After Ashley’s humiliating spanking and orgasm, Eric made sure that the bratty little teen drank a large glass of water – and another after that. In her confused state, Ashley took it as concern for her welfare, and drank the water eagerly – but Eric had something else in mind. He wanted to consolidate the gains that he had made that morning, and head off what he expected was about to be another act of rebellion.
He was right. No sooner had Ashley dried the tears on her face, and headed up the corridor, presumably to sulk in her bedroom, then she was back in the lounge, her face red, yelling at the top of her lungs.
“No!” she shouted. “No way! You fucking pervert!”
“Why Ashley,” said Eric, smiling. “Whatever is the matter?”
“You know what!” she yelled, pointing at him. “There’s a camera in the fucking *toilet*. Pointing right at my… you know.”
“Yes, there is,” said Eric. “You need to get used to the idea that a thieving little brat-whore like you doesn’t deserve any privacy.”
“Fuck you,” she said. “Take it out.”
“No,” said Eric. “Whether you piss in the toilet is entirely up to you, but I’m not moving the camera, and if you block or destroy it, I *will* use our most recent little camera session to make you an internet star.”
To tell the truth, Eric had little interest in seeing Ashley piss. Watersports wasn’t his kink. But he *did* need Ashley to accept that she had no entitlement to privacy – anywhere – and he *did* like how much his little camera was clearly humiliating her.
“Go to hell,” said Ashley. “I’m not using that toilet.” She stormed back to her bedroom, and slammed the door.
He watched her on the cameras. She sulked on her bed for a while. But her bladder was full, and slowly it was beginning to be insistent.
He watched her pick up an empty glass from the bedside table and look at it. She was clearly thinking of pissing in it. Then she looked up, at one of the remaining hidden cameras, and remembered she had no privacy here either. She put the glass down, and sulked longer.
After a while, she re-emerged from her bedroom, and headed for the front door. Eric immediately guessed she planned to visit a friend and use their bathroom – or at least find a private place outdoors.
“Take your clothes off,” Eric told her.
“What?” asked Ashley.
“You gave me permission to decide your outfits,” he told her. “I’m deciding that if you’re going out, you’re doing it naked.”
“Are you insane?” she asked.
“It’s entirely up to you,” said Eric. “But if you want to please me, you’re not wearing clothes outdoors today. And if you disrespect that boundary, there’ll be no more pills, and I’ll put you on the internet.”
She swore at him – and retreated to her bedroom, rather than undress.
But she was back again, a moment later, bouncing from foot to foot. She ran up to him and kissed him on the lips, pressing her tits against him.
“Please, Uncle Eric,” she whispered when it was over. “Please don’t make me do this.” She sounded desperate, and he liked that desperation.
He just kissed her again, and she kissed him back.
“Please,” she murmured when the kiss was done. “Please, please…”
And then she stopped, and her face went red. It was over. She had lost control. She was wetting herself.
He pointed his phone at her, and watched as she pissed herself, soaking her panties, and making a puddle on the wooden floorboards at her feet. She was crying when it was over.
He wrote on a card, and held it up so she could see it, still filming her.
Her face turned red, but she knew what to do by now. She read the words on the card – crying, sobbing, choking on each word.
“My name is Ashley,” she sobbed. “And I just wet my panties like a dumb baby because I’m too stupid to use a toilet.”
He stepped forward and began to undress her. Humiliated, ashamed, vulnerable, she allowed him to do it. He pulled her midriff top off, exposing her breasts, and then uncinched her skirt and worked her wet panties down her legs.
He got her a bucket and a sponge. A mop would have been easier, but he wanted to see her down on all fours.
“Clean up your mess, you disgusting whore,” he told her. “I’ll put your clothes in the wash.”
Meekly, she got down on all fours, and began to sponge up the puddle of her piss. Eric took one last photo of her in that position, naked ass up, pussy winking at him from between her legs, and then left her to it.
He dressed her, once she was done. He picked out a pair of her white cotton panties and a short white negligee. Together they made her look young – almost like a slutty baby – which was exactly how he wanted her to feel. They were more clothes than she had been expecting to be allowed to wear, leaving her feeling oddly grateful, and yet still far short of what she might feel comfortable leaving the house in.
