Anusphilia Ch 02

[Author's note: Well, okay then. This is the first story I have written that has a five-star rating through the first thousand readers. I think I touched a nerve. So let's explore further, shall we?]

"Did you have fun?" Grammy Cleo greeted me as I went through the door.

I chuckled and said, "You know I did."

"Too worn out for an old woman?" she asked.

I laughed, bent, kissed her, gave her boob a squeeze, and said, "Never, but not until you feed me."

"Too early for dinner, Honey," she said, scooting forward and lifting the skirt of the very modest granny dress she wore.

"Were you always this horny?" I asked, as I got to my knees, "Or is this something new?"

"Your Grampa Phil and I were active, Honey, but yes, this is kind of new," she said, parting her legs more.

She had no panties on and her pubic hair was thick, her labia large and wrinkled and kind of floppy, evidence of the seven children she had borne.

She was already shiny in her excitement, and her scent was different, more, well, more "mature" than Marji's.

So I went down on her in the front room, with the windows up, the front door open, a breeze cooling the house.

There was something raw about doing this. Something almost animal. Oh, there was love, but this was lust too, a basic core need far below the level of sentiment. I licked at her like a dog finding a bitch in heat. And she responded at the same level, her hips thrusting to take more of what she wanted.

I opened my mouth wide, took those floppy lips into it, and sucked.

She grunted and hissed, a wordless sound of need, and made a soft keening sound as my tongue probed and found the hard knot of her clitoris.

I felt, and tasted her orgasm, and held her in my mouth, gently sucking her nether lips, as she relaxed.

"You, My Sweet," she said as I pulled away, a shiny thread of her natural lubricant connecting our lips, "are getting very good at this."

I smiled up at her, and said, "Now will you feed me?"

She giggled and I could see, for just an instant, the truly beautiful 16-year-old bride she had once been.

"Yes, Honey," she said, "I'll feed both of us now."

She stood, smoothed her dress, and the young bride and crazily horny granny both disappeared leaving only my Grammy Cleo.

Dinner was leftovers. Cold chicken, her excellent potato salad (the potato salad against which all other potato salads have since been measured, most found wanting), a pickle from one of her Mason jars, a beer for me, and a strong screwdriver for her.

It was dark by then and my great-grandmother didn't have cable. I could steal WiFi from my aunt who lived next door for my Kindle and my Google Chromebook. But our entertainment was Grammy Cleo's wonderful collection of board games, watching network television out of Denver, sitting on the porch, chatting with those who happened by, and reading.

We did the dishes then in a practiced dance, me washing, her drying and putting away, brushing each other as we passed, me chuckling, her giggling. It was an enjoyable part of our day.

When she put up the last plate she hung the dish towel and turned to me.

"It's been a long time since I had a man in the house," she said, smiling, and touching my hand, "How about you take me to bed and we see how late we can make love?"

I grinned, hell, I could feel that grin spreading across my face and couldn't have stopped it if I wanted to.

"Oh, please, no Br'er Fox," I said, "not the briar patch."

She laughed at that, the rich belly laugh I could rarely coax from her.

"Oh, yes, Br'er Horny Rabbit," she said, taking my hand and pulling me toward the bedroom, "it's the briar patch for you."

I play-resisted but she was into the game, and she is a very strong woman. She dragged me into the bedroom as I leaned back against her pull.

"Yes'm," I said when she turned and faced me.

She giggled as I started on the buttons at her neck, undoing them one by one and lightly tickling the skin I revealed, kissing and licking and nipping gently.

When I had her unbuttoned all the way I did the buttons at her wrist, kissed her palms and wrists, and worked the dress off of her. I was amazed at the way she looked, standing in only her bra and shoes, her panties had remained in the drawer. With her breasts full and standing proud, I could see what she must have looked like before she started having children.

I reached around her, unhooked the four hooks at the back of her bra, and let it fall.

"You are beautiful," I said, smiling and nuzzling at her neck.

"And you are a flatterer," smiling and reaching for my T-shirt hem.

"It's not flattery if it's true," I said.

"Oh, hush," she said, giggling, "it's working," and she eased, creakily and groaning a little, to her knees.

She grinned up at me and then smiled.

She reached into her mouth and popped out her dentures and handed them to me.

