The Family Feud IV

Chapter Forty Two
Wendy’s Journal: If you are going to act like a turd go lay in the yard

**Note to reader: This is an excerpt of Wendy’s journal from Thursday early morning from her perspective. The events take place as Wendy is brought home by her son and husband. In order to increase readability, some of the dialogue exchanged was altered to appear in a ‘narrative’ story format.

CASH EARNINGS THURSDAY

WENDY: $0 WEIGHTS: 0
JAMIE: $50 WEIGHTS: 0

It had just occurred to me that I had agreed to everything my husband and son had told me to do and I had not only not complained I had insisted on it. I realized that in agreeing to these acts of humiliating contrition, I had been a role model to which my daughter aspired, resulting in her agreeing to them as well.

I might have wanted to stop and discuss all of this, but it had also occurred to me that none of that changes the reason I agreed in the first place – I had abused my power when I had it. Not only had I cuckolded my son and husband, but long before that ever took place, I had focused on a career and favored my daughter while coddling my son and husband to create their dependency.

Even if I wanted to stop and discuss it, I was naked on all fours in the back of my husband’s truck with a dirty rag stuffed in my mouth and a broom handle shoved six inches up my ass as the cold night air whipped over my bare skin.

At least they had removed the weight from my pussy lips – small favors I suppose. Chris had said “You have been a good slut tonight” when he lubed up my ass and slid the broom inside of me. He patted my head and snipped the fishing line they had attached the sinker too and I actually thanked him.

I should have screamed that he had just rammed a broom up my ass but I remained naked in the truck and held my ass cheeks apart until he told me I could release them while I thanked him for the kindness of removing the weight from my cunt.

I was surprised they had thought I had been good! I didn’t feel worthy of that kindness and I can’t really explain what has happened to my self-esteem since I began this desperate decline into submission to the men of my family.

They knew it had not been my fault I lost the butt plug they made me call my ‘passport’ even though they joked about how my tail hole looked so empty and swollen without the pretty diamond winking at them.

I was feeling the aching in my swollen breasts, the bruises from all the spankings and beatings. I was too busy thinking about whether they intended to make me have sex with Roscoe, our family pet for the last four years, to notice the difference between the broom handle and the fat metal butt plug.

How would sex with Roscoe work? I will admit that weighed heavily on my mind. What would that be like? Would they really do that or had they just enjoyed watching my asshole open and pucker from the abject fear and terror I was feeling? Were they going to get me to the house and reveal they had just been teasing me and wanted to see my reaction?

In the last few weeks I can’t recall my husband ever kidding about something like this and I know Chris was a joker – but I seriously doubted he was going to say ‘Fooldja’ when we got home. Home? It wouldn’t be for very much longer – it would belong to the bank after this weekend.

I had been told that Jamie had sex with Roscoe earlier today. I gather she did it not only in front of Bill and Chris but many of her friends had seen her do it. I didn’t have details and perhaps it was the mental images my mind was painting of the scenario that was making it seem even more terrifying.

Had Jamie really done it? Why did this even come up? I mean I know the guys are twisted perverts but why Roscoe and Jamie?

I could tell we were back in Cherry Lawn Estates by the bright overhead lamps. They were quaint street lamps designed to look like those ornate 1920s street lamps. It was about 3AM so I wasn’t as concerned anyone would see me in the back of Bill’s truck as much as I was about the sickening fate in store for me at home.

I wondered about Jamie as well – I had been so wrapped up in worry about what was going to become of me when we got to our house that I had pushed the image of her out of my mind. I had spent the night before outside tied up to the back of the cabana and I knew how rough it had been.

I remember my lips chapping and drool running down the side of my mouth as I was gagged and bound all night and the afternoon the day before. I had faded in and out of consciousness and become delirious for a short period -although in my defense, that may have had to do with the frog those boys made me lick.

I had seen Jamie carry a tub of Crisco shortening and a broom with her when he marched her out of the cabana – I am sure Chris mounted his sister outside like a scarecrow on that broom. In a few short hours those boys who played with me would be waking up and will find her out there and that was if she was lucky – what if someone who was far more disgusting and dangerous like Deacon Dan or that filthy little midget found her?

I knew someone would discover her outside and I found myself actually praying that it would be those same boys who found me – all in all, the lesser of all evils. Jamie is a tough girl and she has been through a lot but I couldn’t help but worry for her.

“Okay Lard Ass,” we had already stopped. I prayed we were in our drive way as I looked up to try to get my bearings. Chris was lowering the flat bed gate to let me out of the truck. “Crawl on all fours, clench that broom and keep it tight up your ass hole. If you drop it, it’s your ass.” his threat serving as a sadistic play on words. “Feels just like your passport except longer doesn’t it?” and I nodded agreement without really considering what he was asking - I was just trying to behave myself.

“You are a skin bag around a giant sack of shit,” he laughed as I climbed down onto my grass. “Dad, the lawn needs mowing, when is the last time we had these cunts cut it?”

“Don’t worry about it, remember the bank is taking it back this weekend.” Bill answered him pragmatically. “The cunt saw to that,” Bill inferred that it was entirely my fault that we lost the house. In part it was, as somehow that was engineered by my rivalry with Vicky at work as much as it was from my fall from grace and inability to pay our bills.

My stomach hurt as I looked up from my front yard at our two story suburban American dream house. I remember when we moved in when the kids were little and there were so many possibilities about where life would lead. I am sad to report that mine has evolved into being naked on the front lawn at four in the morning.

“She is a turd, she should have to lay in the yard like one,” Bill came around the truck to where Chris was standing over me and looked down at me with a grin. “Isn’t that right honey?” he teased me condescendingly.

I nodded it was – I still had the gag in my mouth from earlier.

“Would you like to lay in the front yard with that broom up your ass until morning?” Bill continued to ask in the same condescending tone like he was babying me. “I am sure your idol Van would come out and love to see that broom up your big asshole,” was he still jealous over the neighbor? He had no reason to be – if my devotion to him through all of this wasn’t apparent I don’t know what else could be.

