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The Family Feud IV
Chapter Thirty-Two
Bill’s Journal: The Beatings Will Continue Until Morale Improves
**Note to reader: This is an excerpt of Bill’s journal from Wednesday approximately 7:00 pm from his perspective. In order to increase readability, some of the dialogue exchanged was altered to appear in a ‘narrative’ story format.
CASH EARNINGS WEDNESDAY
WENDY: $385
JAMIE: $345
“What should we do with them now?” Chris asked me with a smirk.
“You girls hungry?” I was making an obvious joke. The pissy little bitches kneeling and dripping with sweat, sex and pee from head to toe took me completely seriously. I could tell from the looks on their faces they knew that if I made them drink piss when they were thirsty what I was implying when I asked if they were hungry.
I don’t know what I was expecting when I made the joke – I think sometimes my wife reads too much into these things. Sometimes a joke is just a joke. I guess I would have expected a “God No!” or even a wince but the two little piss gobblers on their knees seemed ready to take whatever I was going to feed them – even if it was a turd sandwich.
“Good Girls, open up!” I ordered and they kept their mouths wide open.
I cleared my throat and raised up a big gob of phlegm and then leaned over my wife’s face. I waited for a moment for her beautiful greenish-blue eyes to open and look into mine before I dropped the entire gob of spit right on to her tongue.
“That should taste pretty good compared to that Mexican cum you two have been gargling on for the last half hour,” I laughed but my wife didn’t swallow or even give me a smile. “Oh that’s right, you dumb bitches have to be told when you can swallow…okay leave your mouth open, I want to watch it slide down.” I commanded.
There it was – I saw it in her eyes, that almost imperceptible look only a husband who has been married for ten years or more can notice in his wife’s eyes. It’s the one when you want to watch the Super bowl and she tells you that there is a new season of Mike and Molly but “it’s fine that you watch your Super bowl”.
It isn’t fine and she isn’t going to say a word about it, but you can see it in her eyes that she is scratching down a mental note to bring up at some later date.
I quietly wondered if my wife was going to ever bring up any of the things I made her do when she was my bitch to command?
“I am fresh out of snot. Son do you think you could feed your hungry sister, so we can get these two cunts out on the streets?” I looked down my nose at my wife –while she struggled to hold her tongue out and up and let my phlegm drip down her throat.
“With Pleasure, Dad” Chris didn’t hesitate to cough up a big old loogie and when he got in his sister’s face to feed it to her like a mama bird passing a chewed up worm to its young – he actually burped it into her mouth. That boy can be particularly disgusting and inspired at times!
I was interested to see if Jamie made a face. There was a moment where she looked like she was drinking spoiled milk but like her slut of a mother she held her tongue out and up and waited for the white bubble of snot to drip down for our amusement.
I can’t say that I am surprised by any of this – I’ve seen them endure so much hardship and humiliation over the last few weeks but it really never gets old to watch a fresh performance by the Taylor girls.
“Are you two cunts in a hurry to get back out on the street or do you have time to suck our dicks before you go?” I asked mockingly.
Wendy mumbled something incoherent with her mouth still wide open and her tongue straight out of her mouth.
“You know I can’t understand your dumb asses, go ahead and swallow,” I offered.
“We are your obedient cock-suckers Master, if you want us to suck your dicks, just give the order. I’d take it out, but my hands are cuffed behind my back Sir” Wendy said very matter of fact – like this was the most ordinary request in the world.
“Yes you are, but you two seemed to prioritize walking the streets, so I thought I’d ask,” I could see that what I was saying wasn’t coming out right. I meant that to sound playful - how Chris and Jamie tease each other back and forth – but it was coming out all mean and sadistic.
“I will unzip it for you then, lazy bitch” I grunted as I pulled out my cock and let my wife start sucking me off. I started to reflect on the last few hours.
Chris wasn’t shy about having his sister join in. I told them to go slow and not make us cum right away. I took my phone out and started tapping down my journal notes – I thought it would seem kind of sadistic if I acted like I was multi-tasking and half interested. In truth, when I went back to start writing this journal entry and looked at what I wrote it was all nonsense and gibberish.
If there is one thing that has been a huge plus from all this, it is that my wife has become an expert knob-gobbler. She can suck a dick like Tony Romo throws touchdown passes for the Cowboys. I couldn’t concentrate while she sucked my cock if my life depended on it.
Speaking of Football, that is part of the reason for all this mess. I used to be very active on an internet user group forum and specifically one about sports. It was a place where guys could shoot the shit during the day and talk about ‘guy stuff’.
One of those forum members was “Graymalkin” - He went to my rival high school at the same time I played ball back when I was in school. I guess you could call him my ‘nemesis’ because he and I used to have internet arguments all of the time. If I liked Romney, then he liked Obama, if I liked the Cowboys then he liked the Steelers, if I liked Ice Cream then he did not. There was nothing we found we could agree on and I began to wonder if he was doing that intentionally or he was quite simply a man who was in every way my exact polar opposite.
I can’t say that we ever changed anyone’s opinion about anything from the discussions and arguments we had online – but then that is the nature of internet discussions anyway.
Graymalkin used to give me a hard time about not being awarded the game-ball at the big game between our two schools and I used to tell him that I would be bringing it to the annual forum get together and he’d have to eat his words.
I’ve since found I had a lot of other priorities besides spending my time in useless arguments on the Internet. I think it was just a way to blow off steam and maybe on some level validate I was an ‘Alpha Dog’ by ‘winning’ at a discussion on something to do with politics, religion, sports or computer gaming.
I think on some level, when Wendy became the successful bread-winner AND was able to come home and be a responsible mom, it was sapping my testosterone and this was some outlet for me to take out my frustrations at not being in the gender role I was always told the Man should be in when I was growing up.
