The Cougar and the Milf Pt. 03

The Cougar and the MILF Part 3

NOTE: This story explores themes of anal sex, enemas and golden showers. If these topics are not to your taste, then hit 'Back' on your browser and move along.

Oreillan and Dee taught me a valuable lesson. I always wondered why anal sex that porn stars indulged in was not necessarily reflected in real life. Specifically, how 'solids' were sometimes uncomfortably present in my experiences that were absent on the internet.

Preparation was the key, and that involved the use of enemas. These experienced and perverted ladies even knew how to extract sexual pleasure from having their butts flushed and used a variety of 'liquids' to achieve this. The two the ladies first introduced me were warm soapy water and milk. It was the contrast between the viscosity and temperature that apparently gave them pleasure.

A third liquid was soon introduced, but I am jumping ahead.

Several times when I was at Oreillan's house, I notice an odd contraption in her bathroom. It was a steel stand about 2 metres in height on wheels. At the top was a bracket that housed a pink bladder that resembled an upside-down hot water bottle. At the bottom of the bladder was a long thin tube that ended with a nozzle with a small tap. This contraption was tucked away in the corner of the bathroom and rarely looked used. Some days there was a wet towel draped on it. While I was intrigued, I never thought to ask what it was.

The morning after our Melbourne Cup anal threesome, I rolled out of bed, somewhat hungover, desperately needing a shower. I left Oreillan snoring in bed, majestic chest heaving while I grabbed a towel. Entering the bathroom, I noticed the gadget had been dusted off, moved from the corner, and was positioned by the tub. There was also liquid in the bladder, and the device appeared recently used.

Curious, I picked up the nozzle and turned the tap. Out flowed a translucent fluid into the palm of my hand. It smelt of nothing, but it tasted of water with a hint of salt. I also noticed that the nozzle was greasy that gave off a whiff of Vaseline. Even with this cursory examination, I was as ignorant now as I was when I first noticed this contraption.

After my shower, I boiled the kettle and brought Oreillan a cup of tea who had awakened with a thumping headache.

"No more Champagne for breakfast," She croaked while taking the welcome beverage.

"Well," I smiled, "Not until next year."

Eventually, Oreillan hauled her impressive body out of bed and headed towards the bathroom. From the kitchen, I watched as she emptied the liquid from the bladder in the bath and clumsily manoeuvred the contraption back to home in the corner of the bathroom.

The following Saturday, Oreillan and I met for lunch, and over the course of food and wine, I felt confident enough to ask her about the gadget.

"That's an enema," She replied.

"What do you use it for?"

Oreillan burst into laughter at my ignorance before leaning across the table and whispering, "To prepare my butt for your cock."

"What does it do?"

"Cleans me out," Oreillan said, "Ensures there are no 'solids'."

Ah, now I understood. I could detail many real-life instances where anal sex did not resemble anything seen on a video, a DVD, a magazine or the internet.

"Is it pleasurable?"

A beautiful smile graced Oreillan's face.

"My pussy juices up when I slide the lubed nozzle of the enema bladder through my anus and further up my arse," She explained, "I can't resist stroking my pussy lips to spread juices over my clit."

"Do you bring yourself off?" I asked.

"I used too because it's so easy to reach an orgasm at that point," She replied, "But I hold off and just tease myself."

"How do you do that?"

"I insert fingers into my wet pussy and tickle my g-spot as the liquid fills my arse."

"How does that feel?" I had a vague memory of experiencing piss enemas when experimenting with gay sex back in the early nineties.

"A warmth washes over me," Oreillan replied, "I almost come anyway holding the liquid inside me, and then again when I expel it."

"The preparation for an anal session is almost as exciting as the sex that follows," Oreillan concluded.

"So, an enema is the key to 'clean' anal sex?" I asked, fascinated that Oreillan viewed it as part of the sex.

"Yep," She confirmed, "An enema gives me the confidence to do frequent and aggressive ATMs."

That skill certainly impressed me from the get-go.

"Plus, the enema relaxes my hole which lets you penetrate it easier than without it," Oreillan added.

I did wonder why her arsehole behaved like those of her professional on-screen peers. Simple spit lube was enough to slide my cock between her cheeks.

"Not that I mind an unprepared anal session," Oreillan confirmed, "Sometimes that flash of pain and the friction is enough to get me off."

"Is it the same kind of orgasm?"