I realized this was a legitimate question he was asking and not a rhetorical joke when Bill kicked my broom with his foot to get my attention. I shook my head that I did not want to stay out on the front lawn like I was – emphatically!

“Oh, look at her eyes, so expressive!” Bill laughed at how wide-eyed and worried I must have been. “You would think there is a neighbor of ours who hasn’t seen that precious bare ass tattoo of hers or those fat nipples wiggling in the breeze.”

Chris laughed and agreed with his father. “Yeah, I should have made them jog more often, tits bouncing up while ass cheeks bouncing down!” he mimicked a slightly exaggerated jog in place.

“Okay Mrs. Prude,” Bill seemed disappointed I hadn’t jumped at the chance to remain naked on the front lawn. “I take it you want to hurry up to the backyard so you can service Roscoe?”

He prodded me for an answer. How was I to answer that? If I was the dutiful slut that I had accepted being then I was supposed to gleefully agree but I was legitimately scared and disgusted in a way that I had not been before – even given all the things we had done the last few weeks.

I nodded slowly trying to hold the unexpected tears from my eyes. If I really was not going to go through with this I would have stood up and pulled the broom from my ass. I wasn’t tied up here – I could stop at any time and I knew I was giving in and doing as I was told.

“Awww, I would have expected a little more enthusiasm like your slut of a daughter,” Bill chided me for my reaction. “Let’s keep track of that when we compare the too.” He said to Chris and slapped the side of his leg for me to follow him. I did as I was told as I followed on all fours as I crawled across a lawn wet with wet morning mist.

“The lawn is as wet as mom’s cunt,” he laughed while prodding me to ‘pick up the pace’ as I drug my broom handle behind me like a long tail into my living room.

“Take a good long look from the floor, cow tits” Bill announced as we walked in and he turned on the lights. “We are going to lose everything here and we can’t even afford storage space for this shit. All our credit cards are completely over-extended.”

The house seemed so quiet and empty – alien to me. It had not been lived in very much the last few days but I already felt distant from it. It used to be a home but now it felt like just a house to me – a house with stuff.

The stuff still had sentimental value to me but I wondered how important it really was – I could get over losing it all once this rotten ordeal was over. I knew though that before that happens Bill would have fun rubbing my nose in it and I was going to let him.

“You have a long day in front of you. We are going to pack up all your old shit and sell what we can and you are going to be grateful to anyone who comes over to buy it,” Bill informed me with a half-smirk on his face. I knew he was serious – I could just tell he was taking way more delight in what was to come than he probably should have.

“Go ahead and get that broom out of your ass and clean it off,” Chris said as if he were being generous to me. He bent down to take my gag out and threw it in the cardboard box marked ‘sluts’ by the door that used to have our clothes in it. They had brought most of it down to the motel over the last few days. “Don’t worry slut, I can see you have a hungry asshole and it misses your passport. We’ll keep it tightly packed until we find some long term toy to cram up there.”

“Thank you Master, very generous,” I said trying to sound pleasing but the Taylor men ignored me and talked amongst themselves while I worked the broom out of my ass. I wasn’t looking forward to getting it packed again but I had signed up for this and I have to admit – I felt strangely guilty at times when my ass wasn’t packed with something as if I were getting away with something. The broom was packed in there deep but I slid it out and brought it around to clean off with my mouth allowing a little wind to escape my exhausted back door quietly so Chris didn’t laugh.

I was immediately confronted with the fact that I had left a long brown slime trail on the length of the smooth wooden handle.

“That face?” Bill looked down to notice I had made a face of disgust. “You have a problem all of a sudden cleaning your own mess?”

Chris didn’t wait for me to answer before laughing “She poop striped the broom handle! Classic.”

“Ordinarily no Master, it’s just that you didn’t give me a chance to shit before we left the motel,” I didn’t want to sound like I was being disobedient but I thought it was important for me to give an explanation. I had rimmed assholes and cleaned off dildos that had been in my ass but this was a little more than just a tiny brown dab of butt mud- this was a long strip of crap.

“You are basically milk, fudge, and lemonade machines!” Bill gave me a stern look of disapproval as he spoke in euphemisms about the breast milk, crap and piss that he seemed to feel was a chore to deal with.

“With a little snot icing,” Chris snorted at his addition to the bodily fluids that he felt obliged to mention – the mental image he painted reminded me quickly of how he had made me blow snot bubbles with his cum before we left the motel.

I took a deep breath and shut my eyes.

I held the broom handle out and opened my mouth and then began to lick it.

“Don’t just lick around the tip either, all the way down the shaft, slut!” Chris laughed at the double entendre’ of his advice and I could hear Bill give him an attaboy slap on the shoulder.

“Keep those eyes open? What have we taught you about accepting your place and not sugar coating anything? How can you learn that you are a little shit gobbler if you don’t actually open your eyes?” Bill advised and I opened my eyes as instructed.

“Well, she could smell it,” Chris joked and Bill gave him another attaboy slap except I think that one was to ask him to stop being such a smart ass.

I did as instructed and cleaned the broom thoroughly – cleaning every square inch of it gave me a new appreciation for just how far it had been lodged up my ass.

“As fun as this is to watch, I take it you are hungry?” Bill asked and I looked up as I had almost finished cleaning the broom.

Bill glowered at me “Not you greedy-guts, you’ll get to eat soon enough. I am talking to your son.” I felt foolish as I looked down at the broom in front of me and continued cleaning.

“You are getting to nibble a giant fudge cycle and you want more to eat?” Chris laughed as if he couldn’t believe I was such a pig. The two of them talked in hush tones above me while I finished cleaning my broom. It really wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be – but it wasn’t pleasant either.

“It wasn’t so bad was it, porky?” Bill bent down to inspect the broom handle – flipping it to check for any missed spots. I am sure my daughter little miss perfect would have been delighted when he couldn’t find any – but I was still in shock at what I had become. I nodded that it wasn’t.

