The Family Feud III

Chapter Fifteen
Jamie's E-Journal

STAR COUNT:
WENDY: 36
Get out of jail cards: 1
JAMIE: 39
Get out of jail cards: 1

The following is excerpted from Jamie Taylor’s E-Journal account of a typical day in her life. It is presented to you un-edited or redacted. This account is Jamie’s perspective of events that took place on the Friday of her first week of training. We begin shortly after Jamie and her mother complete their final dare at the County Fair on Thursday Night. It is approximately 1:30AM to 2:00 AM.

“The Final Test, that of Witchcraft! Why hadn’t I thought of this before incarcerating them in this manner?” Medieval Steve pretended to think out loud to the small but determined crowd of onlookers. He stood behind me and my mother and dumped ice cold water on our heads, which caused me to scream in shock and drop the tomato he had stuffed in my mouth.

I didn’t scream because the ice was so cold. I had taken far worse just a few minutes earlier. It was just that I didn’t expect him to upturn an entire chest of ice water over my head from behind me like that. Everyone laughed at our reaction, I have to admit thinking back on it, it probably looked pretty funny.

I haven’t seen the pictures my brother took, but from what I understand he snapped some right at the perfect moment when the water was cascading down our shoulders and drenching us, when our mouths sprung open in surprise. I am sure he would say something like “4 dollars for a lemon slushee, 6 dollars for a fair ticket, your sister getting soaked by ice water, priceless. For everything else, there is Master Chris”.

I am sure he would say something like that, because that is what he did say after we were released from the wooden pillory. The ice water had washed most of the tomato goop off us, but we would need a good shower to get it all out from behind our ears, and in our hair and all the places tomato goop likes to hide. My mother and I massaged our aching muscles, nearly collapsing after the experience.

She smiled at me and tried as she so often did to help me remain calm and confident. “People at my gym, would pay good money for an inversion therapy like that one. That was some work out.”

I smiled back as I so often did, to help my mother remain calm and confident. I could help with her fears by taking things in stride. We had a good support system between the two of us, that way. If the guys were going to throw something at us, at least we had each other and that made it much easier to face.

Medieval Steve gave us both carnations, the cheap kind that you buy for Sadie Hawkin’s dance to send to a boy you like as an invitation to the dance. We both smiled graciously at him and did our curtsy. It seemed ridiculous, considering we were soaked to the bone, but I did mine flawlessly.

Not that it mattered, the pervert had his eyes glued to how the water clung to my chest and how my wet half-shirt only served to outline my boobs.

I pretended to be flattered at his interest and we headed for the exit. The fair would be closing soon and everyone was making their way to the one and only entrance. Dad took one look at how the water made our shirts see-through and joked they probably could have done a wet t-shirt contest. There seemed to be no shortage of dares and games they could have come up with.

I was surprised at their creativity, but not their sadism. Over the last week, I had come to the conclusion that almost all men were pigs, and a lot of girls were too. It seemed to amuse people to humiliate and laugh at others, even their loved ones or closest friends. Girls could be the most insidious, their back biting betrayals were far less obvious than anything most guys can think up. To your face, they are smiling, but behind your back they are stabbing.

No one said a word to us about being all wet as we left the fair. There were water flume rides, people probably assumed we had the misfortune of being caught in a giant splash. They didn’t say anything, but they certainly did gawk. I could tell without looking down that my nipples were hard and that the new piercings were poking through my wet half-shirt. I could tell in part because I could see my mother’s was too.

I could also tell because of all the strange sensations that I hadn’t mentioned to my parents or brother last night. There was no doubt I had some kind of full, complete orgasm on the floor of Mikey’s Gazebo. It was a sensual but brutally crushing wave of something I have no words to describe. That is ironic since I am trying to use words to describe them.

If I had to pick some words, I might say it felt like a rush of tingles that kept building and building, almost like I had to pee, but some sort of wave of pleasure. That would be a cop out though. That in no way says enough to explain it. If I could describe lighting water on fire, and watching it burn, I could probably do a better job of the intense feelings that weren’t just in my cunt.

They were all over. Even my underarms throbbed. It is like there must be some sort of nerve center in there, because I feel like I may have pulled a muscle under each of my arms. They throbbed with electrical pulse. My nipples would get hard at seemingly random times. My knees would shake, my ass would quiver.

The hood of my clit, that was now connected to my brain in a way I never thought possible. It could have been a third eye, or a sixth sense. It stood at attention, yanked out of the inside of my body for the first time, unable to hide back inside of me, like a turtle naturally wanting to go back in it’s shell. The piercing kept it pulled out and hard. It felt like what having a tiny cock must feel like, except every nerve ending that was on the inside of me, was magnified and pulled out of me. Every touch, every slap, every sensation, caused me to get wet or to wince.

I had done a fairly good job of hiding it, I think. I knew that Chris and Dad wondered what I had been feeling since I spazzed out on the gazebo, but I was too embarrassed to talk about it unless they prompted me too. I would be honest, I am an honest person, and I will use words like “Cunt” and “Asshole” because that is part of the rules to the game they made me play. Volunteering things? No, that is between me and my journal.