"Put these in the little cup on the vanity," she said, giving me that sunken-lips smile of the toothless, "and then bring your beautiful self back here."

I did.

I hadn't noticed the denture cup before. Well, I had seen it, but I hadn't really thought about what it meant. I rummaged through her drawer and found the

Efferdent

tablets, put one in the cup, let the water run until it got warm, and put her dentures in the cup.

When I went back into the bedroom she hadn't moved.

And there was something about it that got to me. I sprang erect and made the last few steps doing that awkward walk every human with a Y chromosome has experienced, my erection bound in my pants.

She was smiling up at me, knowingly.

It was interesting, watching her face as she worked on my belt and then the button and zipper of my jeans.

Her face was positively glowing as she worked my cock free. She looked like a nun who had an epiphany.

She kissed my cock, gently, soft loving kisses.

And then she gave me the blowjob against which all other blowjobs I've ever received are measures, and like her potato salad, most have been found wanting. With no teeth, she could bite down and give me sensations I had never imagined. But more to the point, her tongue was a living thing and she smiled up at me as she swallowed hard and took me into her throat, my control failed.

Her eyes were smiling at me as she swallowed hard, holding me in her throat, pulling the last drops from my body.

Finally, she pulled free, still swallowing, holding me in her throat so that the final little release made me jerk as that final burst of nerve endings firing gave me an almost unbearable rush.

She was smiling as she stood, that final drop she had coaxed very white on her lower lip.

"Will you still kiss your old Grammy Cleo?" she asked.

I smiled and kissed her.

I was caressing and tickling her back as I kissed her.

"You

do

know what I like," she murmured.

I helped her onto the bed and gently guided her until I had her lying flat on her belly, her face turned to the side on her pillow.

I was tickling her back and she was humming like a kitten purring when I moved to straddle her thighs, sit on her knees, and begin rubbing her ass to get to what I wanted to see.

There it was, as beautiful and sexy as I remembered.

I bent and blew and kissed but this time she squirmed away to roll up on her side.

"Too much?" I asked.

For the first time since we had started, she blushed.

"What?" I asked, smiling and brushing the wonderfully soft skin of her cheek.

"You should be careful back there," she said.

"Why?" I asked, "You seemed to like it."

"I'm, well," and she blushed even deeper, something I wouldn't have thought possible, "I've, oh, God..." and she wound down.

"What?" I asked again.

"I'm bound up," she said.

"You're what?" I asked.

She giggled then.

"I'm constipated, Honey," she said, "you might find more than you bargained for back there."

"Is there anything I can do?" I asked.

For the first time since she claimed my virginity, she seemed unsure of herself.

"What?" I asked.

She didn't say anything and her eyes were looking across the room so I did the two-fingers-under-the-chin thing I had seen my cousin do, and lifted her face, forcing her to meet my eyes.

"What?" I asked again.

Her blush got even redder, something I wouldn't have thought possible.

"You could give me an enema," she said.

My dick got hard, surprising me.

She noticed, and giggled.

I kissed her, a quick kiss, and rolled out of the bed, offering her a salute with my erection and a hand to help her stand.

I took the time to really look, something I was kind of ashamed to realize I hadn't taken the time to do earlier, and I could see the roundness of her belly where she was bloated.

"How long?" I asked, rubbing that roundness.

"Four days," she said.

"Well, let's get you taken care of," I said, taking her hand and leading her to the bathroom, a separate, added-on room off the kitchen in her old house (the old outhouse still stood in the backyard). In a

non sequitur

it struck me how quickly I got used to walking around naked.

"You'll have to show me what to do," I said.

She grinned, the, well, the embarrassment I suppose, in the past now.

There was a little cupboard in the bathroom. She opened it and got out a big flat red rubber bag with a long red hose with a white probe on the end. A shiny chrome clip was positioned about halfway down the red hose.

"This," she said, almost casual now, "opens or shuts off the flow," and she showed me how that chrome clip worked.

"Just a few drops of

Dawn

," she said, adding four carefully measured drops of the thick blue detergent to the bag.

"Warm, not too hot," she said, turning the hot water faucet on, and smiling up at me while she waited for the water to start getting hot.

"Well, youngster," she said, giggling a little, "this is turning out to be a summer of firsts for me too. I've never had anyone," and here she giggled again, "

help

me with an enema."