“I asked you a question, slut!” Bill smacked my butt cheek with his palm and I perked right up.

“No sir, sorry sir! I was um licking my lips,” an innocent lie to amuse them – and they both chuckled.

“Are we being unfair to you stink-broom?” Bill asked me in a mock sympathetic tone. “Should we not make you clean your own broom? Perhaps Chris and I should clean it off for you?” he grinned menacingly.

“No sir, thank you for making me do that,” I bit my lip slightly but I would not make the mistake of just nodding again anytime soon. I tried to look on the bright side that it would make whoring much easier if things like that did not disgust me.

When I was a teenager I used to always look on the bright side like Jamie. I think I have evolved my way of thinking to just try to think of a way to make sense of something disgusting like what I had just done and find some constructive benefit- there is a subtle distinction.

“You can stand up and go make us some bacon and pancakes,” Bill ordered. He didn’t have to say it twice – I was already standing.

“Wow, I love when her tits bounce and shake when she stands up,” Chris laughed at my eagerness. I hadn’t tried to seem over-eager but I am sure it came across that way.

“Get down and give me five burpees,” Chris pointed back to the floor. I looked at Bill who had just given me an order to fix them some food for confirmation.

Bill slapped my face hard “One of your owners just gave you an order!”

I wasn’t sure if he meant that I should carry out his first or carry out the second and updated order. A second slap and the words “Get on the fucking floor and do the burpees so I can eat my bacon! I am fucking tired” was all the confirmation I needed from Bill on what to do next.

I was exhausted too – but years going to Pilates and aerobics paid off with my endurance.

Jamie and Chris’s PE Teacher had shown them a number of burpees – most of which Chris could not actually do himself but delighted in watching us do. There were box-jump, muscle-up and one-armed burpees and all sorts of insidious variations but I knew he wanted a classic one – unless he told me otherwise.

The four step burpee first begins in in a standing position. In Gym class this would be at attention but naturally he wants us with legs spread apart and hands holding ass cheeks apart – not to remove them.

First step is drop into a squat position with your hands on the ground. (count 1). “I am a slut, Sir”

Second, extend your feet back in one quick motion to assume the front plank position. (count 2) “I am YOUR slut, Sir”.

Third - Return to the squat position in one quick motion. (count 3) “I am a cunt, Sir”.

Finally, Return to standing position and pull ass cheeks apart (count 4) “Can your cunt do another, Sir?”

We had practiced these almost every day when Chris delivered aerobics exercises to us when this all began. I knew it had been pay back for riding Chris about his health and making him and his father work out and I had been a good sport and gone along with it- I would do so again.

After five of those, Bill grew bored but Chris was still giggling each time my tits and ass jiggled while I performed the burpee flawlessly and called out the cadence for my son’s eager amusement.

Bill prodded me into the kitchen by rapidly but playfully smacking my butt over and over like bongo drums as he drove me forward. I was actually smiling and so was he that he was being a little playful – but I suspected he was over tired.

He and Chris sat down at the dinner table while I cooked in the nude for them. I think whatever I decide after this is all over – I never want to cook in the nude again. The bacon grease always manages to pop up and hit me or get all over my skin.

I smiled at myself as I flipped the pancakes wondering to myself. I had just been contemplating continuing to cook in the nude after this was all over – why? I smiled and decided I would probably do it every now and then just to see the look on their faces.

I pictured one Sunday morning as Bill and Chris were sitting at the table just as they are now. They would have this look of shock on their face as I saunter down from the bedroom in my old dog collar that I had saved. I would be wiggling my tattoo covered ass and teasingly say “Oh hello sirs, did you want breakfast?”

Maybe Jamie would walk down and join in on the little game and we would have a laugh about how things used to be.

I was quickly jostled from my fantasy about life after this situation. I had forgotten that we would be losing the house and so whatever happened – we wouldn’t be coming down the stairs here like I had imagined. I was also quickly reminded by Chris throwing ice cubes at my back that they were still the boss of me.

“Hurry up slut!! HONGRY!” Chris banged his silverware on the table as he demanded I cook the bacon and pancakes faster for him.

“Yes Master, I am cooking as fast as I can,” I answered sheepishly. I had been caught off guard by a hard chunk of ice from his drink in my back –otherwise I might have responded with a sassy little teasing joke.

“Do you want a piece of bacon?” Bill asked me. The question was unexpected and I wasn’t sure if it was a trick question or not.

“I asked do you want a piece of bacon? I don’t like to repeat myself, slut.”

“Yes Master, I would love it - but Taylor sluts don’t usually get to eat bacon?” I looked over my shoulder at him thoughtfully. They had kept us on a strict diet and at best we might get a little bacon gristle after they were done.

“We have to eat it all up anyway or it will go to waste,” Bill seemed tired as he waited at the kitchen table. “Don’t worry skank, I will make you earn it.” He added as if he were reassuring me he wasn’t intending on breaking his pattern of being a difficult task master.

“Thank you master, I would be grateful,” I said – I was completely truthful about that. “The only things keeping my mind off my hunger are my bruises, my cuts, my full and over-due tits needing milking, my full bladder and my full bowels, Sir” I joked.

“Bladder and bowels?” Bill cleared his throat.

“My cunt full of piss and my asshole full of my own shit, Master” I corrected – but I smiled and so did he. I was tired and had forgotten the protocol – half expecting a punishment. I wondered if he was amused or just so over-tired that he was smiling but no punishment was offered so he must have taken it as a joke.

“You can stick one piece of bacon up your ass now,” Bill said when my back was turned and I froze – I could tell he was not smiling or joking. “When we finish eating, you will squat and be permitted to eat it off the floor.” I said nothing as he continued to explain “Or if chocolate bacon is too good for you, you can squat for roscoe later and he will show you how to be grateful for it.”

“It is after all bacon,” Chris had a love of all things bacon – and he was clearly amused by this arrangement.

I picked up a piece of nearly cooked bacon – it was still hot and I waved it to let the oil drip back into the pan.

