CHAPTER FIFTY TWO
“Normal in the Weirdest Way”

Reader’s Note: These are EXCERPTS from Joanne Swift’s Journal for October 12^th (Wednesday).

Joanne has just finished fucking and sucking a dozen friends of the security guard from Olive Garden.

A fresh chill went through my body as I stood naked in the dumpster area behind Olive Garden, in the sprinkling October rain. The men had left unceremoniously and quietly after they got their nut without looking me in the eye or as much as a “Thank you for being a good sport.”

I was left naked in high heels and slave collar with just Mr. Goldman. He had seen me this way so many times that, despite being freshly fucked by a bunch of strangers, it was as if I were alone. I think I had every reason to be ashamed and embarrassed, but in that moment my neighbor looking at me like a horny beast didn’t matter to me.

What did, was that I had just dared think about an embrace from my wonderful husband. But the guilt that was wafting over me now after thinking about that wonderful, trusting man, as I could literally feel the cream from other men’s dicks roll out of my freshly used pussy and down my leg, was overpowering.

I suspected Mother Nature was spiting on me with fresh sprinkles of night rain in my eyes for being such a shameful whore.

“Are you going to hand me my clothes and return Bud so that we can go?” I smiled as Mr. Goldman stood there gawking at me.

“I was waiting for you to give me an order, Mistress,” Mr. Goldman answered dutifully. I really hated being a Mistress, and it sounded so odd when this man, who looked like the classic accountant from Central Casting, called me one.

I chuckled and told him that he could return Bud now, pointing to my own ass and bouncing up and down slightly on my heels. I missed the feel of Bud – it felt like returning him to his rightful place between my cheeks would give me some closure on tonight.

It seemed normal to be standing there naked, asking for a butt-plug – but normal in the weirdest way.

“When you get home, are you going to drip the cum out into the almond milk?” he asked as I turned around and held my ass-cheeks apart for him. I felt no embarrassment about him seeing my ass parted this way, but his question made my asshole quiver slightly at how vulgar and yet completely normal it seemed to ask someone who’d just engaged in a gang bang with strangers.

I should have been mortified by his audacity, but I took his question in stride after a deep breath.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” I said, chuckling at his curiosity about what I’d do with the man-seed I had just accumulated in my vagina. I reminded him that he needed to call me ‘Ma’am’ or ‘Mistress’ in every interaction with me, just like I’d make Taylor do to her betters. I may not like it, but he was going to have to do this right if he was going to do it. I suppose I can be OCD about things like that. “If you’re going to do this, you need to do it right.” I was amused at the thought of punishing him as a favor to his sister.

She’d appreciate me teaching him a lesson, and probably high-five me for being strict.

“Why not? Ma’am?” he asked carefully as he guided the butt-plug into my ass.

I really hadn’t thought about it. “I suppose because the girls drink from the almond milk now, and I just had an extensive gang bang with a bunch of strangers?” I wanted him to hurry up, so I wiggled my ass invitingly to let him know he didn’t have to be as gentle as he was being with Bud. I had grown quite used to gripping my butt plug, and he would have to work a lot harder to hurt me after the pounding I just got.

“Didn’t you just say that if you want to do something, you should do it right?” Goldman popped the butt-plug in past my anal ring and gave it a solid twist to seat it into place. “And you also said ‘waste not, want not,’ Ma’am.”

“Don’t use my logic against me.” I chuckled at his words and suggested I should probably make him drink a glass. “If a belly full of cum makes me feel like behaving, then obviously it would keep you in line as well,” I smirked.

I was teasing him, but I was shocked when he said that he would anytime, as long as I didn’t mind. “I was actually curious if it tasted like my own shpritz! Ma’am.”

“You may just find out,” I said, nodding as I took my clothes from him and started to put on my smock. “I’ll squat over the almond milk and give you a nice tall glass when we get home — if we can hurry and get home before it all drips down my leg!” I said teasingly.

