Madonna

Chapter Six

I woke when I felt her stirring. I've always been a light sleeper.

It was Madonna. I watched under barely lifted lids as she squirmed slowly down to the foot of the bed and then rolled slowly up into a sitting position and eased off of the bed.

As I watched her moving toward the bathroom I was struck by the change. I had seen her, until that moment, as a vibrant and exciting woman who happened to be 73 years old. Now I was seeing a truly old woman.

In part, it was her look. She was always careful to look her best but now her hair hung lank and still damp, making the way it was thinning obvious. And walking away, the soft light showed the wrinkles in her skinny ass where she had lost the padding of her younger body.

Mostly, though, it was the way she moved. Short steps with locked knees, almost shuffling. Her arms out a little for balance. This was an old woman.

I rolled out of bed, moving slowly, being careful to not wake Bonnie, and followed her. She was just sitting down on the toilet when I peeked in.

"Are you all right?" I asked.

And oddly she crossed her arms, covering her breasts.

I chuckled and moved forward, bent, and kissed her.

"Really?" I said. "After last night you're going to go modest on me?"

She giggled and blushed and said, "David, this is all new to me. Be patient, please."

I kissed her again, this time a lingering kiss, my hands lightly on her shoulders and her breasts.

"Madonna," I said, my voice soft, "sex is often messy but never dirty. Now relax and do your business."

"I've never......" she started but wound down.

I chuckled.

"First time for everything, sugar," I said, using my best soft, calming voice.

I kissed her softly, allowing my hand to trace down her belly until my fingertips were just above the pubic bone of her pelvic arch. I gently pressed and massaged. "Come on sweety," I said, massaging and kissing.

"Oh, God," she sort of moaned, but I felt her relax and then heard that soft hissing sound only a woman peeing makes.

"Good girl," I whispered softly, continuing my massage as she peed.

When she finished, the final few drips splashing into the water, I felt a tension in her belly again.

"Go ahead," I said, still in my best soft, relaxing voice, "nothing dirty between us."

I felt a tension in her body as she pushed, but nothing happened.

"It's okay, Madonna," I said, "relax."

She pushed again, this time visibly straining, actually grunting a little.

I chuckled.

"Constipated?" I asked.

She giggled very softly and said, "the curse of old age honey."

I kissed her, stood, said, "hold that thought and stay put," and went to the linen closet.

I rummaged around until I found the little blue box with the hot water bottle in it.

I ran the water in the sink until it came warm, put a few drops of the liquid hand soap we keep in the bathroom into the red rubber bag, and then filled it with warm water. When it was full I put the white plug in it with its length of white rubber hose. I clipped the chrome clip tight, collapsing the hose and preventing leakage. Then I put the douche syringe into the end of the hose, the long syringe slightly bulbous on the end, with eight holes in the sides at the big end. I felt a little twinge in my dick. Bonnie and I had played enema games in the past so I knew what Madonna had coming.

She was still sitting on the toilet when I returned to her. I smiled as her eyes got big. I hung the bag on the brass hook we keep near the toilet for just that purpose.

"Stay put," I said and went back to the linen closet where I got a thick rug and very heavy towel we keep there.

When I got back to her I offered my hand and helped her stand, again taken with how old she looked.

I laid the rug on the floor and then the heavy towel.

"Lay down honey, on your side," I said.

Her eyes were very big but she did as I asked, using my hand for support as she got to her knees and then laid where I had pointed.

One more quick trip to the linen closet where I grabbed a jar of Vaseline.

"Now relax," I said, kneeling beside her, my hand lightly on her arm, "I'm going to invade your asshole a little and then get you flushed out."

She sighed and said, "I'm ready."

I dipped my middle finger into the Vaseline, used my left hand to lift her butt cheek out of the way, found her anus with my fingertip, and very gently penetrated her.

"Relax," I said when I felt her starting to clench around my finger, and she did.

I dipped my finger into the Vaseline a second time and repeated slipping it into her now slick asshole. That last wasn't strictly necessary, but I wanted her to get used to accepting things there. I DO enjoy anal sex.

"Okay sugar," I said, "deep breath."

She inhaled and held it and I slipped the syringe in, feeling her squeeze and pull it in when the bulbous end was past her sphincter.

"Good girl," I said again, "now just relax and let me do the work."

I opened the little chrome clip, let the water start to flow, pulled her up so she was on her side and leaning against my knees, and began gently massaging her belly.

I had the clip set to a very slow flow, almost a trickle of water, as I continued gently massaging her belly, and talking in my low, gentle, calm-the-animals voice.

"Once we get you flushed out," I was telling her, "we're going to smoke a joint and then I'm going to rub some liniment on your joints. I could tell you were stiff this morning."

She giggled and said, "I was stiff because of what you guys were doing last night."

I chuckled and said, "No, I recognize arthritis when I see it."

I felt her slowly relaxing, accepting what I was doing to her so I quit talking, letting the sensations take over. I could feel the fullness in her belly as the water filled her, and began using my fingers to press a little harder as I massaged, helping her to fill completely.

When the water bottle was empty I slipped the syringe out and said, "stay put," and went to the sink to refill it.

This time the water was warmer.

"Okay sweetheart," I said, kneeling beside her again and slipping the syringe back in. This time she was relaxed and didn't fight it at all.

I opened the clip fully and went back to massaging her belly, working harder now, feeling how bloated she was.

"David," she said, groaning, "it's starting to hurt."

"Relax," I said, "almost there."

And we were. The water bottle was almost empty again and she was bloated, looking almost pregnant.

I moved the chrome clip into the closed position again and slipped the syringe out.

"Okay," I said, "now let's stand you up." I offered my hand and she managed to stand although she was bent at the waist. "Stand up straight," I said, and she groaned and did.

