Desire stories to entertain
Erin's special solution (Part 2)
Sam examined the plug in his gloved hand. Wet and sticky from the leftover lubricant that was used on it. The plug was a rich plum color and for a moment, Sam wondered if this was the cause of Erin's 'constipation.' "Erin..." he prodded gently.
"No Dad! Listen... I'm not constipated, so can you please let me go and just... leave?" Sam furrowed his eyebrows. "No, I can't do that Erin. You were having tummy trouble last night and so this enema needs to happen... please try to understand, dear." Sam's voice was so sweet and dipped in honey that it was beginning to make Erin sick.
Sam ignored Erin's plea, his dimpled smile fixed firmly in place. “Now, now, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice thick with an unnerving sweetness. “Daddy knows best, remember? We just need to help your tummy feel better.” He shifted Erin onto her side again, gently maneuvering her closer to the edge of the bed. The plum-colored plug lay discarded on the nightstand, now seemingly insignificant compared to the enema bag hanging ominously from a hook on the bedroom door.
With a gloved hand, Sam gently parted Erin's buttocks, his touch strangely clinical yet possessive. He peered intently, his blue eyes magnified by his focused gaze. “Hmm, let's see what’s going on in here,” he mumbled, more to himself than to Erin. He inserted a finger, still gloved, into her rectum, probing gently. Erin squeezed her eyes shut, a wave of mortification washing over her. This was beyond embarrassing; it felt like an invasion, a violation masked as care.
Sam’s finger moved deeper, searching. He frowned slightly. “Strange,” he mused aloud, withdrawing his finger to examine the glove tip. Clean. He tried again, digging a little deeper, a little more insistently. Still nothing. “Well now, isn't that peculiar?” he said, his tone shifting slightly, a hint of something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “Daddy can’t feel anything at all.” He pulled back finally, glove still clean.
“See, Erin?” he said, turning to face her, his smile widening again, almost too bright. “Just as I thought. All backed up. No wonder you were feeling poorly.” His words were a blatant contradiction of what his own examination had just revealed, but he spoke with such paternal certainty, such unwavering conviction, that for a moment, Erin almost doubted her own body.
“But Dad, I told you, I feel fine! I don’t need this!” she pleaded, her voice cracking with a mixture of frustration and rising panic. Tears welled in her turquoise eyes, blurring her vision.
Sam simply chuckled, a soft, dismissive sound. “Silly girl,” he cooed, reaching out to brush a stray blonde strand from her face. His touch was light but firm, holding her gaze captive. “Daddy knows when his little girl isn’t feeling her best. And we’re going to make you all better now.”
He turned back to the enema bag, checking the nozzle. It was long, thick, and coated in a generous slick of lubricant. Erin’s stomach clenched. This was not just a gentle flush; this was something… more. Despite being already tied down, Sam still held a firm grip over her back a bit with his free hand.
“Now, sweetheart, just relax,” he said, his voice dripping with false reassurance. “This might feel a little… strange… at first, but it will be over before you know it.” He lifted the nozzle, and before Erin could protest further, he was pressing it against her opening. She gasped, bracing herself against the mattress, as she felt the cool, slick tip slide inside.
Sam pushed deeper, the nozzle gliding uncomfortably further into her rectum. Erin squeezed her eyes shut, biting her lip to stifle a whimper. The pressure was intense, unnatural. She could feel the cold liquid beginning to flow, filling her lower abdomen.
“There we go,” Sam murmured, his voice gentle, as if he were soothing a baby. “Good girl, Pumpkin. Just breathe, baby. Daddy’s here.” He continued to feed the nozzle deeper, pressing until Erin felt a sharp twinge of pain. She cried out, a muffled sound against her teeth.
“Shhh, shhh,” Sam hushed her, his hand stroking her hip in a slow, rhythmic motion. “It’s okay, baby. Just a little bit more… Let’s get all that icky stuff out.” He used the word 'icky' with a deliberate childish inflection, further infantilizing her, stripping away any semblance of her adult self.
The enema bag emptied steadily, the soapy liquid ballooning inside her. Erin felt a sickening fullness, a stretching pressure that was quickly becoming unbearable. Her abdomen began to cramp, a sharp, burning sensation spreading outwards. She wanted to scream, to push him away, but she was frozen, paralyzed by a mixture of fear and disgust.
Sam continued to coo and fuss, oblivious or perhaps deliberately ignoring her obvious distress. “That’s my brave little girl,” he praised, as if she were a toddler enduring a scraped knee rather than a grown woman being subjected to this invasive and unnecessary procedure. “Daddy’s so proud of you. You’re being so good for Daddy.”
When the bag was finally empty, Sam slowly withdrew the nozzle. Erin instantly wanted to clamp her legs together, to stop the awful fullness inside, but she knew she was trapped. She could feel the warm, soapy liquid sloshing within her, a churning, uncomfortable mass.
“Now, we just have to hold that in for a little bit, okay, angel?” Sam instructed, his tone falsely cheerful. “Let it work its magic.” Sam rubbed Erin's buttocks cheeks softly and longer than necessary- as if it was necessary at all to Erin.
