Punishment Enema Stories Novels & Stories

"Anything that can draw blood, really. Fisting. Candle wax or anything that produces fire. Spitting. No golden showers, uhmm…" "How about we list a few things and you'll tell us if you write them off?" Rowan suggested and she nodded, breathing in relief. "Double penetration?" She blushed. "I thought we already did that the other time…" "No, Cara," I chuckled. "He means vaginal and anal penetration." "Oh," she blushed even more. "I'm open to that." "Humiliation?" "What does that mean?" "It's only if you've been a bad girl. You can get punished in public. Or if we're at the club, you can be paraded around with a collar or a leash."

Neumann looked at Hardy, and she said, “In ancient times, there was a criminal law called bathing. The victim was locked in a large vat with only his head exposed. His face would be smeared with honey to attract flies. The executioner would feed the victim on a regular basis. Very soon, the victim would be soaked in his own feces. Maggots would start to grow in the bathtub, and then the maggots would devour the victim’s body. It’s said that someone persisted in the bathtub for a month before being eaten alive by maggots.” Hardy was a little surprised. What kind of punishment was this? He had been a police officer for so long, and he had seen many strange things. There was nothing in this wor

I remembered the card Karen gave me this afternoon. Could I call the number? Could I be the first to ever claim abuse? Or was this an injustice like others I'd suffered, ones where resolution never came? The room blurred as more unshed tears raced for release. The entire scenario—Infidelity, Nox, and what he'd done—was embarrassing and degrading. I detested corporal punishment as a child—hated it—and yet at some point with Nox, it became erotic. My temples throbbed, ass hurt, and insides twisted with unfulfilled need. My body's reaction was as upsetting to me as his actions.

"And to drink?" He breaths out like he's been holding his breath. "Good to see you've returned." "From insanity? Barely." I tens as he dabs the alcohol soaked towel to my wounded knees. How long was I out there? "You know what you did back there used to be a form of punishment. I've heard stories about children having to knee on grains of rice or pebbles or just the bare floor for their sins or whatever nonsense some adult deemed worth to hurt them. After only a few minutes it can cause pain, but after a while your skin takes shape around it or breaks, leaving dimples and small cuts behind. I've never seen someone actually do it, and as much as I love the idea of you being submissive to me,

by pissing directly into Liam’s gaping asshole, then the brothers following, filling him with hot piss before fucking it back out. They made him drink their piss straight from the source while being fucked. The filthiest moment came when Victor ordered a cum enema. They each unloaded deep inside Liam’s ass, then plugged him. After twenty minutes of being fucked with the plug inside, they removed it and made him push the massive mixed load into a bowl. Then they forced him to drink every drop while they jerked off onto his face. By the fifth hour, Liam was completely broken. He was babbling, drooling, eyes glazed with total submission.

"Why are you only telling me now?" Dad, who was driving, looked at me through the rearview mirror and sighed. "I was afraid you wouldn't be able to truly reflect on yourself in there. Now that you've learned to be obedient, you won't hurt Donny even if you know the truth." Reflect on myself? When I'd learned the truth back then, the only thing I had done was slap Donny across the face once, yet that had earned me three years of imprisonment. The endless rounds of bitter pills made me vomit violently, and the electroshock therapy frequently left me unconscious. And all of that was just their punishment for that one slap.

The break room breeding party where Theo tried his best to knock me up. The Zoom meeting with the obedience rig and Marcus Langford watching me cum silently. The rooftop balcony risk where anyone could have looked up and seen me triple stuffed against the glass. Tonight’s punishment in the swing; blindfolded, caned, edged until I cried, then rewarded with load after load while they joked about Excel formulas. I didn’t hold back on the dirty details. The shock collar. The leash and crawling. The way they rotated through every hole like I was their personal stress toy. How much I hated it at first… and how quickly I started craving it.

“You want to know what punishment looks like in my world?” His face is inches from mine. His scent wraps around me; his body heat seeps through my clothes. “Enlighten me,” I say, trying to sound braver than I feel. “Punishment is what happens when the men in Naples find the producer who thinks he can outmaneuver them and cut off his fingers one by one until he tells them exactly where you are,” he says, voice low and lethal. “Punishment is me sending your throat‑cut manager’s file to every tabloid in Europe and watching them drag your name through the mud with his while you sit in a safe house wondering why nobody believes you.”

I wanted to say no, but I did believe I deserved to be punished for what I did. I killed someone and I haven't as much as confessed it to anyone, not even God. But Angelo Simpsons wasn't innocent either. So I replied Mr. EMK. "No," I said to him, sliding in my defiance with the sound of my voice. "Too bad." He said, "Still, I will punish you, for a while. And you'll be a good girl and take it, then I'll reward you, subsequently." I listened, detesting how turned on I was feeling by the sound of his voice alone.