How Helen Learns to Love AnalChapter 8
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I hung my blazer in the closet and retrieved my toolbox from the garage. Following the instructions I put the gadget together, attaching the casters on the base and the hanging hooks on the pole. Finished, I put my tools back in the garage and the cardboard carton in the recycle bin.
Carrying it upstairs I stepped into our bedroom. Helen had indeed made preparations. There was a towel on the bed, the enema bag was lying, empty on a chair and the nightstand lamps were turned down low. I positioned the stand near the bed and adjusted the height.
Helen emerged from the closet in her satin robe. “Here it is,” I said, “ready for hands-free action.”
“I can hardly wait.”
“I see you’re prepared.”
“Yes and you need to be prepared, too.” She approached me, untied my necktie and began unbuttoning my dress shirt. She pulled the tails out of my waistband and slid the shirt off my shoulders. Then she unfastened my belt and undid my pants. I slipped off my shoes and stepped from them and pulled off my socks.
“So what is your big idea?” I asked.
“Tonight, I am giving enemas to you.” she replied.
“Wait, what? Helen -- I’m not into them the way you are. I mean, I don’t mind it for therapeutic purposes, bur recreationally -- they leave me flaccid.”
“Maybe you’re not trying hard enough. Eric -- I’m too full from dinner. You said taking an enema on a full stomach is a bad idea.”
“Yeah it is. What makes you think I’m any less full?”
“You’re bigger than I am and can hold more. Besides, your mixed grill wasn’t nearly as filling as my risotto.”
“You didn’t have to eat it all -- you could’ve brought some home.”
“I think a doggie bag from a place like that is rather ... pedestrian,” she replied and approached me. “And I wasn’t going to let it go to waste. Please? You keep saying love is giving and trust. You’ve introduced me to experiences I thought I wouldn’t like but ended up loving. Please? Don’t make me beg.”
“All right -- if this is what you want to do, we’ll do it.”
“I love you.” She kissed my cheek. “I’ll put everything together. You get comfortable.”
I lay in my briefs on our bed, the towel under my midsection and thighs. Helen returned with the enema bag full and bulging. She hung it on the stand. I saw she had attached the straight enema pipe. “Why not the douche tip?” I asked.
“What’s wrong with this?”
“It’s too easy for it to slip out.”
“Don’t worry -- I’ll hold it in place. We don’t need these...” She grasped the waistband of my briefs. I lifted my hips and she slid them off my legs. Then she slipped off her robe. Underneath was the white peek-a-boo gown she had bought in San Francisco. “Think of this as a sexy nurse’s uniform,” she said, wiggling her hips.
Helen picked up the tube of lube and snapped it open. “This is a heady experience for me, too,” she said. “I’ve never done anything like this. You know the drill -- left side, knees up.”
I rolled over. She caressed my thighs and buttocks. “You have a nice butt, too,” she remarked. “I like it that it’s not too hairy...” I felt her fingers spread my cheeks and the cold gel applied to my bottom. Helen worked her finger into my anus and then inserted the tip.
I rolled into position -- left arm behind back, half on stomach and side, right heel against left knee. “Is this one of the positions you mentioned?” she asked.
“Yeah -- this is the Sims position.”
“I like how it shows off your butt.” Holding the hose to keep the tip fully inserted she snapped open the clamp.
I immediately felt the cool onrush followed by warmth as the enema began percolating into my colon. I began taking long, deep breaths and working my abdominal muscles to help work the liquid in deeper. I could feel pressure build and release, then build and release again as the bolus of water worked its way up my left side. Helen held the nozzle in with her left hand and with her right she caressed by buttocks, thighs and lower back. I understood what she meant when she said it was a nurturing experience. Despite myself, I found it all quite arousing.
When I felt a gurgle under my left ribcage I figured the water was about to start crossing my belly as my transverse colon filled.
“Do you want to roll over?” Helen asked. “I can stop the flow.”
“No -- I can stay like this for the whole thing.”
“Looks like about half done,” she said. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m starting to feel the fullness. No cramping, no discomfort.”
“I remember you saying that you shouldn’t administer an enema without knowing what it feels like. Having taken them, I know what it is you’re experiencing.”
“So, you’re getting a vicarious thrill out of this?”
“I guess I am.”
By now I could feel the water under my right ribcage. Looking up at the bag I saw maybe a pint remaining. My belly definitely was getting full. The bag continued to drain until a soft gurgle indicated it was empty. “I think we’re done,” I said.
“Yup.” Helen slipped the enema pipe from my bottom.
I rolled over and palpitated my belly. “I’m starting to feel cramping already,” I said. “Did you put something in this other than plain water?”
“A little castile soap,” she replied.
“Where did you get that idea?”
“From enema sites on-line. I used an ounce of an unscented liquid castile in 2 quarts of water.”
The cramping became more pronounced. “An ounce?” I made a mental calculation. “That’s two tablespoons -- a pretty husky dose.”
“It’s what the website said,” she replied.
“Where did you get liquid castile?”
“I stopped at the drugstore on my way home yesterday.”
The cramping and pressure was building fast in my belly. “What else did you glean from on-line?” I asked.
“Mostly what I read confirmed what you told me.”
I was suddenly hit with a powerful urge to release. Tightening the muscles in my bottom and my sphincter I held it back until it passed. “Well, if you want to know what soapsuds feel like, next time you’re bound up we can try some.”
Another urge, stronger than the first built in the lower left quadrant of my belly. Grunting, I closed my eyes and it required all my willpower to hold it back and a groaning gurgle came from somewhere inside me. “Another one like that and we’ll have a huge mess to clean up,” I said as I rolled off the bed and headed for the bathroom.
What transpired therein was a gut-wrenching experience to be sure. I endured strong cramps and irresistible urges to bear down as my colon desperately attempted to rid itself of the soapsuds. By the time I had expelled everything, I was sweating.
“That was a workout,” I said as I stepped back into the bedroom. I could see Helen had refilled the bag and hung it on the stand. “You need to experience soapsuds to appreciate their impact.”
“Fair enough,” she replied. “Next time, it’s soapsuds for me. I hope I didn’t make you too uncomfortable.”
“No lasting damage,” I replied. “I see the straight pipe has been replaced by the douche tip.”
“What you said about it being easier to hold in place ... I want both hands free for the next one.”
“You don’t scare me,” I replied with a smile. I lay on my left side again. Helen worked more lube into my orifice and then I felt the bulbous tip of the douche nozzle intruding into my anal canal. As I had done with her she tilted it back and eased it all the way in until I felt the hose fitting against my pucker.
She eased me onto my back and began caressing my legs. “I want you nice and relaxed,” she said.
I looked up at the bag. “How much water?” I asked.
“Five pints. I used your siphon method to get the bag overfilled.”
“Oh, you did, did you?”
She ran her hands along my sides. Seeing her in that gown with her breasts exposed and outlined with white satin was causing my loins to stir. Helen snapped open the clamp. Again I felt the cool onrush and then -- heat. “This feels hot,” I said.
“I like them hot.”
“Did you use the thermometer?”
“Of course. It read 115.”
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