I can recall just one other time when I was having a lovely dream, woke up, went back to sleep only to have the delicious dream continue unfolding with the same, continuing plot line, with the same cast of characters. (Conversely, I’ve had nightmares, woke up, gave myself a pep talk to shed my shudders, and then had an equally horrible dream unspool in my mind.) But last night, after dreaming that my lover came home bearing gifts, I woke up to see that my bottom felt this foreboding sense and was tingly, that my brow was fevered and my sex even more moist. I put a pillow between my thighs, undulated on it for a minute, closed my eyes, and had this emotion-filled dream take shape inside my head.
We’re in his apartment; I’m very glad to be back here! We’re in his bed; ditto! I have my bared butt parked high in the air and my lover is lubricating my anus in preparation to penetrate me there; I’m so joyous, I’m having to exert a lot of effort NOT to climax! This feels like the most vulnerable position known, my face and knees on the mattress, big butt flagrantly exposed, parted, being pleasured. I’m psyching myself up for what comes next, him replacing his perfectly-sized finger with his too-big-a-thing-for-my-tight-hole. Then there’s that loud record-scratch sound of things going suddenly sideways.
“You mentioned once… about letting me… give you an enema… sometime… How about… now?”
“You want to give… me an enema?” I repeat stupidly because my mind is reeling. In my mind’s eye, I had welcomed my prodigal lover back home with sweet kisses and a playful spanking, followed by meaningful missionary sex (which we just had back at my apartment), followed my many more kisses, a more serious spanking, and a more serious, doggy-style fucking, one filled with hair pulling and fingers rudely up my ass, hard spanks and curses. As intense as all this sounds, he has (unknowingly) upped the ante to much higher stakes. It takes a lot of trust to let someone irrigate one’s bowels, and induce violent expulsions. I’ve always fancied myself anal-erotic; he’s asking to take me regressively back to the Freudian anal stage. Our relationship is new, my love for him new, my trust in him new. He’s just returned from a long trip away where I missed him desperately, all those feelings are raw. All of this is flooding my brain, and it’s taken too long to answer. “…Okay…” I say tentatively. He vacates my anus and starts setting up the equipment in the guest bathroom down the hall. “No!” I stop him with a word. “This is so cold an atmosphere, so antiseptic. If we’re gonna do this thing, it has to be right, in every way. I want you to administer my enema on this bed, here in your master bedroom, and I want to be able to expel it privately in your master bathroom just a short sprint away. If all of that meets with your approval, we can proceed. I have more to say, but that’s enough for now.”
Without missing a beat, without another word, he begins setting things up exactly as I asked. Because I’m more experienced with this sort of thing, I help with the preparations, making sure the water is at body temperature, adding some soothing baking soda at the last minute. Then I re-assume my posture from before, ass high, and begin talking his ear off once more.
“Here’s the thing… it’s complicated… As much as I love the dirty activities related to my butt, I have a strong aversion to anything scatological.” To make sure that he understands, I define the last term, “Anything to do with poop!” He nods, I continue, picking up steam, “I swear, I wish my anus was just an entrance for intercourse, and I could vomit up any excrement. I’d take oral hygiene just as seriously as I do anal!”
With all that aired, my lover inserts the nozzle and flips the switch on the tube. I feel the warm bath flow into me, warming me on its trek through my butt hole and deep into my tummy. I get up on all fours and let my lover gently massage me there. I feels so good! He compounds this by using his other hand to, first, pull my nipples, and then finger my pussy.
“Oh God! I’ve never had… an orgasm while… getting an enema…! Oh fuck, right there… keep that up… just like that!” It’s amazing experiencing the two different sensations simultaneously. Immediately after the orgasm passed, I had to run to the bathroom, aching with how full my tummy was, leaving the nozzle inserted because I was afraid to pull it out. I hear my man laughing at the sight of me carrying that red rubber bag with one hand, supporting my distended belly with that arm because it FELT as big as if I was pregnant, and the other hand keeping the nozzle in place as I ran.
I came out of the bathroom ten minutes later feeling lighter than air. While I was in there, I refilled the enema bag and cleaned off the nozzle. Back on the bed, he re-anoints my anus with KY gel as well as more of that JLo butt cream, and then also the nozzle, and we’re off on round two. I’m able to accept more water this time because there’s less sludge taking up space in my bowels. It takes longer for more of the bag to enter me, more time for him to diddle me, more time to frantically climax and cramp, gurgle internally and groan, do things that don’t seem to go together, but do!
Again I run away, am allowed to reverse the process in sweet solitude, clean myself up thoroughly, and re-emerge with another full, rubber, hot water bottle. “I’m having the best time!” I exult.
“Well, we can’t have that…” my Top says, and instead of letting me crawl back on the bed, he takes me over his knee while sitting on its edge. It’s a spanking that exceeds all measure (but in one of those metacognitive moments, I remind myself that it should be, I’m dreaming). For this rinse, as the lavage flows into me, my lover diddles my clit with one hand and spanks with the other. I surprise him, for as I scale the heights and grow ever closer to ecstasy, I wank my lover’s erection. Both of us are close, but neither of us at the pinnacle. I flip the latch shutting off the flow and yank the tube from out of my tush. Holding him by his natural handle, I lead my man into the bathroom and directly into the shower. Under the steady stream on hot water, he fucks me from the front while I spout crystal clear water like a fountain out my backside. It feels astoundingly liberating to do this, and I can luxuriate in the feeling because it’d never actually happen. Now I’m ready for anal intercourse…
I wake up. After the second act of my dream, I don’t feel so fulfilled. I feel empty and wish that the other side of the bed was occupied by my special someone. He’ll be home soon, I tell myself. It takes this aching absence to fully appreciate his presence when he returns to my life.
(This took me longer to pen than anticipated, but here it is.)