#141) Snow Days – GRAPHIC CONTENT

The weather forecast was for a heavy snow over the Martin Luther King, Jr. holiday weekend. My “daddy” said he wanted to spend the entire time of inclement weather frolicking with me, so went out on a shopping errand while he still could Saturday morning. What John purchased he kept secret from me, which thrilled me. I was just looking forward to some quality time with him and a spanking or three. But we went grocery shopping together because John said he wanted to do all the cooking for our two days being snowed-in. He’s more of a gourmand than a gourmet cook, which could be said of his sexual appetites as well, but I was pleased by the gesture.
Sleet was moving in when we woke up Sunday morning. John brought me breakfast in bed of cheese-laced scrambled eggs, toast and jelly, and fruit compote on a tray. I felt loved as I munched, and John quizzed me.
“Have you ever experienced an enema?”
“You won’t be able to answer that question that way as soon as your breakfast is eaten,” he answered.
“Will it hurt?”
“This one won’t. I could use cold water, which would make your tummy cramp, but I won’t. It’ll be warm, many people find them soothing, relaxing.”
“I didn’t think to ask why John wanted to give me this treatment. I reverted to feeling like a little girl feeling lovingly pampered by her daddy, and said, “Okay, sir.”
John went to make preparations with the equipment he’d purchased the day before while I finished my meal. He came back into our bedroom carrying a big red rubber hot-water-bottle with a hose attached, and a tube of KY jelly. He hung this from one of the four posts on the bed, cleared my breakfast-tray, and put me over his lap. He gently fingered a large quantity of lube up my bottom, while I squirmed with delight, wriggling my big butt in his face.
“If the rest of my enema feels like this, I’m hooked!” Asking me to get on my hands and knees, he inserted the nozzle and flipped the latch. Body-temperature water flowed into my bowels. I squirmed more. “May I touch myself, sir?” I begged, knowing that I could climax easily if I did.
“Not yet… just experience it…” Minutes passed, the feeling of euphoria evolved into something else.
“Sir, I’m feeling full…”
“I know. Just experience it…”
“I… I think… that’s all I can hold…” I said with desperation tinging my voice.
“Relax! The more water you accept, the better job it’ll do…” He very gingerly began massaging my tummy, which gurgled in response. One hand moved to my tits, finding my nipples hard with excitement. Then it slowly slid down until he cupped my sex. His middle finger penetrated my labia and played with the pooled arousal there. These ministrations made my head spin. I started to tremble. “Good girl! Relax and take it…”
“I REALLY need to go..!”
“I know. You’re doing very well! Just a bit more…” A long moment later, John flipped the latch closed and removed the nozzle from my butthole. John’s hands, caressing my full stomach and titillating my excited pussy, became my full focus. “You may go to the bathroom,” he started to say, and I clapped a hand across my butt crack for security and sprinted.
I barely seated myself in there when it erupted out of me. I couldn’t believe how much stuff came out in deluge after deluge. When it seemed finished, and I was cleaning myself up, I assessed. The enema was administered via the anus, which I found pleasurable in the extreme. It made one strain to contain it near the end of the administration, which the masochist in me liked. I felt light and unburdened. As I emerged from the bathroom, I shut the door, thinking of that Jim Carey movie (“Ace Ventura”?) where he did the same on airplane, exclaiming, “Do NOT go in there!”
My smile froze when I saw that, while I’d been gone, John had prepared another enema with an even-fuller red bag of warm water. “Ready for the next rinse?” he smiled back.
“I guess so…” I got back on all fours on the bed, felt the heavenly lubrication, then the nozzle insertion, flowed by the flow into me, the massage… “It’d feel really nice if I could masturbate,” I offered.
“I know, but not yet…” John returned. He changed the subject slightly. “A lot of women who do this regularly say it makes their complexions fairer.”
“Oh…?” I struggled to say as the even-greater contents in me started to make their presence felt.
As he removed the nozzle, John informed me, “I’m going to spank you moderately hard now. You’re to be a good girl for it, not let a single drop escape..”
The spanking stung as it was intended to do. John cupped my pussy with his hand, and I had to really fight off the urge to orgasm. “I’m… in distress! I can’t hold it much…”
With a sound swat he sent me on my way back to the master bathroom. We repeated this entire process three more times, at the conclusion of which, I was spouting crystal clear water like some downtown fountain.
When I came out of the bathroom that time, I was greatly relieved to see the collapsed and empty hot-water-bottle, then elated to see that John had coated the glass thermometer we reserve for rectal use with KY jelly. I bound over his lap.
“You’re so good to me!” I sighed as I felt it slide up my butt. He twisted and turned the thin glass, I whimpered, “NOW can I please cum?”