“There,” Sam said, stepping back to admire his work, his dimpled smile returning in full force. “All secure. Now you just relax, baby girl. Let that enema do its job.” He patted her bottom reassuringly, a jarringly intimate gesture that made her skin crawl.
Trapped and helpless, Erin could only lie there, the soapy liquid churning inside her, her body screaming in protest. She felt like she was going to explode, the pressure building with each passing second. She squeezed her eyes shut, tears streaming down her face, silent sobs wracking her body.
Time stretched on, each moment an eternity of discomfort and degradation. Finally, after what felt like an age, Sam spoke again. “Alright, little one,” he said, his voice closer now. “Let’s get you cleaned out.” He untied her ankles first, then her wrists, freeing her from the bed. Relief flooded through her for a brief moment, quickly replaced by a fresh wave of dread as she recognized the purpose of the thick plum-colored plug he held in his hand.
“Just to make sure everything stays put until we get to the bathroom,” he explained, once again as if she were a small child who needed things spelled out. Before she could react, he had lubricated the plug again and swiftly inserted it into her rectum. Erin gasped, a sharp intake of breath as the hard plastic forced its way past her already distended sphincter. It was deeply uncomfortable, adding another layer of violation to her already traumatized body.
“There now,” Sam said, patting her bottom once more. “Nice and snug. Let’s go to the shower.” He gently took her arm, guiding her towards the bathroom attached to her bedroom.
The bathroom was brightly lit, sterile and cold. Sam led her to the shower stall and turned on the water, adjusting the temperature until it was warm. “Okay, sweetheart,” he said, pointing to the shower wall. “Daddy wants you to squat right here.”
Erin looked at him, confusion mixing with her mounting distress. “Squat… here?” she repeated weakly.
“Yes, right here,” he confirmed, gesturing to a section of pristine white tile. “Bend down and let it all out, baby girl.” His eyes held a strange, expectant gleam, a disturbing anticipation that sent shivers down her spine.
She hesitated, her body protesting, but the pressure inside was becoming unbearable. With trembling legs, she bent over as instructed, her back to Sam, facing the cold tile wall. The moment she shifted position, a torrent erupted. The soapy liquid, mixed with fecal matter she hadn’t even felt coming, exploded out of her with violent force.
It splashed against the shower wall, a messy, foul-smelling spray coating the white tiles in streaks of brown and yellow. The plug dislodged and flew out, clattering against the shower floor. Erin gasped, the sudden release both relieving and mortifying. She continued to evacuate her bowels, the enema flushing out everything, and seemingly more, with astonishing volume.
Sam watched, his blue eyes wide, a strange expression of fascinated delight on his face. He didn't recoil in disgust, didn’t offer her a towel, just stood there, observing her in her most vulnerable and humiliating moment.
When the flow finally subsided, Erin remained hunched over, panting, her body trembling, covered in sweat and shame. The air was thick with the unpleasant odor, and the sight of the mess coating the shower wall made her stomach churn anew, this time with pure disgust at herself, and at Sam.
Sam finally moved, stepping closer. “Good girl, Pumpkin Pie,” he said softly, reaching out to stroke her hair. “You got it all out. Daddy knew you needed that.” His voice was laced with a disturbing satisfaction, as if he had orchestrated this spectacle, this complete and utter humiliation, for his own twisted gratification.
Erin wanted to disappear, to melt into the floor and cease to exist. She felt utterly broken, stripped bare, not just physically but emotionally and psychologically. She had been reduced to a helpless child in his eyes, a vessel to be manipulated and controlled, her dignity and autonomy completely disregarded. The warmth of the shower water now felt like a mocking caress, doing little to wash away the deep stain of humiliation that had seeped into her very being. She was left standing there, naked and soiled, in the shower he had directed, in the mess she had made at his command, feeling utterly and irrevocably degraded.
Erin flushed with humiliation as she continued to evacuate her bowels. It went on for what felt like hours, with Sam egging her on and making cheerful comments the whole time.
Finally, she finished and slumped over, utterly drained. Sam gently patted her bare bottom.
"Good girl, Erin! You did so well! Daddy is SO proud of you."
He helped her to her feet and turned her to face him. Erin's head hung in shame, unable to meet her father's eyes after such a degrading ordeal. But Sam just cupped her face tenderly and smiled.
"There's my angel. Such a sweet girl to let her Daddy take care of her. Now let's get you cleaned up, mmkay?"
Erin nodded meekly, letting Sam guide her to the shower. She stood passively as he soaped her up, the bristles scrubbing her sensitive skin. By the time they were done, Erin felt raw and exposed in every way.
Sam tucked her into bed in a soft nightgown, pulling the covers up to her chin. He kissed her forehead and stroked her hair.
"Sleep well my baby girl. Daddy will check on you later and make sure you don't get clogged up again. Love you, sweetheart."
Erin whispered back "I love you too Daddy" and closed her eyes, fighting back tears. She hated this twisted dynamic with her father. It made her feel sick. But she was powerless to stop him. All she could do was submit and suffer through these sick "treatments". Her father had utter control over her.
As Sam turned out the light and left, Erin rolled onto her stomach and sobbed into the pillow, feeling utterly broken and hopeless. Trapped in a nightmare of her own father's making, with no escape.
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