The bathroom was gigantic; at least by childhood standards.
The walls were covered with a dark blue wallpaper that featured a pattern, interesting at first, but boring upon close inspection, of bubbles, fish and marine-like plants.
The tub and lav were pink marble, as was the tiled floor. There was a separate shower stall adjacent to the commode (its pink color mostly hidden by the blue cotton terry cloth covers.)
It was a wondrous commode, with its oval shaped bowl and low profile tank. So different and elegant from the standard fixture he was used to--the tiny apartment bathroom toilet with its violent flush valve and stark white, cold porcelain.
The shower stall fascinated him, so much so that he was permitted to shower with his much older cousin just to satisfy his persistent curiosity.
The enema bag hung from a hook on the inside of the linen closet door. It was pink also, with a relief image of a flamingo on one side. The hose was red and hung down from the bottom of the bag and back over the hook and into the top of the bag. The clamp was positioned at the bottom of the loop. There weren't any nozzles to be seen.
The second evening of his stay his aunt called him up to the bathroom. He figured it was time for his bath. He was half right. It was bath time, but first he would have to suffer through an enema.
His aunt was hanging up the enema bag when he walked into the bathroom. From his vantage point, he couldn't tell how much water the wet and soapy enema bag held. His aunt had used a coat hanger to hang the full seeming bag from the top of the shower stall. The end of the hose was stuck inside the open top of the enema.
"Do I have to have one?" he asked.
"Have you had a BM today?" his aunt asked.
"No," he meekly admitted.
"Then you have to have one, don't you." she stated.
He said nothing, just began to undress. He took his time, but didn't dawdle. He dreaded the coming enema but he did not want to make his aunt mad at him. She was his favorite aunt and he wanted her to like him.
Goose bumps covered his eleven year old body as he waited for her to get ready for him. He alternated staring at the commode and at the waiting enema. He could not meet his aunt's eyes.
His aunt took a clean towel from the closet and went to the commode. He meekly followed her. Before she sat, she removed the end of the hose from the enema bag, aimed the rectal nozzle at the sink and opened the clamp. After a few gurgles, a steady stream of milky liquid shot out of the tip. She snapped the clamp shut and picked up the Vaseline jar. A quick twist of her wrist and the black nozzle came away thickly coated.
She sat on the commode and spread the towel over her lap, covering her dress. She still wore her jewelry, and it's metallic clanking and rattling seemed to echo loudly in the suddenly much smaller room.
"Over my lap with you," she commanded.
He obeyed as he knew he must. Her lap was large but he was long. His legs and head hung past the support her thighs offered. Blood rushed to his head so he sought support for his upper torso. All that was available was the sink. He grabbed on to it and hung on.
He knew he shouldn't tense up and he attempted to loosen his bowels when he felt his aunt's hand pry apart his butt cheeks.
"Ow!" he cried when the nozzle pushed into his clenched anus. "Just a minute!" he pleaded.
His aunt, correctly figuring it was more a delaying ploy than anything else, didn't hesitate. She pushed the rectal nozzle in until its flared end rested tight against her nephew's anus. The hand holding his cheeks apart pressed them together while the other let go of the nozzle to open the clamp.
The rush of hot water made the boy twitch and moan. "Oh, it hurts!"
She ignored his protests, as she had ignored the protests of her two boys when they were his age. She had years of experience with young boys and knew all their tricks and complaints. Her nephew would receive his enema of roughly one quart and that would be that.
He wasn't that bad, she noticed. He wasn't kicking the way her first did. She could control his squirming and twisting.
And squirming he was. The enema rushed in, unstoppable and without remorse. His belly, tense from his fighting the enema, convulsed with cramps and peristaltic action.
The steady pressure of his aunt's hand holding his ass-cheeks together caused the wide, round end of the rectal nozzle to dig into the sides of his butt. He cried out in pain and begged her to stop the enema.
"Pant like a puppy," she told him.
The flow continued, unabated. He tried to relax, but the pain would not allow him the rest he needed to compose himself. He stared at the fluted pedestal that supported the lavatory and desperately tried to overcome the agony being forced into his guts.
His mantra--"It wouldn't hurt if I'd relax." Played over and over in his mind.
Finally, the sound he'd been praying for, that of his aunt snapping closed the shut-off clamp. His guts still writhed in agony but there wouldn't be any more water.
"Aren't you going to take it out?" he asked a moment later.