I trust I am the only one reading this journal, and if you aren’t me, then you must be a filthy pervert to want to invade the private, most intimate thoughts of a teenage girl. There is nothing I say that will stop you, so read on if you must.

When I was little I would write things in my journal like “If you’re reading this, I’ve wrote my journal in poison ink, and there is no antidote, ahahahah”, but as this is an e-journal, and I am not nine anymore, I don’t think that will fool anyone. 

I hadn’t seen Brad Jenkins on the way out of the fair, which was just as well. I was soaking wet and looking pathetic. I don’t know what made me so interested in him, but I will admit that I scanned the crowd for signs he was among them.

When my Dad got us to the parking lot, it was time for us to separate from Uncle Creepy, the stalker that had followed us around without saying almost a word all night. He whispered to me on three to “make a break for the truck” and then when he counted three, we all ran for it.

I was dodging between trucks, running hard. I wasn’t sure where he parked, but the parking lot was clearing out and I would find it. I ran into my mom, she was smiling mischievously over ditching Uncle Creepy. I returned her grin with one of my own. She was in great shape, neither of us were tired, but when we finally made it to the truck Dad and Chris were panting and exhausted.

They had better map sense than us, and had made a bee-line for the truck. So did Uncle Creepy; because he was standing right there when we reached my Dad’s Ford Ranger. He was quiet, not breathing hard, standing there without any sort of expression, his eyes reminded me of a puppy dog begging to be taken home.

Chris asked my dad “Please can we take him with us?”

“No Son, this will just be like Milton. You won’t take care of him, you won’t pick up after him, you won’t feed him.” It was hard to tell if my Dad was being serious, or joking that Uncle Creepy would be like the Goldfish my brother let die when he was little. I laughed anyway, because it was funny how he said it.

“You think this is funny?” My Dad turned to me, getting serious.

“No Sir” I said, but I quickly changed my answer to, “Yes Sir, I suppose it kind of is.” if I was going to be completely honest.

He insisted me and my mom undress in the parking lot (Which was really just a grassy field) because he didn’t want us getting his truck all wet with our clothes. Then he got us pinned down on all fours in the bed of his pickup, using duct tape and twine to hold us in place.

“You want these flowers?” He asked us, but we were already gagged so all he could hear was our murmurs. He took that for a yes. I couldn’t see him, but I think it was my Dad who held my ass cheeks apart and slid four inches of the flower stem into my already sore asshole. “You can fertilize it with some of your whore shit until we get home!” He sounded angry, but I think he was trying to make a cruel joke. It seemed he was still angry about the tattoo.

I didn’t know what to think about the tattoos my Mom and I had. I had wanted to get one because she was getting one. Then once I got it, I instantly regretted it. Okay, that isn’t fair. I wouldn’t say I had made up my mind at all one way or the other. I had intensely mixed feelings about the fact that I could no longer go back to being innocent Jamie, even after the training was over, and how that might affect me later in life.

I suppose because I am a teenager, everyone expects to me to say, "I was like clueless and didn't know what to think about the tattoos my Mom and I had, for realz. I had 0nly wanted to get 1 'cuz she was like totally getting one, you know? Then once I got it, I was like, OMG! What the fuck had I done?"
 I am also an honors student, and almost a grown up. So give me some credit. I mean like, you know? OMG. 

If I were being graded on my paper by my English teacher (who is also dreamy), he would probably write in red letters across this “I know it is a diary, but the number of "I"s was actually distracting to me.”. I can’t help it, these are my internal thoughts, and I guess I think mostly about me. Maybe I really am a selfish cunt, like Dad says.

It would be impossible for me to want to read my journal later (When I am way old, like forty) if it were written like all my Facebook status updates. I just write those “OMFG, WUT UP?” comments to my friends so I don’t seem like a total nerd.

I could get the tattoo removed, but in a strange way, it felt like a badge of honor, a war wound, something you get for bravery under fire. I know that probably would not make sense to someone who just sees a nasty tattoo and thinks “Slutty girl who wants everyone to know she is a slut”. It wasn’t that to me, but it was at the same time.

The ride home was completely silent. We had been gagged with the panties my Dad had insisted we keep using all week. Cum-stains and worse had dried on the horrible rags that were in my mouth, but there would be no spitting it out. The duct tape ensured that.

I was not sure what my Dad had said to Uncle Creepy to get rid of him, but when we got home I didn’t see him. I learned that with Uncle Creepy, just because you can’t see him, doesn’t mean he can’t see you. Lol.

It was late at night in my neighborhood, without a soul stirring on the darkened street. Walking into the house completely naked from the back of the truck was a piece of cake. It wasn’t like when they made me lug all the bags of trash out of the garage in broad daylight wearing only a thong bikini. It seemed like that was the day everyone wanted to mow their lawn, water it, or walk up and down the street and wave hello to me.

Once we were inside, there wasn’t much of a ceremony. A quick talk from my dad while we were still gagged. He agreed new rules would be coming, and that we had done a fantastic job amusing them. I hate to admit I was proud of myself to hear that. It’s always nice to hear praise, although if you know what disgusting things I had to do to get that praise, there is a sickening twist to it that added to my shame.

