Work Text:
It starts like this: it's an indecently hot day and Daddy is in the garage, tinkering with his fossil of a car and I am watching him and occasionally handing him stuff like a proper little girl.
"I'm thirsty," says Daddy suddenly, "mind going to up to the house to bring me some of Mommy's special lemonade?" I groan, knowing what is to come, but at the same time I feel a rush of arousal, my pussy getting wetand clit engorging with blood. I skip up the house and come into the kitchen. Mommy is just cutting up vegetables for dinner.
"Mommy, Daddy is thirsty. Could you make him some lemonade?" I ask.
Mommy pauses, courgette half chopped, wipes her hands.
"Of course, Babygirl, he shall have all the lemonade he desires." I groan again. All the lemonade he desires is a lot to carry.
Mommy gets out the lemons, the ice, the two litres of ice water, the peppermint flavouring and sugar. Mixes them together in a jug, except the ice.
Then she has me get on all fours on the floor and gets out the enema hose, the one with an inflatable plug at the end. I shiver in anticipation. But soon I am shivering for another reason, cold, as Mommy gets to pushing the ice spheres deep into my ass, shoving them deeper with a very slim dildo that makes me wish I was being sodomised by something at least thrice as wide, like Daddy's cock. But Daddy likes me tight everywhere, and he only penetrates me on special occasions. Ice shoved in, Mommy plugs the hose into my ass, then turns on a machine that takes the content of the jug and makes it strongly carbonated, then pours it into the hose at a moderately high pressure. It is, as usual, sheer hell. The mix is cold, making my poor belly and bowels spasm and cramp, the mint and lemon burn, and the carbonation and sheer volume make my body protest and cramp even harder and bloat my belly exquisitely making it bow out until it hangs stretched and round beneath my frame. I moan, my pussy dripping onto the floor and desperate for touch. I don't even notice when the machine is finished but Mommy does. She deflates the enema nozzle, pulls it out, then replaces it with a plug she pumps to the maximum capacity of my rectum and keeps in place with a set of straps.
"Stand up, Babygirl," she commands and I stand up, the volume in my guts shifting and making me cramp again, sharp and blunt pain imposed over one another. I look pregnant with my skinny frame.
Back to the garage I waddle instead of skipping, guts cramping and protesting horribly and pussy soaked and engorged. Daddy is still tinkering.
"Here comes my favourite lemonade jug," he says.
I love being dehumanised sometimes and I thrill at the words. Daddy picks me up, the cramps in my guts getting worse, and even more delicious and sets me on the workbench on all fours because he is a strong guy like that. Then he deflates the plug, pulls it out and immediately seals his lips to my anus, sucking lightly. My bowels, still cramping, sends gushes of liquid into his mouth and he swallows eagerly. But he doesn't drink all of it. Instead once he is done he plugs me up, then tells me to sit on the workbench with my legs spread. I do, belly still full of carbonated ice-cold lemon mint soda and still cramping horribly (very pleasurably). Then Daddy dives in to lick and suckle my pussy, tongue dancing on my clit, two fingers on my g-point. I orgasm almost immediately, the cramping pain in my bloated guts only driving me higher, and Daddy keeps licking. I come three times, squirting profusely and he drinks it all up. I am exhausted once he is finished and my belly is still cramping, the post-orgasm relaxation doing little for it.
"Now, now, Babygirl," says Daddy, "you will remain on this workbench until I need more lemonade. Deal?"
I shiver from the cold in my bowels and the anticipation. "Deal."