How Helen Learns to Love Anal
Chapter 6

Copyright© 2018 by Unca D

Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 6 - An erotic enema romance: Eric and Helen bump into each other at the grocery. They're immediately attracted to each other and become lovers. He discovers she is anally erotic and begins giving her enemas prior to anal sex. Helen finds enemas themselves arousing, so she and Eric explore integrating them into their lovemaking. This story is for enema aficionados and contains much sex and many enemas.

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Consensual   Heterosexual   Fiction   Anal Sex   Enema   Oral Sex   Sex Toys   Slow  

It was mid-week. I stood in my kitchen threading some extra-jumbo shrimp onto skewers. I heard the garage door and Helen stepped into the living room. She was wearing her work clothes -- blouse, skirt, pantyhose and black shoes. “Another long day,” I remarked.

“Yeah...” She collapsed on the sofa. “This new project is going to be my doom.”

“Can I mix you a martini?” I asked.

“No ... no, thanks. I’m going to go upstairs and change.”

“I’ve got some shrimp I’m going to put on the grill,” I replied. “They should be done by the time you’re changed.” Helen headed up the stairs. “Did you plug in the Leaf?”

“Oh, crap!” She started to turn around.

“I’ll take care of it.”

Helen returned wearing her now standard at-home outfit of running shorts, filmy tank and sandals. “I have the table set outside,” I said. “Would you like some beer or wine?”

“It’s your recipe -- whatever you think pairs with it.”

I took a large-format bottle of rose wine from the fridge and filled two glasses. With a vacuum sealer I re-corked the bottle and replaced it in the fridge.

“I made a marinade with some ginger, lime, sake and sesame oil,” I said, “for an Asian vibe. I also have some stir-fried vegetables and some rice. Soy sauce?” I handed her the bottle.

Helen ate a shrimp and put her fork down. “Don’t you like it?” I asked.

“It’s very good, Eric,” she replied. She picked up her fork and I watched her eat. She appeared to be forcing it down.

“Helen -- what’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong. I’m sorry you put so much effort into dinner tonight. I just don’t have much of an appetite.”

“Is your project at work bothering you?”

“It’s not that -- it’s me. I don’t feel well.”

“Are you coming down with something?”

“I don’t know...” She picked up her plate and carried it to the kitchen and began scraping its contents into a deli container. “I’ll take this for lunch tomorrow.”

“Okay...”

I approached her and embraced her. “Helen -- I love you,” I whispered into her ear. “Please tell me what’s wrong. Maybe I can help or maybe not but at least I won’t worry it was something I did.”

“You are sweet,” she said and kissed my lips. “Of course it’s nothing you did, so stop worrying.” She looked into my eyes. “This is so embarrassing ... Do you think ... that an anal douche might help with ... constipation?”

“Are you bound up?” I asked.

She nodded. “Big time. When I get like this I take some senna. I really don’t like taking it because I’m never sure when it’ll kick in and when it does kick in I get uncomfortable cramping and I worry I won’t make it to a restroom. I thought before I resorted to the senna, if an anal douche might help.”

“How long has it been since...”

“This past weekend. I haven’t been able to, since. I was hoping it would resolve itself. Now I feel really uncomfortable.”

“I can imagine. Do you want to go upstairs now and try it?”

“Yeah ... I’m kinda desperate.” I held her hand and we headed to our bedroom. Helen spread a towel on the bed. From the closet I retrieved the douche bulb, a tube of surgical lube and the bowl. After filling the bowl with lukewarm water from the bathroom sink I carried it to the bed and set it on the nightstand.

Helen had removed her shorts and briefs and was lying on the bed on her left side and her knees drawn up. I filled the bulb with water from the bowl and squeezed some lube onto its snout. Then I squeezed lube onto my finger, spread her buttocks with my free hand and worked the slippery gel into her anal canal. “Here comes the water...” Touching the nozzle’s tip against her orifice I rocked it to open her up. Her anus relaxed and I eased the nozzle in. Then with both hands I squeezed it to send its contents into her rectum. “Lie there for a couple of minutes to let it soak in,” I said as I caressed her thigh.