“Yes, now…” and I ground my pubis into his leg and unaided by any other stimulation, came in a series of womb-wracking convulsions.
“I feel fucking fantastic!” I fairly screamed once the last of the spasms left me. I twisted around so as to sit on his lap and kissed my loved deeply.
“That’s good,” he replied when our mouths parted, “because I think I want to punish you some more…”
“I haven’t been a bad girl!” I pouted.
“What if I did it with sensual licks from the razor strap?”
When used on me moderately hard, the sting of this magical leather implement warms me so radiantly, gets to me so profoundly… It’s led to numerous unaided-by-other-appendages orgasms in my past. “Then I think you need to punish me some more, too!” I scampered off his lap to bend over the edge of the bed and offer my reddened rump to my Top. He got the heavy implement from our toy chest and took aim at my upturned ass. John stood to the left and behind my bottom and gave me twenty licks. I was climbing the stair-steps toward heaven. He then shifted over to my right side and gave me twenty more backhand strokes of the same intensity. I climbed higher. He then stood over me, gripping my waist between his calves, facing my bum to give me an indeterminant number of licks vertically across my bottom parallel to my crack. These warmed my thighs as well as my cheeks. I felt myself float, I was in my sub space. I felt happy because I felt secure in John’s skills and judgement. I let myself go.
John picked me up and placed me gently on our bed. He put me down in the same posture I was in bent over the edge of the bed, that is with my glowing butt high in the air, but I rolled over onto my back, which surprised my lover.
“You don’t want it from behind? I thought that was your favorite position…”
I struggle to articulate my words with all my concentration, it was important to me. “I want the missionary… I want to see…”
He slid his length into me to the hilt with one stroke, I was that wet. Once there, I grabbed hold of him with my arms, wrapped my legs around him lower down. I didn’t want him to thrust. I needed him balls-deep inside me. I opened my eyes wide to try to get them to focus. I stared at his face as if memorizing his features.
“Stay… just like that…” I couldn’t come down enough from my cloud perch to say it clearly, but I merely wanted to be filled with John, in my sex, in my field of vision. I kissed him hard and released my tight hold, enough so that we could fuck. We fell into a slow, lazy syncopation. As has been the case for our entire relationship, I came fast, almost right away, then built upon that plateau for the next climax. I came multiple times; John seemed satisfied to just fuck me, hold off his orgasm. He fucked me until I felt sated, near exhaustion, covered in a sheen of sweat all over my skin, a viscous coating of my jism all over our genitals. He pulled out and flopped down on the mattress next to me. After a moment I was better able to speak.
“Did you… put anything in my enema? Some sort of drug?”
He shook his head and added, “No…”
“I feel super high, thought it was that…
“You can put a little wine in the water, your body absorbs the alcohol directly, but you have to be careful, a little goes a long way.”
“I’d like to… play around with that… with you the next time,” I said, as if each word was an accomplishment.
“You’d like a ‘next time’ soon, would you?”
I nodded emphatically, “…So sexy, made me so randy… Is tomorrow too soon?”
John laughed, “Yes. You shouldn’t overdo enemas. You need the bacteria in your gut for good digestion. They say that Mae West took an enema every day. She loved them. But that’s really too often…”
“Soon,” I stated wishfully. “What made you think… of giving me one?”
He leaned up on one elbow so that I could see his smiling face, “I thought you’d like it, being as anal as you are… and I plan to wear-out your bottom, so it’ll save you from sitting painfully on the toilet for a day or two.”
His words caught me by surprise. “You plan to wear my butt out?”
“We have two whole days together…” he answered.
I decided not to worry about the future, just focus on the now. “My butt feels fucking phenomenal right now, all glowing and perfect. My pussy feels the same! Thank you!” What I was really saying between the lines was that I loved John, loved the way he Topped me.
“I’m gonna go fix lunch, be back in a few. Why don’t you take a nap while I’m gone…?”
It was a great suggestion. I rolled over, placed a hand on my butt and my pussy to appreciate their glowing contentment, shut my eyes, and had a happy little dream about a fawn. Smells awoke me from my slumber, a marvelous way to be roused. John carried the tray again, this time laden with hot tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. He fed me spoonfuls and bites of each at whatever was my request, wiping the corners of my mouth frequently.
“God, feeding me a meal served in bed! You’ll spoil me!”
John cupped my titties with his hands. “Spoil you? You’re too perfectly ripe to get spoiled…” and he pressed his face to my hardening nipples.
“I love this!” I whispered. “What I mean is, I love you.”
“And I you,” he returned, as close as I’ve ever gotten to a declaration of affection.