“Well, there will still be some in your ass, right, Ma’am?”

“Some shpritz?” I smacked him on the butt as I used his word for what I could only assume was semen, and said that if I spit or sneezed, half of what came out would probably be shpritz after this. “I don’t know if the girls would still drink it if they knew some of the cum came out of my ass,” I said, making a disgusted face.

“Didn’t Tom use your ass in the past, Mistress?” he asked me casually.

I was dressed now and the rain was starting to get a little more intense, so I hurried him back to the car. It sounded strange for him to call my husband by his first name and yet me ‘Mistress.’ “You can call Tom ‘Master’ or ‘Sir,’” I informed him, without answering his question – it seemed a little too personal.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. It’s just, well, he has you train your ass. He must use it. Is it that you don’t want the girls to stop drinking the milk, Ma’am?” Mr. Goldman sat down to drive me home in my car.

He had me there. I suppose I actually thought it was helping the two of them as it helped me, and yet I also didn’t want them to really know that some of the cum that had been in the original cartons had come directly out of my ass after a vigorous session serving Tom.

“I suppose then I’d have to mark some of the cartons chocolate and others vanilla?” I joked, and didn’t answer that question, either.

We drove in silence for a few minutes through the parking lot of the shopping center. The radio was playing “Summer of 69” by Bryan Addams.

Standin' on your mama's porch

You told me that you'd wait forever

Oh and when you held my hand

I knew that it was now or never…

Mr. Goldman absent mindedly sang along with his thick New York accent. “Does this song make you think of doing a 69, Ma’am?” he asked.

“No, it doesn’t,” I said as I watched the sidewalks in our neighborhood for signs of the woman that saw me walking home naked.

“Me either,” he said quietly with a shrug of disappointment, followed by a long pause before his next question. He must have been summoning some courage.

“I really wish you were my Mistress too,” he said.

“Really? Why?” I responded, bemused. He was clearly not as miserable about his sister’s “blackmail” as I thought – in fact, he seemed to not only accept his new role as her cuckolded slave, but relished it.

“I mean, I like how my sister does it, but you really seem to know how to make these rules. The two of you are a lot alike, Ma’am,” he observed as we pulled down another street closer to my house.

“She’s far more attractive than me,” I answered humbly.

“You have a confidence about you. You stripped down like my sister at a porn shoot. All business, like you owned the set and you being naked is the most natural and normal thing possible. You fucked all those guys like a machine, as if you were doing it for the flag and the American way. You didn’t stop until they couldn’t cum any longer, and you didn’t set any boundaries or flinch,” he said, rattling off a list of admirable qualities about me in comparison to his sister.

I could totally see that confidence she had, but I hardly thought I’d been that bold. I thanked him and said that I didn’t see it that way. “I was calm and did what I had to do, but I would actually thank you to keep this little event between us. I was nervous, but I knew they weren’t going to hurt me. I gave them what they wanted,” I admitted.

“Will you, Mistress…” The next question that Mr. Goldman struggled with made him seem endearingly vulnerable to me. He choked it out nervously, “Will you, um ... every now and then, if you have the time, you know, and no one else is around …” he asked uncomfortably, “suck me off like you did at the Olive Garden? I mean, if you don’t mind, Mistress?”

“Are you blackmailing me to keep my secret?” I smiled at the charming way he shrunk in the seat when I answered him.

“No, Mistress, not at all.” Mr. Goldman assured me he was just asking for it as a favor. “In my life, I’ve never had such a blowjob. I don’t mean to plotz, but it was the best I’ve ever had. I am at a loss for words. It was such a blowjob it deserves a monument for blowjobs!”

“It was only about thirty seconds.” I was beaming at his flattering description while trying to remain humble.

“Thirty seconds? I normally plotz about three seconds in. You are some nafka if you can make me last that long and yet make it so intense! Oh please, Mistress?”

“You are going to have to ask your sister!” I held up a finger as we pulled into my driveway, and teased that I would have to see him beg as well.