“Hurry, hurry!” Bill insisted and without turning around I put the bacon down to my waist and began to stuff it up my ass. It was warm but not scalding and it made my skin crawl with goose bumps.

“I think I would like Cow tits to eat all her food this way,” Chris smirked and I gave him the kind of sour-faced smile that Jamie does when he teases her. He gave me the same grin he gives her as he added “No,” and let me think he changed his mind before adding “I will probably want to see her stick it in all her holes, like dipping sauce for McNuggets.”

“How many holes do you have, cow tits?” Bill asked.

“Three sir, my cunt, asshole and mouth.” I answered while resisting the urge to tap my asshole to cool it off from the warm bacon as I prepared their plates.

“Who owns those holes? You?” Bill asked.

“You and Chris own my holes Sir,” I answered him as I brought the plates over to the table.

“Who owns your daughter’s holes?” Bill asked while he watched me serve him the food.

“You both own our holes, the Taylor women serve the Taylor men Sir.” I answered his mini-affirmation. I almost suggested he wait until I finish setting the table and pouring the OJ if he was going to give me a full one.

“Do you resent us for deciding what goes in and out of those gaping, wet holes?” Bill sounded a little sleep-deprived and punchy as he yawned his question. I had to smirk that he added the descriptive terms gaping and wet – were they really that disgustingly huge?

“No Sir, thank you for training me and my daughter. We asked you for this discipline so we can be good whores for the family.” I perked up. Chris pinched my ass playfully as I bent over the table to hand him the butter. I didn’t even think twice about it- instead I pictured that fantasy Sunday when I would be volunteering to cook breakfast and he gave me a relatively harmless and playful pinch like he just did.

“So if Chris wants to see you put food up one hole and then stuff it in your mouth hole so you can eat it, is that his decision or yours?” I didn’t realize Bill was making a point until he asked that question.

“Actually, I want to see her stuff food up her asshole or cunt, then pull it out and stuff it in her mouth hole, then watch as she shits it back out her asshole – a sort of three way cycle.” Chris clarified like a smart ass.

“Every time I eat Sir?” I asked gingerly –that sounded very extreme and I was concerned Bill might not be thinking straight considering it was past four in the morning and he had been up all day.

“No every time you play fucking Badminton,” He grabbed a handful of my ass cheek to punctuate his point.

“That will make dinner with the Waxerman’s fairly interesting,” I tried to offer a joke but Bill squeezed my ass harder to tell me he was serious.

“I asked you a question slut. If your son wants you to stuff your ass with food before you eat it, are you too good for it?” Bill insisted I answer and I knew he was serious. I also knew that he usually thought things through and right now he might be very tired and may have been doubling-down on the idea without really giving it a lot of thought.

“What about when we eat in public places though Master?” I tried to reason with him while remaining very submissive and not struggling out of his grip on my ass cheeks.

“You will be told to take it in the bathroom or better yet, we’ll walk you to the dumpster so we can supervise you filling up your ass. Then after the dinner you can be walked back out to where you put it in after cooking it in your belly for a few minutes and eat it like a little whore.” Bill yawned and I knew he was trying to get a rise out of me – but I couldn’t tell just how serious he was about this new rule.

I didn’t want to mention that we work with whores – and none of them that I know eat food that they’ve shoved up their asses. The anal-retentive in me wanted to say that – but then I almost laughed at the double meaning ‘anal retentive’ might have if I had said it just then.

“Does Ass face have to do this too?” I am anal retentive and I can’t help myself asking detail questions when I probably should not. Bill is a ‘big picture’ guy who also expects and knows me well enough to know that I am a detail person.

“You both have choices. You can oblige your owners who want to see your holes used to spice your food, or you can wear more weights on those precious fat pussy lips of yours,” Bill reached around with his other hand and pulled on my sore cunt lips to make his point.

When I first started working as a junior project manager one of my bosses used to come up with rules that many would see as an over-reaction. If he went to copy something on the photocopier and there was not enough paper then he would insist on a process to make sure there was paper and someone to make sure that someone else did the job.

We would all agree to the new rule and nod our head and then after about two days we would all conveniently forget – and so would he. I think he knew that his rules were often over-reactive and he may have actually appreciated us forgetting them after the ‘crises’ he was trying to resolve never really materialized as a problem after all.

There was one project manager who challenged him on these rules. I remember she would even joke about how she had failed to put the “TPS coversheet on the TPS report and if you could just go ahead and mmmkay do that,” to mock how he talked at work.

I also remember when he enthusiastically fired her for something ‘unrelated’ and thought to myself sometimes you have to decide if you want to be right or if you want to win. I had chosen winning and I ended up in his role as a senior vice president many years later.

Bill reached up and twisted my fat nipples hard – and a little milk dripped out. “You don’t think I am fucking serious slut, but you need to be toughened up. You want to get through this day, you better do what I tell you and do it with a smile like an obedient little slut, you got it?”

“Yes Master, I have my bacon in my ass,” I agreed with him while I stood in his grasp at the kitchen table.

“You don’t have to tell me where your bacon is unless I ask and it is MY god-damned bacon in the asshole on your body that belongs to ME isn’t it cow tits?” Bill demanded – no longer showing signs of being tired.

“Yes sir, and your son Sir” I found that when discussing Chris it was best to say ‘his son’ and when discussing Jamie it seemed to be ‘my daughter’.

“Is it just me or is this bitch mocking us?” Bill became irate with me. I am sure it was in part because he was overly tired but he dressed me down with his tone. “You know I’ve overlooked the sloppy way you have been serving tonight. You’ve not used your protocol, you have been reluctant to be obedient and sluggish and I was thinking it was because you were tired and have been through so much tonight. I started to feel sorry for your fat ass having to deal with that crazy Deacon and that is my mistake. I apologize for that Cow Tits.” I could tell he was not sorry but making a point.

“Get on your motherfucking knees and take my pants down,” I was surprised he would want his cock sucked again after he came so much back at the cabana but I did as I was told and quickly too!

