Chapter 9

"I'm Easy ... Easy like Sunday Morning..."

The old Lionel Richie song was playing on his alarm clock as she walked in. He was, of course, lost in a deep sleep.

"CH-RISSSSS!! WAKE UP BOY!!" His sister emptied an entire bucket of cold water on him directly in his bed..."Wakey Wakey, it's time to Bakey Bakey"

Chris was shocked awake, it seems no matter how many times she's done that the last few days, he hasn't gotten used to it.

"Good thing Mom made you take your mattress out of here, it'd get mildewed if we have to keep doing this..." Jamie smiled like an innocent angel, despite her dumping water on her brother. Helping her mom with the 'tests' last night, and Cathy Griffin's acceptance of this strange arrangement, had made her decide to loosen up a little and have some fun with her brother's predicament. She still felt a little hesitant to boss her dad around, but her brother was a pushover.

"The tile is cold," Chris whined.

"Yes, Chris ... Tile is supposed to be cold ... and it's wet, so this is where you are supposed to get up. You and Dad have a big day off scheduled. It’s nice and sunny out there in the backyard. Don't worry, the women of the house are going to make their own food today, and we've got it all planned out for you."

Chris smirked, "Jamie, you really are enjoy this," as he groggily sat up.

Jamie responded without hesitation "What? Getting your fat ass up in the morning? No, I could be doing my own thing."

"No, not that, being Mom's Pet"

"Pet? You’re the one that’s the pet ... speaking of which, where’s your leash? Put it on yourself nice and snug."

Chris was begrudgingly getting to his feet and reaching for his leash. His makeup from last night was smudged, the mascara running down his face, and the lipstick made him look a little bit like a clown. He’d slept naked and without a pillow on the tile floor in his bedroom.

"No, not like that, I mean I know me and Dad are on the bottom. I just mean like a Teacher's Pet, the good girl who does everything right, the brown-noser," he said, as he cinched his leash around his balls. He handed it to her absent-mindedly, as if they'd be doing this for years.

"You know, Chris, you probably should watch your mouth to the girl who’s holding your leash. It's not nice to call me a brown-noser."

“Urfff,” he moaned as she jerked the leash hard.

"Especially when if I wanted, I could probably make you a literal brown-noser!" She wasn't sure how she'd make him a ‘literal brown-noser’ exactly, but given the situation, she just figured she'd let his imagination run with that one. She led him downstairs by his leash while he walked behind her like a good, submissive older brother.

"Good Morning, Jamie" her mom greeted her, without a word to her son. "I see you brought Tweedledum, I've got Tweedle-dee here." Bill was struggling through naked sit-ups in the living room.

"Check it out, Bill's got a webcam; I discovered it last night. Wonder what the guys on his message board would think if they saw IceMAN was really IceBoy and our bitch?" she laughed, imagining herself posting some humiliating pictures of the two of them.

Bill didn't even want to think about his online reputation. He was cramping from the sit-ups, and the thought of the online laughter from the people he traded internet arguments with only made it worse.

"Lawl." Jamie spoke phonetically the text-speak for "Laugh out loud".

"Let's tie their leashes together ... they can do some jumping jacks while we make our own breakfast this morning. See that, guys? We aren't all bad, you don't have to cook. I love you boys, but your cooking sucks. I'd like one slightly less burnt omelet this morning. If you’re really good, you can have what’s left over, and your regular portion of scrambled eggs. How’s that?"

Chris answered, "Thank you, Ma'am," but Bill only murmured. He had a fresh gag in, duct-taped over his mouth.

"Oh Jamie, I thought I mentioned to have Chris bring his sock down here, I want to gag him like his father."

Wendy told her son to get the sock. When he asked which one, she pointed out, "You know the one..." He did indeed, he did indeed.

When he came back, he was carrying a very stiff, long tube sock. "Is that what I think it is?" Jamie winced.

"Come into the center of the living room, and tell your sister and me, and your worthless father, what that is, Chris."

"It’s my sock, Ma'am"

"A special sock?" Wendy asked.

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Is it your girlfriend?" Wendy teased.

"No, Ma'am, I don't have a girlfriend."

"I know, Chris. Tell me what you do with that sock." Wendy sounded slightly annoyed.

"I jack off into it, Ma'am"

"Even though you were told not to as part of your and your father's conditioning?"

"I guess I forgot, Ma'am". Chris said. He seemed to rely on the fact people thought he was stupid to get away with flagrantly violating the rules; or maybe he really was that stupid.

