Chapter 17

I had seen the girls lick each other’s asses before, but never after one of them took a fresh poo. Hope’s ass looked clean but wet. Jen was completely at ease with eating her sister’s ass, and she even licked Hope’s bright pink pussy lips. My stomach turned with discomfort.

Hope didn’t have an orgasmic reaction. She simply waited on all fours for her older sister to finish licking her as if she was cleaning her up. I got the impression Jen enjoyed the activity much more than Hope did. Even though it was puzzling, watching Jen lick her sister’s ass was intensely arousing.

I know it sounds paradoxical to be nauseated and aroused, but I had the weirdest boner, and yet I was extremely uncomfortable.

“Still want to walk my sister after that?” Jen asked when she finished while wiping her mouth with her finger. She drank a Monster Energy drink to get the taste out of her mouth. I didn’t understand why Jen did it if she didn’t enjoy the taste.

Hope stood up and started acting like a person while getting dressed. “I am not autistic,” she said without prompting. I felt like Hope assumed that I thought she was. She had told me that a few days earlier, and I believed her.

“I just like pretending to be an animal because people suck, “she pouted. “I wouldn’t ask you to be my toilet paper, Hunter-Sama,” she pouted.

“Why do you ask me to do it then?” Jen asked.

“Because you are so good at it, Rat-Face!!” Hope tweaked her big sister’s slightly turned-up nose playfully.

The girls were dressed when their mother returned. She seemed happier than before. She set a hundred dollars down in front of Misty. “This is for tomorrow while you are IT. If you need to buy any supplies tonight or tomorrow. Okay, Misty?”

“Okay, Patty,” Misty said.

“Hey, that’s not until tomorrow morning.” Patty snickered playfully. Misty tickled her a little, and Patty tickled back. Then my Aunt noticed me and stopped playing. She addressed me. “I am not mad. I am disappointed in you. I didn’t ask for you to come with us to be a helper. I invented the role so you could participate because you seemed intent on doing that anyway. You immediately went and did what you wanted. I could have forgiven that. You are a guy, and you can’t help yourselves sometimes. It may have proven my point on why we don’t allow outsiders to play,” she explained.

“Then you went and texted your mother.”

“I don’t think he did,” Jen said. She repeated all the things that Misty said about me but never once gave Misty credit for the observations. Then she told her EVERYTHING we did while Patty was out, including the part about walking her little sister. “Misty even suggested you’d have to simp after him all day and beg to spend time with him.”

“Well, that is a pretty wicked punishment,” she admitted before adding, “I am not sure for who though? Me for having to be his little Toady do-bitch, or him because he has to hang out with me.”

My Aunt seemed more inclined to trust me but not fully on board with it. She showed me my mother’s texts while we were in the Uber on the way to Los Antojitos Mexican Restaurant off of Beck Avenue in Panama City. We had to cross the big bridge into the city from the beach across from Saint Andrew’s Bay.

It started with a few accusations in the text between my Mother and Aunt. Patty read out the texts so we could hear the exchange.

Ann: WTF? PATTY?

Patty: New Phone, who dis’?

Ann: REAL FUNNY, where is Hunter?

Patty: If he was up your ass, you’d know it.

Ann: I am not joking. He sent me this picture (the two girls) and said he was out walking by himself.

Patty: Why?

Ann: I asked him where he was and what he was doing. He said you told him he can go wherever he wants!

Patty: He’s a teenager, Ann. He can handle walking down a street by himself. I am sure he looks both ways. Do you need me to wipe his ass for him too?

Ann: I trusted you. I have no idea what kind of game you are playing there, but the games stop now.

That was the last text that my Mom sent. I could see after mention of a “game” that did not bode well. I assured my Aunt that I had never said anything about the game. The Uber driver was clearly eavesdropping when my Aunt read out the texts to us. My Aunt spread her legs wide and showed him that she wasn’t wearing panties. “I’ll trade you. Stop listening, and I’ll let you look.”

He stopped doing both when my Aunt confronted him and paid attention to the road. My Aunt left her legs spread anyway.

“Hunter, I’ve been lied to by the best. I’ve given the benefit of the doubt to people time and again, and they’ve double-crossed me. I want to believe you, but I have no way to be sure. Now, if you want to come clean that you were angry with me for yelling at you and you wanted to get even with me, then I’ll forget about it, and we can start fresh, but We don’t need you to come with us when we play the game. We can do that all on our own just fine.”

It was a painful accusation because I could understand her point. They didn’t need me. I did enjoy the game, but I had to accept that it was over (for me). I regretted how it all went down. I had put on suntan lotion today, and my sunburn felt a lot better.

That night the girls joked, laughed, and ate Mexican food. Misty farted a lot at the table, and I was the only one she asked if I minded. I never said she couldn’t and saw the joking as just light-hearted banter. The girls also frequently joked about handsome waiters or patrons and even a few attractive waitresses they wanted to have random sex with. Misty was the only one who called me Sir and Hunter-Sama, but that was because she wanted to do it and not because anyone was making her say it.