He put her down on the couch, and put on some TV for her. He opened the front windows wide, creating an incentive for Ashley to stay lying on the couch to avoid her risque outfit being seen from the street. Then he left her there, still shaking and humiliated, and went to attend to some chores.
The first was to put locks on her cupboard doors, to prevent her accessing her own clothes without his permission. The second was to upload his recent phone footage to his computer.
He took a still image of Ashley wetting herself, and printed it out as a colour A2 poster. He went into Ashley’s room and Blu-Tacced it to the wall, for her to look at every day. He thought the miserable, shameful expression on Ashley’s face was adorable, although he was sure Ashley would have a different opinion.
When he was done, he went and sat on the couch next to where Ashley was lying.
She looked up at him with wide eyes and a face streaked with tears. He saw the competing emotions on her face – shame; hatred; guilt; anger; humiliation; and a pathetic need for affection – and he felt his cock twitch and harden. She looked so pretty like this – which is to say, broken and fucked-up. He wanted to make her look like this all the time.
“Is there something you want to say, Ashley?” he asked her.
She quivered. Part of her wanted to say “fuck you”. Part of her wanted to punch him in the face. For a minute, he thought she might actually hit him, or scream. But a larger part of her was telling her that she was disgusting for wetting herself in front of her uncle. It was telling her that she needed her pill. It was telling her that she had been a difficult bitch, and she had known there would be consequences when she chose that path.
More importantly, it was telling her that she was weak and half-naked and vulnerable, and that Uncle Eric could make life even more difficult for her if she didn’t act like a good girl.
“I’m sorry, Uncle Eric,” she said, in a trembling voice – and then she pulled herself up on her knees and kissed him on the lips.
He relished the feel of tongue-kissing the under-dressed, trembling, humiliated girl. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, and felt her melt against him, grateful to be receiving his tenderness, and not his wrath.
When he was done, he asked her a question in a stern voice. “What are you sorry for, Ashley?”
He had pitched his tone just right. Ashley understood exactly what he was communicating – that he could be merciful if she answered this exactly right, and cruel if she did not.
“I’m sorry for not pissing in front of the camera like you wanted,” Ashley said, quietly. “I’m sorry for wetting my panties like a dumb baby because I’m too stupid to use the toilet.”
“Good girl,” said Eric, stroking her hair. “Because you apologised properly, I’ll let you pick your punishment. How do you think you should be punished, Ashley?”
She paused. Clearly if she suggested something too light, he would be angry and disappointed in her. But she didn’t want to be punished more than she had to be.
But luckily, she knew what the answer was, because it was the answer he had taught her that very morning. And this time, to Eric’s delight, she prepared herself for it without having to be told.
Trembling, she pulled her panties down her thighs, to her knees, exposing her cute ass, and her hairy pussy. Then she crawled over his lap, her ass pointed upwards.
“You should spank me, Uncle Eric,” she said, in that same small, quiet voice.
“Good girl,” he said, and stroked her hair again.
Then he gave her what she had asked for.
Her ass was still sore from her morning spanking, so this time she really wailed. He knew she would be badly bruised by the time he was done. And yet, he still took it slowly, ensuring every thud vibrated through her pussy, and watched as the confused, broken little slut became slowly but surely aroused.
Once she was sopping wet, he pushed two fingers of his free hand into her pussy. He didn’t pump them, just left them there, inside her, perfectly still – and sure enough, she began to moan, and hump against his fingers.
As soon as she did, he began to intensify the spanking, hitting her harder, and harder, until she was screaming, and bucking against his fingers spasmodically.
And as soon as she inevitably, humiliatingly orgasmed, he stopped. He pulled her up, shaking, into his lap, upright, pressed against him, and she instinctively began to kiss him.
“Slut,” he whispered, between kisses. “Disgusting whore,” he whispered, as she kissed him again. “Dirty little fuckdoll,” he told her, as she moaned, and began to cry, and kissed him desperately.
And after that, he paused, and waited – and once again Ashley guessed what he wanted, and filled in the silence.
“I’m sorry, Uncle Eric,” she said. “I’m sorry I orgasmed like a slut. Thank you for spanking me.”
“Good girl,” he told her. “Now go and use the toilet properly. And then take care of that cunt hair, like I told you.”
And to his immense satisfaction, she did.
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