Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 58317 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58317 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
The threat was clear. And my bladder was insistent—I really did need to go. I swallowed my pride and walked into the stall, my daddies following right behind me.
The diaper came off with fumbling fingers, my hands shaking as I unfastened the Velcro tabs. I set it carefully on the floor and sat down on the cold toilet seat, my thighs pressed together as tightly as I could manage with the plug still lodged inside me.
They stood right there in the open doorway, watching. Not leering, not making crude comments—just observing with that same clinical attention they’d shown during the examination. Somehow that made it worse.
I closed my eyes and tried to pretend I was alone, but the sound when I finally managed to release was impossibly loud in the quiet bathroom. I felt tears prick at my eyes again as I finished, reaching for the toilet paper.
“We might as well get your little pussy and bottom crack shaved while we’re here,” said Daddy Bill.
I stared up at him, my stomach dropping. “What? No—”
“Stand up, Little Seventy-One,” Daddy Ed said, his voice taking on that clinical tone that meant he wasn’t going to negotiate. “Turn around and bend over the toilet.”
My hands gripped the edge of the toilet seat, every muscle in my body wanting to refuse. But I’d already learned what refusal cost. My ass still throbbed from the paddling, and the thought of earning more swats made my decision for me.
I stood on shaking legs and turned to face the toilet, my heart hammering. The plug shifted as I moved and I couldn’t suppress a small whimper.
“Bend forward,” Daddy Bill instructed. “Hands on the tank.”
I leaned forward slowly, placing my palms on the cold porcelain of the toilet tank. The position forced my ass up and out, completely exposed to them. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to disappear into my own head.
“Now reach back and remove the plug,” Daddy Ed said.
My whole body went rigid. “I… I can’t…”
“You can,” Daddy Bill said firmly. “Take it by the base and pull gently. Your body will release it.”
My right hand trembled as I reached back between my legs, feeling for the base of the plug. My fingers found it and I gripped the smooth surface, feeling the humiliation burn through me like acid.
“That’s it,” Daddy Ed encouraged. “Now pull.”
I tugged gently and felt the resistance, felt my body clinging to the intrusion. The sensation was overwhelming—wrong and invasive and also shamefully intimate. I pulled harder and suddenly it slipped free, leaving me feeling empty and violated in a completely different way.
“Good girl,” Daddy Bill said. “Now take it to the sink and wash it thoroughly with soap and water.”
I straightened up, holding the plug away from my body like it might burn me. My face was on fire as I walked to the sinks, acutely aware of both men watching me. The plug was slick with lubricant and I had to use both hands to hold it under the running water, working soap over every inch of the silicone while my daddies observed.
When I’d finished, Daddy Ed handed me a towel. “Dry it and set it on the counter. You’ll be wearing it again soon enough.”
The words made my stomach clench, but I did as he instructed. When I turned back, Daddy Bill was holding something I hadn’t noticed him retrieve—a small black case that he opened to reveal an electric razor and shaving supplies.
“Bend over and put your elbows on the counter, between the sinks,” he said. “Feet an inch or two past shoulder width. Push out that little bottom and show us everything a daddy likes to see.”
I moved to the counter between the sinks, my whole body trembling. The position Daddy Bill had described felt even more degrading than bending over the toilet—elbows on the counter, feet spread wide, bottom pushed out. I saw myself in my mind’s eye, giving an obscene display of every intimate part of me, for their examination.
But I didn’t have a choice, did I? Not really. Not if I wanted to avoid another session with the paddle.
No choice, I told myself. No choice at all.
I placed my elbows on the cool countertop and widened my stance, feeling the stretch in my thighs. My face burned as I arched my back, pushing my bottom out like he’d instructed. The bathroom mirror in front of me reflected my humiliation—my face flushed red, my eyes glassy with unshed tears, my bare breasts hanging down as I bent forward.
“Perfect,” Daddy Ed said from behind me. “Stay just like that.”
I heard water running, and I glanced to the side in the mirror to see Daddy Ed wetting a washcloth and applying soap, then felt Daddy Bill’s big hands on me—not forceful but definitely firm as he spread my cheeks further apart. The exposure felt total, absolute. I squeezed my eyes shut.