"You have to hold it for it to work," she answered.
He had to retain the enema. "I can't. I really can't," he pleaded.
His aunt considered and relented. "Very well, but you have to promise me something."
"What?" He'd promise anything in order to be able to relieve himself.
"You don't fight your second enema."
Another enema? "I promise, but what do you mean?" Hoping she meant the next time he needed an enema from her.
"I'm going to give you another enema, a rinse enema, after this one." She let go of his butt and pulled the nozzle out of his clenched anus.
He staggered to his feet and as soon as his aunt was clear of the commode he flipped up the lid and dropped onto the seat. Immediately a great gush of soapy water and waste burst forth from his hole and he gasped in pain and relief.
Through tear-blurred eyes he watched his aunt clean and prepare another enema. Instead of putting in soap she added a quantity of salt, which she got from a small bottle in the linen closet, to the water. This time she hung the enema bag from the towel rack on the shower stall door. She spread the towel over the bath math and knelt down.
"Let's go," she told him. "On your hands and knees."
Puzzled, he obeyed. He had never gotten an enema in that position.
His aunt spread his legs and pushed his shoulders down until his tiny ass was wide open and sticking high up. This time his aunt stuck her finger into the Vaseline rather than the nozzle.
He flinched at the unexpected coldness of her touch when her finger contacted his sore anus. He shivered and tried to clench his butt as his aunt rubbed the lubricant around his tight opening.
Once again the rectal nozzle was forced into his unwilling behind. He gasped in pain and tired to relax. The surge of water hit his rectum and he whimpered.
"This won't be so bad," his aunt told him. Her hand again held the nozzle in place, but this time the tips of her fingers rested on the under side of his tiny scrotum. This was distracting, but not enough to take his mind off the growing fullness and urge to go that was building much too quickly in his guts.
"It's cramping!" he cried. "Take it out please." In response, his aunt used her other hand to gently rub circles around his distending belly.
"Just a little more to go," she coaxed. "You are being so good for me."
He brightened at the compliment. "I'm trying," he panted. "But it cramps a awful lot."
His aunt's massaging did make it feel better, he had to admit. A partial smile crossed his lips, especially when her hand brushed over his tiny pecker. He had a boner, a strong one. He panted faster and tried to be good for his aunt.
"There," his aunt announced. "All finished."
She gently pulled the nozzle out of her nephew's butt.
He immediately climbed to his feet and doubled over with cramps. His aunt didn't stop him when he headed for the toilet.
Gushes of mostly water spewed forth into the bowl. Grinning, he repeated, "It feels so good," as the second enema departed his body.
"The next time," his aunt said, "It will feel ever better."
I was pregnant with my first child when I learned about enemas and consequently, of their erotic potential.
During my first trimester I started having chronic constipation. I was barely in my twenties and didn't know much about being pregnant. I can tell you I was not looking forward to another six months of misery. I guess that is why when my neighbor, an older woman (gosh, she must have been in her late forties!) suggested an enema, I agreed.
Well, I didn't exactly agree, but I was willing to listen to what she had to say. She explained it all to me and ended up offering to give me my first enema.
The fact that I hadn't had a decent bowel movement in three days helped me come to a decision. It couldn't be any worse that what I was suffering through.
She took me into her apartment and told me she'd have me feeling better in no time. Without wasting time, she led me to her small bedroom for my first enema.
She told me to take off my pants and underwear. While I undressed she placed a pillow in the middle of her bed and covered it with several thick towels. She wanted me to lie on my back with my hips on the pillow.
While my breasts had increased in a cup size, my tummy still retained its original shape. I didn't look PG, which suited me fine. I had no desire to rush into the beached whale mode of "gloriously pregnant."
Mrs. Smith fussed in the bathroom for a few minutes and came out carrying a red rubber enema bag, a coil of tubing, a tube of K-Y and some exam gloves.
I cringed at the sight of those gloves. I wasn't about to let her poke around feeling my cervix the way my gynecologist did. The idea that women docs where more sensitive to female patients couldn't be proven by my experience.
Mrs. Smith laughed at my obvious nervousness. "You relax honey, I'll do all the work."
She hung the full-looking bag (later I found out it held only three pints) from a brass hat rack adjacent to the bed. Instead of ending in a nozzle, the tubing seemed to be connected to a another section of hose that came to a tapered end.
Mrs. Smith wiggled her hands into the latex gloves and sat next to me. "Now," she explained. "I will do everything, all you must do is relax and not worry."