“Misty, stop teasing your cousin. It’s going to be a lot easier on the RV if you drop the Hunter-sama and Sir stuff,” Peggy insisted.

“Why? I like calling him Sir,” Misty replied with a little chagrin on her face about having done it several times already. “You are the one that told me I had to call him Prince or Sir and respect him.”

“That was during the game, and Hunter-sama, or whatever you call him, is not playing the game any longer. End of story. We tried it. Four is fun; five is too many.”

Jen was fine with dropping Hunter-Sama, and she had only ever called me Sir a few times, as required during today’s game. Hope had stopped referring to me as Sir, but occasionally, she also called me Hunter-sama. It was very infrequent. Her Mom gave Hope a little more slack to say strange things than she did the other girls. Hope frequently spoke like an AI powered by a cat brain or a half-dog/half-human, and the girls would usually just play along.

“Mommy, you said that protocol is silly anyway, and you never required us to call him Sir or Hunter-sama, right?”

“Right, it was never required, so I do not see why you are doing it,”

“So, it wasn’t ever part of the game,” Hope said.

“Yeah, during the game, you HAD to address him that way.”

“So, if the protocol doesn’t mean anything, and we aren’t playing the game, and he doesn’t mind, can we say it?”

“Fuck, I need a cigarette,” Patty didn’t answer yes. She got up and went outside to have a smoke. When she returned, she decided that would be fine, but she didn’t dwell on it.

After dinner, we ended up at Coconut Creek Family Fun Park off of Front Beach Road. It was open late. It featured two 18-hole mini-golf courses & a football-field-sized maze. “This place has more holes than we do!” she joked as we got out of the Uber.

Patty paid for an Annual pass. The price to play all day was 26 bucks a person. It was just 58 to play all year. Even if we came back three times, it was worth it. The fact that it was so inexpensive was also the reason it was fairly busy.

People were having fun banking trick shots and competing in mini-golf. Some people were in a hurry to play through us, and others were slow-poking. A few of them were pretty drunk (which is fairly common in public at Panama Beach). The maze was loaded with people running around, kids were yelling and having a great time.

I’d love to tell you a grueling story about humiliation. With the exception of Misty spreading her legs at the 18th Hole and telling us to “Hit our balls in,” it was an entirely wholesome and light-hearted romp that night.

My Aunt let down her guard with me a little. She laughed and joked with me, but she didn’t include me in any of the naughty inside jokes that had to do with the game. I was treated as more of a guest and not “one of the family.”

Hope and Misty called me Sir several times openly, though, and that turned me on.

On the way back to the Winnie, the girls started to goof on one another about tomorrow’s game. Patty joked that the last time Misty was in charge, it wasn’t very fun.

“I saw Nuns ride dicks with more enthusiasm; if you didn’t have fun, it wasn’t MY fault,” Misty teased. The other girls laughed about some wild gang bang scenario where they got railed by total strangers before they left Alabama.

“Misty is IT tomorrow, guys! So, get your sleep tonight so that you don’t get so bored that you fall asleep tomorrow!!” Patty teased the girls. She left me out of the jokes and giggles they shared.

“I might just take you back to Coconut Creek and see how you play Putt-Putt, with that Golf Club in your Butt-Butt,” Misty pinched her mother’s cheek and called her Patty. “Patty want to play? Patty wants to play?” she pinched her mother’s nipples repeatedly as she teased her into playing.

“That’s fine, get warmed up, or is this you at your best, MA’AM?” her mother goaded her. “Remember, you have FIVE hours to fill tomorrow.”

“That’s so not fair, and the punishment is because I used Hunter’s first name, and now you are saying I should ONLY do that?”

“When did I claim to be fair, Misty Grace?”

“I do not know. Maybe I won’t play fair, Patricia May!”

“Don’t you dare do that one,” Patty smiled and grew deeply uncomfortable. That was the name her parents called her as a teenager when she was really naughty. “That makes me regret telling you the one name that makes me pucker my asshole every time I hear it,” she admitted.

The Uber driver laughed. He was a balding Armenian man. He looked in the back seat.

“Oh, look at that, Sweet Cone Alabama,” Misty pointed out there was an Ice Cream Parlor named after their home state. We had seen it a few times. It was near our RV campground right after you got off the bridge.

“How about you make a special stop for me,” Misty pulled out a twenty-dollar bill.

“We aren’t starting early,” Patty insisted.

“Yes, we are Patricia May,” Misty was curt and demanding.

“Oh, you fuck,” Patty smiled with a look of chagrin as she accepted her fate. She ignored the fact that I was in the car. The Uber pulled over.

“Pull your tits out and show this nice man your boobs, Patricia May!”

My Aunt genuinely looked embarrassed as she made up a lie that she had lost a bet and had to obey her daughter’s commands.

“No, we are going to play the way we played today. Where are you from, Sir?”

“Armenia,” he said as he looked in the back while Patty revealed her tips to him and blushed. I could tell that she was associating the old name with her racist past.

“Oh, Armenia? Is that in Africa?” Misty asked sweetly.

“No, Africa is very far away,” he admired Patty’s tits. “Georgia and Azerbaijan on the north, Iran and Turkey to the south.”

