Chapter 20
Pam
They led me naked into the corridor, my whipped bottom on full display, my body struggling to contain what felt like gallons of water. The fluorescent lights seemed impossibly bright after the relative dimness of the bathroom. I heard doors opening, heard Mr. Jenkins’s voice echoing down the hall.
Oh, no.
“Line up, ladies. Morning inspection,” I heard the big guard’s voice announce.
My face burned with fresh humiliation as I realized what was happening. They were going to make me parade in front of everyone like this—naked, punished, struggling to hold an enema while my fellow bad girls watched.
I saw Keiko emerge from her room first, her dark eyes going wide as she took in my state. Then Joyce, her mouth falling open. Shaniqua came next, and I heard her sharp intake of breath.
“Eyes forward,” Mr. Jenkins barked at them, but I could feel their gazes on me anyway as my daddies walked me slowly up the hallway.
Each step was agony. The cramping came in waves, my body clenching desperately to hold everything inside. I sobbed openly, unable to contain the sounds of distress that escaped my throat. The water sloshed inside me with each movement, making the pressure somehow worse.
“Please, Daddy,” I whimpered as we reached the end of the hall and turned to walk back. “Please, I can’t hold it much longer.”
“Honestly, you have no idea what you’re capable of,” Daddy Ed said grimly. “That’s why you’re here, Little Seventy-One. It’s also why you’re being punished.”
I heard whispers behind me as we passed the line of girls again.
I couldn’t make out the words but I felt their weight—their pity, their fear, their understanding that this could be them if they stepped out of line.
Above all the gratitude I knew they would never confess that it wasn’t them walking naked up the corridor with an enema threatening to surge out of their bottom holes.
We walked the length of the hall three more times.
By the end, I was trembling violently, my legs barely supporting me, tears and snot running down my face.
The cramping had become constant, my body fighting against my will to hold what it desperately needed to expel.
By that time Mr. Jenkins had led the other bad girls into the bathroom.
“Back to the bathroom,” Daddy Bill said finally.
They guided me back into the tiled room and positioned me in front of the toilet. I started to sit, but Daddy Ed’s hand on my shoulder stopped me.
“Stand there,” he said. “Wait for permission.”
I stood over the toilet, my body shaking, the pressure unbearable. I could hear the showers being turned on, twenty feet or so away. They would hear everything.
“Please,” I sobbed. “Please, Daddy, I can’t—”
“Now,” Daddy Bill said.
I collapsed onto the toilet, and the relief was immediate and overwhelming and utterly humiliating. The water rushed out of me in a torrent while my daddies stood watching, while the other girls listened from the showers and I wept with shame at being disciplined like this.
When it was finally over, I sat there trembling, unable to look at either of them. Daddy Ed handed me a washcloth.
“Clean yourself,” he instructed. “Thoroughly.”
I obeyed with shaking hands, washing between my legs and my bottom cheeks while they observed. Every movement felt like an admission of defeat, like evidence of how completely they controlled me.
“Stand up,” Daddy Bill said when I’d finished. “Go bend over the counter again.”
My stomach dropped. I didn’t know what was coming, but I felt absolutely certain it would only get worse.
I positioned myself over the counter, my hands gripping the edge, my whipped bottom presented once more.
In the mirror I saw Daddy Bill retrieve something from the same cabinet that had held the enema bag—a plug, but larger than any I’d seen before.
Easily two inches in diameter, maybe more.
“Spread your cheeks,” my brown-haired daddy commanded.
I tried not to give in, but the fear was just too much. I turned around and clasped my hands in front of me.
“No… no, please? Please, Daddy?”
I looked from Daddy Bill to Daddy Ed, who had folded his arms across his chest.
“Please?” I begged, tears streaming down my face. “I’m… I’m so sorry. Can’t you… can’t you fuck me there instead? My bottom is so sore… and… and that’s the rule, isn’t it?”
Daddy Bill leaned over to growl his response into my ear.
“Oh, we’re going to fuck you, Little Pamela. We’re going to fuck you until you feel like you can’t pull your panties up. But that ass of yours isn’t sore enough for the kind of girl you’ve shown us you are. Don’t make this even worse. Do as Daddy tells you and spread those cheeks.”
With a sob of fear and shame and helpless need I turned around to face my reflection.
I reached back with trembling hands and pulled the burning cheeks of my punished bottom apart.
Then I felt lubricant being applied, felt Daddy Ed’s fingers working it into my tender opening.
The plug pressed against me and I whimpered.
“Please, Daddy… please… It’s… it’s too big, I can’t—”
The plug pushed harder, stretching me impossibly wide. I screamed as it breached me, the burn intense and terrible. My body tried to reject it, but Daddy Ed was relentless, pushing until suddenly the widest part passed through and my muscles closed around the narrow neck.
The scream that tore from my throat echoed off the tile. I knew every girl in the showers heard it. Knew they understood exactly what was happening to me.
“Up,” Daddy Ed said.