I raised my head to see what she was going to do.
"Now lie back," she admonished. "I explain everything as I go."
I gave up and hoped she knew what the hell she was doing.
"I'm going to apply some lubricant first," she began. "In your condition, you should know what that feels like."
"Uh," I stammered nervously. "You're not going to stick your hand up my butt, are you?" My GYN stuck her fist in my vagina like she was stuffing a turkey.
She laughed. "Of course not! Now part your thighs, that's it. I'm simply going to rub around your anus to both lubricate it and loosen it."
I did as she asked and felt her gloved hand probe my nether region. The taut elastic glove felt nice. Her finger tips where made smooth by the exam glove, which helped quite a bit. In spite of my apprehension, I began to relax.
Mrs. Smith could tell the difference. Wow. She actually waited until I was ready before going on the next step, namely inserting the tube.
"You noticed the tube, eh? This soft rubber tube, a Foley, is much better than those hard plastic enema tips."
I felt the tip of the tube rub against my anus before it penetrated. I couldn't help it, I tensed up before it traveled far.
"Just relax," she offered. Mrs. Smith held the tube with the first three fingers of her left hand. The hand, close to my anus, didn't move, nor did it feel intrusive.
"I'm going to start the flow now, breathe deep and slow."
I gulped back my panic and tried to do what she wanted. The clamp opened, I felt warmth at first, then a cramp, like I had to go.
"I have to go!"
Mrs. Smith adjusted the shut-off clamp but didn't close it off. "That's natural, but you don't really have to go. Trust me."
"Oh, it sure feels like I have to go!" I was certain my colon was flooded with gallons of water that would burst forth at any uncontrolled moment. "What are you doing?!"
Mrs. Smith laughed. "I'm slowly working more of the tube into your rectum. It makes it easier to take."
She started to massage my tummy with her right hand. I tried to calm and control myself. It felt like I was going to shit any minute and I didn't like it at all.
"There, there," she soothed. "Just relax, you are doing fine." She rubbed my tummy and I had to admit it felt okay.
"Do I have to take it all?"
"We'll see," she answered. "There's no physical reason why you shouldn't be able to, but we won't push it."
Another cramp hit me and I moaned in pain. I was beginning to panic. I did not like the uncontrollable sensations this enema was producing and I told her so.
Mrs. Smith dismissed my objections. "Nothing to worry about, you will get used to them in time, you'll see. Besides," she added, "Suffering from hemorrhoids is worse. You'll develop them in a few more months, you know. Perfectly natural, but," she continued. "You can aggravate them with constipation and then they won't go away."
Well, I didn't want that, but I couldn't imagine that taking an enema would be much better. I felt awful, bloated and crampy and I had to shit NOW.
"There," she announced. "All done."
"Great," I said. "I gotta go!"
"In a moment, dear." Mrs. Smith pulled a couple of Kleenex out of the box by the bed and pressed them against my anus after she removed the tube.
She helped me to the toilet and left me to shit half my weight out. At first it felt terrible, the cramps were so painful I whimpered. Then, after I passed most of the blockage, I began to feel better.
I thanked Mrs. Smith and told her the enema really helped.
She reminded me to call on her the next time I was constipated, but not to wait several days. "The first time you miss having a BM, you come see me young lady," she scolded.
At first I thought I wouldn't go back and subject myself to another unpleasant enema. But the more I thought about what she said, the more I agreed with her.
I did seek her out the next time I became constipated and it wasn't as bad as I remembered. After that, whenever I ran into Mrs. Smith we'd discuss my bowel habits and if I was having difficulties I'd take her up on her offer to help me.
Around my seventh month Mrs. Smith suggested I take my enemas at home. "If you husband is willing, having your pre-delivery enema at home will be easier on you. The nurses in the maternity ward are so busy, they tend to rush those things."
I told Frank what Mrs. Smith had said. He said he was game, joking that anything that got his hands close to my crotch these days was just fine with him.
Turned out that Frank had plenty of opportunities to get his hands close to my crotch. He gave me an enema about once a week during the last month of my pregnancy.
By then I couldn't see down there, so Frank jokingly added a running commentary on what he was seeing while he administered my enema. From there he progressed to stroking my vulva and clit.
Three children later, enemas are a recurring part of our sex life.
It's Saturday morning. I remind Noreen, my wife, it's her turn Sunday. "I know," she says. "I just forgot."