“What do you have planned next?” I asked.
“I just thought that I’d build a fire in the fireplace, and we could read in front of it. If that doesn’t sound too boring…”
“That sounds sublime,” I understated. I stood, stretched like a cat, went to put on my robe.
“I’d prefer you didn’t wear the robe. I like to see you in the nude. If I build a really roaring fire…?”
“Okay,” I tried not to blush at the compliment. “Can I put on a pair of woolen socks, please?”
“Yes, woolen socks are okay.” I picked up the lunch tray. John gracefully took it from me. “And I’ll do the dishes later.”
I put bath towels on the overstuffed couch before sitting our naked asses down, while John built a huge birch log fire on the grate. I cuddled in close to John, opened my book, and tried to read. I found I had to stop every page or two and blink back my tears. I was just so serenely happy and content. Hours passed without our noticing.
“Does steak and a vegetable medley of some sort sound okay for dinner?” he asked when we both looked up simultaneously.
“In a little while…” I smiled. “Let’s make love first, right here, or on the floor,” I added conscious of the expensively upholstered couch. We slipped to the floor and into each other’s arms.
We almost always initiate sex with a spanking. We both find it the most exciting way to get our engines revving. But this time seemed different, so I kissed him and pulled at his erection gently, as he reciprocated the kiss and fingered my pussy. I rolled over like a sleek otter and offered my tail out to my lover. We coupled like spoons in a drawer side-by-side. It was another slow paced, passionately languid fuck. Again, I came repeatedly, John fucked hard but avoided plunging over the edge of the cliff with me each time. I’d stopped worrying about this long ago. He preferred saving his orgasms so as to please me as often as he desired. He didn’t seem to suffer from blue balls; he liked it that way. After my fourth intense climax, I rolled over and said sincerely, “Now I’ve worked up an appetite…” John smiled, rose, went into the kitchen. I stoked the fire with several more white-barked logs.
The meal was delicious, as was desert of ice cream with warmed caramel sauce. True to his word, John did the dishes while I had a cordial of Grand Marnier at the table so we could talk.
“Please understand that I’m not complaining, but you haven’t disappeared to do any work. You aren’t getting behind or resenting that, are you?” I observed.
“I decided that I wouldn’t do any during this special time together with you, and decided to try to do that more often…”
I again had to blink back tears. When the kitchen was back to being as good as new, we went back into the living room. John stoked the embers in the fireplace, rejoined me on the couch, and followed my lead by opening his book for a little more reading.
As he looked down at the page, he casually remarked, “I’m going to take you upstairs in a little bit and give you a good girl spanking. Then I want to talk. We’ll see if a good girl spanking is all you get tonight…”
This was so John, to plant a seed that would germinate in the fertile mind that I would not be able to till. From that moment on for the remaining ten minutes that we sat there, I didn’t truly see any words on the page of my book, I just thought about what he’d said and felt my sex get wet. At the appointed time, he replaced his bookmark and shut the tome, took me by the hand, and he led me upstairs to our bedroom. It was only then that I noticed that I’d absent-mindedly carried my book upstairs with me. John gently took it from my hand, sat on the bed, and helped me lay over his lap. His hands massaged my bottom.
“Have I told you recently that you are the most beautiful creature on the face of this earth?”
Just about the only time he ever paid me this compliment was when he was feasting his eyes on my multi-course meal of an ass, usually before a good-natured spanking. In my heart of hearts, I wished that he’d say it at other times, too. But I felt appreciated, and blushed even more than my head-down/butt-up position warranted.
I was expecting the first swat with his hand anytime, so it surprised me when he used the flat side of my book. It didn’t hurt any more or less than his appendage would have, but it was novel, and it made me all the more aroused. It made a louder report than his hand would’ve, which also excited me. He really warmed me thoroughly before putting the book down. His large hands returned to caressing my cheeks.
“Now let’s talk…” he said firmly, and I knew I was in trouble.

6 responses to “#141) Snow Days – GRAPHIC CONTENT”

  1. I wrote this story about a year ago. It introduces a favorite topic on mine, enemas. I want to state clearly that I am not into scatology. I am in LOVE with the sensations this procedure entails. I hope that you’ll have an open mind as you read this; I may just convert you.

    Liked by 2 people

  2. Now I want to talk about the picture I found to feature with this story. This nurse thrills me, scares me, makes me SO HOT! She looks as stern as she is nasty. I would love to be placed under her care, under her thumb. Would you?

    Liked by 3 people

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