I was equally surprised when Bill turned around and faced away from me.

“Pull those ass cheeks apart and kiss it, bitch.” He gave me a look over his shoulder that read ‘don’t make me tell you twice’ and I did as I was told without any thought. I pulled my husband’s ass cheeks apart as instructed and stared at his dark, hairy, man-hole.

“Let me feel that tongue in between my hairy ass cheeks,” He insisted I give him a tongue rimming on his asshole and I did just that. “You never hesitate when it’s your daughter’s precious shitter, but you haven’t learned that your place is on your knees with your mouth open kissing the ass of your betters have you?”

I couldn’t answer but I nodded agreement as I kissed my husband’s asshole for all I was worth.

“I want you to really get up in there. I want to feel your long donkey tongue in my butt.” I know Bill was being serious and while I couldn’t see his face I thought for a second even he couldn’t keep a straight face when he said that. I did have a long tongue but I’ve never heard it called a ‘donkey tongue’ before.

“Can I get in on that Dad?” Chris sounded eager for me to give him the same treatment.

“Definitely, I think three times a day both of these sluts should kiss our asses, don’t you?” Bill said while I held his ass cheeks apart so I could make out with his asshole.

“You know, we could probably make them kiss our asses before we let them shit or milk their fat jugs for us,” Chris suggested.

“That isn’t a bad idea Chris, I like that. You like that Slut?” Bill asked me and I nodded in agreement. What else could I do as I continued connecting my mouth to his ass? “I don’t know why I didn’t think of this little ritual of obedience sooner. I’ve been kissing your ass for so long because you brought home the money that it is about time you kissed ours.” He was tickled with his new idea.

Chris didn’t waste any time pulling down his own pants. Unlike my husband’s hairy butt my son has a pink, hairless ass like that of a cherubic baby. It looks a lot like his sister only much wider. He told me to spread his meaty thighs and “sniff around”.

I obeyed and sniffed his warm ass while his father pulled his own pants back up. “Savor that flavor, mother dear” Chris patronized me while he made me sniff at his ass with rapid inhales and giggled at me. “Does it smell like waffles?” he joked. The funny thing is – it kind of did.

“It smells good sir, thank you for this” I replied trying to sound submissive and not egg my son on.

“Lighten up, and have a taste up my Hershey highway, you’ve given Ass face enough face rides it should be my turn,” he was right – I had licked my daughter’s ass many times but always for the amusement of others not her own. I pressed my face into his ass as I held apart his cheeks while kneeling on the cold tile floor of my soon-to-be-sold kitchen.

My son promptly tooted a sour fart into my teeth and laughed as he felt my lips part around his asshole to accept his wind.

“I farted because I couldn’t give a shit,” he laughed at my expense while I French kissed his ass for him like a dutiful slut. “You are a true ass muncher,” he laughed and wiggled his ass back on my nose while I darted my tongue around the edge of his asshole.

“Get it all the way in my asshole right now or you will wish I only farted next,” he wasn’t joking and I drove my tongue deeply into his anus without question.

“I can picture you coming down some cold Sunday morning after this is all over and asking to kiss my waffle-ass for old time sake. What do you say mom? Are you going to miss this?” My son asked casually. He was having almost the same fantasy I was about a goofy time when this is all over and me playfully requesting this treatment for fun. I sometimes wonder about nurture versus nature and how our brains are wired to be on the same wavelength with our relatives whether we realize it or not.

I pulled back slightly from my Son’s ass and held his cheeks apart with my fingers. My chin was wet from the saliva that now coated his ass as I answered him. “We will be losing the house after this weekend Master, so as delicious an offer as it is to come eat at your trough, I don’t know what I will be doing.” That was as obedient and playful as I could sound without coming right out and admitting I had a similar fantasy myself about making his pancakes for him while in the buff when he is college age.

He forced his ass cheeks closed with sheer willpower around my face and wiggled his ass in my face “I didn’t say it had to be here you piggy,” he laughed. That was true – he hadn’t specified where it would occur. I suppose it was just my own creative imagination filling in the location in the old familiar house that I raised him in.

The talk about losing the house only made my stomach sour and my heart beat fast as I stressed over the fact that my entire life would be gone. The ‘stuff’ I had accumulated anyway. If we didn’t pack it up, there was going to be someone here to buy it or the bank would repossess it all and clean it out.

I needed to come to terms with accepting that but they say there are five stages of grief – Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression and Acceptance. I am positive that at one point or another I had been in all five about the discipline my husband had brought me and my daughter as payback for cuckolding him and Chris.

One: Denial — "I feel fine."; "This can't be happening, not to me."

Two: Anger — "Why me? It's not fair!"; "How can this happen to me?"; '"Cathy Griffin arranged this, someone else is at fault! I did not bring this on myself!”

Three: Bargaining — "I'll do anything if you just let me hang on to my family”; “Okay, I will let you fuck me up the ass with that spatula handle but please not the broom, okay the broom handle but please please not the baseball bat.”

Four: Depression — "I'm so sad, why bother trying?"; "I am never going to live this down"

Five: Acceptance — "It's going to be okay."; "I can't fight it, I may as well prepare for it."

I think in Jamie’s case there might be a “Second Wind” category where she gets so far down that all she can see is up and actually tries harder than ever before – the eternal optimist. I envy her spirit and there have been times I think I have done that. I think certainly volunteering to keep the discipline in place until we get out of our money worries might have been my attempt at that.

Right now though I felt like I might be experiencing a little bit of denial, anger, and depression all at once as I looked at the house with melancholy sadness and realized that there was no going back to our old lives and our old stuff.

“You are getting your titty milk on the back of my thighs!” Chris startled me from my thoughts by bumping his ass hard into my face. I was leaking – my tits were sore and full and needed release and I hadn’t even noticed they were dripping on my son.

“Let me lick that off Master,” I purred and that response seemed to please my son.