Sure she did. "Right, well do it now before you forget again." She sighs, but prepares the double dose of Metamucil. She makes an ugly face as she drinks it down.
"I don't know how you can stand this stuff," she tells me as gulps water and washes out her mouth.
I don't know how I stand it either, but I do.
Over the years, Sunday mornings developed into our enema-play time. I found that a good dose of fiber twenty-four hours before an enema makes for a nicely full colon, while still allowing ample room for the water.
We switch roles - taking turns every other week - on who is on the receiving end. Enemas, after all, are a very personal thing, with their own timetable. By taking turns, the bottom gets all the attention and pleasure. The active partner does most of the work, ensuring the recipient achieves maximum delight, and postpones or foregoes personal release. Pleasure deferred is pleasure doubled.
We can do anything during these sessions as long as assplay dominates. Of course there must be an enema - at least one (but no more than three) and the recipient must get off at least once.
This Sunday it is Noreen's turn to be on the receiving end. My wife of thirty years is a big, beautiful woman. The proverbial "four-hooker" of yore, her 38-DD breasts are now 44's. Her shapely ass has broadened. Her thighs and abdomen expanded, too. I love every ounce of her massive, 48 year-old body!
Nothing excites me the way attending to her voluptuous ass does. I can literally spend hours consorting with to those enormous pillows of passion.
Funny how attractions can shift. Early in our marriage, it was her boobs I was fixated on. Oh, I fondled her big ass plenty then, too, but it was her tits I worshiped. I must have sucked, licked, massaged, fucked and cum on them thousands of times. Heh, now I do those things (and more) to her globular, gorgeous nates.
It's Sunday morning now. I usually wake before Noreen, and today is no exception. I get out of bed and go to the bathroom. She wakes partially, but makes no attempt to become fully alert. She likes her sleep, my Noreen does.
After carefully closing the door, I run the hot water in the lav. I perform a few basic ablutions and take my medications; at 54 my body-from the top of my bald head to the ends of my toes-requires a few modern miracles to function.
Fully awake, I select the enema equipment I intend to use on Noreen. While I cannot recall a time when enemas where not a part of my life, Noreen came to them almost as an adult - from some stupid diet plan. She abandoned the diet, but stayed with the enemas.
Her capacity exceeds mine. It always did, much to my chagrin. I thought I was hot stuff to be able to suffer through a full two quart enema when constipated. Noreen took them with ease. Now, thirty years later, her max capacity is almost four quarts.
I pick up the large ice bag to use for her enema. It holds over a gallon. I don't expect her to take all of it, but I want her to have a big enema this morning. This bag is bulky when full, a large, sloshy blue pumpkin. We solved the problem of holding it by making use of a small wire hanging basket. The tube is placed through the bottom of the wire basket (we use a Four-In-One adapter cap) which then supports the otherwise awkward balloon-like bag.
For the business end I choose our pride and joy, the double inflatable nozzle. This is my favorite "nozzle." I love having that thing up my ass. It makes my ass feel packed, plus the inflated inner cuff presses directly on my prostate, causing all manner of wonderful sensations.
Noreen likes it as well, but only for the "no leaks" feature. When she sees it she knows she's in for a major enema - a prospect my commodious wife relishes. For a turn-on, she prefers to have the large douche nozzle up her ass.
After the enema is prepared and ready to go, I put on a pair of latex exam gloves - I said I liked to play with her ass - and take everything to the bedroom.
Noreen comes a bit more awake as I put the full ice bag in its support. The inflatable nozzle and the tubing hang from the top of the basket. I'm not quite ready for it yet.
"On your side, baby," I instruct her. She shifts her weight and I watch the rolls of belly fat assume new positions. Soon I will be massaging those jumbo curls as they fill with water.
I push her top thigh up so I can have better access to her charming pillow of flesh. Her inner thighs still bear the evidence of last night's oral suckfest.
Usually we take turns going down on each other, but last night I couldn't get enough of her sweet cunt and we ended up in an extended sixty-nine session. She came several times as I drowned myself in her nectar until I finally shot my load down her throat.
I squeeze a large gob of K-Y onto my gloved fingers and begin to probe her nether region. My hand about disappears under the great mass of ass-flesh. I take my time, savoring the tight warmth that is my wife's ass-cleft. First I rub her crack, getting it all greasy, before I touch her anus. I add more K-Y and rub circles around her tight ring of flesh. This action elicits a few heart- felt moans from Noreen's lips. When my finger tip presses into her ass, I receive a gasp and shudder as a reward. I push the finger deeper into her anal recess.