“Oh, so you are like an Arab?” Misty was admittedly bad at geography.

“No, no, that’s Saudi Arabia,” he laughed and looked.

“Patricia, why don’t you give this nice gentleman from the middle east a tip?”

“You’ve already given him a twenty, Ma’am.”

“The tip of your tongue,” Misty clarified.

“Yeah, Patricia May,” Jen and Hope joined in and goaded their mother to obey.

My Aunt looked at me briefly with a bit of anger on her face and then placed her hands over her boobs and slid into the front seat, sticking her ass into the front. I was shocked that my Aunt would go along with it.

Without asking, Patty unzipped the man, took his cock out and began to suck.

“Okay, this is good; I give you my number; you call me anytime,” the gentleman introduced himself as Bob. I had a feeling his name was something else MUCH longer and harder to pronounce. You should have seen the look on Patty’s face when she heard her ex-husband’s name mentioned. She looked up from his cock while lovingly deep-throating his fat chubby cock. The look on her face was, “Fuck you for making me do this,” but she had chosen to obey her daughter.

“You see that Patricia May, Bob the Arab is so happy you are bobbing his knob that he’s willing to drive you anywhere. Tell him how much you like Arabian cock.”

Bob tried to reiterate that he was actually Armenian, but when Patty said, “I love Arabian cock, Sir,” while letting some of his pre-crum drip off of her tongue. He was hooked. She pushed her tits around his cock and began fucking between her tits with his cock. The tip of his dick kept hitting her chin, and she kissed the tip whenever it came close enough to her face.

“This is very irregular; you all watch your mother do this?” he smiled at us.

“Patricia May fucks anyone except for white boys, and she agreed to do whatever I tell her, didn’t you Cunt-face?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Patty groaned. I could tell her reluctance was due entirely to me. I was surprised she’d play at all. I think calling her by her full and complete first and middle name goaded her or tempted her to play despite my presence, much the way she had when the girls teased her by the roadside on the first day of our trip.

“Why?”

“Because I enjoy being a good whore, Ma’am,” Patty said as she kissed the tip of the head of his cock.

“This is very good,” Bob wasn’t sure what to make of his luck. He said that in Armenia, many women make a living this way by selling their bodies. It is legal but not to pimp.”

“No charge for you, Sir,” Misty teased him with a giggle in her voice.

“Where I am from in Yerevan, Many women teach their daughters to do this as well.”

“Oh yes, my sisters would love to play with you, tops down sluts!” Misty insisted that Hope and Jen pop their tops. Jen’s perfect tits still had the writing from earlier on it.

“Ask me to shake the milkshake?” Bob had a hard time reading the words after they were smudged from sweating and wearing clothes.

“Go on, shake your milkshake, rat-face bitch,” Misty instructed Jen to shake her tits.

Jen obeyed by jiggling her tits back and forth. They were incredibly firm, but like a ripe fruit, they did move a little when her body did. “Are we starting early, Princess?”

Jen was more than a little reluctant. It seemed she was uncomfortable either playing this game late at night or with me in the car.

“It’s midnight, and it’s my day to be IT, don’t question me whore!” Misty smacked Jen across the face with the back of her hand. Jen’s head went backward with the force of the blow, and it obviously smarted.

Jen held her chin and smiled with respect. That was a powerful sting to her ego. Jen fell in line and dropped her reluctance to obey her sister after that.

“Get out of the car, whore! I want ice cream!” Misty turned her attention to her simpering mother.

“But I think the store is closed, Princess Misty!”

“Do what you are told! Patricia May!”

“Damnit, let’s start after we drop off Hunter-sama, Ma’am? Please?” my Aunt begged politely.

Misty’s response was abrupt and brutal. She thrust her arms over the seat, grabbed her mother by the hair, and yanked her up off of Bob’s cock. She placed one hand around her mother’s neck and squeezed and used the other to yank her over the seat while slapping her face. Patty didn’t struggle, as her daughter treated her like a ragdoll.

Bob was stunned. All he could do was watch as the woman that was lovingly playing with his cock and sucking it got violently pulled into the backseat by her daughter. Patty flopped into the seat and landed on us.

“When I tell you to do something, I do not expect an argument! Are you my bitch tonight, Patty-cake?”

More groans emanated from her mother, bordering on masochistic pleasure. She answered meekly yes.

“Open the door, Jen!” Misty demanded. When Jen opened the door, Misty threw her mother out on the pavement. Patty’s knees got scraped, and she might have scratched her elbow. She looked thoroughly defeated.

Misty held up her mother’s phone. “No, uber, I have an assignment for you! Do it, and I’ll let you lick my thick, dark, hairy asshole. Would you like that Patty cake?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” her mother pouted like she was hoping for that reward but was about to cry.

“Do you mind being my helper?” she turned to me. When I explained that her mother didn’t want me to do that, she told me she didn’t care. “I need help with Patty Cakes. I can’t watch all of these bitches, and I have a secret mission for her. You don’t have to tell her what to do; you can’t punish her,” she launched me out of the car much more gently than her mother.