“We have to be hard on you today Bitch because not only are you our whore and you need that discipline to keep focused but I can see how you get this dreamy look on your face when you think about all the times you went shopping at Bed, Bath and Beyond or Pier One to buy all these wicker baskets and knick knack bullshit that we have strewn around here.” Bill kicked a small wicker basket that held old newspapers near the kitchen table for effect.

“Yes Master” I agreed after I finished licking my milk off the back of my son’s thighs. “I understand you are going to be harsh with me today, like everyday” the days had kept getting harder and harder like the cocks I continuously sucked. I made a mental note that may be a funny pun to use with Chris some time.

“No,” he banged his fist on the table in anger. “You don’t get it slut. Today, you are going to entertain and encourage people to buy your old stuff. I know this shit means something to you. Hell, some of it means something to me.” I could see him scanning some family pictures on the wall from happier times. “You are going to have to be grateful and kiss the customers asses and not make them feel guilty about making you part with all this fragernackle bullshit in the house. You have to kiss this shit goodbye like you kiss our asses because we can’t afford to store it and we need the cash - Do you comprehend?”

“Yes Master, I do,” I was internalizing what he had just said and felt that if I had made it through the county fair and the flea market as well as whoring on Martin Luther King Jr. boulevard then I was going to be able to do this. I was grateful though that he was making it a point to remind me that it may be difficult to sell old baby rattles and photo albums or furniture that I had grown accustomed too.

Bill was about to tell me that he had another chore for me – going door to door to the neighbors to drop off some gifts and invite them to purchase some of our stuff. “You can apologize for being such a disgusting pig and thoughtless neighbor and then invite them to our going away sale.” I knew that would probably involve a skimpy outfit and a lot of awkward backpedalling with women from the neighborhood I’ve known for years – but most already heard the rumors about us anyway.

I was surprisingly calm about the scornful looks of derision I was going to receive from my female neighbors and a few chuckles from their husbands and sons.

“You’ve been a pretty good little bitch so far, here you can have a swallow of pancake,” my son was about to hand feed me a scrap from his plate as he added “I can’t wait to see you become a doggy fucker.”

I turned to open my mouth to accept the food but my hand slipped and I fell on my chest. As I did, I slapped the food out of his hand to try to grab myself and stay upright and the pancake landed on my son’s ass cheek –syrup and all.

I knew I was in deep doo-doo and I laid flat on my chest on the tile for a moment while the realization I was about to be severely punished quietly washed over me.

My son let me get back up and apologize to him without saying a word. “Oh Sorry, I am sorry, sorry, so, so sorry, that was clumsy of me, please let me eat that pancake off your thigh? I am such an oaf.”

“I thought ass face was the twinkle toes,” Chris was lording over me my impending punishment and just grinning as he looked over his shoulder at me while I groveled. A moment later he snapped "Cow Tits, face down on your knees”.

I did not hesitate to obey.

“Spread that ass wide for your punishment," Chris's voice was deceptively calm. When he was joking around then I knew I could handle whatever he dished out. It was when he was calm that I feared his punishments. He wasn’t even going over how I fucked up and what the corrective action was going to teach me – he was just giving orders.

My mind raced as I wondered what he was going to do to me for knocking the food out of his hand. The seconds seemed to crawl by as I heard movement but neither of the Taylor men acknowledged me in any way.

It felt like a full five minutes went by when I suddenly felt something being shoved into my ass. I had to bite my lip to keep from crying out. It was something I had never felt in my ass before, which given the number of things that had been shoved in my ass in the recent past was saying something!

My confusion grew as I felt a sticky liquid gushing into my ass. I groaned as it competed for space with what was already inside since they had already made me pack my ass with bacon.

Finally, it seemed to stop. The item was removed and then dropped onto the floor next to my head. My eyes bugged at seeing the empty syrup bottle. Chris was grinning as he showed me he had pumped the entire contents of the plastic bottle of Mrs. Butterworth up my rump. “I am sure Mrs. Waxerman would love to see you with a molasses enema,” he laughed.

“Actually she is going to come over and you are to be on EXTREME white alert with all our guests most especially her. You are to thank her for giving your son the idea for a molasses enema, do you got that?” Bill had said nothing while his son administered my punishment until now.

“Yes Master,” I wasn’t sure what he meant by extreme white alert but I knew I would soon find out.

“Bacon, syrup, how about some pancakes for breakfast?” Chris pointed to the pancakes on the floor that had dropped off his thighs. I got on all fours for him and began to bend down to eat them.

He kicked me in my face!

“What are you doing slut?” Chris insisted.

“I was going to eat the scraps you offered on my hands and knees, Master?” I looked up at him with puppy dog eyes – at least what I think are my puppy dog eyes.

“Have these pancakes been up your ass?” Chris reminded me of the new rule.

“No master, they have not.” I expressed in my tone I already knew where he was going with it.

“Have these pancakes been in that wet, bald beaver between your legs?” he asked and once again I agreed they had not.

“Then why on God’s green earth do you think that they belong in that cum hole you call a mouth yet?” he sounded so much older than he was when he talked like that and put his hands on his hips. I could picture him with a toddler of his own, my grandson, disciplining him for leaving out his toys like he was talking to me..

“I don’t know Master, I am just stupid I guess and have not yet learned all the rules?” I was being truthful there.

“You guess? Or you are sure you are stupid?” Chris had no time for guesses and I knew I was just over tired from all the discipline and stressed out over losing the house. He had asked Jamie that question many times when she said she guessed the first few days of the training before he broke her of that.

“I am sure I am a stupid cunt, sir. May I please put the pancakes into my ass?” I knew they would end up there anyway.

“No, you can dip them into your ass to get a little syrup, then they are going in to your twat.” He commanded. I was past worrying about a UTI if I got too much sugar in my pussy – I had a lot worse put inside me. I did as I was ordered and dunked the pancake bits into my asshole until I could feel a little of the sticky syrup ooze on to it and put it into my cunt for hm.