"Assgasm," Oreillan corrected, "Preparing my hole beforehand lets me relax and do the nasty things that I like."

"Giving you a better orgasm?"

"Not better," She replied, "Just different."

"Preferable?"

"Yes." She answered, "But I'll take either than receive none."

Introducing Oreillan, the anal queen!

Her explanation of the enema and how she used it to prepare herself for an anal session sexually had made me uncomfortably hard at the restaurant. Glancing at Oreillan, I saw her nipples poking through her top, and her cheeks appeared slightly flushed.

Wild sex subsequently followed at her place later that day.

The more I thought about enemas over the subsequent days, the more I became curious.

As previously related, when I was at Uni in England, I explored my bi-side with several friends. Watersports featured heavily, and on more than one occasion, I received a hot piss injection up my arse.

Recalling those experiences, so long ago, I remembered how "filled up" I felt as the hot fluid drained into me. There was a particular urgency that consumed me, a need to expel the contents of my intimate hole, and, when I did, the feeling was euphoric, exhilarating and relaxing.

Something for the future.

For the next week or so, Oreillan and I saw little of each other due to work commitments, and, for me, moving to a new house, but we texted frequently. I purchased a house in the suburb of Lathlain about a kilometre from my quaint rental in Victoria Park with its purple and lime green décor. That rental had seen serious action over the years I was in residence.

What would the new house bring?

A lot of possibilities as it turned out.

The house was situated on a huge block, had been recently renovated with several extensions but most exciting of all, it had a heated six-seater hot tub on the rear patio. It was close to the train station but further from the pub. Overall, the move was a step-up in the grand scheme of things.

Among the chaos of boxes, piles of books and furniture that had not found a position in this new house, I invited Oreillan over for an assessment. My new place was perhaps three times the size of hers but lacked her commanding view of the city, despite being closer to the CBD.

Brandishing a bottle of Glenmorangie 10-year-old malt whiskey, Oreillan gawped in awe at the space and its potential. Grabbing her generous gift and placing it on the kitchen bench, I frantically looked at a pile of boxes that contained glasses.

"You haven't unpacked the basics?" Laughed Oreillan.

"My library's unboxed," I replied sarcastically.

Presently, I found a box labelled 'glassware' with a checkmark in the 'Kitchen' circle. Using the box cutter to pry its flaps apart, I retrieved two suitable glasses.

"How did you afford this place?" Oreillan asked, unable to comprehend the breadth of space, both inside and out.

"I had to sell my townhouse in Glendalough," I said.

"But not the place in Melbourne?"

I shook my head happy that my property in Melbourne was safely squirrelled away from the greedy grasp of the bank.

After hastily cleaning two glasses, I poured two bronze-tinged serves of the Glenmorangie and handed one to Oreillan.

"Here's to a lifetime of crushing mortgage payments," I raised my glass.

"And to an eternity of serfdom." Oreillan's glass clinked against mine.

The whiskey sailed down my throat with burning ease and warmed my insides on what was an already hot day.

"Fancy a go in the spa?" I asked.

"I didn't bring my bathers."

"You don't need them," I reassured her, "The fence, on both sides, is two metres high."

"No-one can see?" Oreillan asked with a sparkle in her eyes.

"Not a soul."

Oreillan placed her glass on one of the many boxes surrounding us and began tugging at her top. Grinning, I whipped off my top and wiggled out of my shorts.

Naked, we went to the patio. I placed a couple of towels on the outdoor table and hauled off the spa cover to reveal the inviting heated, bubbling, chlorinated water. Oreillan brought the Glenmorangie and our glasses.

I climbed in and submerged beneath the water. Arising, I grabbed the drinks and placed them into their holders before accepting Oreillan's outstretched hand. Her naked cougar body looked sensational against the late afternoon summer sun.

"Oh, wow!" Moaned Oreillan as she melted into the water.

"You like?" I asked.

"I love it!" Oreillan replied, running a hand across her face and hair.

Initially, we sat opposite each other and played footsie as we sipped on our drinks and conversed. The bubbling water massaged our skins and any stress we had dissipated magically.

"I feel so relaxed," Oreillan sighed as her body relaxed against mine.

"You want to fuck?" I asked.

"Does a bear shit in the woods?" Came Oreillan's response.

"I take it you're 'prepared'?"

"Of course," Oreillan replied, "I 'prepare' every time one of us stays over."

"You're staying over?"

"If you'll have me, homeowner."

"Let's go," I replied, kissing Oreillan passionately.

