CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Reader’s Note: This is Joanne Swift’s journal, adapted for reading, detailing the events around Sunday, October 9^th, 2016. Joanne is upstairs with her daughter while she changes.

“You’re doing really well, Taylor,” I said, as I rifled through my closet looking for an apron that wasn’t too over the top but would meet my husband’s requirements. It needed to be sheer, hang open in the back, and be white. He wanted to teach her a lesson and scold her for getting aroused.

“You can’t trick me, Ma’am,” Taylor said. She would only answer to ‘Fart Face’.

“I actually hate being called Ma’am.” I ignored her as I pulled out two aprons to choose from and turned around. I wasn’t trying to trick her. The rules just took some getting used to.

I can be pretty liberal-minded, but I’d never encouraged my daughters to wear revealing outfits. But there was a first time for everything. I kept telling myself we’d already talked to our kids about this and were expecting them to handle it as maturely as possible. I had some aprons that were more lingerie than they were anything else and, even with all the warnings and caveats to our kids, I thought they may cause more disruption than just being completely naked. The stockings, thongs, and negligees were for me – not her!

Taylor was standing at attention with her hands behind her head and looking straight ahead. I hadn’t told her to assume the position – it was cute she was so diligent, but totally unnecessary for just me.

“I didn’t tell you to stand at attention, Fart Face,” I found it even harder to call my daughter that name now that she was behaving herself and actually embracing the discipline. It was much easier when she was an insufferable bitch.

“Sir Dad told me that when I’m not doing something to assume the position by default, Ma’am.” Taylor stuck her chest out confidently.

“Sir Dad” sounded even more unwieldy and awkward than “Ma’am” had. I didn’t like that it made logical sense that there be some way to differentiate which “Sir” she was referring to in a house with so many boys. It was easier with Janie and me because she had to call my youngest “Princess Janie”.

“Suit yourself, Fart Face,” I was willing to play this test of wills game with her for as long as it took to get it through her head that the world didn’t revolve around her. Her father was using elements of the BDSM lifestyle with tough love to try to instill values in her. I was willing to put up with the unorthodox methods if the results justified them. I told myself Taylor would flinch long before I did if she was trying to shock me.

I also knew how hard it is to hold a position like the one she was standing in. She hadn’t been in that position for more than 20 minutes downstairs. I’ve done it for hours before when Tom trained me privately.

Tom once brought me to a fetish convention just outside of Las Vegas years ago. I had to stand on two pedestals in nothing but panties and pasties while holding a jar that held his friend’s business cards for a video business he was building. It was the longest 12-hour day of my life, and I remember just wanting to lay in the bathtub and drink an entire bottle of wine while he rubbed my shoulders after that.

He didn’t – he and his friend Bud fucked me for the entire weekend in the hotel when we weren’t downstairs at the convention. Yes, the very same Bud that my current butt plug is named for.

“Which one of these would you prefer?” I held them both up to model them for her. One was completely see-through but offered the most material. It reminded me of a gossamer fairy costume, which would please Janie to no end. She loved fairies and elves and things like that.

The other was a little thicker and more of a traditional white apron. Her tits would be popping out without anything underneath it because it was a simple kitchen apron. Even if you tied the string in the back it served only as a belt around the waist and didn’t hide the ass.

“Whichever one you feel will provide the most effective means of disciplining me, Ma’am,” Taylor answered.

“When it’s just you and me I’d rather you talked informally to me,” I said.

“It’s easier if I don’t, Ma’am,” Taylor insisted.

I actually completely understood her opinion. I was the person in charge, but now I have to try to understand the mindset of the submissive and what works for them. I didn’t envy Tom one bit in that regard – he’d put up with all the different insecurities and fears I had over the years during my training.

That weekend so many years ago at the fetish convention I had been Tom’s obedient slave without switching back to the public role of adoring wife. He leashed me like a pet and walked me through the fetish floor like his property. He had me stay in “high protocol” mode the entire time, call men ‘Sir’, and answer only to my pet name.

I was one of dozens of ‘booth babes’ who were there showing their assets off to sell paddles, bondage gear, and fetish stuff, so it wasn’t like I stood out, but it was still quite shocking to me to participate in something like that. I kept wondering if I would run into anyone I knew who wasn’t active in the BDSM community.

Tom reminded me that if they were at this convention, “They are definitely IN the bondage community.”

I chuckled and told him that I meant old family friends or people I knew back in high school – Facebook friends.

He said that I was to remain exactly the same as I would for a stranger and not change my story. I was his slave totally and completely, and I was not to deviate.