It was late now, and I’d meant to check my phone on the way home, but we’d been talking about blowjobs and having a fun little conversation and I got carried away. “I sure hope everything went fine,” I said as I checked my phone while we pulled into the driveway.

HEY HONEY! I GOT OFF WORK EARLY AND THE GUYS WENT OUT DRINKING BUT I MISS YOU. WANT TO HAVE A LONG AFFIRMATION AND PLAY WITH YOURSELF FOR ME?

My heart sank as I read my husband’s text. It went on and on like that for 12 more texts, asking me where I was and how my night was going. They were all sweet and understanding texts, filled with love, and it mortified me that I was out getting fucked by strangers when he sent all these texts without a trace of suspicion in them – all about how he missed and worried about me.

I SURE HOPE THE STRESS OF BEING HOUSE MISTRESS HASN’T FINALLY DRIVEN YOU TO DRINK. I WOULDN’T BLAME YOU. LEADERSHIP IS HARDER THAN PEOPLE THINK. YOU ARE DOING A GREAT JOB THOUGH. I GOT A TEXT FROM SCOTTY TONIGHT SAYING HOW WELL BEHAVED FART FACE HAD BECOME AND THAT YOU PUT HIM IN CHARGE OF HER AT SCHOOL. I COMPLETELY SUPPORT YOU IF YOU FEEL HE CAN HANDLE THAT. IT SOUNDS LIKE YOU HAVE EVERYTHING WELL IN HAND. I CAN SLEEP SOUNDLY KNOWING THAT. SPEAKING OF WHICH I AM GOING TO BED NOW – I HAVE EARLY MORNING MEETINGS WITH OUR DEVELOPMENT TEAM IN IRELAND SO NO NEED TO CALL WHEN YOU GET THIS. I LOVE YOU, MY DARLING.

I was stunned, and barely skimmed through the other texts on my phone. I rarely get texts, and usually it’s from the kids. The next ones I read were routine check-ins from Scotty; in some cases, telling me that Fart Face had behaved herself, and in others that she needed to be punished but that he had it handled. He even sent over a couple pictures of her with cake stuffed in her mouth and her eyes comically wide open. He included the caption below:

TEACHING SIS TO ASK PERMISSION AND WAIT UNTIL SHE RECEIVES THAT PERMISSION. THEN BE THANKFUL FOR WHAT SHE RECEIVES. I THINK ITS WORKING! I THINK SHE IS LEARNING HER LESSON BUT I AM ALSO LEARNING WHAT ITS LIKE TO BE RESPONSIBLE FOR SOMEONE ELSE. IT IS GIVING ME A WHOLE NEW PERSPECTIVE ON WHAT IT MUST BE LIKE FOR YOU TO TRY TO LOOK OUT FOR US. THANK YOU FOR THIS OPPORTUNITY, MOM!

I would have gushed with pride if I wasn’t still disgusted with myself for not even checking my text messages while I was getting the shit fucked out of me behind an Olive Garden like a dirty little whore.

FART FACE AND I BONDING

Scotty texted a picture of him tying his sister up in ‘bondage’ with the joking caption. She looked proud to be naked and tied to a chair. I would have thought to wonder who took the picture if he had both hands tying knots around his sister’s tits.

I would have spent more time reviewing what he sent, but then I noticed a collection of messages from Donny and Janie that seemed to be arguing. I skipped to the very end to see Donny text,

MOM, I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO HERE - COME HOME RIGHT AWAY OR CALL ME!

I raced into the house with panic written all over my face without regard for Mr. Goldman. I had no idea what had happened while I was away. I thought I could be gone for a couple of hours and everything would be fine, but the text messages led me to believe that things had escalated fairly quickly.

The rain thickened outside and ran down my face as I rushed for my front door. I heard Sandor bark, as I approached my front door, to alert the family that someone was home. I already had my key out of my pocketbook and was frantically unlocking the door to find out what had happened.