"You know, that’s one of the missing ingredients here. I was reading in one of Oprah's books ... as you both know Oprah is superior to all men, right boys?" They both nodded. Wendy knew they both hated her show, and had mocked her weight and advice in the past. She liked to see if they would flip-flop their opinion, and they had.

"She said if you want something, you have to wish for it. You have to affirm it. You have to say it out loud. You have to start to think it. So we are going to have a little question-and-answer session, and you’re going to be as gracious and thankful of us for this as you know how, Chris."

Wendy was adding to the affirmations she had begun a few days earlier. "Anytime you say you don't know why something is, and it’s clear you just didn't bother to think, I’m going to give you a spanking. Now, put the sock up to your nose and let's begin. Then it’ll be your father's turn, we can ungag him then."

Wendy proceeded to ask introspective questions of Chris that really made him think about why they’d been doing this the past few days, and what they were learning about personal responsibility. Each time Chris answered with a "I dunno," or just repeated back the question in different words, his mom gave him a blistering swat on the ass with her hairbrush which she now carried with her like a gunslinger holsters a six-shooter.

The phone rang. It was Gerald, one of his friends, calling. Jamie answered and said "It's one of Chris's friends calling to see if they can have a play date." Gerald hadn't said 'play date,' but it sounded more humiliating.

"Just tell him Chris is grounded." Wendy wanted to proceed.

"No, I don't think so," Jamie said with just a hint of cruelty. "Chris, hop on over here, and tell him you’re grounded and can't play today."

Chris started to walk over and she stopped him, holding her hand over the phone. "That isn't hopping. Hop like a bunny, c'mon."

It was hilarious watching Chris's belly, moobs, and other flubber bounce along with the leash hanging from around his flaccid cock, as he tried to hop over to the phone. He looked so defeated.

"Hello, Gerald? I’m grounded."

There was a pause while his friend asked him something on the other end of the line.

"No, they have me hopping around here today, doing a bunch of stuff."

Wendy and Jamie almost couldn't contain their laughter at how casually Chris had said that.

"Yeah, man, it may be a while before we can hang. Stay cool." Chris hung up the phone and was directed to hop back to where he was before the interruption.

Wendy kept questioning him using her affirmations about his attitude, his weight and his choices. Eventually he stopped relying on his crutch, and it became obvious that if pushed, Chris could answer a question with an intelligent response.

"Why are you and your father not the men of the house?"

"Because we are out-of-shape wimps who weren't doing what needed to be done. So you two stepped up, and me and Dad are grateful for showing us the error of our ways, Ma'am."

"Do you mind being naked in front of me and your sister?" Wendy asked sadistically.

"Yes, ma'am, it’s embarrassing, because you both laugh, but at least I know my pecker’s a little bigger than dad’s? " Chris answered as if he were guessing at what his response should be.

WHAM! A corrective swat. "Care to rephrase that? I wasn't asking you to compare pecker sizes. You both have such modest little dicks that the difference is barely noticeable." Wendy said without sympathy towards her son.

"Oh, um ... No, Ma'am, I’m glad you keep me and my father naked, it's fun." Chris admitted but again it sounded like he was scrambling for the magic right answer to satisfy her questions.

WHAM! A corrective swat. "Care to rephrase THAT answer? This isn't supposed to be fun to you, this is supposed to teach you something, what is it?" she asked more carefully this time.

"Oh, yes ... teach us, to control our urges, to appreciate the privileges we have, like wearing what we want, when we want. If I get clothes again, I’ll make sure not to wear the same dirty ones over and over. I'll fold them up and keep them neat, like I do my school clothes, Ma'am". Chris was learning how to answer more satisfactorily with each swat.

"And why do you fold up and put away your school clothes, when for your entire life you acted like you couldn't remember? Was it just that you could always remember, but didn't want to?" she asked another follow up question. Wendy was enjoying this game.

"Yes, Ma'am..." And on and on and on it went, where Chris was affirming his place in the pecking order of the house beneath his mom, beneath his sister, next to his father as a lazy lump who half-assed everything; and how good it was that despite the cruel mocking, and discipline, he was really understanding it was tough love to improve him.

When it was his father's turn, Chris had to hold open his mouth and stuff the sweaty sock that he had been cumming into for months into his mouth. It had a stiffness to it that almost gagged him before his sister sealed his mouth with duct tape.

It was now Bill's turn to talk. Wendy ripped his duct tape off and he spit out some old scrap of dirty underwear he’d thrown on the floor before this all began, that she’d stuffed his mouth with earlier.

"Pick that up, Bill, and hold it directly under your nose."