“Okay...” I continued caressing her thigh. “Thank you for doing this, Eric,” she said. “I know it’s beyond the call of duty.”

“It certainly is not beyond the call of duty,” I replied. “Helen -- don’t ever be shy about this sort of thing. If I can help -- I want to help. Understood?”

“Understood. I’m going to try going, now.”

I watched her head bare-assed into the en suite. Several minutes passed before I heard the toilet flush. She sat on the bed. “Any luck?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Not really. Some came out but not enough. I still feel ... stuffed. Can we try again?”

“We can but I don’t think you’ll fare any better.”

She sighed. “I’ll just take some senna. Well, thanks for trying.”

“I think what you need,” I replied, “is an enema.”

“Do you mean from the drugstore?”

“The squeeze-bottle ones? Those contain a strong salt solution and I don’t think they’re good for you. What I’m suggesting is plain water.”

“Isn’t that what an anal douche is?”

“An anal douche is a sort of enema, but it only fills your rectum or maybe a bit further. What I’m talking about is filling your entire colon from end to end with warm water. The water softens what’s in there and the volume stimulates motility. It’s a more gentle and natural way to get relief than using a laxative.”

“How do you know so much about this?” she asked.

“When I was dating Linda...”

“Linda again...”

“Linda is a registered nurse who went into teaching. Once while I was dating her I threw out my back. I saw a doctor and the quack prescribed Vicodin. I was on it for about two weeks and it bound me up pretty bad. I asked Linda about it. The first thing she said was, get off the Vicodin, that I didn’t need opiods and should take ibuprofen instead. Then, she gave me an enema, and it made me feel a whole bunch better.”

“How much water?” she asked.

“The usual amount for an adult is one and a half to two quarts.”

“Two quarts? That sounds like a lot.”

“The secret to an effective enema can be summed up in two words: sufficient volume. You’re slender but you’re tall. You have a long torso and probably a colon to fit.”

“Does it hurt?

“A properly administered enema shouldn’t hurt,” I replied. “You might experience some discomfort but no real pain.”

“Eric -- what you’re describing sounds so ... medieval.”

“Senna is medieval, too. It’s an extract from a plant and has been in use for thousands of years.”

“I think I’ll take my chances with the senna,” she said and headed to the bathroom. She returned with an empty blister pack. “I’m out of it,” she said, eyes rolling. “I’ll have to go out for some.” She picked up her briefs.

“Helen -- why take something that affects your entire digestive system when it’s only the last five feet of it that needs treatment? Why wait for the senna to work when you can have instant relief right now?”

“When you put it that way ... Do we have what we need for an enema?”

“When Linda gave me enemas she used a fountain syringe ... an enema bag. We don’t have one but we can use the bulb. It just means more insertions. It’s a ten ounce bulb so six would be sixty ounces, just shy of two quarts.”

“It still sounds like a lot,” she replied.

“If it becomes too much, just say so and we’ll stop,” I replied.

“I guess that doesn’t sound too bad.”

I carried the bowl to the bathroom, dumped its contents and ran the tap. Once the tap water warmed up to slightly above body temperature I filled the bowl to the rim, carried it into the bedroom and set it on a chair near the bed. Then I removed a jar of Vaseline from a vanity drawer.

Helen lay on the bed on her left side, knees drawn up. “Best position for this is on all fours,” I said. “That way I have good access to your bottom, and we want your colon more or less horizontal so we’re not battling gravity getting this into you”

“Okay ... I’m a little nervous.” Helen knelt on her elbows and knees.

“You’ll be fine. Think of it as an anal douche and then some.” I caressed her buttocks and the backs of her thighs. “This is one wonderful view, Helen. You have a terrific ass.”

“Is that why you want me like this?” she asked.

