She reads his instructions to her and, having done so, takes her clothes off and, completely naked, walks from her bedroom to the couch waiting in the living room. Places a pillow on the arm, imagining him doing it, and bends forward, imagining him standing behind her, watching.
“Am I correctly presented, Daddy,” she says, “my behind up, my virgin bowels available to you, my tight asshole waiting to be penetrated. My Vaselined behind waiting to be sodomized, hard, and fast, and deep.” The words excite her; it’s the kind of thing he’d have her say, both humiliating and arousing. “My virgin bowels, waiting for your thick cock in them … after you’ve smacked me hard with the wooden paddle, after I’ve sucked you while you make me kneel, waiting for the ass-fucking, the punishment enema surging in my poor, red, greased heinie.”
She feels the familiar butterflies in her tummy, the familiar wetness between her legs. Bending forward, she feels humiliated, imagines him watching her as she waits like that. Imagines other people watching, seeing her presented, her face hidden, her privacy preserved, only her bare raised ass on display.
Wonders how long he’ll make her wait like that before he takes his belt off and straps her. Making her turn to watch as he unbuckles, shaking his head at what a bad girl she’s been, his hand between her legs to confirm his suspicions. Making her watch as he unbuckles his belt, pulls it out through the loops of his pants, folds it, applies it to her bare behind. Hard. Making her kick, and squirm. And cry.
She knows he won’t stop when she bawls, knows he enjoys hearing her act like a little girl over a parental lap for a spanking. Knows he’ll turn her behind bright red before he’s satisfied, that he’ll want see her face wet with tears before he’ll even contemplate putting the belt down.
And when he does, she knows her punishment won’t be over; instead it will be time for the enemas, for the humilation of having him unceremoniously grease the nozzle — Vaseline if she’s lucky, Vicks if she isn’t — and then abruptly spread her cheeks and push it in.
She knows she’s wet thinking about that, about him making her come with him into the bathroom where the enema bag is waiting. She closes her eyes and imagines what it looks like, full, the soapy water waiting to be administered, the humiliation of having to have it. Of having to hold it. Until he says she can expel.
It will be there waiting for her, and he’ll make her kneel down to receive it. Kneeling, so that he can enjoy the sight of her behind submissively stuck up; kneeling, so that he can get the enema solution higher into her bowels, maximizing its cleansing effect. Maximizing the penetration of the solution.
Maximizing her submission.
She dreads what comes next, the expulsion, hopes he’ll let her do it in privacy.
He’s reassured her that he will, of course; but he’s told her in the same breath that the privacy he gives will only be for the first expulsion. For all the other enemas he’ll be there to watch, be there to look into her eyes as she does it, as she voids herself while he watches.
She prays he’ll allow the bedpan; she’s seen the pictures he’s taken of her on the potty chair, shrinks into nothingness whenever she thinks about them, about him seeing her like that. He’s threatened to show these pictures to others, a promise that terrifies her, although she knows he is careful to preserve her privacy. Terror; but an odd kind of terror that drives her hand to her crotch.
She feels her hand there now as she thinks about the expulsion, as she thinks about the only slightly lessened humiliation of the bedpan. Will he let her look away to the wall when he’s placed her on it, or will she have to face him? Will he talk to her while she uses it, or will he keep still, letting her bottom do the talking, as he likes to put it, much to her utter shame.
She rubs between her legs thinking about that shame, wondering how she can be so excited by it. She thinks about the ring on her behind that the bedpan leaves, thinks about how it turns him on to sodomize her and look down to see that mark on her, the mark of his control, the mark of her further submission to him.
Her desire for orgasm grows as she lies there, thinking about him sticking the nozzle up her ass, makes her take the enemas, making her use the bedpan, the potty chair. Having to watch as he takes his pants off, has her hold her hot rear cheeks apart for the first thrust of his cock deep into her tight virgin ass.
Lies there, waiting, wondering how long it will be before she gets the sperm enema shot deep into her resisting bowels, feeling his weight pressing down on her, feeling his cock discharging into the depths of her deflowered behind.
She rouses herself from her reverie, recalling the last part of his instructions to her.
She gets up, goes back to her room and returns with the camera. Sets it up in the spot where she images he’ll sit; when it’s ready she starts the timer and quickly returns to her position over the couch.
There’s a long wait before she hears the click of shutter firing, and as she waits she thinks about him looking at the pictures, excited at her naked behind stuck up and waiting. She wonders if he’ll get hard when he sees the pictures, wonders how she should position herself to maximize his excitement, his desire.
She hears the click, waits a moment, then gets up and resets the camera.
Goes back to her room, returns with the rectal plug. Something she knows he’ll find exciting; something that makes her think of him entering her behind.
She Vaselines the plug, starts the camera, quickly resumes her position, pushes the plug in.
Feels her hand slipping between her legs as she waits for the click. Thinks about him sodomizing her, forcing himself between her cheeks after paddling her, after putting her over his lap for the indignities of the enemas. Thinks about his cock entering her bowels, his weight pressing down on her as he slides in.
The camera clicks again. She hears it and, pulling herself back from orgasm, gets up to reset it for another humiliating exciting shot.
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