When she hit me with her “Declaration” of new rules I was even more humiliated and emasculated than I had ever been and I just left. I wanted to get out of the house and get away from who I was and I think the internet discussions had been another form of escapism.
I think the porn addiction I had – was also a form of addiction. I liked to read dirty little stories about perverted things and look at naughty pictures.
A few months ago I got an offer that sounded too good to be true. Someone contacted me about starting a ‘modeling business’ with local girls. I told myself that this was a chance for me to make some money selling webclips or porn pictures – but given I had never paid a dime for any of the quality porn I saw, I should have known there was no way for me to make money at this.
I was too seduced by the idea of taking pictures of horny girls in swimsuits. In retrospect, the girls seemed a little too eager to shed their clothes and cavort around for my digital camera. These were Jamie’s friends from school. I couldn’t tell Wendy that I was doing this for fear of what she’d think and I certainly couldn’t tell Jamie that I was taking pictures of her friends – I should have known this was not right.
I made a mistake and I own that now. That is why I am journaling it – to come to accept it and learn from my mistakes.
I can’t help but think that I might be making a mistake now. I am enjoying having my cock sucked by an eager wife who wants to serve me obediently – who wouldn’t?
But am I doing something that is too good to be true?
Do I deserve to be this happy?
I feel like Charlie Brown some times. You know how he gets to be Captain of the softball team - but it is the losingest softball team of all time?
There is something ironic about being the biggest loser. The one who at least has the football placed in your sights even though when you go to kick it you know it’s going to be yoinked out from under your foot at the last second.
The thing is – not everyone gets a chance to be captain of the softball team or have the football put in their sights to give it a kick- so maybe I should count my blessings.
I am just an ordinary, everyday guy. I sometimes have deep thoughts but I know I will never process the world the way my wife does. She has a hundred scenarios running through her mind at once and she works well when she is conflicted about something because she weighs all the options.
I can’t say the same is true of me. I like my life to be simple and uncomplicated.
If I think I am doing right – even if I am on the wrong course then that is usually good enough for me. However, for the last few hours I’ve been as conflicted as Wendy would be on Black Friday at Bed, Bath and Beyond - What to buy, how much of it and where to start.
The news that we were losing the house had hit me like a ton of bricks. I was gripped with uncertainty about what to do but worst of all – I was brought back mentally to where I was a few weeks ago before all this happened. All the confidence and swagger I had developed went right out the window and I was confronted with the realization that maybe this is the real me – a failure as a man, a failure as a father.
Yes, I know the irony of watching my naked daughter suck my son’s dick right in front of their mother sucking my own dick while I contemplate my parenting choices.
I like to sit in silence in the truck. My son likes to gab and joke and I smile and nod while he does – but that is when I do my thinking – and today on the way out here I was going to release these two little cum gobblers from their promise to be obedient sluts.
I know a part of me felt guilty about all the shit we made them do and put up with and a part of me has enjoyed every single minute of every single hour of every single day of being the undisputed master of the house and the cunts inhabiting it.
The part of me that felt guilty was put back in charge of my thinking when I heard Bitterman say that we were losing the house and there was nothing we could do about it. The part of me that is a fearful little person who lets his fears rule his thoughts.
I thought we had our fun at the girls expense and they’ve paid us back over a hundred times for all the rotten shit they did to me and Chris when they were in charge of us. I sometimes wonder if Wendy had even intended to make us serve naked or if it was a misunderstanding that we all just rolled with and snowballed into what we are doing now.
I assumed they would be grateful I was going to release them from their obligations and be mad at me for letting the house get taken away even after Jamie got kicked out of school and Wendy got fired from a great job – probably ending her professional career.
I was shocked and dismayed that neither of them were ready to give up on what we were doing.
“That is it you fucking sluts, now switch dicks and finish me off” I pulled out of Wendy’s cock hole and slammed my wet dick right into my daughter’s perfect pink lips. Chris gave me a high-five as he let his mother slurp his dick.
“You know if you two are extra good, I may just tie you up in the living room tonight,” I was pleased with the blowjob and let it show in my voice but quickly added “Crotch to nose of course.”
“Actually, I was planning on tying them both up behind the motel as punishment,” Chris said effortlessly. He had his hands on his hips as he leaned into his mother’s mouth with his hips. “If they don’t each earn five hundred, then these brooms go up their asses”.
I could feel Jamie’s teeth chatter nervously along the throbbing vein of my cock at the mention of the brooms.
“What’s the matter girls? I thought you needed this discipline in order to maintain being good little whores?” I said sensing their discomfort with Chris’s plan.
“There are kids who saw me out there this afternoon Master,” Wendy answered while gulping my son’s purplish dick head.
“That never bothered you with the Waxerman boys before, And? What did they do when they saw you?” I knew if it had been some sort of problem Wendy would probably be in jail for indecent exposure. In a motel of whores I had a funny feeling this wouldn’t seem so bizarre and I was naturally right.
“Well, they um laughed, and…” Wendy was obviously searching for the right words to say. I could tell she was uncomfortable and she was using her expert cock sucking to stall.
I grabbed her hair and gave it a hard yank. “You are being talked to by your superior, now give me a straight answer cow-tits or I will find something wider than a broom to shove up your ass no matter HOW much cash you bring in, understood?” I was hoping lightning was flashing in my eyes and I was coming across in control and in charge and I could tell from the look on her face that I was.
“Well Master,” she took her mouth completely off Chris’s dick and let him drive it into her cheek while she answered me. “I was embarrassed to say because you would laugh and want us out there every day.”
She was waiting for me to say something.
I’ve found that when I leave a long awkward pause and just wait it can be more effective to let her keep talking and wondering what I am thinking – even though it seems to frustrate her just a bit.
“They played helicopter on my tits and used my butt plug for a shovel, Master?” she winced awaiting my reaction.
I chuckled softly and asked what helicopter was.