"Now," I said, "come with me. A little walking will help."

"Oh, Jesus," she moaned and I smiled and kissed her.

"It's okay, Madonna, trust me," I said.

I held her hand as I walked her past the bedroom, chuckling as Bonnie let out a loud snore, and then down the hall to the second bathroom, what we called the "guest" bathroom.

"Now sit," I said, helping her to do so, "and do your business. I'm going to roll a joint and make some coffee."

I went to the kitchen, started the coffee going, and then into the spare bedroom where I kept my guitars and the pot. I sat at the desk in there and rolled a healthy joint, went back to check on the coffee, and then dug into our stash of ache and pain stuff. Bonnie and I are both active people. I got dings and bumps pretty regularly from my work at the shop, and from mistakes at the karate dojo (actually, the Shaolin Do school in this town) so we had a fairly good selection of liniments and localized topical stuff. I selected the IcyHot, poured two cups of coffee, and set them on the coffee table, then went to fetch Madonna.

The smell told me the enema had worked. The satisfied look on her face told me it had been a while. I grinned, kissed her, pulled a couple of feet of toilet paper off, made a pad and, carefully wiped her. I did that four times, until the paper showed clean.

"All better?" I asked.

She giggled and said, "I'm hungry."

I laughed, offered my hand, and said, "come on, let's get you taken care of."

I walked her back to the front room, still noticing that she was taking those short shuffling steps, looking like an old woman.

I sat her on the couch, handed her a cup of coffee, and lit the joint, drawing the smoke deep into my lungs with a long hiss.

I offered the joint and she giggled.

"David, I've never," she said.

I grinned and said, "like this," and showed her.

Of course, she had a coughing fit when she tried it. It took another half dozen tries before she could manage to get a solid hit down.

But that was enough. It's VERY good pot.

I took a drink of my coffee and watched as the pot took hold.

"Oh my," she said.

"Relax," I said, "you're fine."

I took another drink and then got to my knees before her. I took a foot in my hands and began massaging the IcyHot into it. I'd used the stuff enough to know what she was experiencing. First, it would feel cold, like I was massaging her with ice, and then it would start burning, like I was massaging her feet with jalapeno peppers. I did her feet and ankles, each toe individually and then her knees.

I lit the joint again and did a couple of hits, smiling as she went after it greedily.

I laid her face down on the couch and did her hips the same way. I patted her ass but left her asshole alone. Then I sat her up and did her hands, taking care to do each finger separately, and her wrists, elbows, and shoulders.

As I did I could almost see the years fall away. She was smiling as she relaxed.

"I could get used to this," she said softly as I finished with her shoulders.

"Good," Bonnie said, leaning over and giving Madonna an upside-down kiss, walking around the couch and kissing me, grabbing the joint, and taking a couple of quick hits on it.

She sat on the couch, laid back with her head in Madonna's lap, waved her hand imperiously at me, and said, "breakfast," before she took a nipple into her mouth.

I chuckled, got up, and headed for the kitchen.

I don't claim to be a good cook, but I do breakfast well. I made a big omelet, six slices of toast, a dozen strips of bacon, and poured three big glasses of orange juice. When it was all ready I yelled, "Come and get it."

They were an interesting couple as they came in. I was happy to see that between the pot and linament and enema and whatever Bonnie had done, Madonna was back to her "young 70-something look."

I seated them both, being the perfect gentleman, and then put the loaded plates before them. As we ate our breakfast, three adults, naked, and happy, I could almost hear the gears whirring between Madonna's ears as she processed. But I didn't say anything. It was a companionable silence actually, just the clink of silver on ceramic breaking the quiet.

Bonnie finished first, pushed her plate away, emitted a long sonorous belch, smiled, and said, "well, whattya think?"

Madonna looked at her wide-eyed. When she started to speak Bonnie held up her hand and said, "wait a minute. David, I'm pretty sure our guest hasn't had her morning orgasm yet. Take care of that please."

I grinned and said, "of course," took a final drink from my orange juice, slipped off of my chair, and moved under the table.

I could hear her continue, "well, whattya think," as I scooted forward and began licking at Madonna's full, meaty labia.

"I'm overwhelmed," I heard Madonna say as I probed deeper with my tongue, "I never imagined anything like this."

"Do you want us to take you home?" Bonnie asked and Madonna replied, instantly, "no."

"So you're enjoying yourself?" Bonnie asked.

I felt Madonna's hips twitch as I started getting to her, and she said, "yes, God help me, yes."

"Would you like to stay with us?" Bonnie asked.

"Wh-what do you mean?" Madonna asked, and I felt her body twitch.

"Just what I said," Bonnie said, "you're welcome to stay with us."

Her hips were starting to rock now, to push against my mouth, seeking more.

"For," and she drew in a quick breath as my tongue rolled her clitoris, "for how long?" she asked after a few seconds to regain her control.

There was a pause and I could picture Bonnie reaching across the table, covering Madonna's hand with her own, holding her eyes with hers, and then I heard, "for as long as you want honey."

I buried my tongue as deeply as I could into her and heard her gasp.

My hands went to her hips and I held her, deliberately masturbating her with my tongue. And she came, thick, warm, nectar covering my tongue.

"Let it go," I heard Bonnie saying as I kept doing what I was doing.

She came in a second wave, hot and watery on my tongue this time and I heard Bonnie saying, "that's right, use him for your pleasure, it's your right."

A third wave was quick and hard but she was tiring now, I could feel it in her body.

I covered her pussy with my mouth and just sucked, very gently, while she relaxed.

I heard Bonnie's deep, throaty chuckle and she said, "so, I'll ask again, will you be staying with us?"

And I heard Madonna's reply - "please."