When the bellman came up to collect the bags on the final day, Tom talked to me the way he did normally in vanilla settings. I remember the smile on his face when I surprised him by crawling on all fours to his feet and nuzzling up against his leg and asking the bellman if I could suck his cock as a form of tip.

The bellman smiled and winked, but was too intimidated to believe I was on the level. He kept checking for a hidden camera.

The simple fact that I had been in that high-protocol mode for 48 hours straight, and not switching back and forth to vanilla, had made it feel very natural and very easy to do. If Tom had allowed me to ‘cheat’ and sit at the table when we were alone, instead of eating off the floor, then I’d have had a harder time saying and doing such outrageous things.

I actually enjoyed it. It was much like Scotty’s version of ‘Jenga’ where I was seeing how far I could go in front of the bellman before he freaked out. I enjoyed his reaction – his discomfort and confusion actually enticed me as I tried to seduce him and begged to be permitted to touch him.

In reality I would have had little interest in him, or even my husband’s best friend Bud. I enjoyed serving them because it pleased Tom, and I got off because Tom enjoyed seeing me be a wanton slut who craved cock – any cock.

“Maybe I could get you some of your father’s white cotton tank tops and you could just roll them up,” I said to Taylor before adding, “…although then you’d have your pussy exposed as well as your ass.”

“I don’t mind, Ma’am.” Taylor said that if her dad wanted that, she was fine with it.

I really didn’t want her to be “fine with it”. I knew Tom wanted her to accept the training and not be a brat or rebellious, but at the same time it would have given me a little comfort to think she was absolutely mortified by the idea of walking around with a tank top that she can’t pull down far enough to cover her ass crack or her slit.

She was baffling me – I couldn’t figure out what was going on inside her head and a part of me still wondered if this was all a game to her or that she had some angle she was trying to play. If so – I couldn’t see what it was. I expected her to at least freak out a little more, although I told myself to be grateful she was so willing to do what she was told and accept the training.

“I’m confused by why you’re so compliant and amiable?” I just came right out and asked a question I’d been wondering for quite some time.

“What choice do I have? I could be feisty and complain and they’d laugh even harder.” Taylor said she would comply with the discipline. “When it fails to work and I’m back to my normal self, he’ll see that I was born a bitch and there’s nothing that can be done to change that. Then we won’t have to do this anymore,” she smirked.

There was the real Taylor lurking underneath that submissive exterior.

“So you don’t have any faith in your father’s plan?” I asked, handing her the thicker, kitchen-style apron to change into. “You really need to understand he’s no monster. This is not abuse. He won’t push you harder than you need to be pushed. He’s going to make you stretch, but only so that you can grow and change. Trust him for once. He knows what he’s talking about. The only person who can change you is you,” I said.

Taylor quickly removed her apron and threw it on the ground before telling me that it would work fine for ‘women like you’, but that she was incurable. She told me I sounded like ‘Dr. Phil’, and that she would think about my words but remained skeptical.

I wanted to address that with her, but I felt ill-equipped to tell her how consistent, structured discipline helped me. I think in part because I was embarrassed to share little stories like the one about the fetish convention.

I left it at the fact that I understood she needed to see firsthand. “I’m just glad you’re willing to approach the discipline with an open mind,” I said confidently.

She was already changing into the apron when I noticed that the black apron had been thrown on the floor. “It’s not all bad, but I’ll definitely appreciate wearing pants or even panties again.” She chuckled with an amused grin at how skimpy the apron was.

“We don’t throw clothes on the ground.” I instructed her to pick up the black apron before getting dressed and to fold it. “If you’re wearing a top and bottom, the bottom always comes off first. That’s to reveal the pussy and ass first and then the tits second,” I added.

“That seems kind of sexist. What am I supposed to learn from that? How to be a good stripper?” she asked, while wasting no time getting on all fours naked and picking up the black apron with her teeth. She popped up off the ground and gave me a look that asked me if I was satisfied.

“Strippers take their time getting undressed, teasing while their audience while they do,” I explained. I had actually been to strip clubs many times with Tom. I enjoyed watching him get lap dances, even though he looked uncomfortable at times. “They take off as little as possible, trying to get men’s cocks hard. They take their tops off first, but before that they insist on getting paid.” I tried to explain, but I could see she didn’t seem to understand the subtle difference.

“If the stripper came out, got right down to business, and removed her bottoms immediately first, then she wouldn’t be much of a stripper,” I said to explain it another way.

“So she’d be more of a whore,” Taylor chuckled.

