Canon Chasuble’s record wasn’t too hard to equal, but fucking Colette’s bottom was going to be in a different league altogether.

My sex education at college had been just about zilch: frotting in the communal showers with other boys after games, the pictures and stories to be found in ‘top shelf’ porn magazines and brief glimpses of Sylvia Krystel’s perfectly-formed titties in darkened art house cinemas. So, for innocent 18-year-old me, anal sex – with a beautiful French woman twice my age – was a positive minefield.

Providing a brief respite from our sexual triathlon, Collette went to take a shower, while I dozed on her four-poster bed. The summer breezes wafted in through the opened windows.

Fifteen minutes later she returned. She stood naked, dabbing the moisture from her peach-like skin and her tantalising dark downy bush. She held up a thin glass tube, topped by a black rubber pump. “Know what this is, Nicholas?”

“Looks rather like something my Mum uses to ice the Christmas cake.”

She chuckled at my suggestion. “This, my divine Nicholas, is a douche.”

I repeated slavishly: “A douche.”

“And where does it go - once it has been filled with warm soapy water?” she asked.

“Errm – between your toes, perhaps?”

“Bien sure que non chérie. The pointy end, Nicholas dearest, is going to be carefully slipped up Colette’s derriere – with you all the while gently pressing this rubber bulb. So, all will be beautifully clean inside when you fuck my bottom!” Without further ado she flung her towel aside, climbed onto the bed beside me and took up a kneeling position. “Just slide the pointed end in very carefully, my love, as it is made of glass!”

The act of douching between two lovers, I quickly realised, was an intimate act in itself. With her elbows planted squarely on the bed, she arched her back and let her head hang forwards. I nervously parted the cheeks of her posterior to reveal a perfectly formed sphincter, still glistening from the shower. I stroked it with a moistened thumb, then carefully offered up the tip of the soap-filled pipette. She gently swayed her hips, which seemed to have the effect of drawing the douche inside.

“Now press the bulb on the end, sweetie. It’s all I can do not to cum already!”

I duly squeezed the black bulb, which triggered off a slight gurgling noise, followed by the involuntary suction my lover’s bowels made to accommodate the soapy liquid.

After a tantalising pause she said: “Now carefully pull it out, chérie – and block up my bumhole with these panties, so that I don’t leak on the bed!”

The operation had taken less than ten minutes. Colette flopped forward on the bed, holding her butt-plug in place with one hand. She buried her head in a pillow purring: “Merveilleux!” After a short break she shuffled off to the toilet to discharge the douche and flush it away, taking the ‘machine’ with her.

Moments later she stood coquettishly in the bathroom doorway, still naked, hands on hips. ”So, Nicholas, are you now ready for your introduction to anal intercourse?”

I rolled over onto my back so that I could fully expose my erection for her. She leaned forward and ran her tongue slowly up my shaft. “In my student days in Paris, I had a lover who had a cock just like yours!”

With a mock-fume I countered: “Don’t tell me anymore or I’ll get jealous!”

“Over a woman?” She giggled: “My lovely Violette had a most wonderful strap-on, with a ‘helmet’ just like yours.” She stroked her palm lovingly over my glans.

“The English slang for the shape of my cockhead is ‘policeman’s helmet’”.

“Well how funny. In France we would say: ‘Casque de Pompière’. Violette taught me everything about anal between ladies.”

“Well, in that case I can’t wait – just so long as we’ve got time enough?”

She glanced at the bedside alarm clock. “More than, my sweet. More than. Though we must take it slowly. You are very big and my bumhole is quite tiny. So long as my Ragoût goes in by five o’clock, you can fuck my bottom for the rest of the afternoon!”

From a drawer in her bedside table Colette produced a small jar of an unperfumed lubricant. She lay down on her back and held her opened legs into the air. Handing me the glass jar she said: “Perhaps you would like to do the honours, monsieur?”

Using my thumb, I first oiled the area around her ‘dark star’. Then, having gained some confidence I inserted a large finger-full into her cavity. She moaned softly as I slid my finger in and out a few times, using slow, sensual thrusts. “Oh merde that is so good, Nicholas. And it’s not even your cock!”

“Which is the best posture for us to take up?” I enquired naively, having never even seen an image of the act being performed.

She rolled over from her prone position and looked at me sweetly. “They do say that for the deepest penetration ‘doggie’ is best. But personally, I find it rather friendless. I really don’t want my lover to have to gaze at my spine!”

“Are there other ways?”

“For sure. If you kneel before me here on the bed and I lay on my back and place my legs onto your shoulders – so - then with some manoeuvring (perhaps also a small cushion to raise me up a little) we can ‘couple’ whilst looking at each other. All the while kissing and talking dirty!” She added wistfully: “Talking dirty is a finesse between lovers which, sadly, my husband is unable to grasp.”

Then Colette told me that the position we were about to use was known as ‘The Anvil’ - a term I thought most appropriate as I was about to fuck old Farmer Ned’s wife’s bottom.