“They wanted me to make engine noises and hung on my tits like they were propellers, Master” a fresh wave of pink washed across my wife’s face as she relived the experience in her mind to describe it to me. She is still very tan but it’s always nice to see her become flush with embarrassment, I can’t tell you why I love that expression on her face so much other than I just do.
“Did you make the noises?” I asked.
“I didn’t know what to do, and I was worried I would be punished if you found out that my passport was missing from my ass, so I played along, kind of white alert, Master” Wendy stumbled over the explanation.
“You did good,” I put my finger under her chin while Jamie continued to suck my balls and dick.
“Thank you Master!” Wendy genuinely seemed proud of what she had done when I gave her the metaphorical pat on the back.
“Which is why you will have brooms up your asses no matter how much you earn,” I could see Wendy look crestfallen when I announced she would be punished no matter if she reached the stated goal. I know she is goal driven and I would have to think of a new one for her.
“You little cunt, you were about to make the five hundred in no time flat, you knew that. There is no risk involved with a goal like that. You need discipline, so you’ll have your asshole’s packed with cocks and then tonight you will thank us when we jam brooms up there. Chris and I will discuss a stretch goal to replace this one with because it is TOO easy for whores like you, is that understood?”
“Yes Master,” Wendy looked sullen as she responded to my threat.
“You will tell those kids if they ask, that your trainers couldn’t risk losing your license and passport again but that you need your assholes to stay stretched and ready and you asked for the brooms. You will tell them they can use them like steering wheels or propellers or anything they want, but if they pull them out of your ass, they need to let you clean them off before they put them back in. We’ll mark a big red circle on them and they are not to shove them in further than that.”
“Hah, look at it this way ass face, you can finally say you are learning to drive a stick,” Chris executed a perfect teasing remark and Jamie’s eyes reflected back the equivalent of sticking her tongue out at him. I wish I could master that tone at will when I want to add a little levity to the conversation.
“Ass face, you have exactly sixty seconds to make me cum or I will...” I gasped. I was about to say something about her having to fuck Roscoe again or spend hours with those purple poppers cutting off the circulation to her perky little tits and engorge them.
However, the dirty little slut had just popped my cork and I splurged a full load of cum into her hot little mouth.
“Ask and you shall receive, Sir!” Wendy seemed proud of her daughter’s ability to make me cum – even if it might have been lucky coincidence. “Permission to make you cum as well, Master?” she looked up at Chris and hardly had to wait for his smiling approval before returning to her duties as family cock sucker.
“Hold your beak open and let me see that cum on your tongue before you get to swallow it,” I demanded of my daughter. Jamie’s eyes are crystal blue and she has such an angel face that when you see her do something degrading there is a little extra thrill.
I am always reminded of a line from that Van Halen song Hot for Teacher.
‘Little girl from Cherry Lawn, how can you be so bold?’
Chris exploded into his mother’s face while face fucking her in less than thirty seconds. In that time, while watching my cum pool on my daughter’s pink tongue in front of me I wondered how many dicks she had sucked in the last few hours while I had been gone.
A sneaking suspicion of mine has been that Wendy and Jamie secretly love sucking dick and doing all these disgusting things. At first I thought that perhaps they were pretending to love it in order to suck all the fun out of making them do it.
I know that sounds like crazy paranoia but I dated my share of girls before Wendy and they can put you through a lot of psychological torture and blue balls by their very nature.
I think if I confronted them with my theory that they liked this treatment they would think I was being petty or silly. I know that the body sends signals to the brain of women due to outside stimulus that gets them wet – even when they aren’t ‘turned on’. I am not talking about the equivalent of a girl getting an inconvenient boner.
I used to get them all the time when I was in a situation that wasn’t a turn on, some times in the gym when showering with guys and there is zero chance in hell I am gay. It was just the danger and adrenalin sending signals to my brain that I was about to do something that caused a physical response.
It was fun to make them admit ‘only wicked bitches get turned on by this treatment’ when doing affirmations and I discovered one of them was wet. However, now a part of me wonders if these girls aren’t truly ‘wicked’ and wanting to be kept this way?
I gave them an out – a chance to stop this because we’ve lost the house and they both volunteered to remain whores to earn money for us to have a place to live?
I had to remove myself from the discussion a few hours ago to give myself time to think that all through. It made me feel guilty that Wendy was willing to continue to sacrifice her dignity and ass along with her daughter in order to keep a roof over our head after this weekend when the house is gone.
I understood her stated reason for continuing the discipline part of our relationship. If we were lax then the two of them would revert back to how they were before the training began and find it difficult to get the motivation to go down the street sucking dicks.
A twisted and perverted part of me that was reading between the lines though saw another agenda as a possibility.
What if my daughter and wife of almost twenty years were really turned on by this arrangement and didn’t want it to end? That has been something I’ve wanted for a long time but it was just a fantasy – How could anyone live this way night and day for the rest of their lives? How could they WANT to be groveling and humiliated every day for the rest of their lives?
I drove around for a bit looking at the people on Martin Luther King Jr. Blvd. I saw how there were prostitutes, homeless bums and drug addicts starting to emerge on the sidewalk. This is their life – there is no ‘and later we go home back to the quiet and safe suburbs’, they live in this jungle every day and don’t have the option to end it.
Would we be like that?
I hate to be conflicted and maybe I was over thinking things. I needed to clear my head so I drove on back to our house – for as long as it IS our house.
There was already a notice on the door about the foreclosure and public auction of the house. I quickly Craigslisted our furniture and all the stuff that I had in Rahjid’s storage room.
There was a time when this stuff would have meant something to me. The acid-washed 1980s jeans and polo shirts that I’ve had since high school and most likely don’t fit me. I don’t know why I hung on to old things like this – nostalgia for days gone past.