He shook some gold stars in a plastic box, and announced we had both earned the full ten. He wasn’t going to give all ten to us, but the final dare put us over the top. My mom and I thanked them both profusely, and kissed their bare but sweaty feet. Then we got to put the stars on our progress chart in the kitchen, the extra ten really gave me hope this ordeal would soon be over.

They made us sleep with the flower stems up our ass. They tied my collar to about six inches from my mom’s, making us sleep face to face, tied us wrist to wrist, and ankle to ankle, and left us on the floor in the living room. If that was supposed to scare me, it had not. I had slept in even worse positions.

Sleep I did, the sleep of the dead. It was as soon as I shut my eyes, that I felt my brother kicking my bare ass to wake me. “Get up sleepy head!”

It used to be me above him, waking him up! The world had turned upside down this past week. He was unbinding my arms, I didn’t feel like I had any sleep at all, but sure enough it was already 5:30 and time for my morning ritual.

Like every morning, I am surprised that Chris is up and chipper. It is so unlike him. He was either trying to prove to dad he can be very responsible keeping us in line, or he has been taking some new vitamin called “Vitamin I enjoy kicking my Sister in the ass”. His being chipper, helps me to motivate myself to get awake. I am certainly not going to give him the satisfaction of seeing me groggily drag my ass around in the morning like he used to do when we were the boss of him (and before that, even).

The first thing he did was let us go upstairs on all fours. He made me beg to take the flower stem out of my asshole. I let him have a double-dose of my eye flutters, and pouty lip as I begged “Please Sir, Please take the flower stem out of my delicate asshole, I can’t go to school like this. It hurts so bad!”. I gave him a small hint of a lisp, like I was using baby talk. He really seemed to enjoy that.

I was first to use the litter box. The sand was fresh and minty smelling, because we change it so frequently. I may never get used to pissing in front of people, as I let out my hot morning stream, I was reminded of how sick to my stomach I felt when my nerves buckled the night before and I pissed myself in the pillory. In case I HAD forgot my shameful display, my brother was looming over me to remind me.

“I liked when you pissed last night to amuse us, at Medieval Steve’s.”

“Oh thank you Sir” I let him believe I had done it on purpose to humiliate ourselves. What did it matter? If he got a thrill out of the idea I would do that on purpose, I’d let him have his fun. I hadn’t had a chance to ask my mom why she pissed right after I did. I wasn’t sure if it was just another strange coincidence, or more that she was just trying to copy me because she thought I did it on purpose too. I had just smiled at her, because she gave me her warm confident smile as she let her piss drip right there in front of everyone.

I am so impressed with my mom’s courage. It never ceases to amaze me that no matter how hard they make it for us she always absorbs whatever they can throw at her. I shudder to think what it would have been like if we weren’t in this together. She has been my rock in this storm.

I sometimes wonder if I impress her the same way. I try to step up to the plate and do anything she will do, and sometimes she looks at me with an expression I can’t decipher. It is like she doesn’t want me to try as hard as she does. The tattoo and piercing was probably the most awkward example, it was almost as if she was daring me to get the tattoo because she was going to insist on going first.

I guess you could also look at it as reverse psychology, maybe she wanted to show me how awful it was going to be, and then encourage me to do it, so that I wouldn’t do it. That is kind of a convoluted logic though.

It doesn’t matter now, we both have Whore squarely written on our asses in permanent ink. When I finished my morning squat, I watched my mother take her morning shit and piss in the same bowl I just used as I was required to do. My attention wasn’t on the disgusting drop crinkling like a curly-q out of her ass, it was on the tattoo. In the light, it was majestic.

The lettering was filled with angels, demons, and okay, there were lots of tits, and dicks and naked people as well. It was almost like every letter gave you some insight into the madness that must be the churn of hell and wickedness. Skulls, dragons, you could study the letters for a while and see all sorts of images depicted into the letters as part of the overall image. If I was going to have a tattoo, at least I had an epic one.

This was no butterfly or unicorn. This was some kind of bad ass, bad girl tattoo. I couldn’t see mine, but I knew it was just as intense as my mom’s was.

We showered together as we always did. Chris likes us to wash each other, so we pretend to be a little lezzy with each other, clean each other's butt and tits, it's kind of a game to see if we can make Chris blush. Then we are permitted only a few minutes to straighten our hair, and get our makeup on. We had gotten much better about using our time wisely. Chris had no idea how long it takes for a straightening iron to actually heat up, so he constantly rushed us to finish sooner, slapping our asses, and yelling at us.

In a way, I should really thank him. I used to have to get up a full hour earlier to just get ready on my own. He had managed to make me pick only the most essential tasks, and get those down to the most efficient. We multi-tasked, helping each other get ready in the morning.

Chris didn’t stay the entire time, he would walk in and out doing whatever it is he does in the morning. This gave me and my Mom a little quiet time to talk.

“That was something last night, huh?” I asked her.

“You aren’t kidding, my legs are still sore.”

