Midnight - Segment XV

The Cleansing Table

There is really no need to secure Midnight to the low, well drained washing table. She thrills with her ablutions after a good long run in harness and would willingly endure.

Still, there are my rules. She is to be held immobile, at all times in thorough restraint, unless pulling the cart or other vehicle of conveyance. It makes her eager to be run.

“Over here, Douglas. You’re going to give Midnight a good cleansing,” patting the top of the slab of stone.

Beveled, drained, plumbing fixtures above, the elaborate cleansing table, a slab of marble with some special features, beckons a sweaty well worn pony girl.

At one end, left and right, are adjustable stanchions designed to hold in place the ends of Midnight’s yoke. At the opposing end are short chains, well secured to the marble, to be clipped to Midnight’s ankle restraints.

Thus as I direct, Midnight knows to mount, kneel, lower her head to align her yoke into the stanchions, and part her feet. As always, I want her spread open, revealing all, imbuing a sense of vulnerability as her buttocks part and the long labia dangle between forcibly spread thighs. Within moments, the yoke is secured as are her ankles, making Midnight one with the table. Her leash is tied off above, holding steady her face and head. Then the bit is slipped out, Midnight knowing to remain silent as I furtively press a finger to my lips. 

Douglas becomes a little squeamish when I announce that thorough daily cleansings begin with a long deep and soapy enema.

As stated, Mother spared no time and money in caring for her property, for those she owned. The formidable table and stanchion configuration is quite an investment. Midnight’s yoke can be lowered to mandate the proper posture. I thus show Douglas how to work the adjustable stanchions and within moments Midnight kneels in a most obscene and revealing pose, head and shoulders low, spread and open buttocks high. The tips of the long nipples abrade the cool marble and I smile in seeing the long pink nubs crinkle and harden.

We fill the enema bag... soap, warm water. I have an ulterior motive for the deep colonic we are going to administer. Midnight’s colon remains filled with my seed, the evidence of sodomy needs to be purged. 

I note that Midnight begins to quiver. All the years of intense degradation and she remains so wonderfully shy about being handled by men she does not know. I thus mandate that Douglas do all the touching, including well greased fingers working that tight but well used sphincter.

“No gloves, Douglas, it’s too impersonal and it’s best you and Midnight get to know one another... intimately,” my words coming as index and middle finger plunge deeply where my penis so joyously reveled.

And so the morning jaunt comes to an entertaining end, watching a helpless Midnight quiver as Douglas clumsily stuffs her rectum with an oversized enema nozzle, the valve is opened and the slow torment begins.

“Just ignore any moans, Douglas. Deep within she enjoys...”