“All women are whores in one form or fashion.” I remembered reading a book along those lines about ‘the ethical slut’. “You won’t generally have to undress that way, but when I do it for your father, my aim is to please him and amuse him. My goal is to submit to him and demonstrate my willingness to please him. I do this by giving him exactly what he wants as quickly as I can – which is to expose my cunt and asshole,” I said.

“Did you just say ‘cunt’?” Taylor laughed in surprise.

I had never said that word around them ever. I was definitely above that behavior. “Tom insists I refer to my pussy that way around him. The vulgarity helps me to sexualize it. It’s not a penis and a vagina when we are alone – it’s a cock and a cunt. I hope I didn’t gross you out.”

“Not at all.” Taylor was deeply amused. “It just sucks that it took all this for me to get you to open up to me that you were a cool chick. I thought you were some kind of fuddy duddy; and now you’re talking about cunts and cocks with me on a Sunday morning. I really don’t know what to say other than that. Did I pick up the apron correctly, Ma’am?” Taylor changed the subject so that she could change.

I nodded that it was satisfactory, and watched as she folded the apron and gave it back to me. I told her that we could talk more privately later if she had questions, but that we had to hurry back downstairs because Tom was waiting and the clock was ticking.

I thought about telling her that he timed me as well, and sometimes we made little bets and dares – if I could accomplish tasks within the allotted time or not. I usually couldn’t, and ended up tied up. I decided I had already opened up a little too much referring to my pussy as a ‘cunt’, and that the story could wait.

Once she had it on she seemed surprised by just how little material she had.

“I need to walk the dog like this, Ma’am?” Taylor was suddenly missing the skimpy black French maid’s costume she’d had on previously.

“I can talk to your father about that,” I said, but reminded her that we had three minutes to get back downstairs or he’d punish her. “You’ll be timed for just about everything now,” I warned her, and told her to follow me.

“Am I walking right, Ma’am?” Taylor asked.

“You’re getting there,” I said as we proceeded down the stairs, before explaining that she needed to shimmy more. “Your tits should be bouncing in a different direction up and down when your ass is jiggling left to right.”

“So basically twerk everywhere I go, Ma’am?” Taylor chuckled.

“I don’t really know what that is,” I admitted, but I told her that it should be subtle. “You want a man to want to stare, but you don’t want to be super-obvious.” I demonstrated by walking as properly as I could. I usually toned things down around the house, but I put on a sexy strut as we entered the kitchen.

“Woo-hoo, Mom,” Donny grinned when I came in. Tom glanced at him a look that suggested he watch his tone with me, but said nothing.

“Twirl around slowly, Fart Face,” Tom instructed his daughter, so he could inspect the apron. He told me he approved of my choice.

“She’ll need to keep this apron clean because we don’t have many more like this,” I informed my husband. I was trying to be helpful so that he’d know I was running out of viable outfits for her.

“Then we probably need to buy a few more.” Tom said she’d be changing into one every day after school. “I don’t want her setting her foot in this house in her school clothes.”

“Just until the end of the week; right, Sir?” Taylor asked her father. I would have expected my daughter to act like the world was ending if she had to wash dishes that night normally. I was really surprised that she wasn’t being overly dramatic.

I want to say that I was pleased she only seemed slightly concerned about the discipline and punishment. I was actually suspicious that she was up to something, but I couldn’t imagine how she’d get anything out of this except for a sore ass and a bruised ego.

“Show me Cadmus.” Tom’s response to her question was to have her resume the position she had taken in the kitchen earlier, this time standing slightly on the balls of her feet with her knees just slightly bent and her ass-cheeks pulled apart as far as she could.

“I don’t know where you got it into your head that this instruction lasts for a week.” Tom said that he got the impression she was trying to prove that his discipline methods don’t work. “This will take some time so you can earn back clothes around the house, but don’t be surprised if next weekend you’re dressed like this.”

“Woot! Woot!” Scotty raised a fist up in the air like he was blowing a train whistle.

“We may have to go buy some more aprons and appropriate clothing today, then,” Tom said to me.

I was so nervous and uncomfortable, seeing my daughter’s under-boob and bare ass in the apron in the kitchen in front of the family, that I was afraid I’d make a mistake and let something slip. The place we had purchased those outfits at was an unusual adult megastore on the edge of town. The owner had something seriously wrong with him. He looked like Tommy Chong and was always playing air guitar, but he had an eidetic memory when it came to any fetish products in the giant store. I was trying to think of some way to tell Tom we couldn’t take the kids clothes shopping there without saying where it was, when I accidentally said it.