Mine weren’t, but I agreed with her. I didn’t want her to feel old, even though she must be at least forty. I can’t imagine what I’ll be like at Forty. I guess I will be old.

Maybe like my mom, I won’t think forty is so old when I am that age. It is hard to imagine that day ever coming. I’ve got plenty of years until then.

We made some more small talk, but Chris kept walking in and he would sentence us an infraction if he caught us talking out of turn when we should be getting ready, so we zipped our lips and focused on getting ready. If he gave us an infraction, we probably wouldn’t have time to eat anything.

We had to go down stairs on all fours, wearing only our cat collars. Mine was so gross, and sweaty. The leather cover was coming off and almost all the plastic diamond studs had popped off. I wish Dad would buy me a new one. I knew better than to sound greedy for asking for one.

We were allowed to stand up and make the guys pancakes and bacon. It smelled good. I had been eating very healthy for so long, I had forgotten how good fatty, unhealthy food smells. I suppose that is why people like Chris eat it. If it tasted the same as healthy food, they would just pick healthy.

My mom starts to serve my Dad and Chris their breakfast. This is the point where my Dad orders me to get on all fours and bring back our shaving stuff. This always confuses me. He seems to want us to hurry up and be more efficient, but then it’s almost like he makes the more process more difficult than it has to be.

I crawl up the stairs on all fours as quickly as I can. Then I pick up a small white bucket containing our shaving stuff, put it in my teeth then crawl down the stairs to the kitchen. I understand they want to supervise us shaving while they eat, but why not have me bring it down with us on our first trip from the bathroom?

I don’t say anything about it. It isn’t like my Dad wants to hear my suggestions. He wants to see me and my mom fill a bowl of water, and shave each other slowly and tenderly. The piercings add a whole new of ‘ick’ to me this morning.

I had grown used to lifting my mom’s cunt lips and pulling them apart to shave her, adjusting for her rings. This time when she shaved me, she would be doing the same and I was already embarrassed enough that my nipples were standing up like two fully erect dicks. The fact that my poor clit hood was now at attention and pulled out was only made worse by the knowledge that when it was my turn to be shaved, my Mom would be adjusting me, spreading me with my ring.

I suppress the desire to coo and let the men see I am really enjoying the touches. This is disgusting and if they think I am getting off on being kept this way, they'll think I am disgusting. I am sure they probably do, they've seen me spread my cheeks and take a massive shit. I still don't want to give them the satisfaction of watching me orgasm all over the floor, so I do my level best to hide my bodies involuntary signs of esctasy.

We start on each other’s legs, then do each other’s ass cheeks. Dad likes us to say cunt and ass, and it still feels dirty every time I do. I ask “Mom, would you mind pulling your ass cheeks apart” and aside from Chris’s giggles, I feel like I’ve asked some shamefully, perverted thing. I try to say it in as normal and sweet a voice as I can, as if I am asking her to pass the butter. It always sounds so awkward and perverted.

We do each other’s armpits. Today, when she did mine, they were tender from last night. I accidentally touched my pussy. I don’t know why, my hand just sprung to my clit hood when my mother started shaving me under the arm.

They didn’t punish me. I was surprised. Usually, if one of us absent mindedly touches our own cunts, it’s an immediate infraction. Instead, they seem to be talking about something. I wasn’t sure what, probably the new rules my Dad had in mind for us.

I wanted to whisper to my mom to ask her if she thought this was a test. Were they going to give me a correction if I didn’t come clean and admit I had done something wrong? I kept wondering quietly while we shaved each other, if my Dad was going to shout “AH-HA, Jamie Taylor! You lying cheat! You played with your clit without being told, and you didn’t ask for punishment. Now you will get a correction!” and I would be late for school, and everything.

They didn’t, so they must have not noticed. I couldn’t help but beat myself over breaking the rule. It felt worse than being punished, to take joy in having gotten away with wrong-doing. God, I am such a goody-two-shoes like everyone says. I wonder if bad girls ever care if they break the rules, or they just do it?

I heard a girl in the bathroom once say “I never TRY anything, I just DO it…wanna try me?” She sounded so bad ass. She was smoking, and talking with her other bad girl friends. They did not like a cheerleader being in there with them while they smoke. This was before I knew most of the cheerleaders were secret sluts themselves. I thought we were all popular because we were the good girls who brought the school spirit.

Once we had shaved, My dad had us take Inspection position one. It had become such a routine, I almost didn’t need to wait for his order. Wouldn’t that have been funny? I just stand up and assume the position perfectly, legs shoulder width apart, tits out, head straight, pull my ass cheeks apart and wait?

I don’t know what he would do if I anticipated his orders like that. He probably wouldn’t laugh though.

My brother inspected us both. He took his finger and played with my asshole, driving it in and out twice. “I don’t feel any turd burgers in there. You did a good job shitting this morning.”

It felt so stupid thanking him for telling me I had emptied my bowels. I knew I had completely emptied myself over the litter box. The first few days I had been holding it in. I could piss, but I would have sooner explode than taking a shit in front of anyone. It was so disgusting to picture what it must look like to him. A nasty brown turd exploding from my back side. Necessity required I get used to the idea, as I would be supervised any time I was ever relieving myself, and once I saw my mom do it, I softened to the idea.

