When the bag was finally empty, Daddy Bill removed the nozzle and I whimpered at its withdrawal, thinking that it might make the pressure feel less uncomfortable. The cramping continued unabated, though. My belly felt distended, uncomfortable, wrong in every way.
“Stand up,” Daddy Ed instructed.
I straightened slowly, my hands instinctively moving to my abdomen. The pressure was intense, my body screaming at me to release what they’d forced inside me.
“Hands at your sides,” Daddy Bill said sharply.
I dropped my arms, tears streaming down my face. The cramping intensified and I doubled over slightly, a sob escaping my lips.
“Walk,” Daddy Ed commanded, his hand on my shoulder guiding me toward the door.
“Please,” I gasped. “I can’t—I need to?—”
“You’ll walk when we tell you to walk,” Daddy Bill said, opening the door to the hallway. “And you’ll hold it until we give you permission to let it go.”
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.”