"But it’s got spit on it."

"Say ‘but’ again to me, and that’s where it's going next," Wendy warned, with a sincerity that made Bill assume she meant up his butt. He held it under his nose without further question.

When she began the affirmation with Bill—his arms behind his back, standing in an "Attention" position, chest out, butt-cheeks clenched, and leash dangling--he still had a sort of limpness to him. Like he was not quite giving it his all, or was fully invested.

As she asked him more questions similar to the ones she asked his son, she noticed that subconsciously he seemed to be straightening his back, no longer pivoting on one foot to rest his weight. The questions were making him think.

Unlike his son, whose crutch was just to play dumb—a myth Chris had just dispelled that when threatened with the back of the hairbrush on his most tender parts—he was inclined to think about why he was doing things and was able to answer.

Bill's problem was not accepting responsibility for his shortcomings. "Well, that’s just how I am" or "This is just how I was raised" or "Well, I don't know what you want?"

To which Wendy would answer (after the requisite attention-getting swat to the front or back), "You don't have to know what I want. You just have to be a responsible man who does what he has to do ... that’s what YOU should want ... you wouldn't be in this predicament if you didn't slack through life."

"I didn't make these rules, you did..."

WHAM! A corrective swat. "That’s true, but that’s because your own actions warranted them. This is like the criminal blaming the jailer. You did the crime, you’re doing the time."

"Yes, Mistress."

WHAM! A corrective swat. "Mistress? I’m a Mistress now?"

"I mean, Ma'am ... Ma'am."

WHAM! A corrective swat. "Did you ever cheat on me? Have a mistress?"

"No, Ma'am ... Mistress is just what you call a female Domme..."

WHAM! A corrective swat. "Did I tell you to call me a female Domme?"

"No, Ma'am, I just thought..." Bill started.

WHAM! A corrective swat. "You barely have a thought for years, and this is what you think about? Names to call me?" Her eyes becoming raging storms of intimidating rage.

"I didn't mean anything by it, Ma'am, it was an accident." Bill was unsure of himself and his answer reflected it – he felt like anything said was and will be used against him in a court of Wendy.

WHAM! A corrective swat from his mother. "Was it an accident you hired Jamie's friends to take dirty pictures, across what appears to multiple sessions and different disgusting-looking locations?"

"Yes Ma'am, it was" he grunted through the continued pain – no longer just an annoyance Bill was struggling to keep up.

WHAM! A corrective swat. "No, an accident is something you can't control. That was just bad judgment. You CHOSE to do that." She continued.

"Yes Ma'am, you’re right" he agreed.

WHAM! A corrective swat. "Damn straight I am. Now, did you have sex with any of those girls?"

"No Ma'am, never. They were under 18." He said.

WHAM! A corrective swat. "Oh, so you would if they were over 18?"

"No Ma'am, that’s not what I meant...”

WHAM! A corrective swat. "So why did you think it was okay to take naked pictures of your daughter's friends?"

"Um ... they OFFERED for the..."

WHAM! A corrective swat. "You control your camera, you control your wallet, you control your libido, it doesn't matter what a teenager offers you, they aren't supposed to have the judgment to make decisions like that ... Jamie, of course, excluded from that. Do you know why Jamie is your superior?"

"Yes ma'am, because you said she is?"

WHAM! A corrective swat. "You aren't getting it. This is all about the girls who offered themselves to poor old innocent Bill, and meanie Wendy for putting you in this situation. I’m running out of places on you to swat! I’m going to have to move up to your tummy and your back," she said, doing just that with her brush.

"It’s taking a while to drill into your head that the only person to place blame on for what Bill does, is Bill. The only place to place blame on for what happens to Bill because of what Bill does, is Bill..."

She made Bill repeat that several times. She ended his affirmations with him thanking Wendy and Jamie for keeping him on the straight-and-narrow, and not putting up with any of his bullshit.

Then Wendy tied her husband and son's leashes together about a foot apart, and had them do jumping jacks to 80s music on the radio while she and her daughter ate and paid little attention. At first Bill and Chris had a tough time getting in sync, but they soon discovered that they needed to keep the same pace or they’d fall over.

The cardio was really already having some good effect on them. They weren’t panting and heaving so much at the end anymore!

After they got washed up and their morning gag removed, they were fed (even a few bites of Wendy's perfect omelet with their regular bland breakfast). It was now time for Wendy to tell them how the day off was going to go.

"Life is about choices, boys ... so you have to make one, together. You’re going to tan outside. It's a nice, hot day ... you'll be out there for a least four hours. So I'd suggest sunscreen, but you boys haven't proven you have as good judgment as the women of the house. You’ll need to decide."