“Now that you have your breakfast packed away – are you going to be a dumb little bitch and stumble-bumble around here knocking the food I graciously gave you on the floor and your patient owner?” Chris asked me in a tone that actually sounded considerate – but there was a sadistic edge to his tone.

“I am probably going to be a dumb little bitch sir, but I will do my best to try not to make a mess, Sir” I answered while looking directly into my son’s mirthful eyes. He loved how vulnerable and helpless I was in accepting his humiliations.

“You do know and accept I have to punish you for making a mess and spilling food on your better, don’t you?” Chris knew I did but I am sure he wanted me to say it out loud– part of the affirmation process.

“Yes Master, I know and accept your wisdom and judgment in teaching a dumb little bitch like me to behave and watch what she is doing with more care Sir. I know you have to punish me and I thank you for the attention to my discipline that you are showing.” It still made me feel wrong on some level to ask my son for discipline even though I had for various reasons over the last few weeks asked him.

In the beginning it was because he expected me to talk that way during affirmations and I was simply telling him what he wanted to hear. I think over time the line became blurred as to why I was agreeing to this but now that we are whores I think I really believe he should punish me and I need to suck it up for what I did- what is going on in my head?

I would love to blame it on the birth control and lactation pills they had fed us. Some sort of magical mind control pills that made us behave like extreme white alert sluts – young, dumb and full of cum. I think though there was a much more practical answer for why the affirmations had begun to really assert themselves on my personality and why I found myself fully expecting and accepting of my son’s inevitable punishment for this accident.

Like my daughter and most women I have one of those personalities that craves approval and saying these things out loud have begun to validate what I am being judged on – change my entire paradigm around of what I feel my purpose is. I shudder to even think about what happens to my value system when it all stops.

“I liked when we had the fish bowl full of punishments and I could just make the sluts draw a card at random,” Chris sighed.

“Already packed up, we are selling the fish bowl along with all this other unnecessary bullshit,” Bill said somberly in no uncertain terms.

“I think a punishment that would instill the values she is trying to learn about watching what she is doing that fits the crime is in order. I will let you choose because I want you to be a participant in your education,” Chris had heard an administrator once hand out assignments and use that term. He let the kids choose different approaches because he didn’t want to just assign them ‘homework’ – Chris had taken from that lesson how odious it was to choose which poison you wanted to swallow instead of being thankful for the freedom he was being given.

I can see why once he gave me the choices.

“Firstly and this is non-negotiable,” Chris stipulated that I would normally get about eight ounces of fresh water from now on per day. “You are on a new diet, anything that can come out of you or us can go back in you and be recycled,” he explained. I already did not like where this was going.

“You always wanted us to go green like the neighbors, well now you are going yellow, white and brown” Bill chuckled to himself at the disgusting idea while Chris laid out my punishment.

“Today however, you will only drink cum, piss, spit or backwash and you will be thankful for it. Tomorrow when you get your eight ounces of fresh water it will seem so much more precious won’t it?” Chris asked expecting an answer – what choice did I have but to obediently answer?

I think my mouth was hanging open in shock that this was the new rule. I had drank piss and drank cum but the idea that, that was all I was getting made my stomach do a backflip. “Yes sir, it would” I admitted quietly.

“After a full day of being a pissy missy and knowing if I handed you a pure, clean glass of fresh water that was all you were going to get – you would take extra care not to spill it right?” I agreed with my son’s logic and he continued on to the choices.

“This is where it gets interesting – I want you to think about this and how it will best amuse us and teach you a lesson at the same time,” I wondered if Chris was thinking this up as he went or he just had a hundred and one ways to humiliate a woman stored in that big noggin of his.

“You will be standing on the kitchen table with the curtains open until 9am. It is almost 5 am now so that is not too long. If anything drops out of your ass or twat you will have just enough rope to squat down and pick it up with your mouth where you will hold it until we come to untie you. This will teach you not to spill because if you’ve left nothing on the table then you will be a good girl and forgiven for your transgressions. If you fail you will spend the day there when you are not being used for other purposes.”

I shuddered at the mental image of being seen through my own window naked and tied up by some morning jogger passing by. I knew he was pausing to let that image sink into my head.

“The other choice is that I will take a red sharpie and write ‘I heart my dog’ on your back in big letters,” he smiled and said nothing further. These two punishments were clearly uneven in scope and size and I raised my eyebrow wondering if there was more.

Was there some landmine here that I did not know about? I knew it was related to the fact I was going to have sex with Roscoe before all was said and done today – but could it be just that easy to get my son’s forgiveness and be punished?

“Is there anything else to that one Sir?” I asked shyly.

“Why? Would you like there to be?” Chris grinned at me and winked.

It occurred to me that he had said I had to pick a punishment that not only fit the crime, teach me a lesson and amuse them. That if I wanted his favor I would need to pick the more difficult of the two punishments most likely.

“I choose the first punishment Master,” I took a deep breath and exhaled after I answered.

“Really? The second punishment is much easier, are you quite certain you want us to tie you up on the kitchen table and leave the curtains wide open?” Chris was having fun asking me to confirm my choice and I could see a smile cross his face.

“Yes Sir, I don’t think the second punishment would teach me the error of my ways or amuse you as much and my goal in being punished is to learn from my mistakes,” I could see from the look in his eyes he was impressed I had figured out his puzzle.

From the look of Bill he either didn’t care about the puzzle and just wanted to sleep or he had no idea what point Chris had just made.

“Do you mind doing me a favor Master?” I pressed my luck by speaking out of turn.

“Oh a favor? You know I love to do favors for my favorite pet bitch, what is it Cow tits?” Chris asked with a puzzled but intrigued looked. “You have my attention,” he grinned.

“Do you mind also doing the second punishment?” I wasn’t sure exactly what the second punishment was supposed to teach me about spilling anything and it may have just been a red herring to get me into deeper doo-doo if I had picked it to get an easy free pass. However, I figured since I was going to get punished anyway I may as well go in for both.