It didn’t gross out Chris. A fact that shouldn’t surprise me. He seemed to delight in it. He’d even name my turds. “That one is Softie McGoo, and this one is Mr. Loggerstein.” I have to admit, I laughed when he made me address them and say “Hello Softie McGoo and Mr.Loggerstein, I am sorry to have to say goodbye to you now. You’ve been with me for so long.” He could be ridiculously silly at times, but you know I don’t think I could have made it through this without him.

He could make me laugh at the most serious situations, and keep me from freaking out. I didn’t say that to him of course. How could I, an honors student, cheer leader and serious girl all around tell someone, even her brother, that his silly humor was actually helping her? Besides, if I encouraged him he’d probably either stop entirely, since his goal was to humiliate me. He was doing it not too much, not too little. Just the right amount.

My Dad finally decided we were inspected enough. Chris intentionally checked my mouth last, after he finished our cunts and asses. This was his way of sticking his dirty fingers into our mouth. A mixture of butt sweat, pussy juice and bacon grease. He also looked in our ears, slapped our tits, commented on how wide our nipples were, and generally tried to make it sound like this was more than just a formalized chance to grope us before school.

He didn’t say anything about how wet my pussy was this morning. It was much more moist than I wished I was. I could smell my own musky smell, which must have made it hard for them to finish their breakfast. If it had, they had shown no signs of it. They wolfed their food down quickly and efficiently.

This is when we have to do my least favorite thing of the entire morning. “May we take out your ginomrous cocks, and play with them for you, Sir?” I say with my mother. They have started to pretend like this is a privilege that they will begrudgingly accept from us. Even though it was their idea we ask, and the only way we are going to get to eat.

We won't be fed until we have made them cum. We have to keep saying “Taylor men cum first”. It feels so creepy taking my Dad's cock out. I don't mind on Chris as much but either way this is one of the parts I dislike most about being trained. We stand there and wait for them to decide which one of us they want, and I put on my dutiful daughter face and kneel.

Today it was Dad.

“Thank you Sir, I look forward to beating you off, this morning”

He answers with his mouth full of bacon and eggs, “I hope you jack me off better than you cook.”

His dick isn't even hard yet. I've been taught to spit on it, to get it wet. This is one of the more embarrassing parts of it. Drooling slobber on to a hard cock. I pretend to be eager to make up for my bad cooking, when it's really Mom who did most of the cooking, I just helped.

I use one hand, then both hands when he is fully erect. He shows me how he wants it, the pacing. The tip of his dick is already wet and sticky. His is about an inch shorter than Chris's cock. It's sad I know that, right?

“You are in a hurry, so you can fill your face with food, aren't you selfish twat?”

Every time he asks this question, I've discovered “Yes Sir” gets me a slap to the face, and “No Sir” gets me a slap to the ass and called a little liar.

I don't know why this is (Probably more of them keeping me in the dark) but they like to shoot their loads into mason jars. I think it has something to do with Mom making them cum into them when they were our slaves.

I secretly picture me being boss of them again. They are doing this for me, so that I can control them, make them more docile. I don't have to touch their 'filthy cocks'. If I had it to do over again, I would probably have been a truly cruel dominatrix. I didn't know all the things we could make them do when we were the ones in charge. Kneeling on the cold tile floor, watching their evil grins, it looks like they are definitely having fun as the dominators.

The secret fantasy helps me keep a smile on my face. I probably look like a blonde idiot with a big goofy smile, but I doubt they would like me looking all serious and mean. My mom does her best to smile too, but I bet my smile looks more natural. I am told I've been told in the past I have one of those 'Osmond Smiles'. I hope that is a complement.

After my Dad cums, he grabs my hair and my shoulder and squeezes, his legs get tight, and he shuts his eyes. He starts to pump himself, taking his dick away from me. I just watch as he squizzes his white milk into the mason jar I am holding up for him.

I suppose my Mom washes them out, while I go to feed Rosco. I am not sure which is the worst task. I have to race naked and barefoot outside to feed Rosco (before we get fed). He is a male after all and part of the Taylor family. I check on his water and thank my lucky stars we have a privacy fence.

Once I am done, I race back into the house and she has the mason jars squeaky clean, and our lunches packed. I suppose of the two tasks, mine is probably better since I am guessing they make her clean out the jars of cum with her fingers or something.

Our packed lunch is seldom anything good. One morning they made us sit on a banana and smush it with our asses. I won't know until lunch time what was chosen for me to eat. Even though it is seldom good, I have to admit I kind of like the surprise. Isn't that freaky? There is something fun about not knowing for a few hours, what they have planned.

Now that everything but getting dressed and eating is out of the way (and if we were out of time we'd just get dressed). Since we have just a little bit of time, my Dad lets us eat. One of the hidden benefits of jerking them off, is for a short period of time they are laid back and really nice, or they will even take a nap. It doesn't seem to last long, but right now they are being nice. So they don't make us grovel and show super gratitude.

I would have groveled and shown gratitude, if they had given me direction to do so. Instead, their eyes just seem to glaze over and they grant permission to eat.