Climbing out of the spa and toweling dry, we quickly made it to the bedroom, stinking of chlorine, before passionately falling into the one piece of furniture constructed, the bed. As expected, Oreillan had my cock buried deep inside her arsehole shortly into our lovemaking.

In the doggy position -- her favourite for climaxing - she encouraged me to fuck her shitter harder and harder, employing filthier dialogue, which typically indicated an impending orgasm. Simultaneously, she seemed to be inching her butt higher in the air that forced me from my knees to my toes and then to my feet.

Before long, my thrusting position had changed from horizontal to a 45-degree angle, to nigh-on 90 degrees. I was almost pile-driving my greasy cock into Oreillan's distended pucker. The strain on my haunches was practically unbearable. All the while, she was alternating between mumbled gibberish and yelled obscenities.

"Oh," Oreillan grunted, her sweat-drenched cougar body suddenly froze, "I'm coming!"

Then she began panting uncontrollably with on hand gripping my ankle, forcing me to more extraordinary exertions.

The unusual angle aside, what Oreillan was doing was familiar territory. Throughout our 'relationship', we worked out how to heighten the pleasure of an assgasm for both of us. When Oreillan climaxed, I pulled out and spread her meaty globes apart generating a pleasing gape before dipping my head and tonguing that perfect circle. Oreillan would spasm and thrash for what seemed like an age. She said those actions prolonged the pleasure. What I derived from those actions needs no explanation.

So, this was what I prepared to do after Oreillan announced her assgasm was about to strike.

However, something about this climax seemed different than expected.

For one, Oreillan's meaty body was thrashing harder than usual. Two, the high angle allowed me deeper access to her arsehole. Three, I could feel muscles tightening and loosening in a way that I never felt before.

Timing was everything for this to work.

Oreillan was panting hard now.

Seconds to go.

I do not think I ploughed Oreillan's arsehole as deep or as hard as I was currently doing. She seemed to be sucking my entire being inside her exhaust port.

Sweat was pouring off my brow and stinging my eyes. Feet, leg and thigh muscles were beyond their tolerances at this strange angle, and I did not know how long I could keep up this feat of athleticism.

Abruptly, Oreillan yelled out in a cry that would have been heard from the street.

I pulled out and spread her globes as far apart as possible.

Instead of a perfect circular black hole gape, I saw this spongey mass of red muscle. Rather than immediately tonguing rim her arsehole, this unusual new sight made me pause.

At the same instant, Oreillan's pussy ejected powerful streams of fluid onto my bedding. A shriek of pleasure accompanied each jet.

Glancing back at Oreillan's smashed arsehole, that strange muscle was gone, but her pucker was twitching violently, in sync with the fluid ejections.

Jet after jet erupted from her cunt as each shockwave hit, creating an expanding puddle on my bed.

Each pussy squirt and twitch from her buggered hole elicited loud moans of ecstasy.

All of this was novel, confusing and filthy at the same time.

At last, this strange behaviour came to an end.

Oreillan rolled over on to 'her' side of the bed. Chest heaving mightily, cheeks flushed and covered in sweat.

I jumped off 'my' piss-soaked side of the bed for I was convinced that the fluid was urine.

"You okay?" I asked, laughing.

"Fuck, I see stars!" Gasped Oreillan, struggling to keep her eyes open and force air into her lungs.

"Jeebus, that was one hell of an assgasm!"

"You're telling me," Oreillan panted, "Never experienced anything like it."

"I know," I said, "You pissed my bed!"

My statement grabbed Oreillan's attention immediately. Her eyes opened in a flash, and she leaned over and looked at 'my' side of the bed.

"Shit, I'm sorry," She said earnestly, "That time I couldn't hold it in."

"Hold what in?" I asked, coyly knowing precisely what happened, at least with the fluid part of her assgasm. The question of the spongey red muscle that protruded from her arsehole at the point I pulled out waited for another day.

"My bladder," Came Oreillan's simple reply before she rolled onto her back, exhausted.

Being completely into watersports as I was, her confession opened the door for further perverted possibilities.

"You mean you hold it back?"

Oreillan wiped the sweat from her forehead.

"As you know, my anal orgasms are very intense," She replied, "If you hit my g-spot just right, and for long enough, I lose control of my bladder."

"Why hold it back?"

"Because you might not like it!"

"Why don't you ask me?"

My response piqued Oreillan's interest. She sat up again and shot me a quizzical look.

