong. His body wanted to resist it, clench against it, reject the whole situation, but Keene’s voice remained steady behind him. “Breathe in. Hold. Out slowly.”

Clara practically glowed. “Very good, Chloe. See? She can be taught.”

After what felt much longer than it probably was, Keene withdrew and set something aside. “You will retain for three minutes.”

Corey’s eyes opened. “Three minutes?”

“That is not long.”

“It feels long.”

“Then you understand the assignment.”

Clara gave a delighted little hum, as if that answer pleased her immensely. “And after that, we’ll see if Doctor Keene got your little sissy pussy all ready for its first plug. Isn’t that exciting?” Corey felt his face burn so intensely that for a moment it almost drowned out everything else. First plug. She said it like first lesson, first uniform, first curtsy. Another milestone in a curriculum he had never agreed to except, horrifyingly, on paper.

Keene removed one glove with a soft snap and set a timer on her phone. “Do not get up until instructed.”

So Corey lay there on his side, naked, uncaged, exposed, and ridiculous, trying not to think about what had just been done to him. Trying not to think about the fact that this was preparation. Not even the real thing. Just preparation for whatever came next. He could feel the pressure inside him with every breath, could feel his own body trying to interpret the sensation as urgency, shame, invasion, discomfort, all of it at once. The three minutes stretched strangely. They were not long enough for anything to happen and far too long to simply endure without thinking.

Clara watched him the whole time.

That was the part that made it worse. Keene checked her phone, glanced at her tools, made a note, and behaved like a professional with a patient. Clara watched like a teacher waiting for a student to understand the lesson. Corey had the sudden, horrible feeling that this was exactly why she was here. Not because Keene needed help, but because someone had decided that medical humiliation became training only when it was witnessed, named, and smiled at.

The timer chimed.

“You may use the bathroom,” Keene said, pointing toward a second door at the back of the room. “Do not lock it.”

Corey sat up too quickly, then stopped when the pressure inside him shifted. His face flamed.

Clara smiled. “Careful little steps, Chloe. We wouldn’t want an accident before you even learn to mince.”

He did not look at her as he crossed the room.

The attached bathroom was small, white, and spotless. Too spotless, somehow. Even the toilet looked institutional, clean and cold and waiting, as if the room had been designed to remove the last possible illusion that this was private. Corey closed the door behind him, but the lock had either been removed or disabled. Of course it had. He stared at the useless little latch for a moment, then gave a short, humorless breath and sat down.

What followed was not something he wanted to think about, and so, as soon as it began, he tried not to. He stared at the floor tiles instead, counting them badly, losing his place, starting again. His hands rested on his knees. His wig brushed the sides of his face. Somewhere beyond the door, Clara Bell was probably still smiling.

It was not even the physical discomfort that humiliated him most. It was the supervision. The timing. The fact that his body had been turned into a scheduled task, something prepared, monitored, and completed before the next part of training could begin. He had gone from eating yogurt in a dining hall to sitting here like this, naked except for a wig, because a doctor had decided his body needed to be made ready.

Ready for what, exactly, he already knew. When he finally returned several minutes later, shaky and unable to meet anyone’s eyes, Keene was already waiting with fresh gloves. Clara looked him over, her smile soft and satisfied. “There,” she said. “All clean for training. Wasn’t that easier once you stopped fussing?”

Keene gave him another quick assessment, asking whether he felt dizzy, nauseated, or in pain. He answered no to all three because it was mostly true, and because he wanted this finished. She seemed satisfied enough, then picked up her phone again. The uncaged relief ended with another soft click from the device parts on the tray, a reminder that she could give and take even that much freedom when she pleased.

“Dress,” Keene said. “Leave the cage off for the moment. It will be refitted after the plug.”

Corey stared at her and Clara’s smile sharpened. “Oh, don’t look so surprised, Chloe. Doctor Keene told you. This was only preparation.”

That thought stayed with him as he pulled his panties back up, then his pantyhose, blouse, and skirt, moving stiffly and feeling strange inside his own skin. He dressed without looking at either of them. By the time his flats were back on, his hands were shaking just enough that he had to clasp them in front of him to hide it.

Keene checked the time. “Miss Bell will escort you to your next room. Your first plug fitting and movement instruction will be handled in one.”

Clara gave a delighted little clap. “Our Chloe is going to learn how to mince properly.”

He thought of Liam then, suddenly and sharply. Wherever they had taken him, he was probably fighting harder. Or being made to regret it. For one bitter second, Corey wished Liam were here, then hated himself for the thought because if Liam were here, things would likely be worse. Maybe that was why they had separated them. Not only because Liam was more dangerous, but because together they still had some version of themselves left.

“Come along now, Chloe,” Clara said, opening the door with the same cheerful flourish as before. “No sulking. Clean little sissies walk nicely.”

Having no choice, Corey followed her out.