Usually they made us eat hot dogs together, but today it was scraps.

Dad and Chris scraped their plates onto a single dish. Eggs, Toast, and Bacon fat. “Let’s not waste this good chow.” My Dad insisted with a smile.

This is where they expect us to get on all fours and lap it up like dogs. Only my face isn’t shaped like a dog, so I end up with scrambled egg on my nose, which ruins my makeup. I am absolutely famished though, so I don’t care about it. I try to leave half for my mom, but she seems like she isn’t hungry, so she doesn’t take all of her half.

I can't begin to describe how gross it is to bump heads with my mom and try to scarf down food like a dog on all fours. If you can imagine that, now imagine your brother and father are laughing their asses off, watching your pussy and ass from behind as you do. If you can't imagine that, then consider yourself lucky. I will never be able to forget the experience.

My dad ends up taking about a third of the food, and tosses it into the garbage. “Too bad you bitches are too slow, you’ve got to get cuffed and dressed for school.”

The final step in the morning, after wiping the scrambled egg bits out of the side of my mouth is to go into the living room to be dressed. They have a “Bitch Box” for us, it’s a cardboard box full of the trashiest clothes you can imagine. Our outfits from the night before are still in there, soaking wet and covered in tomato. I am positive they’ll make us wear those.

“Jamie gets to wear her cheer outfit!” My Dad announces. He gives me special treatment, I know that. I don’t know why. I know something is going on though. He doesn’t treat me as harshly as my Mom. This is one of those times, because he sends my mom outside with a rubber ball gag, handcuffed and a towel wrapped around her, holding her clothes and sack lunch. “You can wait for Steve outside, and dress in the car”. She can't argue back (especially with a red rubber ball making her drool). Her eyes plead no. She steps outside anyway, that is real bravery!

Compared to what my mom and I normally wear, the cheer leading outfit, even with the spanks cut out of the bottom is pretty modest. Granted, I used to wear this every Friday when there is a game and it wasn't 'special treatment' then. It just feels like he is making an exception for me to let me wear the uniform. This and some other things he has done, make me believe he is babying me, and making my Mom go through worse.

This isn’t Medieval Steve, this is Work Steve. He drives a sports car, and is probably closer to my age than he is to my Mom’s age. I don’t know why he is in charge of her, or driving her to work, because I think they are keeping me in the dark intentionally about it. That is just a theory though, so don’t think I am a conspiracy nut or anything.

Work Steve is good looking and seems like he may even have the hots for me. I met him yesterday and he kept giving me this stare like he wanted me. Admittedly, since I started this training I’ve been getting that stare from almost everyone, or am at least more painfully aware of that stare. I just didn’t expect it from such a handsome, older guy.

Speaking of handsome older guys, I can’t stop thinking about Brad Jenkins. Gerald’s good looking brother. Will Gerald grow up to look that cool? Did Brad look that dweeby when he was Gerald’s age? Probably not.

Anyway, I present my hands to my brother so that he can slap handcuffs on me. I am wearing my red and white uniform, except naturally the spanks that offer any modesty at all have been cut out. Technically, if the teachers even enforced dress code, the skirts they issue violate their own rules about how short skirts can be. Teachers don’t seem to care, I don’t blame them, there are too many other things to worry about.

He marches me to the bus stop, giving me my morning affirmations. Let me see if I can remember exactly how it went.

“Do you know why you are in handcuffs, sis?”

“Yes Sir, because you are supervising me on the way to school, and you can’t see my hands while I carry our books and lunches.”

“Good answer, but also because you are my little bitch. Today, you cannot be rented out after school, because you’ve got the game. That is two days in a row you cost me money. So I am going to keep you cuffed even on the bus, how do you feel about that?”

“I’d rather you didn’t Sir? People are already talking about us, that I am your slave. They think we are having sex, this will only make the rumors worse.”

“You are such a prideful bitch, always worried about what others think!” he said, I had to admit he was right. I could not help but worry about other people’s feelings. This is my true nature.

“You could probably rent me out after the game!” I offered to him hopefully. His friends didn’t move in the same circles as my friends, so their nights were usually over by 10 or 11pm. “There is a party tonight, I could escort one of your friends there.”

“Okay fine, you saved your bacon this time.” He slapped me on the butt, and unlocked my cuffs a short distance from the bus stop. “Don’t think because you are offering to bring one of my friends to a cool kids party, that means I will be soft on you.”

“I know you won’t, Sir. You are just having your fun, and keeping me in line.” I said bravely to him. I secretly meant he was having fun by keeping me in line, but the other way didn’t sound as naughty. I can't deny that sometimes I pick the more provocative option, but right now I felt like being more safe.

He kept me doing affirmations until the school bus arrived. They did help me to accept things as they had become. In cheer if you keep chanting “Keep trying! Get those yards back”, I have to believe if the football players could hear us over the maddening crowd and through their padded helmets, it would help them to try harder and get those yards back.

Now that I say it like that, it is probably a bad example. Saying it myself, saying “I will” or “I am”, using words like this to take ownership of my behavior and make commitments had been affecting me in subtle ways.