There was a box of old VCR tapes of movies I’ve seen dozens of times like Top Gun and Caddyshack – I don’t even own a VCR anymore.
There were cards I’d collected of baseball and football stars when I was a boy. I thought they may be worth something but nobody really cares about a TOPP’s Jim Rice anymore. The kids stopped collecting those years ago – the only people interested are guys my age or older.
I looked in the box that meant so much to me at one time, the one that Wendy and Jamie had agreed to get back for me. There was a VHS tape of me running the final game of the season and a game ball with all the other player’s signatures and Coach Heck’s “Atta Boy” written on the side for me.
Would he still say “Atta Boy” if he knew I whored out my wife and daughter to get the ball back? Was a leather ball really worth all this effort? So I could prove something to a guy I met on the internet? I couldn’t find it in my heart to give two shits about Graymalkin now. A few months ago it was the highlight of my life to picture his face when he has to eat crow and admit I was right about how it all went down back in high school and how I used to be a popular jock with his life in front of him.
Then I thought about that choice of words - ‘Used to be’. I asked myself “Then what am I now?”
Am I a ‘Used to be?’ or am I a grown man with two almost grown kids and a hot wife who has a second act of his life in front of him?
Craigslist is pretty amazing because in the time it took me to process these thoughts I was already getting responses from people wanting to set up a time to come see the house and buy our stuff. Everyone just wanted one or two things but someone wanted to buy us out completely.
It was Wendy’s co-worker Vicky. She said she was going to donate most of the stuff to a charity drive she was doing but that she wanted to come by and see everything and would make us an offer.
I know Vicky was some kind of rival of my wife at work and knew all about how she got fired and I was surprised she didn’t say anything in the email about any of that.
I fired off an email back to thank her for her interest – I’d like to get rid of all this stuff in a single deal. I asked her if she realized I was Wendy’s husband – the name Bill Taylor is pretty common and my email is Iceman5142 so she might not have known.
She wrote back ‘Oh yes, I know who you guys are, can you have Wendy there when I come over, I want to apologize to her about everything’.
I thought for a solid five minutes about how to respond to that. I was still wrestling with the idea that Wendy had essentially refused to stop whoring even when I gave her the easy way out. I will admit that a part of me was kind of furious with her – why had she not taken me up on my generous offer?
I don’t want to admit this even to myself but I was kind of jealous. I have not been jealous that she’s fucked other guys, because I know she has done it because I ordered her to and in the end she knew she belonged to me. I was jealous that she was out there sucking dicks and fucking dicks and slurping dicks and sitting on dicks and loving on dicks because she wanted to be doing it.
I know this may sound weird but in the strangest of ways I was jealous that she has the ability to be out there doing it and I do not. She is beautiful and people still want what she has but I don’t have that kind of appeal to older women - much less younger ones.
I wish I was more articulate so I could put into words that while I don’t wish I was the one sucking dicks and showing my ass to strangers, I felt some sort of jealousy that I could never be the kind of person anyone would want to do things like that.
I was going through the five stages of grief about my thoughts and that means going from denial to anger to bargaining to whatever the other two stages are when I was emailing Vicky about the furniture and our clothes.
At that time I was angry and so I wrote back ‘Well, I would love for her to be here but right now she is down at a motel on MLK drive sucking as many black cocks as she can find, so it’s just me here now’.
Vicky must have been sitting right next to her computer or had email on her phone because she shot back, ‘Oh, it sounds like trouble in paradise? Sorry to hear you lost control of her. I can’t come until tomorrow afternoon anyway’.
There was something about how catty that short email was that made me explode inside. I wrote about three versions of a reply before deciding on ‘God damn it, there is no trouble in paradise, be here at 2pm, I’ll make sure the bitch and her daughter are here, bring cash’.
That was what made up my mind for me that I needed to go back down to the motel and reassert my authority.
I had this image in my mind of Vicky sneering at me and laughing at me failing at this and for some reason I could only see red at that time.
As I was leaving the house, Mrs. Waxerman was walking her dog along our sidewalk. That is no coincidence – she spends a great deal of time passing by our house and looking in our windows to get more ammunition for her gossip.
I wonder why this woman just doesn’t fuck the fuck off sometimes?
“I don’t have time to talk now,” I said as I headed for my truck. I knew she was going to try to talk to me – she loves to waste my time with pleasantries but right then I did not give two fucks about what she thought.
I wanted to get back to my wife and daughter and say that if they want to be kept in bondage for the rest of their lives I’ll make their lives god damned hell and then some – I was fired up and ready.
“Oh, where are you heading off too? No doubt to pick up those hussies?” Mrs. Waxerman’s dog, Mr. Snips sneered at me in the same way.
I wanted to just ignore this useless bitch and drive off but I am glad I stopped and talked to her. I think it gave me time to calm down and collect my thoughts.
“Yes Ma’am, I sure am,” I like to put on a country accent when I talk to her. I know it sounds like pandering but she seems to enjoy the illusion and doesn’t call me out on the fact I was just talking without an accent five minutes ago. If she did I would just say that I sometimes slip in and out of it but you can take the boy off the mountain, but you can’t take the mountain out of the boy. I’ve had that line ready – but she never finds fault with anything I say or do.
“Oh?” Mrs. Waxerman was being coy and I knew she wanted me to give her some juicy dirt on the girls but she wasn’t going to come right and ask for it.
“Well, it is kind of a mess right now. Can we talk about this later?” I should have just walked away instead of asking.
“Yes, I am not one to tell tales as you know that gossip is the devil’s language. But I am sure some in the neighborhood would draw a conclusion from the notice of eviction that was placed on your door today and cast all kinds of aspersions.” She said with a self-satisfied tone of contempt.
“You have no idea, I am really not in the mood for this right now,” I shrugged and started to turn around and walk over to my truck.