I bent down and kissed her.

"I'm honored," I said and she laughed at that, a full belly laugh.

"Pervert," she said, but she kissed me too so I guess she didn't mind my perversion too much.

"Okay," she said, "feel," as she blended cold into the hot water stream.

I let the water run over my fingers, getting a sense of the temperature she wanted.

"Okay, fill 'er up," she said.

I held the bag under the water, feeling the weight as it filled, an oddly sensuous feeling.

"Put in the plug, good and tight," she said, "we don't want a leak."

I screwed the plug into the hole in the top of the bag, being careful not to overtighten it.

"Check the valve," she said and I confirmed that the valve was closed.

"Okay," she said and led me into the bathroom.

"Hang it here," she said pointing to a little hook on the wall, something I had seen, but not really noticed before. I hung the red bag and felt a rush in my groin. I don't know why, but that red rubber bag hanging there with the red hose, shiny clip, and white end touching the floor just exuded sex to me.

"A little cushion," she said, opening that little cupboard again, this time pulling out a roll of something.

She shook it out and I realized it was an old quilt, one of those she made with such fussy precision. She folded it in half, length-wise, shook it out, and laid it on the floor in front of the toilet. She got to her knees and then leaned forward until she was on all fours.

"There's a jar of

Vaseline

in the cabinet," she said.

I looked and found it.

"Okay," she said, "You know what to do now."

I opened the jar and placed it on the closed lid of the toilet. Then I used the fingers of my left hand to spread her cheeks.

It was just as interesting and sexy as I remembered.

I dipped my finger into the

Vaseline

and began carefully lubricating her. I made it a very sensual experience for both of us, my fingertips sliding over those four distinct hemorrhoids and then gently penetrating and lubricating her.

"Be careful, Davey," she said, a little breathily I thought, "or you'll get into something you don't want to."

I chuckled and said, "Shush."

She giggled.

I penetrated then, watching, fascinated, hell, captivated, as my fingernail and then fingertip disappeared up to the first knuckle.

I pulled my finger out, dipped it into the

Vaseline

again, and penetrated again, noting that she wasn't as tight now.

And I was stopped by something hard.

I knew what I was touching, of course, so I pulled my finger free, reached for the hose, and slipped it into her.

Well, I had to push as it hit that hard turd.

She grunted a little at that and I asked, "Are you okay?"

"Yes, Honey," she said, "it's uncomfortable but it doesn't hurt."

I pushed and when the syringe penetrated the thick hard crust of her turd it slipped in the rest of the way easily.

"Okay," she said, and I thought I caught just a whiff of aroused womanscent, "now," she went on as she eased down to lay flat on her belly on the doubled-up quilt, "you scoot around so you're on your knees at the small of my back so I can lean against you."

I didn't move for several seconds. That red hose disappearing into the crack of her ass had me fascinated. I couldn't look away.

Then I scooted around, kind of kneewalking, so that my knees were touching right where the roundness of her ass began.

She grunted and pushed herself up onto her side. I helped, my hand gently pulling on her hip, until she lay, partially leaning back against my thighs.

She caught my hand then and guided it to that roundness, okay, that bloat, between her belly button and her mons. She pressed and hummed when I started pressing without her encouragement.

I continued doing that, gently massaging her belly, helping, I suppose, the water to penetrate.

It hit me then, one of those, you know, "POW, right between the eyes" moments. This was intimacy beyond sex.

"I love you," I said, gently massaging her belly.

"And I love you," she said, "and just so you know, this is a first for me."

I kept massaging and she kept humming, making me think of a cat purring.

And a truly weird thought hit me.

"Grammy Cleo," I said, softly, trying to figure out how to say it.

"Mmmmmmmmm, Baby," she said, reminding me even more of a cat.

"I ummmmm," I started and was too embarrassed to finish.

She reached down and caught my hand.

"What, Honey?" she asked.

When I didn't say anything she turned and looked up at me.

"Tell me, Sugar," she said.

I took a deep breath and blurted it out.

"I want to watch," I said.

Her eyes got big at that.

"Watch?" she asked, her tone and inflection making it a clear question.

"Yes," I said, my fingers busy on the softness of her belly, pressing hard enough to find the hardness beneath.