“This posture is practical ... with benefits. I’m going to put some Vaseline on you. The K-Y is more slippery, but it’s water soluble and with so many insertions, it might wash away. Vaseline is water-proof.” I liberally buttered the nozzle with the petroleum jelly and then worked a big blob into Helen’s sexy little pucker. Squeezing the bulb to expel air I dipped the nozzle into the bowl and filled it. “Here comes number one,” I said. Now, relax. Being relaxed is critical for this.” I touched the nozzle’s tip to her anus and with some gentle rotation her orifice admitted it. In a single smooth motion I eased the tip in, tilted the bulb down and slid it into her rectum. “If you feel any cramping, discomfort, or urge to expel, tell me and we’ll pause until it passes. Understood?”

“Got it,” she replied.

I squeezed the bulb to force the water into her rectum. “It is warm,” she remarked.

“We use warm water for an enema -- it’s relaxing to the colon.”

“Feels kinda nice, actually.”

I refilled the bulb. “Here’s number two,” I announced as I slid in the nozzle and squeezed the bulb, emptying it into her. I refilled it and spread her buttocks for the third insertion. Her anus was tensed and tight. “Helen -- relax.”

“I feel like I have to go,” she said. “I’m trying to hold it back.”

I caressed her back. “Try taking long, deep breaths and working the muscles in your abdomen. That will flex your colon and help the water find a channel so it can flow in deeper.”

Helen took several deep breaths. “Backrub feels nice,” she said.

“How about a tummy rub?” I reached under her and massaged her abdomen while she continued her deep breathing. “That’s it -- keep it up until the pressure dissipates.”

Helen’s breathing returned to normal. “That helped. It’s better, now. I felt the pressure release and the water moving up my left side.”

I slid the nozzle into her orifice and discharged it. “How are you feeling?” I asked.

“Feeling fine, no discomfort. I’m feeling the warmth of the water ... a kind of warm heavy feeling in my tummy.”

“Fullness in your belly is normal. You’re doing real well, Helen. Here’s number four. Only two more after this one.” I watched the white snout disappear into her pucker, squeezed it and refilled it. She took more deep breaths. “You okay?”

“Yeah -- I felt some pressure but it’s okay now.”

“Here’s number five,” I announced and squirted the bulb’s load into her.

“Starting to feel really full,” she said.

“Last one,” I replied and eased the tip past her sphincter, rotated the bulb so it pointed toward her head and slid it in. A firm squeeze with both hands emptied it into her depths. I used a washcloth to daub her bottom.

“Feeling very full, now,” she said, “bloated -- a bit uncomfortable but no pain.”

“You should hold it until the enema gives you a strong urge to go,” I said. “Lie flat on your back.”

“Okay...” Helen rolled onto her side and then onto her back, her legs stretched and her ankles crossed.

I knelt near her hips. “I want to feel your belly,” I said and lifted the hem of her tank so I could gently palpitate her abdomen. “I feel fullness. Feel here.”

Helen placed her hands on her sides under her ribcage. “Oh, wow...”

“I’m going to give your belly a gentle massage. It can help stimulate your colon.” Gently I massaged her abdomen, starting on her lower right, moving my fingers in little circles and moving up, across and down, following the fullness in her belly. “I can feel the shape of your colon.”

“Your touch feels nice,” she said. “I’m starting to feel some ... pressure building.”

“The enema is working,” I replied as I continued my gentle massage. “Hold it back until the urge is strong.”

“It’s passing,” she said.

“Do you get like this often?” I asked.

“Often enough,” she replied. “Most of the time it resolves itself if I eat some prunes or a bran muffin from the cafeteria at work. I think stress aggravates it.”

“You’ve been stressed out over this new project at work,” I remarked.

“Yeah, and a change in my routine also aggravates it. I don’t travel well and the trip to San Francisco upset my routine. I had to take senna at the conference and I missed part of a presentation I wanted to attend because I was in the ladies’ room. Pressure again ... stronger this time ... feels a bit like stomach flu.”

 
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