We are both very sensitive back there and we've used all manner of sex toys in each other's ass. (A slim vibrator up my bum is so stimulating that the only way she can keep it in there is if she holds me down by lying on top of me.)
We don't have anal sex that often, considering. I love fucking her ass, but I prefer to come in her cunt. When we do ass-fuck, it's a kick. Noreen is on her back, (her legs either beating the shit out of my shoulders or dragging my arms down) her hips on a folded pillow while I kneel in front of her stroking in and out of her tight, spasming ass. I can watch her fat bounce and jiggle as I pound my cock in her ass. Her chest flushes crimson as her orgasm builds. I stare at her huge tits as she pinches her hard, thick nipples. I love watching those huge, saucer- sized areoles darken as she becomes excited.
Yes. I digress. Back to Noreen's delicious ass.
I take the inflatable nozzle and put it in my well-lubed hand. Heh, this is a two handed operation. Pushing a rope is difficult. (I know at my age! Another quick digression - another advantage to anal play is that anal stimulation can induce strong male orgasms without the necessity of first having a decent - that is any - erection.) I have to carefully guide the tip of the inflatable nozzle into her anus. I do this by first inserting my fingertip into her butt, lining up the inflatable nozzle along my finger and then gingerly swapping one for the other.
Once I have the tip inserted it's fairly easy to push the balloon in. When it is in, I strip off the glove from my left hand. I use this dry hand to open the clamp.
With the enema flowing, I ease in the inflatable nozzle until it is well up my lover's ass. My slippery right hand holds the second balloon against her anus as I inflate the first balloon with my left hand.
I pump it up slowly but fully. Then I inflate the second balloon, at which time I reluctantly remove my right my from between her heavy cheeks.
Noreen sighs and takes a deep breath as she adjusts to the flowing water. I pinch the shutoff clamp to restrict the flow.
To the uninitiated, watching someone take an enema is akin to watching paint dry. Not so to the anally erotic! My cock is very hard at this point. As if we were one, or linked telepathically, I know exactly what she is feeling and it excites me tremendously.
I put one clean gloves and go about pleasuring my wife. I don't rush it, I allow the conflicting stimuli to balance themselves.
Noreen, though she hasn't come out and said it, likes to be fisted. I observed this during the many times I've manually masturbated her to orgasm. She has the most intense and prolonged orgasms when, after a suitable length of time, I've had all my fingers well up her cunt.
I dip my fingers into a jar of cream we keep for masturbation lubrication and begin to stoke and tease her labia.
She bitches to me that she's uncomfortable, so I place a big pillow next to her hips and have her roll onto it. Now her ass is elevated enough so the inflatable nozzle isn't poking her and I can have access to her cunt and her expansive belly.
My stomach bulges when I've taken a large enema, but Noreen's never appears different when she is bursting with liquid. I can feel the difference when I rub her folds of flesh, but I can't see it, which it disappointing. (Remind me to tell you about the fun we had during her three pregnancies.)
Noreen's moaning is growing in stridency. A mixture of sexual tension and abdominal discomfort. I have one hand busy teasing her cunt and another sweeping wide circles over her colon. Her hands are in flight. One moment they are playing with her tits, another they are twitching by her sides.
The enema begins to win the battle, her hands now are pulling her belly fat up towards her tits in an effort to ease the growing pressure in her guts. She has taken a lot of water.
I begin to masturbate her in earnest now - must maintain that yin and yang balance after all. Two of my fingers begin to stroke the spongy area just inside and "up" in her cunt. She loves that. I fuck her cunt with my fingers, pulling all the way out before plunging deeply in to stroke that "G" spot of hers.
Noreen is now gasping and mewing. She is close to climaxing. I urge her on by adding the rest of my fingers. My finger cone twists and pushes into her engorged pussy. She begins to heave (what a sight!) and writhe. Her mewing is increasing in pitch and her broad chest is deep red. I fully open the clamp.
The sudden increase in water flow sends her over the edge. She screams out an "Oh" - unusual for her - as her orgasm releases. I twist faster and deeper as she comes, doing my best to prolong her climax. (I also shut off the enema, but she doesn't notice it.)