I straightened slowly, feeling the enormous plug lodged inside me. Every movement made it shift, made me acutely aware of how full I was, how thoroughly claimed.
They led me out of the bathroom and down the hallway, past the showers where I heard the water running and knew the other girls were in there, listening. We walked to the cafeteria where the morning light was just beginning to filter through the high windows.
In the center of the room stood a small platform I’d never seen before—maybe a foot high, just large enough for someone to stand on. My daddies guided me to it and positioned me facing the wall.
“Bend forward,” Daddy Bill instructed. “Hands on your ankles.”
I bent slowly, my whipped bottom lifting as I reached down to grasp my ankles. The position made the plug feel like it was pressing even deeper. My punished cheeks felt stretched and burnt. I heard movement above me. I realized they must be hanging something on the wall above where I stood.
“The sign says ‘I was a very, very bad girl,’” Daddy Ed told me, his voice flat. “You’ll stay in this position until breakfast is over. Every girl who comes in will see exactly what happens to bad girls who try to deceive their daddies.”
They left me there, and I heard their footsteps fade as they exited the cafeteria. I stood alone on the platform, bent over with my hands on my ankles, my whipped bottom on display, the enormous plug visible between my cheeks, the sign hanging above me announcing my shame to anyone who entered.
The cramping in my legs started almost immediately.
My back ached from the position. The plug felt impossibly big, terribly present, a depth of punishment I hadn’t even imagined.
But worse than all of that was the knowledge that soon the other girls would file in for breakfast, would see me like this, would understand the full extent of my disgrace.
I heard the cafeteria doors open. Heard footsteps entering. Heard the sharp intake of breath as whoever it was took in the sight of me displayed on the platform.
More footsteps. Whispers. I couldn’t see who was there but I felt their eyes on my punished bottom, on the plug stretching me, on my complete humiliation.
“Eyes forward, ladies,” I heard Mr. Jenkins say. “Take your seats.”
The sounds of chairs scraping, trays being set down. The normal routine of breakfast happening around me while I stood on display, a living warning of what happened to girls who stepped out of line.
My legs trembled with the effort of holding the position. My back screamed in protest. The plug felt like it had split me open. But I didn’t move. Couldn’t move. Because some part of me understood that this was exactly what I deserved.
I had tried to deceive the men I loved. Had tried to sabotage everything they’d built. Had tried to escape the very thing I needed most.
And now I was paying the price.
Breakfast only lasted twenty minutes. The other bad girls needed to get to the Workshop and start coding. I felt sure their first task would be to go through my code and strip out the remarks that I had so carefully—and, I understood now, foolishly—encrypted.
It felt like eternity, though. Tears dripped from my eyes onto the platform they had put me on.
Every few minutes I would let out a sob that refused to be stifled.
I traveled the shameful landscape of my mind, desperate for some kind of comfort—some indication that I could keep myself intact in the face of this demonstration of my apparent inability to make good choices.
By the time the other girls had left I had stopped noticing anything outside myself, beyond the discomfort and the mortification.
When Daddy Bill said from behind me, “Stand up, Little Seventy-One. It’s time to go to the suite,” I barely understood the meaning of the words since they came from outside my mind.
Then I realized what go to the suite meant, and my body reacted in a fashion so conflicted that I was instantly dizzy—even before I straightened up, my hands moving behind me to protect my plugged bottom, as if that could stop my daddies from doing whatever they wanted with my backside.
The true dizziness from the act of standing hit me then, and I nearly fell. Daddy Ed grabbed my upper arm roughly, and kept me on my feet. Immediately he started walking me out of the cafeteria.
“Please…” I babbled. “Please, Daddy… I’ll be good… I’ll do… I’ll be so good for you… I’ll make Daddy’s cock feel so good…”
“Oh, yes,” Daddy Bill said from behind me. “You’ll definitely do that, Little Pamela. Our cocks are going to have a good time inside you.”
I sobbed harder as they guided me through the hallways toward their suite. My legs barely worked, trembling with exhaustion and fear and something darker I couldn’t name. The horrible plug shifted with each step, bringing back into my mind over and over how completely they owned my body.
When we reached their suite, Daddy Ed pressed his palm to the scanner and the door clicked open. They led me inside and positioned me in the center of the living room. The familiar space felt different now—not warm and comforting, but charged with something severe and unforgiving.
“On your knees,” Daddy Bill commanded.
I sank down, my legs folding beneath me. The movement made the plug press deeper and I whimpered.
“Reach back,” Daddy Ed said. “Hold those cheeks apart for us.”
My face flooded with heat as I reached behind myself, my hands finding my punished bottom. I pulled the burning cheeks apart, feeling the base of the plug between them, knowing they could see everything.
“Good girl,” Daddy Bill murmured, and I heard him unfastening his pants. “Now open that pretty mouth.”
I looked up to see him pulling out his cock, already hard. He stepped closer, his hand wrapping around the base, and guided himself to my lips. I opened for him, tasting the familiar salt and musk as he pushed inside.
“That’s it,” he said, his hand gripping my hair. “Take it deep, bad girl.”