Given all the things he could write on me – that was certainly pretty tame.

“Impressive,” Chris spoke in the deep baritone of a mock Darth Vader. “I sense much sluttiness in this one,” he told me to get the marker and I went right to the drawer in the kitchen they were in on my hands and knees.

I found that as I crawled, a little bit of the syrup up my ass would drip down my ass cheeks and I was probably going to be in for a tough morning.

Chris eagerly began to write on my back and I realized that I actually could not see what he was writing. I would have to take him on his word it wasn’t much worse.

He chuckled as he wrote on my body and gave me a playful tickle to my thigh as he wrote in big bold letters on the small of my bare back where the ‘tramp stamp’ is supposed to go. I knew it was to help coax a little of the syrup out of my ass more than it was to express his pleasure at my picking a proper punishment over an easy one.

“I suppose you fucked off most of the writing you had on you from yesterday,” Chris put the pen tip in his mouth thoughtfully. “You probably want me to re-apply some of that to you to freshen them up and keep it clear in your mind don’t you?”

“If you wish Sir, my body is yours to play with or write on while you own me,” I gritted my teeth knowing I would have to accept it whether I said no or not.

“What did I write on your tits yesterday after you fucked all those Mexicans?” Chris pretended he had forgotten so he could make me repeat it. He was known to be forgetful but that was just an act – I’ve learned he is much smarter since he became the boss of me and Jamie but he smiled as he asked in a playful way.

“I believe it was world’s greatest mom, don’t touch these titties Sir?” I smiled as I looked over my shoulder.

He smirked and chuckled but poked me hard in the ass to let me know that was not the right answer. “That doesn’t sound like something that would teach you to behave, would you like to phone a friend or use a life line?” he joked.

I knew I could not push my luck with a second funny guess so I told the truth. “I believe you wrote Urinal on my chest Sir,” it felt awkward just to say that out loud and hear it in my own voice – truly what the affirmations were all about.

“Stand up and face me then, and keep your hands on your ass cheeks for now so you can hold it in” Chris gave me an order and I obeyed as expected.

“You are my urinal aren’t you?” Chris asked me while looking into my eyes – it was hard to look back but I did.

“Yes master, I am your urinal, I drink your piss” I answered him plainly in the protocol tone of the affirmations.

“You drink anybody’s piss we tell you to don’t you?” Chris clarified.

“Yes sir, anyone’s piss,” I swallowed thinking about that fate. I had signed up to be a whore and earn money for the house not be a piss slut – but I knew that he felt the degradation made me a better whore and I hate to admit that I agree.

“Since you already know you are a urinal and will admit it, I think I will put For Sale on your chest. You are for sale aren’t you?” he had already begun writing.

“Actually, for rent Master” I smirked back at him as I allowed him to pull my chest apart and write on my breast bone.

“Dad, you would sell this bitch wouldn’t you?” Chris joked at his dad who was holding his head in his hands and thinking about bed.

“Absolutely not,” I started to smile that he was being so sweet when he added “who would buy a big turd like her? They would return her after she spilled all their food, ran up all their bills and failed to bring home enough cash to support her need for whips and duct tape. You going to tie this cunt up so we can get some sleep or no?”

“The For Sale sign is actually an invitation for people to come on in and shop. If anyone comes to the window, tell them we will let people in around noon.” He insisted I be the one to spread the curtain wide open in our breakfast nook. The sun had yet to come up and it was still dark outside but there would come a time when it rose and people would be jogging and preparing for work.

“You sure no one will call the law on me for indecent exposure Sir?” I was half joking as he made me climb a kitchen chair to stand on the kitchen table. It wobbled with my weight under it and I felt scared I might fall off.

“Don’t worry, you won’t fall off. I’ll make sure you are good and tied up to the chandelier. Dad and I installed some extra fittings before we knew the house was getting foreclosed,” he sounded wistful as he said the last part. He stood on a chair and tied a rope around my stomach several times to bind my hands straight down my side while hoisting me to the reinforced rings where the light fixture was.

“If cops come, just tell them the sale doesn’t start until noon,” Chris purposely rigged the rope between my legs so that there was enough play for me to squat on the table but not to get all the way off it while he joked about how to handle the cops.

“Look, after we paid off the cops to kick Deacon Dan’s ass they should leave us the fuck alone, “Bill said somberly. They paid them off to beat up Deacon Dan? I was secretly overjoyed and wanted details – who did it, where and how? I got none of those things.

“Those are city cops who work the poor side of town. The cops of Cherry Lawn Estates are used to chasing down stolen golf carts and missing iPhones. If a cop comes just tell them you didn’t know you couldn’t do this and you thought it was totally normal and we’ll let you down early, deal?”

Chris didn’t wait for me to answer. He and his father were already walking out of the kitchen to leave me in the window completely naked with only a dog collar and my body writing with an ass full of food and aching sore milky tits.

“Oh I don’t want you to fall asleep” Chris clicked on the stereo in the front room. “We won’t have this after today, so go ahead and dance in the window,” he instructed yelling from the living room.

Bands a make her dance, bands a make her dance

All these chicks popping pussies, I'm just popping bands

Bands a make her dance, bands a make her dance

These chicks clappin' and they ain't using hands

Short hair like Nia Long, loose one she don't need a loan

She start twerking when she hear a song, the stripper pole her income

We get trippy and then some, so nasty when she rolling

She put that ass off in my hands, I remote control it

She give me dome when the roof gone, at the K.O.D. she leaves with me

She got friends bring three, I got drugs I got drinks

Bend it over, Juicy J, gone poke it like wet paint

You say no to ratchet pussy, juicy j can't

Racks everywhere, they're showing racks I'm throwing racks

In the VIP rubber on I'm stretching that

Rich niggas tipping, broke niggas looking

And it ain't a strip club if they ain't showing pussy.

The rap song was catchy – I danced like I was told as I stared out the window and prayed I could hold my ass cheeks clenched tightly until 9 A.M. while Bill and Chris caught up on their sleep.