“It seems that while you are here trying to hold things together at home, your two brazen harlots are out gallivanting around and joy riding to who knows where, is that it Mr. Taylor?” Mrs. Waxerman’s words about my family rarely bothered me. In fact, I was the one who came up with ‘white alert’ to push her buttons in the first place.
However, there was something in how she said that about my family. They had stayed at the motel in order to try to put money in our pocket and get me to the internet forum and her cutting remarks were infuriating me while at the same time embarrassing me with guilt.
“You have no idea what is really going on, and I don’t feel like explaining this to you right now,” I scratched my balls casually and belched while I stood at my truck door – subtle body language that I could not give two shits about what she thought.
“I know they are uncouth, disgusting creatures who love to display their bodies and you probably haven’t had a decent home cooked meal in weeks, Mr. Taylor” even her sympathy came laced with a side-order of contempt for others.
I had just belched and scratched my nuts and she called my wife the uncouth one? I had to laugh aloud at that.
“I don’t believe this is a laughing matter, Mr. Taylor, I suppose once you’ve conducted another of your lawn sales, your family moving will collectively raise our property values, so I must look on the bright side.”
“Hey now,” She made it really hard to like her on so many levels, and that actually hurt my feelings.
“Oh I mean nothing by it against you personally, Mr. Taylor. I know you are a good man and you can’t help that your son is slow and your daughter is as loose and corrupted as your wife. I am just saying what everyone can plainly see and I apologize if I’ve offended you.” even her apologies were slathered in her ‘holier-than-thou’ sauce.
“I reckon you should know something Mrs. Waxerman, since we are fixing to go and move and all,” I stepped into an Alabama accent – my best imitation of my old high school coach.
I had her undivided attention when I allowed a long enough pause between my words.
“My wife and daughter have been lying to you, it’s all been sort of a game when you come around, I figure I should come clean and let you know about white alert,” I was honestly going to get in my truck and leave but the woman had a way of sucking you into a conversation with her.
“A white alert? What on earth?” her dog Mr. Snips was sniffing around my feet – a metaphor for how Mrs. Waxerman was sniffing around for juicy gossip I suppose.
“You see about the bras and panties, I should be honest with you, I respect you too much and admire you to continue this charade any longer,” I was gravely serious and I could see the hint of a self-satisfied smile as I offered her the compliment.
“My wife and daughter get off on pretending to be decent women. My wife hasn’t worn panties or bras since we first got married and my daughter stopped once she was old enough to shave the hair on her crotch. They never wore bras and panties, they just liked to pretend to be a tight ass suburban mom and a straight laced virgin cheer leader because it turns them on to seem so innocent when they are secretly wicked. I know it sounds completely sick and twisted but all those times my wife was living a lie. She is really an uncontrollable nymphomaniac and I was actually fixing to go down to the motel she and Jamie are at because she insisted on staying there to whore herself out.”
The look on Mrs. Waxerman’s face was priceless and she bought the bullshit I was selling hook, line and sinker.
I had thought ‘white alert’ was a random color – that at best stood for a ‘white lie’ alert. However, once I saw all the blood drain from her face and she turned white as a sheet – I realized just how appropriate the code word had been.
I was ready to get in my truck and return to the motel to sort all this stuff out. I had needed to get away and think for a bit and I am not too proud to admit I probably had left abruptly because I wanted some time on my own to think – so for the life of me, I couldn’t explain why I was now so willing to fuck with Mrs. Waxerman’s head before I left.
“I know it is shocking and because of your advice and counsel, well I can’t hide it anymore, you should know that I punish and discipline them regularly,” I tried to look serious and concerned.
Mrs. Waxerman’s breath smelled like a day old garlic pickle and a dry fart that had been wrapped in a burrito. She had a habit of getting in uncomfortably close to my face and it was difficult for me not to let on just how disgusted I was by the crusty old woman.
She nodded her head in agreement “Yes, I’ve been present for some of your punishments and frankly, I do not think they’ve done a lick of good,” Waxerman had me on that point.
“Well, I can’t lie to you,” I was straight up lying to her. “My wife and daughter get off on punishment, they basically twist my arm to give them one of your enemas, I don’t like doing it because of well you know, the mess afterwards.” I wasn’t sure if I was laying things on too thick but from the look on her face it seemed like she was buying it.
I remember back when I used to hide my porn obsession I would read dirty fantasy stories from websites like www.dijanstories.com and rppstories.com. A lot of the really bad internet fiction usually involved a sex-obsessed woman and her eighteen year old nymphette daughter who met a guy who they basically pleaded with to tie them up and fuck the shit out of them.
I am sure that if I were a deeper person I’d be able to tell you why the author probably pictures himself as the guy in that story and how he feels the need to be the reluctant dominant. “Oh gosh, if you really want me to handcuff you to the chair I guess so,” they would say to the two over-sexed sluts who apparently couldn’t find anyone else to do this to them.
“Yeah, you see they like being spanked. My daughter practically begged me to send her over to your house so you could punish her and when you weren’t home, she tried to get in trouble so someone would punish her before she got home.” I said stretching the truth – my daughter had begged but mostly because she thought the punishment Chris and I would give was going to be worse.
I like to seem like the strong silent type but since I was bullshitting anyway, I might as well ham it up for Mrs. Waxerman’s benefit.
“I see,” she looked like I had just squirted lemon in her eyes as she wrapped her head around my new fib. “So the other day when your wife was on blocks in the backyard?”
“Yep, all her idea,” I smiled and nodded. “It turns her on to make Chris and me whip her in front of someone as respectable and godly as you. You wouldn’t believe what she did for the rest of the day after you left!” I left her some bait to ask for more detail which she gladly took.
“Well, not that I want to hear the profane details, but just what did she do?” Waxerman was as interested as a 14 year old girl about to meet Justin Bieber - well maybe that is a little exaggeration but she was very interested.
