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Views: 745 Created: 2021.04.18 Updated: 2021.04.18

Mrs Ganty

Omne animal triste post coitum

We hugged and cuddled for a while. This was delightful. Friends who had boasted about having had sex had not mentioned this. Finally, Mrs Ganty said “Daniel, we have left some business unattended. Let’s go to the bathroom.”

So we went; or, rather, I was led, for Mrs Ganty left her hand on my buttocks as we walked, as the carried the jar of Vaseline in the other and the towel under her arm. She set the jar on the sink, put the towel in the “dirty linen” bag, and, to my surprise, sat on the toilet to pee. “Flushing the piping after sex is a good idea to avoid cystitis.” she explained. I was surprised that she would perform such a function in front of me; yet, the little noise of pee was strangely erotic. Then, Mrs Ganty sat on the bidet and washed her genitals. “I don’t like the feeling of semen in my panties… Come on, have a pee too!”.

I sat on the toilet. When she had set me up in her house, Mrs Ganty had asked me not to pee standing. I had blushed, but I had taken note. I peed a bit. Mrs Ganty stood, and motioned me to come. “I suppose you don’t want your genitals to smell of rank semen and vaginal secretions, so I suggest you wash up as well.” Again, I obeyed. As I washed, I saw Mrs Ganty taking the enema jar out.

“Do I need that again?” I sighed.

“Well of course I won’t force you, but it would do you good. You still have gas… I did not want to mention it, but it’s noticeable. You will sleep better.”

Mrs Ganty poured a spoonful of sodium bicarbonate into the bag (bicarbonate and the spoon were stored with the bag; obviously this was a commonly used procedure), adjusted the temperature at the washtub faucet, then filled the bag. She then made quite a show of anointing the nozzle with Vaseline, to remind me where it would go. She hung the jar on a hook on the cabinet under the sink next to the tub (Again! Obviously, enemas were not uncommon in that household!).

“Kneel on the rug bottom up head down, facing away from me.”

I obeyed. Her vaselined finger anointed my anus. To my surprise, she did not insert the nozzle immediately, but instead rubbed her thighs on my raised backside, and even flexed her knees to rub her crotch on my behind. She was miming her sodomizing me! It did not last long. She then kneeled behind me, and the nozzle came in, and then the water. She massaged my tummy as the water flowed. I got filled, but I was then used to the sensations.

When the jar was empty, Mrs Ganty told me to wait a bit, as she cleaned the equipment and let it dry.

“You may now go expel. Don’t forget to wash your hands and behind afterwards.”

Since the beginning of her ministrations, Mrs Ganty had treated me in between a small child and a man. It was a difficult position for me. Yet I could not deny that she had made me discover acts and sensations that I had known about only by friends’ bragging; and some that I had not heard about. I had definitely liked it. And, I was ashamed to admit it to myself, I had liked the examinations and enemas, that feeling of being cared for.

When I came back to my room, Mrs Ganty had already dressed and left. I did not know what to do, so I stayed in my room resting and reading, until she asked me to come help her with dinner. We made no allusion to what had happened, and this time she spared me from petting my behind.

After dinner, she stopped me and gave me the following advice:

“I know that young men masturbate a lot, but I think it would be a good idea to refrain from it tonight.”

Then she winced.

That evening, I was tempted to rub myself, as I often did in the evenings; but I thought about her recommendation, and refrained from it.