“Yes, Master.” That totally slipped from my mouth. I didn’t even realize I’d said it at first. I had accidentally called Tom ‘Sir’ several times since this all began, but no one noticed or said anything about it. It seemed almost fairly natural because he could be so domineering and take charge.

This time they definitely heard it and everyone became quiet.

“Your mom calls me ‘Master’.” Tom said that it didn’t take a rocket scientist to realize we’re in a committed, consensual, domestic discipline relationship. “I am the head of the household, cock of the roost, king of the castle. I am the Master of my domain. This is the problem, though, with calling someone ‘Fart Face’ some of the time and then ‘Taylor’ some of the time,” he explained. “You’re going to forget which name you’re supposed to call them at the inappropriate time. If it just becomes natural and ingrained, then you can stick with one story. I don’t lie because I find that my memory is pretty bad. I really just can’t keep up with all the different stories I’m supposed to tell and who knows what version. It’s a much simpler, stress-free life to tell the truth. The truth is I am your mother’s Master.”

“Are you Fart Face’s Master?” Janie asked. She had no idea what the title Master actually implies in the BDSM community, but she had a general idea that it was something special from how Tom made it a big deal.

“I am always her father, no matter what.” Tom considered very carefully before answering. “I am Master of the house and the family.” When Janie looked confused by his response he smiled at her and reassured her that he was Fart Face’s Master.

“She puts her thingy in her you-know-what because you tell her. If I tell her to do it she wouldn’t – so aren’t you the Master?” Janie’s line of logic was fairly solid as she said those words.

“She does what I say and so do you – do your brothers tell YOU what to do?” Tom countered her point nicely.

“They do but I tell them to eat sand,” Janie replied – accepting Tom’s point that just because he was in charge didn’t mean he was the master.

“But she does what you say so that makes her your slave?” Donny asked curiously.

“Slavery was abolished years ago, son,” Tom smirked. He didn’t usually smirk and he had such a handsome, dimpled smile when he did. “I’m training her to behave herself and undo years of bitchy attitude. This is domestic discipline in a format that is going to actually open her up. I’ve taken away privileges and am using lessons that have been around for hundreds of years to teach humility and obedience. She is STILL my daughter. The only real difference is she just moved down in the pecking order of the family.”

“To below Sandor,” Scotty said, mostly to rub it in his older sister’s face that she was now ranking lower than the family pet on the totem pole.

“True, she’s basically house-pet status at this point,” Tom chuckled, and said it was time for her first affirmation. He explained to Taylor that he’d be doing these around the house as time permits to keep her in the right service-oriented mind-set. “They serve several purposes, and all you have to do is first be placed in a position like the one you’re in so that I have your full and undivided attention. Then you must answer as honestly and completely as you can without rambling.” Tom told his daughter it was simple before asking if she was ready to begin.

“I’m as ready as I can be, Sir.” She didn’t complain, but I heard her tummy rumble.

“Is your name Kylie Jenner?” He asked the first question, surprising all of us.

“No, sir,” she replied, with a confused expression that suggested she thought the question was dumb.

“Watch the attitude,” Tom warned her, before asking if her name was Taylor Swift.

“Not anymore, Sir,” she replied with a chuckle.

“What IS your name?” Tom asked inquisitively.

“Fart Face, Sir?” she answered hesitantly.

“I’m sorry.” Tom shook his head and said that it seemed she was uncertain what her new name was. “When someone asks you what your name is, what will you tell them?” he asked.

“FART FACE, SIR!” Taylor nearly shouted.

“That’s going to make roll-call when a substitute is in class pretty funny,” Donny remarked dryly.

“In cases like that, you can answer to Taylor for official roll calls. If it’s just your friends, though, if I find out that you’re still going by Taylor you’ll be punished. You’d better tell them to update your name in their iPhones to ‘Fart Face’ – because if you even answer to Taylor one time, you’re going to get 10 swats, and that’s just for starters.” Tom made it clear he was quite serious.

“What am I supposed to tell them is the reason, Sir?” Taylor asked, with a look of sudden remorse and perhaps regret for the first time that she may have to actually follow through with this.

“You aren’t getting it.” Tom told her that she wasn’t supposed to come up with clever ways to spin it or lies. “Your new name is Fart Face because you are a Fart Face. You can tell them it’s a nickname, if they can’t seem to understand that this is for your own good, because that much is true; but I’m going to punish you if I find out you’re trying to get sympathy or make us look like jerks for calling you a name.”