“I don’t want to offend your delicate sensibilities any more than I already have, Ma’am” I was smiling and having fun with this charade now.
“Nonsense, what did the little minx do after I left?” Waxerman was intent on finding out what Wendy did and I was going to oblige.
“She and her naughty daughter sat right on our stair well banisters and fucked themselves until my son came home from school. Jamie has been kicked out of school as you know.”
“Yes, I do know very well and while I am not a gossip, there is said to be many videotapes of the young hussy with her bare chest jiggling at that half time show. I don’t have to tell you how I fear for the innocence of my nephews and niece at the influence of your daughter and wife do I?”
It amused me that she still thought her nephews were innocent – much less Delilah. Her boys did have a creepy sort of crew-cut and dressed like they were straight out of the Sears and Roebuck’s catalog from 1955 but they were as perverted as any young boys I’ve ever known when I was growing up.
“Since we are moving soon, I might as well come clean that my daughter and wife would sun bathe nekked out in the backyard and knew your nephews might be watching.” I saw Mrs. Waxerman start to process this information in her head.
I think Waxerman had given Jamie a spanking and an enema in front of them before and had to be aware they saw every part of the girls at the pool party last week – even with the skimpy bikinis they had on. I think on some level when she bared Jamie’s ass to spank her, she doesn’t see that as being exposed in front of them or as a necessary evil. However, I think TELLING her that they watched them sunbathing nude had a terrifying effect on a woman who liked to live in a world of denial.
“You allowed them to expose themselves to my nephews!?” her mock outrage was quite convincing but I remained calm and collected knowing that it was just that.
“Well not anymore Ma’am, you see they got bored with just laying out to sunbathe. They made us tie them out like dogs in the morning on leashes with Roscoe our dog and give them treats, while they wiggle their tails”. I smiled at the mental image of my smiling daughter playfully embracing her role as house pet in the backyard.
“And you see that as an improvement?” Mrs. Waxerman thrust a bony finger at me that would have chilled me to my core if I wasn’t so delighted trying to rile her up. I had no idea where I was going with this new set of lies but it was invigorating and it got my mind off the problems at hand.
“No not particularly Ma’am, it’s just that well I should tell you that your niece and nephews were in my yard this morning when Jamie was uh well, I should not say,” I was being coy and I thought I would explode with laughter as I played this old woman like a hand of poker.
“I believe you should be straight forward with me, Mr. Taylor,” she looked concerned but I made her repeat the request once more before I was going to reveal my answer.
“Well Jamie couldn’t entice your nephews into having sex with her, so she had sex with Roscoe in front of them in the yard. I know that sounds like blasphemy,” I said.
“Do you know your Leviticus, Mr. Taylor?” Mrs. Waxerman looked at me as if I were a pile of dog crap.
“I am afraid I’ve not had a lot of educating on the bible,” I was purposely trying to sound big and dumb.
“Leviticus 18:23 declares ‘Do not have sexual relations with an animal and defile yourself with it. A woman must not present herself to an animal to have sexual relations with it; that is a perversion.’ Do you know that Mr. Taylor?” she asked me scathingly.
I was actually surprised the Bible would address it at all. I had assumed that it was a new idea from all the websites and porn about it – but it’s been around since before Jesus’ time I guess and they had to make a rule about it.
“I know, but you see, if I punish her for it, she’d just enjoy that, I am truly at my wits end on how to proceed, Ma’am” I was acting like I was handing her a problem to solve.
I wouldn’t take this crazy old biddies advice if it was stapled to a hundred dollar bill.
I was just patronizing her and at the same time blowing off a little steam.
“After the war,” The way she began her remarks I was inclined to ask “Civil or Revolutionary?” like a smart ass but I just kept quiet and let her continue. “I had an Aunt in the Appalachians whose husband did not come home and after several winters, she began to fornicate with her loyal dog. We kept big great danes and blood hounds up there – every additional mouth to feed was a luxury and the dogs had to earn their keep or we had no use for them, you see.”
I did not see, but I nodded anyway. I was actually quite surprised and it was my turn to wonder where she was going with this.
“We all knew about the shameful goings on at my Aunt’s cabin, but she was lonely and probably just a tad bit touched. I had nine siblings and my brothers had been warned not to come unannounced to her cabin but I believe more than one of them learned about the birds and bees by watching her from the bushes.” She seemed lost in reliving the hillbilly days of her youth.
“Voluntary sex with a black man who cohabitated with you was only slightly more shameful than the sordid manner in which my Aunt lived,” She seemed to be thinking about what to say. “I hope you understand that my mother prayed nightly and asked the Deacon to intervene lest our entire family name be associated with that depravity?”
“Oh, I had assumed you rightly would have done that, Ma’am. It is the only Christian thing one could do, is it not?” I was just playing along and using words that I thought sounded right.
“No, that was only the start of exorcising the demons that plagued my Aunt. When I saw what you were doing with your wife in the backyard the other day, I had assumed it was on the counsel of a Pastor or Deacon of your Church?”
What an absurdly funny question. I hadn’t been to church in years – I assumed if God had wanted me to go he wouldn’t have scheduled so many football games for Sunday afternoon. That doesn’t mean I didn’t believe in God, I just didn’t really think about it all that much. I will admit – I got a little uncomfortable I might be pissing him off to say I had consulted him or a Pastor about this and so I clammed up.
“The Church confiscated her cabin and kept her chained up where she could not cast her temptations and flaunt her perversions on any but the most holy and stern of our religious leaders,” She did not wait for me to answer.
“That sounds kind of harsh, did they ever cure her?” I was half-smirking at the idea that Mrs. Waxerman had a lot more colorful past than I could have ever imagined.
“I pleaded for mercy for her and that if she was delivered back into our family that we might care for her and hide away her shameful secret.” Waxerman’s eyes seemed to glaze over just a little.