“I will not be a lazy bitch, Sir.”

“I will be a good sister, and not a lazy whore, Sir.”

“I do understand why you have to make fun of all my shortcomings. It makes me want to stop doing them, to be better, Sir. Thank you.”

We stepped on the bus when it finally arrived. The last few days, Chris had been insisting I ask to sit on someone’s lap. This would give him an idea who might be open to dating me. Here is how it would go.

“Hello Sir, there aren’t many seats left, do you mind if I sit on your lap?”

“Uh what?” as the nerdy, quiet kid became intimidated or nervous.

“There aren’t many seats on the bus, I know this is an imposition, but can I just sit on your lap, Sir?” I would repeat myself.

No one has turned me down yet on my offer, even if there are clearly a few open seats some place nearby.

“Thank you so much, Sir”. There are potholes just down the street from my house. That is where I wrecked my mom’s car actually. I sometimes wonder what the Griffin brother’s did with Mom's car after they towed it.

Every time we hit those bumps, I end up flying up and this is where I am supposed to grind on his lap. It usually isn’t necessary, the boy almost always has wood.

“Do you need to adjust yourself, sir?” I say playfully, to let him know that I know he has wood.

“Uh no, that’s cool”

“Would you mind holding on to my waist? They don’t believe in seat belts for school buses for some reason, Sir.” I tease. As before, I’ve never had someone turn me down. I guess I think so much of my beauty, I hadn’t expected anyone too. What a prideful cunt, I must really be.

In any case, by the time we get to school, I give him a sweet kiss on the cheek, and thank him profusely for being my gallant white knight on the bus. This gives my brother a chance to go talk to him, about dating me some time. I am not sure what they talk about, but I am sure when the boy finds out it is going to cost money, he doesn’t think too much of me.

I wait for Chris and he comes back smiling. “Sold another one!” he slaps me on the butt as he walks me to homeroom.

“Will he be taking me to the party tonight, Sir?” I ask.

“Is it any of your business who takes you to the party?”

I want to say that actually it is, even if he is the boss of me. I would like to know. I tell him “No sir, I’ll try to be pleasing to whoever you rent me too, tonight. I was just curious. I will get details from my friend Victoria and where and when.”

“Make sure that you do by third period.” .Hhe honks my left tit with his finger and thumb, and says “Seeya, wouldn’t want to be ya!” as he races off to his own class. I don’t blame him, even if he is kidding. I wouldn’t want to be me either.

Mister Love is my home room. This is a class I share with Mistress Griffin. She is my supervisor, manager, and all around boss, when Chris isn’t around at school, so I’ve been told. I don’t think Chris really likes her, but he is afraid she has the ability to send our lives into shambles. I am not sure how it could get all that much worse for me, I guess it could. I could be a whore in Mexico, fucking donkeys in shows. I have been told that several times by Mistress Griffin who seems to revel in the implied threat.

Just as every day, I present myself to her. I step up and curtsy, bowing my head slightly, dipping my knees, and pulling my skirt out to the side. She is dressed like me for the big game, although I suspect she wore her spanks underneath.

“I heard you had a grand old time at the fair last night, slut.”

“Yes Ma’am, it was exhausting.” I am tired from the night before, but I have that crazy energy of someone who is over-tired, so I couldn’t go back to sleep if I wanted too. I wonder how she found out about it, probably the pictures that Thad, Dave and Noah took.

“You will sharpen your pencil, and then you may be seated.” She tells me.

“Thank you, Ma’am”. I set my book bag on the ground, then bend over and take out a well sharpened pencil that I always carry. I snap the lead on purpose. I stay like this for about thirty seconds so that if anyone in my home room wants they can see up my skirt from behind me, or down my blouse. It is very embarrassing, and awkward.

Then I walk to the blackboard where the pencil sharpener is. I ask Mr. Love if I can have permission to sharpen my pencil. As he has every day, he sighs in exasperation that my request is unnecessary, and gives me permission.

“Thank you Sir, Sorry. I am so used to asking permission, I forget”. I hadn’t forgot. It was part of Cathy’s morning rituals, that I get his attention. This is because I am about to shake my ass while I grind the pencil in the manual pencil sharpener, until I take it out and blow on it, while trying to make eye contact with him.

He usually connects with me, he did today. He returns my gaze. I drop the pencil on the ground, and take my time picking it up. This is strictly for him, no matter which way it falls, I’ll be punished if I don’t face away from him and bend at the waist.

He probably thinks I am teasing him mercilessly. I know he has to shift his legs to cover his erection while he is seated. I want to tell him, I have to do this for his benefit, but if Cathy found out, she’d probably make me do a lot to worse to him. She doesn’t seem to have any limits like my brother and Dad do.

I’ll say this for my Dad and Chris. They could have made me give blowjobs, fuck people, and do all sorts of nasty things I may not even be able to imagine yet. They have been really honorable about that. That is why I was surprised my mom had a family meeting last night. She seemed to be implying that lines were being crossed. I wondered if my Dad may have been cheating on her.