Taylor said she didn’t mean it like that, but Tom made sure the kids knew that he expected them not to take pity on her or want to grant her mercy. “You’ll be doing your sister a disservice if you cover for her lies or don’t immediately tell on her. I know we told you when you were little that we don’t like tattletales, but this is different. I need you to all see I’m doing this not only for Fart Face’s own good, but for yours as well. You’re going to learn from her example how not to behave and that we won’t tolerate it. I don’t want you to feel like we’re being mean to her, though. That’s why she’s to thank you when you turn her in for her wrongdoing and misbehavior.”

“What if one of us asks her what her name is, Dad?” Donny said.

“Why would you need to do that? You know what it is.” Tom didn’t understand that Donny was asking if he could dress Taylor down the way he was doing.

“Why do you need to ask her then?” Donny asked.

“These questions I’m trying to ask are to put her in her place and remind her of who she is and what she used to be.” Tom said that it was to help her learn.

“I want to help her learn too,” Donny said with a wry grin.

“I think you want to just make your sister say her name is ‘Fart Face’,” Tom said.

“That too!” Donny admitted.

“See? I prefer truth over bullshit.” Tom said approvingly that if any of them asked her name she was to always say ‘Fart Face’ before continuing with the affirmation.

It was a short one – and not quite as difficult as the ones he’d given me. He usually did at least one with me early in the morning when he was giving me instructions for the day, and one right before bed. Those were short and not too much different than the one he was giving Taylor.

I appreciated it because it helped to focus me and remind me that my place was serving my husband as head of the household.

He could, however, be very clever in how he did affirmations, and really make me think. He seldom did simple yes-or-no questions where I could answer instinctively or I had a 50/50 chance of guessing the right answer. He would often ask me why a certain rule had been put in place or what I was getting out of my training, and I’d be put on the spot to answer him honestly. Tom really shined at doing these and had even given classes during some of the munch sessions years ago to other couples on how to introduce these into their training rituals.

“So do you feel guilty that you lied to the neighbor? Tell me the truth,” Tom reminded her.

“Not particularly, Sir. I thought I was doing the right thing,” Taylor answered her father – still holding her ass-cheeks apart. The apron did nothing to hide her pussy lips from behind, and I could see the moisture dripping off one of the wrinkles on her pussy.

“You answered honestly,” Tom said, with respecting approval. “You didn’t think about what you were doing before you left the house with your apron like it was. You had to think of an answer to a question on why you were doing that, and you followed your instinct – you lied.” His voice changed to disappointment.

I always hated when he sounded disappointed with me – I wasn’t sure if it had a similar effect on Taylor, but I didn’t think it did.

“You won’t be lying, though.” Tom promised her that now that she’d told the neighbor she was wearing it for trick or treating, that she would be going out for Halloween with her sister Janie.

“Yay!” Janie put both hands over her head and jumped for joy.

“You can curtsy at every door and hold your sister’s extra candy as you go from house to house,” Tom promised.

“Double yay! Extra candy for me!” Janie was abuzz with excitement. She’d mentioned earlier she really just wanted to hang out with her sister.

“Now, final question for now.” Tom asked her why she was complying with this. “You’ve been more than a good sport about all the new rules, and I am pleased but surprised. I expected to have to drag your ass through each and every trial, and you’ve listened and surprisingly even asked for a larger plug when you didn’t have to,” he said.

“I’m tired of seeing the rotten, conniving, stubborn, lazy bitch in the mirror, Sir. I’m a lazy, self-centered, vain brat by everyone’s standard. I just want you guys to like me again, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes to prove I’m willing to change, Master,” Taylor broke down into tears.

Tom hugged her and let her stop holding her ass-cheeks. He didn’t address the fact that she had just called him Master. He had, after all, explained he was Master of the house, and since they seemed to be sharing a moment, there was a long pause between father and daughter as he comforted her and thanked her for that.

“If you think it’ll take radical treatment to make changes to my behavior and reinforcement as needed, then I’m willing to do whatever it takes to be this better person, and I trust you to set me straight, Master,” she said tearfully.

She’d just told me in the bedroom she was doing this to prove him wrong, that she couldn’t be changed. And now she’d had a sudden change of heart. I really loved seeing the two of them connect, and I wanted very desperately to believe that my daughter was being sincere. I told myself that she may have changed her mind after our talk. I was certainly not going to say anything after the kids all hugged her as well. I joined everyone in a big mighty family hug.

We were united for a change – no one was poking the other or taking something from someone else’s room. There was no “he said” and “she said” arguments. The petty day-to-day gripes, like who had more chores than the other, were out of everybody’s minds while we embraced as a family.

My family was very happy, and that made ME overjoyed on a level I haven’t felt in a long, long time.