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12 Days of Christmas Day 7
Day 7

He awoke very groggy. He was lying on the floor in the spare room, his sheets tangled around him. His dreams had been tangled too. He had not been able to lie comfortably with the number 3 plug inside him, but if he lay on his front, his sensitive nipples and unsatiated erection disturbed him more. 

He cast his mind back to the previous evening. Anna, Miss Anna, had rode his face to three orgasms. She had then sat on the sofa watching GWorld, while he was ordered to lie down across her. She continued to play with his nipples and occasionally his swollen member, dipping into the cream jar, and ensuring that he was slathered in the cream. 

She seemed to have an unerring instinct for when he was about to explode, because she would then slow down or stop. Just as he thought his mind was about to disintegrate, she stood up and went to the kitchen, returning with a healthy salad. In contrast to when she was massaging him, the meal was in silence. 

She put him to bed on the floor of the spare room having helped him with his suppository, and after checking to see he was wearing his ear buds, she left with a 'good night, sissy. Good boy'.

He drifted off immediately, despite his erection. 

When he awoke he allowed himself to come to his senses, slowly. As he gained full consciousness he started to think about what was happening to him. 

It wasn’t what he wanted! He wasn’t a sissy! He wanted to come. So much. He started to play with himself, although his left hand strayed up to his nipples, and he started pushing back down onto the bed, putting greater pressure on the butt plug. 

Suddenly he stopped. No! This wasn’t right. This isn’t how men have sex. No no no!

He got up from the floor and walked to the shower room. With considerable effort he took out the plug and washed it in the sink. He didn’t put in his suppository. He didn’t put the butt plug back in. In the shower, he made a new resolution. 

Towel draped around him he walked to the kitchen. Taking a notepad, he wrote a list to himself. 

I am a Man!
No podcasts.
No vitamins.
No plugs.
No face panties.
No panties.
No GWorld.
No stupid PE diet.
No presents.

I’m not a sissy, I’m a man!!!

He blue tacked the list to the fridge. 

He was hungry. It felt like he hadn’t eaten for a week. He looked in the fridge, but it was all salads and other PE diet stuff. 

The sun was shining. It was a great day. He was going out.

Getting changed, he remembered that he had thrown out all his male underwear. He definitely wasn’t going to wear panties. He put on a pair of jeans and a rough plaid shirt. He ticked off the items on the list. No podcast, tick! No vitamins, tick! No plug, tick! No face panties, tick! No panties, tick! He smiled wryly. No underwear at all. Commando. Yes!! No GWorld, tick. He thought of the severe facesitting Woman and the Women's sports channel and briefly considered watching a bit of tv, but steeled himself to resist. No PE diet, tick! He was going out for breakfast - full fried! No presents, tick! He looked over at the walnut dresser, wondering briefly what was in box number 7. No no no. I’m not going to. 

Putting on his most rugged boots, he left the flat and walked to the workingmen's cafe. As he walked he felt odd. His jeans were too loose round the waist, even on the tightest belt notch. They were too tight in the seat - he could feel the coarse denim pressing tightly against his butt, and the seam rubbing uncomfortably between his legs and his crack. 

Worse still, his nipples felt as if were being rubbed raw by his rough shirt. He took smaller steps so the jeans rubbed less, and his moobs didn’t jiggle. 

As he walked into the cafe, he was aware of a number of faces looking up at him, rough working men's faces. He was suddenly aware of the smoothness of his face. He felt naked without his face panties. No. He was going through with this. He tripped to the counter. 

The massively breasted Woman behind the counter gave him a smile and then a look of concern. 'You all right, luvvie?' She asked.

'Oh I’m fine, just hungry. I’ll have the full breakfast with steak. And a mug of coffee, please'. 'Of course, darlin', it’s just you’re awful pale'.

As he sat at the window table, he was pleased to be able to sit without the damn plug making him feel sick. He did feel very empty, though, he thought wistfully. No! No going back!

When his plate arrived, he attacked the food vigorously, but was unable to make much headway. The steak tasted metallic, the bacon grease clogged his mouth, the sausage repelled him. Determined to persevere, he ate the baked beans and toast, finished the sausage and half the bacon. He just couldn’t manage the steak, even washing small slices down with his bitter coffee. 

He settled down with the cafe newspaper, which was a red top tabloid, and tried to catch up on the news and sport. He found he couldn’t really concentrate. The page 3 girl prompted in him the thought that her panties would be very comfortable on his face, and in the sports section he automatically turned to Women's sports. Current affairs just seemed to be yet more stupid men arguing and threatening each other. ‘Just like the playground' he thought. 'Too much testosterone. MDSS everywhere you look.'