“Did they release her to you?” I could picture a young seventeen year old Waxerman dressed in her wild-west hillbilly puritan garb or whatever they wore up in the mountains when she was a young girl.
“No,” she gritted her teeth “They told me Hell is of torment. ETERNAL torment meted out for acts committed during a mortal lifetime. Torment out of all proportion to the acts committed and unrepented for. Torment meted out of beings whose seething malice transcends any mortal trespass for an eternity of debased lamentation.”
I have to admit that I only understood about every other word of what she had just said.
“I apologize, I know you are not as simple as your son, but you are a simple man and what I am saying may be beyond your wisdom.” Mrs. Waxerman’s apology was her way of passing judgment on me and telling me what she thought attached to a fake apology. “I mean to say that the Church elders felt that they were doing my Aunt a service by keeping her humbled and in torment during her remaining years. She came to ask for her suffering that she receive here on Earth for if not, it would be multiplied one hundred times in the sundered domains of the abyssal hell that she was surely doomed to reside in for all eternity.”
Honestly, this was going way above my head.
“I can see that you do not understand,” She looked at me as if I were a simple child. “Your wife and daughter asking for punishment – though they may not know it, is their eternal souls way of protecting itself from a reckoning that shall be visited upon them from the afterlife.”
“No, I really just think it turns them on, Mrs. Waxerman” I said with a smile.
“Yes, My Aunt embraced the shameful wretchedness of being chained in a dingy cell and kept naked in filth, willing to suffer any humiliation or pain that could be visited upon her.
I had 100% confidence that nothing she was telling me had any application on Wendy and Jamie. I will admit though it was a turn on to picture Waxerman’s Aunt naked in a cell with a metal collar and chain around her neck.
In my mind, she looked like a ‘MILF’ with just a little grey in her hair and perfect tits and her body was covered in little bruises and scratches like Wendy after a rough fucking.
It did allow me to think about why Wendy and Jamie were motivated to continue this – that had been the sixty-four thousand dollar question hadn’t it?
I had allowed them out of the deal in light of our losing the house and they had volunteered to stay with it. There were only a couple possibilities.
It was possible they had grown comfortable with the arrangement and enjoyed it. As I gave it more thought though it was probably the more likely theory that Wendy continued out of a sense of obligation to keep a roof over our head and Jamie continued out of a sense of obligation to not let her mother do this all alone.
“Didn’t your Aunt ever just want a little break? A chance to catch her breath and come home to visit?” I know I was probably asking this question because I wondered why Wendy hadn’t at least wanted a single day off from the training.
“In no sense could she be permitted to return to our home in that condition. The work of the elders would have been entirely undone were she to have somehow taken a ‘break’ from the constant unabated reminder of what she had become and why she suffer. There can be no rest for the wicked, Mr. Taylor”
“No rest for the wicked?” Even I knew that was from the Bible when I said it aloud it made so much sense to me. I had thought my wife was just making an excuse for us not to change course but like so many things in our marriage, she had been right about wanting the discipline to carry on. If we stopped it would be so much harder to start it up again.
At first, I had thought my wife meant I would feel sorry for her or procrastinate when she had told me words to that affect but now I realize that she meant it would be hard for her and Jamie to act like whores if we didn’t treat them like whores.
Waxerman was flapping her gums and talking way too close in my personal space as I internalized these thoughts.
“You aren’t mad that my daughter had sex with Roscoe right in front of your nephews, then?” I realized that Waxerman had stopped talking and was waiting for me to respond. I hoped my question was remotely related to what she had been talking about for the last few minutes after I stopped listening.
“As I said, I could hardly fault them anymore than my brothers for their natural curiosity at the seductions of a wanton slut. I am going to address it when I return home and they will feel the business end of my birch wood switch.”
Now I felt bad that I had gotten her nephews in trouble. “I don’t want you to do all that, it was my daughter’s fault.”
“Spare the rod and spoil the child, is that not the lesson, Mr. Taylor?” Waxerman once again quoting an old proverb that I hadn’t thought about literally since I heard it as a kid.
“Yes, but as I told you my two sluts love the attention and the pain from whippings,” I had committed to that lie and was sticking with it.
“Yes, I knew they enjoyed it,” Mrs. Waxerman became stoic and aloof. My wife and daughter had been amused by the ‘white alert’ goofing we did on her but the times I spanked them in front of her their faces of pain seemed real enough.
“One has to get up pretty early in the morning to pull the wool over MY eyes, Mr. Taylor!” Waxerman held an upraised finger to accentuate her point. “The magnitude of their suffering must be increased to a level that even they would find unpleasant for you to reach them.”
I half-jokingly wondered if the Bartender in that famous scene in ‘The Shining’ had said something to Jack Nicholson’s caretaker to set him off along the same lines?
“What do you have in mind?” I acted completely oblivious.
“When I caught my nephew Ezekial masturbating to a shameful national geographic magazine that had a pictorial of an African tribe where the women cavort topless with the hair of the dog,” She said matter of factly and without hesitation.
I had only heard of hair of the dog as a cure for a hangover. I shrugged –now I was really oblivious.
“It is an old mountain expression that has been passed down for generations, it means that the bite of a dog can be cured by its fur,” she could see I was still perplexed so she added “The solution to a problem is sometimes more of the problem.”
I nodded now that I was starting to understand.
“I made him stand there and masturbate in front of me to that magazine every day for three weeks,” She said with a stern and crusty upper lip and an unflappable stubborn expression.
“Did that work?” I was waiting for her to tell me the outcome of her solution.
“Work to do what exactly?” It was Mrs. Waxerman who was oblivious now.
“Cure him of masturbating?” I said as if that should have been inferred from my question.