She was obviously having sex with others outside of their marriage. Granted, mostly because he told her too, but could she be mad that he was getting something on the side? No, not my dad. Well, it’s hard to say. I would never have though the last Principal we had was getting some action on the side. Apparently, he was and with one of the girls in Cathy’s web of blackmail.

I am in that web now, and having completed my morning ‘show’ I return to my seat. I don’t wait for Mistress to order, I spread my legs wide, making no secret I have on nothing underneath, when I take my chair.

“So hooker, I saw a hint of your tattoo back there, tell me that is henna and it comes off in a few days?”

“No ma’am” I whisper back. “It is permanent, my mom and I both got one.” She calls me hooker all the time.

“So are you going to be Bill and Chris’s full time slaves for life?” She asks incredulously.

“No Mistress, That is a really long story. It is kind of complicated, I also got piercings.” I call her mistress sometimes to break up the monotony of the Ma’am, and because she prefers that title anyway.

“Yeah, I heard you jingling, and I could see the ones on your boobs, when you bent over to let Richard and the guys behind us have a look at them.” She whispered loud enough that she could sometimes be overheard.

The other kids in the class suspected I was somehow caught up in Cathy’s game, I am sure. I didn’t know how much they knew. I just smiled, like a pretty little idiot. What else could I do?

“I am impressed.” Cathy said seriously. “What is your tattoo of?”

“It says Whore in big letters.”

Cathy covered her mouth in shock, and then began to laugh uncontrollably.

Mr. Love told her if she couldn’t quiet herself, he would send her to the office. He did so as he looked straight up my skirt.

“I’m sorry Sir, Jamie just told me the funniest joke.” Sometimes Cathy liked to call the teachers “Sir” just like I had too. I should be thankful, it didn’t make me sound like such a weird idiot for talking that way all the time.

“Oh, would you like to share it with the class?” Mr. Love put me on the spot.

“No sir, I don’t think you’d find it funny.”

Cathy encouraged me while giggling “Oh I am sure he would love to hear what you got at the fair last night.”

“Ah yes, the picture. We’ve all seen it.” Mr. Love said disapprovingly.

This was news to Cathy. She is such a master at manipulation, she obviously hadn’t seen it, but she was able to use her words to get Mr. Love to tell her what it was without revealing she had no idea. “Oh, THAT picture, yes.”

The football players had made posters of the pictures of me in the pillory, covered in tomato, hanging with my feet and wrists. They had put it on their Facebook status. I wasn’t naked so there really wasn’t anything anyone could say about it. The caption read “Go Cherry Lawn Trojans, Punish the Rams!” (our rival high school). They didn't care that they were clearly visible smiling in the picture with me. I would have thought it embarrassed them too, but then I don't really claim to understand how the male mind works.

“Yes, Jamie is filled with school spirit!” Cathy said about me with an evil grin.

“That is one word for what she is filled with.” Mr. Love said nothing else about it and sat down, crossing his legs uncomfortably. He only removed his gaze from between my thighs a few times for the rest of the class.

Two of the boys that were playing a game of “flick football” a few desks away from ours, made it a point to also keep kicking their football so they could get a good look at my hairless cunt. I don’t know why they wanted to see, it reminded me of a roast beef sandwich turned on its side. Okay, I know why they wanted to see, and I wasn’t permitted to deny them. I just sat there like a stupid blonde bimbo who either didn’t care or didn’t mind them drooling at me while I kept my knees wide apart and whispered to my Mistress.

At one point in our conversation, the paper football they have folded into a tight little triangle hits me in the crotch. You would think this is cause for Mr. Love to say something, but everyone pretends that this is just an accident. I pretend too and smile as if it is (like a big blonde dummy).

“I’ll get it” says one of the boys. He has been in my home room this entire year, and I’ve not bothered to learn or remember his name. I am such a thoughtless cow.

I want to get it before he can reach, but Mistress grabs my hand reminding me, I am to let him. I say nothing, just smile like a dumb ass at him. I am sure he thinks my warm inviting smile is an invitation for more. So as he reaches between my legs to get the football, he touches my pussy lips, delicately, almost as if he thinks at this point having gone this far I would dare stop him.

He explores a little more touching my ring. His eyes become wide like saucers. I haven’t seen eyes that wide since last night when that kid they call Millhouse freaked out when my mom offered to kiss him.

“Find your football?” Cathy asks him playing with him. She reminds me of Charlotte, the spider from Charlotte’s Web in how she talks to guys some times. She uses the soft, velvet like touch of her voice in such a subtle way, that it implies she has perfect control of the situation, even if she is asking a question and dealing with someone who weighs 200lb more than her.

“Yes, Yes I did.” The boy let go of the hoop on my clit, and backed away nervously. He was happy with the quick finger bang he got, and wasn’t going to push his luck that I would protest. I wouldn’t have. I hated to admit to myself, I don’t know where I draw my lines anymore. I knew I would have sat right there and let him play as long as he dared. I don’t know why, but I think I would have.

I don’t know how far he could have gone before Mr. Love would have stopped him. I was happy Cathy had.

“Thank you Mistress” I whispered to her.

She didn’t answer, but I knew she knew I was grateful she had stopped his hand.