His stomach started to gurgle. With a slight moan, he rushed for the toilet. Occupied! Oh god!  He stood, hopping from foot to foot, desperately trying to hold on as the coffee worked through his system. He had to go!!

Just as he thought he would lose control the trap opened, and a very hefty worker came out. As he rushed into the loo, he was aware that the worker was looking at him suspiciously. 

He had just made it to the seat on time. Shaken, he finished and went to wash his hands. Suddenly the hefty worker was behind him. ‘Nice butt you’ve got there, sweetie'. He jumped out of the lavatory as if he’d been branded. He threw two notes on the counter and left the cafe as fast as he could. 

Still feeling shaky from the meal and the assault, he carefully walked down to the park and riverside. As he walked along the bank, he turned things over in his mind. Where was she? Why hadn’t she called? What was happening to him?

He sat on a park bench and tried to quell his confusion and anxiety. Two teenage girls walked by, hand in hand. A swan swam on the river, and the girls stopped to watch it, kissing. 

He felt so alone. He felt uncomfortable in his scratchy ill-fitting clothes. He was starting to worry about how she would react to his rejection of her presents. His bowel was still rumbling. 

Suddenly it started to rain. Heavily. He hadn’t brought a coat or an umbrella, and he realised he urgently needed the loo. He wasn’t going to go back to the cafe, or the only pub on the way back home. Maybe if he walked carefully, he could make it. 

He didn’t. 

The next ten minutes were the most miserable of his life. At least the rain hid his embarrassment, and the park was deserted. Squatting in the bushes, wiping with a large leaf, and scurrying home in soggy  and foul smelling jeans. 

Back at the flat, he headed straight for the shower, kicking off his boots and fouled clothes. He turned the water up to full heat and luxuriated in the sensation. 

He had covered himself in hair removal cream before thinking that he had forgotten to put it on the list, although he didn’t really want to go back to being hairy. 

After drying off, remembering the rough texture of his shirt and jeans, he selected the silkiest robe he could find, and headed through to the sitting room. To his horror, the pretty girl from the health clinic was sitting on the sofa watching GWorld. 

' did you...what are you doing here?' he stuttered. 

Standing up and looking him firmly in the eyes, she held up the paper from the fridge door. 

‘What’s this? You’re a 'man?'. Really? We will see about that! On to the massage table. Double quick. Hoppity hop!'  

Before he could even think to refuse, he was naked and lying face down on the table. She had placed a rubber pillow across the middle of the table, under his groin, which pushed his bottom in the air. She quickly snapped cuffs around his wrists and ankles, locking him in place. Picking up her phone, she dialled a number, and had a brief conversation. He could only hear the pretty therapist, but it seemed that the other side was Her!

‘I’m afraid he’s been a very naughty boy...yes, no plug, no panties, and it looks like no vitamins'. 

Turning towards him with a disappointed look on her face, she spoke as if to a naughty child.

'Did you listen to your podcast this morning? Or open your present? No? She’s not at all pleased with you. She’s very disappointed. So am I. What did you eat for for breakfast? No you can’t talk to her'.

'Oh I agree, he needs a purge. Three bags. Wash, rinse and dosing. Yes of course. 6 with the cane. He must learn to obey. Speak later, bye!'  

The next hour passed in a blur. 

It started with a caning. Six quick slashes across his buttocks that instantly flared red. The pain! Through his tears he heard her voice softly murmuring into his ears. 'You mustn’t disobey. No one wants to hurt you, but if you don’t obey, it’s going to happen. Sh now. It’s time to purge you of that awful food'.

He was given three enemas that afternoon. The first was a massive load of soapy water, at body temperature. The enema nozzle was about the size of his number 1 plug, so he found it easy to accommodate, but as the liquid flushed into him he became increasingly uncomfortable.  

He could still feel the stripes across his buttocks from the caning, and did not feel strong enough to fight back when she freed him from his bonds and led him to the bathroom. 

He felt extreme shame as it gushed out of him, plainly aware that she was standing over him, wrinkling her dainty nose. 

The second enema was pure cold water. The nozzle was a number 2, so was more difficult to accommodate. She seemed to enjoy applying the lubricant, and inserting and retracting the nozzle before allowing the water to flow. Again he was full to bursting. Again the trip to the bathroom was humiliating. 

The third enema differed from the first two.  The nozzle was size three, and the fluid came from a bottle of smaller size than the enema bags.  After setting the flow meter to very slow, she put some headphones on him, and started to play a podcast. 
It was a valiant attempt from him but he was always going to reap punishment for being so bold, and such is the extent of his recent treatment that he himself couldn’t live up to the macho lifestyle of which he was only so recently accustomed.
So true! And I suspect the third enema contains more than enough to make up for the missed morning vitamins. The effect of three enemas with increasing nozzle sizes would be enough to knock the stuffing out of most 'men'.

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