"You can either apply the sunscreen to yourself—we'll stand right here and make sure you lotion yourself up completely, and don't spend too much time on your little cocks. Then you’ll go outside in the lawn chairs in the backyard naked, just as you are, leashed to one another ... tiny cock to tiny cock. It's fenced in, so there’s only a slight chance someone may be mowing their lawn and look over and see you..." They groaned.

"Or you can apply it to one another. You've got to take your time and make sure you get every little nook and cranny, but I’m sure, considering I now know who was taking my bath lotion and what you were doing with it, you both are no strangers to lubing, errr, lotioning up..." Wendy let the barb sink in. She had speculated that they must have been doing that for years, but never really thought about it until she got this power over them. "If you apply it to each other, though, you'll get to wear bathing suits and don't have to have your peckers leashed ... it just won't work with the bathing suits."

They didn’t hesitate: the option to wear bathing suits sounded fine. However, neither father nor son had really come into contact with each other physically, other than a brushing of some arm fat accidentally while exercising. Having their cocks leashed together with a yard distance gave them enough personal space that they really had never experienced how creepy lotioning-up would be.

Wendy untied their leashes and sent them to get towels. They started with the suntan lotion in the front room. Naturally, on their backs, it was fairly boring. Wendy sighed as if this wasn’t entertaining. "Don't stick to the backs all day, boys, you’re going to have to get it all over your butts. Let's go there next," she said in a bored tone.

Then she walked over to the radio switched it to the R&B channel. "Let Me in ... and Let's Begin ... With Love," the deep, somber, sexy voice of Barry White came over the airwaves. Jamie giggled, "cree-eepy," but it definitely added to how difficult it was for the two men. They had to put aside their homophobia and touch each other.

Interestingly, to the girls the song actually didn't seem to humiliate them. They couldn’t keep straight faces anymore. It stopped seeming so serious, and they had stupid grins on their faces. Wendy could tell they weren't being sexy or seductive, more mechanical in how they applied the lotion to each other, but it would do for now, she thought.

"Are you not forgetting some part?" Wendy smiled, looking at their dicks; neither had chosen to lube it.

"Won't the bathing suit cover it?"..."Ma'am?" Bill asked.

"Oh, yes ... but let's be sure you got every part ... go ahead and finish, I'll go get them."

Bill was surprised she hadn’t sent them to fetch them, she had for everything else. Until he looked up.

Wendy had the digital camera/webcam from his computer, and Bill had his son's flaccid cock in his hand.

"A little insurance, Bill ... you know, I’m starting to like how these USB drives work." She put one into the computer to fetch the files.

"You aren't going to let us have bathing suits? ... Ma'am?" Chris and Bill both asked.

It was interesting, Wendy thought to herself, how the evolution of power exchange was working. A few weeks ago it would have been no, they wouldn't even go outside and get a tan. Now they’re wondering if they’ll be permitted to wear something. It's not even a question that they’re going to follow the orders for them; of course they know they’re going outside. They accept that. Wendy was processing in her mind that it seemed they’d turned a corner in corrective "husbandry," which was her new term for keeping her man in line.

"Oh, are you trying to say I'd go back on my word? That sounds more like something you would do, right?"

"Yes, ma'am, you’re right ... we aren't trustworthy..." they admitted, with heads held down in shame.

"Don't imply I wasn't going to keep my word, or there really won't be any bathing suits. But since you've been such good boys ... Jamie, if you'd bring them, please?"

It was two extra-small thong bottoms and bikini tops. "Guess what we found in the garage? Some of your father's props from his photo-shoot crated up in a box, almost like your father wouldn’t want anyone finding his dirty laundry ... and these are dirty. Still smell like sweaty cheerleader pussy, and no, Chris, don't sniff; take my word for it."

That day was fairly amusing to the ladies. They ended up taking several pictures of the Taylor boys, and there were a few times the men begged to get back inside. They begged at the glass door that it looked like rain, although the Taylor girls thought they were more worried someone may turn on their sprinklers and see them.

The privacy fence was tall enough that unless someone purposely looked in through one of the knots in the wood, or was on their roof, they probably wouldn't be seen. The girls had a clear conscience about the guys spending the day outside in bikinis in the backyard with only Rosco to keep them company.

When they finally did get let inside, the ladies decided they liked them so much in those old clothes, they'd have them dress and pose in other lingerie and ladies’ panties. After all, they didn't deserve men's clothes.