WaterWay -- Chapter 5
Coming Clean
By: WaterLuv@etzine.com   Copyright 1996, by ET!zine   All rights reserved

[As you settle in to expel your filling, read the following and act out the caresses and touches using your hands for mine.  Where my tongue enters you, substitute your well-licked fingers, slick with the dew from your own mouth.]

Bathroom things have always been a private matter to you.  You are not used to an audience while you go through the cramping, squirting, perspiring agony of expelling a large enema.  Yet you sense the special bond that's developing between us.  Three lifelong klismos, ready to share all of our passions, to be transparent before one another.  You are just as certain as Jazmand and I am that we must have no secrets, no walls to hinder the intimacy that is, at this precious moment, so strong between us.

Still, old habits die a slow death.  You plop down on the toilet seat, hoping for immediate relief, desperately needing it, but some hidden vestige of decorum is in control.  Is your subconscious doing this?  Unbidden, a message is being sent to your anal-sphincter muscles telling them to hold shut.  Nothing comes out.  Your tummy is a sea of cramping pressure.  You feel it pushing almost unbearably against your rectal opening.  But nothing more than a dribble comes forth.

I know just what is happening, and what must be done to fix it.  I kneel beside you, kissing you again, massaging your breasts.  My hand tracks the pregnant bulge of your enema-swollen belly.  My tongue is delving into your mouth now; my kiss building again to a raging fire.  My hand trails down the smooth swell of your enema-full abdomen and into the thatch above your well-exercised sex.  I let my fingers slide through the slick wetness there, tracing the outer then inner lips, teasing around your love canal, then back up to play with the trigger to your passion.  As the masturbation/kiss grows more intense, I let my other hand slide round your rear, massaging around your hole, forcing your cheeks open, coaxing you to let the massive enema flow freely.

You are climbing back up the stairs of desire now.  I am focusing my fingering more on your clit, beginning to find that rhythm older than time, strumming you like a fine Stradivarius, making such beautiful music.  

Jazmand, not able to stand and watch any longer, walks over to join the action.  Through half-closed lashes, you see her coming, and, reaching out, pull her body to you.  I break my kiss and you immediately pull Jaz's overheated pussy to your hungry mouth.  You take in the incredible, musky perfume of her Black ancestry.  Light skinned though she is, her Saffron tang is as primeval as that of the best of her slave forebears.  You are taken aback by it, not expecting this olfactory treat from one so fair.

Free of the kiss, I concentrate my efforts on coaxing total release from both of your holes.  My fingers literally fly over your love button.  As the crescendo mounts, my hand on your rear actually explores your darker passage, fingers sliding in and out of your well-greased, sodden ass.  Your orgasm is on us.  Jazmand is trembling, hardly able to stand, as she spends herself into your open mouth.  Her love juices are coating your face, dripping down the elegant curve of your neck.  My mouth is on your breast, sucking incredible sensations from your engorged nipple.  My fingers are playing a symphony, drawing mystical, high-voltage discharges from your sex to your opened ass.  With each crashing wave of passion, you feel bolts of electric pleasure ripple out from your groin, shooting fire down your legs, up your torso, into your breasts, up into your mouth, driving your hot, probing tongue wild in Jazmand's fragrant pussy, sucking wave upon wave of earth-shattering delight from her.

Each surge through your system is met by a rush of hot, churning enema from your distended anus.  Now, all pretense of civility is gone.  You and Jazmand and I are all locked in that ancient dance of release.  There is nothing left to hide.  There is no hidden signal, telling your strained sphincter to remain closed.  You are totally, utterly open.  Your enema flows now in a torrent, interrupted only on occasion by a spasm across your pelvic floor as the long, lolling orgasm just rumbles on and on.

You are not even aware of when Jazmand's pussy left your lips -- when my hands were withdrawn from your fevered core.  You only know that ages passed and the pregnant look of your tummy finally gave way to your usual, trim self.  Jaz was dabbing at your sweating brow with a cool wash cloth.  I was telling you what wondrous progress you'd made, and how tremendously proud I was of you, how in love with you.  Jaz, in love too.  And you, between the occasional cramp and burst of remaining water from deep inside, telling us that you loved us both more than words could explain.

"Perhaps," I winked, "we'll all go somewhere where the law allows multiple mates, and we'll get married.  How would they view it when we come back here and clear customs.  When they see our passports.  How would it play in Peoria?" 

"Not as well as we'd all play, in Peoria or anywhere else," you replied, and Jazmand and I both laughed a hearty release to the evenings high tension.
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