"You want to watch me poop?" she asked.

I was blushing now, I could feel it on my face.

"Yes," I said softly.

She giggled then, that strangely girlish giggle she sometimes made.

"Davey, I," she started and wound down.

"It's okay," I said, not yet confident enough to just accept what I liked and ask for it openly, "you don't have to."

She caught my hand, kissed my palm, and put it back on her belly, pressing to encourage me to continue what I was doing.

"Davey," she said, "don't be an ass. I didn't say 'no,' I just had never thought about doing such a thing before."

I started to say something stupid like, "It's okay, you don't have to," but she kept going, talking over me.

"But as I've told you," she said, and then suddenly grunted a little before going on, "Good sex is often messy but never dirty."

She hissed a sharp intake of breath and I felt a sudden tension in her body. After a few seconds, she relaxed and went on.

"So yes, Honey," she said, "I'll figure out how to do it and you can watch your old Grammy Cleo poop. And then you can clean me up and I'll want you to play with me where I'm nice and clean."

There was nothing to say and so, "for a wonder" as Grammy Cleo might have put it, I said nothing. I continued gently massaging her belly.

But I had gotten to her. The womanscent of her arousal was in the air and when my fingers strayed lower, pressing at the top of the delta of her pubic hair, she squirmed a little and her hips thrust gently. I don't think she was even aware of those little tells.

I watched as the red bag flattened and clamped the little clip onto the hose again.

Her belly was even firmer and fuller than when we started.

"The bag's empty," I said, "do I need to refill it?"

"Maybe sometime when I'm not so plugged up," she said, "but I don't think there's room now."

"Okay," I said, "On your belly then."

She grunted again, kind of a groan with the pressures in her bowels, and rolled onto her belly.

I just looked for several seconds. God, that red hose disappearing between her cheeks was SO damn sexy.

"Okay," I said, the fingers of my left hand spreading her cheeks, showing her butthole with the hose and the white end of the syringe where it entered her, "Here it comes."

I pulled the syringe free, doing it slowly, watching, fascinated, as it emerged, brown stained. Again, I had no urge to touch or sniff or taste the stain. I just couldn't look away.

She grunted and hissed as if in pain as she worked her knees under her until she was on all fours.

"Are you okay?" I asked, kneeling beside her and rubbing her back.

"Yes, Davey," she said, "I'm fine. Give me your hand."

She took my hand and used me as a brace while she stood, slowly.

She laid her hands on the small of her back and leaned back in that stretching movement we've all done when we do things that have our lower back hurting.

She noticed where I was looking and ran her hand across her belly.

"God," she said, "I look pregnant," and giggled.

She stood for a long time, well, it felt like a long time, it was probably no more than a minute, with her hands on the small of her back like that, just holding still.

I guess she saw the question on my face because she giggled and said, "Gravity helps honey."

Then she gave me one of those little smiles that I had seen from time to time since I was about five years old when she had some sort of special treat for me.

"Don't worry, Sweety," she said, "you'll get to watch."

So I stood, looking, admiring, thinking how much more interesting her body was than Marji's.

She took a deep breath and then grinned at me. This wasn't a smile, it was pure grin, suggesting something that was, well, prohibited. I could imagine her grinning like that as she and a friend decided to ditch school for a day and go swimming instead.

"Okay, my perverted great-grandson, come on and watch your old grammy poop," she said.

She lifted the toilet seat, moved so her feet were a little over shoulder width in front of the commode, backed up in little shuffling steps, and bent slightly at the waist.

I had no chance at all of looking away as she reached back and spread her cheeks.

I heard her grunt, a low sound from deep in her belly, and watched as that entire circle around the tiny puckered opening bulged out and then retreated as she drew a breath.

She drew a deep breath and grunted again. I could see the tension in her body and feel it under my hand laying light on her back as she pushed and bulged. This time when she relaxed that sexy mound between her cheeks didn't retract completely. It looked like a tennis ball was trying to push out.

"Are you okay?" I asked, "Do you need to rest?"

Her voice was strained as she said, "Yes, no, and I just need to start."

She took a half dozen deep breaths and pushed again.

The big dome that was forming pushed out even farther and I got a peek at the brown plug that had her so bound up as her anus opened a tiny bit.