“No, he is a horny little devil who masturbates whenever he can. I suspect he is the one who has been masturbating into my shoes for weeks but I’ve not been able to catch him in the act!” She said surprisingly without the least bit of shame to reveal her family dirt to me.
I suppose she felt she could because she had so much more on me and my family than I ever would on her or perhaps she had some kinship to me now that she knew so much about us – or thought she did.
“So then why punish him if you can’t change him?” I was confused as to what she expected.
“I punish him because it is my role to punish him. I cannot allow him to flaunt his indecency in front of me. There are few acceptable reasons to masturbate and his own perverted pleasure is not one of them!” she was getting flustered which was fun to watch.
“What is one of the acceptable reasons?” I was just curious since I had thought about rubbing one out when I was back at the house even though I could plug my wife or daughter any time I wanted – masturbating is fun, why is it wrong?
“Genesis 38:9 tells us ‘But Onan knew that the child would not be his; so whenever he slept with his brother’s wife, he spilled his semen on the ground to keep from providing offspring for his brother.’ There are times when the seed can be spilled but such as Ezekial was doing like a horny little puppy, I cannot abide. The chastisement I offer will correct him, but not change the lustful desires burning in a young man’s loins.”
“Could he have been worked up because of my daughter and wife’s cavorting around?” I offered.
“That may well be, but I should not show mercy when I catch one of my own committing such a shameful act, and I would expect that no matter the circumstances, you should not turn a blind eye to the filthy acts of your wife and daughter. You must be strong – for the sake of all.”
I was wrong earlier when I said I would not take any of this crazy old ladies advice. After I managed to make enough of an excuse to leave and drive away I could not help but think about the very last thing she said “You must be strong – for the sake of all”
I really couldn’t think of any reason that as the man of the house – I should be anything else. I was not where I needed to be – I started to head to back to the poor side of town where Chris and the girls were.
It occurred to me that I had left some of the bondage stuff back at the house but I would get it tomorrow when we were supposed to meet up with Vicky to let her make an offer on the stuff at the house. There were some whips, crops, paddles and cuffs that I was going to keep even if Vicky turned out to be a real kinky bitch herself and want them.
I had a feeling that I was going to need them because when I got back to the motel I was going to be re-energized and ready to lay down the law. I was already thinking about new rules and expectations of the girls and honestly about those sweet pink pussies of theirs spread out before me –wet and glistening with their juices open wide for just me.
I pulled into Home Depot. I had a little money in my pocket and I was going to grab some ‘fuct tape’ as I called it. You could get a lot of good bondage ideas just walking up and down the aisles and looking at all the rope ties and electrical clips.
I didn’t waste a lot of time – I went straight to the fuct tape and was heading back to my truck when I noticed another truck dropping off a bunch of day laborers. The white guy who drove the truck looked a lot like me – sunglasses and a scruffy beard. He was handing them cash money for the work they did that day.
I wasn’t sure how I was going to approach them – but I decided honesty was the best policy. After the other truck pulled off I hollered at them to come over. They probably thought I had another job for them and the way some of them moved I could tell they had worked hard and were exhausted.
“Hey guys, you want to fuck my wife and daughter?” I could see they didn’t believe me so I produced my cell phone and showed them a picture I had taken of the two of them making out on the floor one morning when I made them shave each other.
One of the guys who spoke English and seemed to be the leader asked me how much without even asking if the other guys wanted in on this.
I didn’t want to do the math in my head for individual so I gave them a group rate “Five hundred for all of you,”
“That’s too much senor, sorry” He shook his head and they started to evaporate in different directions.
“Wait, you they’ll suck your dicks good, you can fuck them up the ass too!” I found myself not being embarrassed
yelling this in the parking lot of the Home Depot – it wasn’t my asshole on the line anyway.
The leader said a few words to the other guys and they piled into my truck without another question.
Now I would love to tell you all about the first class fucking that took place when I showed up at the motel. In truth, I didn’t spend a lot of time watching my wife and daughter fuck these Mexicans. I did go in towards the end and snap a few pictures of them to show future customers and to have for masturbating when I am feeling like Ezekial Waxerman, lol.
I just sat outside on the steps with Chris and we watched the sun start to set as the streets began to empty of industrial traffic and neon lights start to slowly flicker to life. We’d let in one guy as another guy left and my girls would fuck all seventeen of these guys and then some.
I saw two black boys and a girl flit around the motel like they were completely oblivious that the women who lived here were whores. The girl wore a pink nightshirt that was as dark as her skin was – seemed see-thru but I didn’t even look at her. She had a way of making you feel weird if you stared at her.
“Could you imagine growing up here?” I asked Chris.
“Yeah, the boys grow up to be pimps or pushers and the girls grow up to be hustlers or whores.” He sat back against the cabin and sighed. It was hard to picture those kids who were no older than the Waxerman brothers choosing to be pimps but I suppose in a few years that would seem pretty normal to them.
“You know I appreciate you staying and keeping an eye on the girls,” I told Chris.
“I know,” Chris said with a wink.
I think one of the reasons him and I didn’t connect as much before all this began was that I am afraid to talk about my feelings. I grew up in a generation that just didn’t do that and a hearty handshake was about all you could expect from your old man.
I wasn’t going to continue that tradition anymore.
“Listen, I won’t disappear like that on you again, Son.” I promised him sincerely.
“I know,” Chris gave me another wink and a look that said he was satisfied I wouldn’t.
“I love you Son,” I told him and I could feel my throat crack up just a little bit at how awkward that had sounded but how necessary it had been. I hadn’t said that in a long time – if ever that I could remember.
“You still can’t have my Bud Light, Dad” Chris joked.
“Hey, I meant a Butt Light!” I added a little levity quoting a line from an old skit back when that commercial used to be popular.
“I love you too, Dad” Chris said after a long silence.
“I know,” I winked at him with that same cocky smile he had on his face.