"You're into pee play?"

"I enjoy golden showers, yes."

Oreillan's eyes sparkled at my revelation.

"I love them," She answered, "But we better get your bedding sorted out."

With new-found energy, Oreillan leapt off the bed and gathered up the blankets. Thankfully, her bladder had not found its way to the mattress.

"I'm sorry," She said, by the door with the bundle held towards her chest.

"No need," I replied before kissing her.

Oreillan smiled.

We hurried to the laundry, loaded it up with the bedding and a shit-ton of washing powder. The quick washing cycle took thirty minutes and, in that time, Oreillan not only revitalised my flagging member but brought me off to a thundering climax, my sperm bursting across her generous breasts.

Later that evening, with the bedding drying on the washing line, Oreillan and I sat out on the patio, consuming several ice-cooled whiskeys, and wearing very little.

The sun had set, and the heat of the day was dissipating, a light breeze wafted diverse aromas from the wild herb garden and other flora from my garden. The bug zapper sparked at irregular intervals, keeping our skin safe from the spoilation of mosquitoes.

"How did you get into watersports?" I asked directly.

Expecting Oreillan to turn red with embarrassment, she traced the rim of her glass with a delicate finger and stared at its content.

"Dee introduced me to it," She replied before looking at me and judging my reaction.

"Dee?" I said, incredulous.

"Yep," Oreillan answered, "I was curious about it but couldn't find a willing partner."

"Not even your husband?"

"He was a hardcore lover to be sure, but he wasn't going there, no matter how hard I tried persuading him."

"How did Dee end up suggesting it?"

Oreillan laughed before adding that it happened on the day she and Dee first had sex together.

She had given me a broad outline of their relationship and revealed some saucy encounters over the years, but she had not gone into detail about how they came to be lovers.

"You have to tell me about that first encounter now," I laughed, feeling blood flow to my exhausted cock.

"I sensed you'd want to know," Replied Oreillan with a sultry smile.

At the time, both Oreillan's and Dee's husbands were in the state's north-west working in the mines on a fly-in fly-out (FIFO) basis. While they did not work for the same mining company, their FIFO schedules tended to align, leaving their wives home alone.

Oreillan explained that one Saturday afternoon, she was lonely and feeling horny. Opening the drawer of the bedside table, she took out a selection of toys, including newly purchased anal beads and a bottle of lubrication.

After teasing her pussy with a vibrator and working herself into a lather, Oreillan lubed up her arsehole and inserted the long string of beads. Next, she turned over to her favourite doggy style position and prepared to administer an epic fucking with the vibrator.

Then the doorbell rang.

"Dee?" I laughed.

"I didn't know," Oreillan replied, recounting the frustration she felt at the intrusion, "And I wasn't expecting her."

Oreillan tossed the vibrator aside, bounced off the bed, grabbed a robe and cursed her way to the front door, leaving the anal beads in place.

Opening the front door, Dee was looking somewhat sad. Her husband was offered an extra week on his FIFO roster, and Dee was missing him terribly. As Dee's marriage stumbled along, her husband would add on more time to his schedules. He reassured Dee that the extra money was going to the mortgage, to the car loan and to the various trappings of wealth that rewarded a mining career.

The truth was that extra time added to his roster was a ruse. He had started fucking one of his mining co-workers and spending that time with her when they flew back to Perth. The eventual reveal of the cheating husband resulted in Dee's inevitable divorce.

Oreillan naturally sympathised with her friend's predicament because she was missing her non-cheating husband too, but she was so horny and needed to orgasm badly.

Dee asked her friend why she was wearing her robe in the middle of the afternoon. Oreillan lied and said she was about to take a shower after completing a run around the park.

On being asked what her plans were, Dee said she wanted to curl her long, dark hair for a change of look and asked to borrow Oreillan's curling tongs. She had not used them in a while, but Oreillan believed they were in the bathroom somewhere.

Oreillan excused herself and headed down the hall to the master bedroom. Unbeknownst, Dee followed in her wake. Leaning against the door frame as Oreillan rummaged in the en-suite bathroom for the curlers, Dee saw the vibrator and the bottle of lube on the bed and commented.

Embarrassed, Oreillan stammered something about having a cheeky wank that morning, but Dee shot back one of those 'yeah right' looks. Holding out the curlers, Dee grabbed it and placed it on the dresser before advancing towards Oreillan with a lusty twinkle in her eye.