When she's caught her breath, I help her up. The inflatable nozzle is still firmly lodged in her ass, all that is visible are the two black inflator bulbs. I hand her the tubing and the clamp and then lift out the seriously deflated ice bag from the basket. I upend it and remove the tubing so I can pass it through the bottom of the basket to Noreen.
I take her to the bathroom and help her into the shower. I turn on the water (aiming the spray away from us until it warms up) and Noreen gives me a big hug and a long, passionate kiss. I reach down and release the inflators. Noreen sighs and lets loose. We embrace and kiss as the water showers down from both above and below.
The vast majority of us don't have willing enema partners. When chance or luck provides the opportunity to share, however briefly, erotic enemas with a member of the appropriate sex we jump at it.
If the question of fidelity arises, it is summarily dealt with without much soul searching. After all, we rationalize, we aren't truly cheating, we are merely sharing something that happens to be intimate and sexual. If it wasn't for the enema component, we wouldn't be doing it. No matter the excuse, the excitement over the prospect of enema intimacy quickly consumes us and nothing much will sway us from our destiny. So be it.
The time arrives, you are as nervous as a teenager on a first date. Much fortification takes place; drinks are polished off, cigarettes chain smoked and much babbling occurs. You hit it off with her. Your heart soars and flutters simultaneously as the reality of it sinks in. You are finally going to give and receive an erotic enema. This won't be like the game attempts of the past by your spouse; those sincere but lacking "Oh all right, if you really want me to" that invariably end up as, while not quite all out disasters, nevertheless disappointing and a bit silly.
Prior to meeting, the two of you have discussed at enormous length and in minute detail, every aspect, nuance and particular about your enema predilections. Now you get to DO IT.
Finally the two of you are alone. You volunteer to go first. There wasn't much choice there, really. She is nervous about everything, and face it, men will do just about anything if it means getting off.
You strip, unselfconscious of your middle-aged body. That helps to put her at ease. Neither of you have been bare-assed naked in front of anyone other than your spouse for quite a long time. You are smart enough not to joke about the condition of your body. Instead, you hand her your enema kit and tell her you can't wait for her to give you an enema.
She takes the offered items and makes a decision. She'll give you the enema, see how it goes and then see how comfortable she is with it.
It a bit she returns to the bed and starts giving you orders. you eagerly comply. You are positioned, examined, and probed. Her gloved fingers send thrills up your spine and you sport a blue steel hardon, the likes of which you haven't had in decades.
It is indeed better with a knowing partner. The enema is exquisite. Nothing is rushed and her intuition is flawless. Your inarticulate grunts, sighs and moans turn her on. If you had asked her when you first met if she would jerk you off, at best she would have turned around and left. Now, unbidden, her hand grasps your peter after she closes the clamp.
You moan and writhe at the unfamiliar, yet delightful, touch. She chuckles, "You like that, eh?"
"Oh yes," you manage to say.
Her gloved hand continues to hold the nozzle in place while her other hand fondles and pumps your quivering hardon. You don't last long. How could you? You climax in giant, whole-body spasms. You tell her over and over how good it feels.
She laughs and nods. Her nipples are quite erect and evident, even though she is still completely dressed. She surprises you by following you into the bathroom. She stays with you while you expel to caress your shoulders and upper back. No one has ever done that for you before and you are pleasantly astonished at good it feels.
She allows you to give her an enema in return. She starts out on her side, then turns onto her back. You massage her stomach, using broad, wide sweeps of your hand, as the enema progresses. Her large nipples stand stiff above vermilion areoles. The thick patch of graying pubic hair does not completely conceal her lust-engorged labia. You are not sure what to do. She stops your massaging hand mid-stride and guides it to her crotch. There is no mistaking that.
You shift your position slightly on the bed to afford better access and begin to probe her womanhood. She gasps (much like you did) when your fingers part her puffy outer lips and touch her moist inner reaches. Each woman is different, but you know how to read the feedback, and you have no difficulty touching her the way she likes to be touched. You bring her close several times to climax, but it is her own hand that completes the task.
You didn't dress after your enema, you didn't even think about it. Now you notice, as you help her off the bed, that you have a full erection. She doesn't seem to mind in the least.
You return the favor while she sits and expels. Her orgasm was just as intense as yours was. You hands feel wonderful on her back. What happens after you shower together, well, it happened. It was very nice (so strange to feel your penis inside another vagina!) but it really didn't mean anything.
It wasn't cheating, was it?