Chapter 2

“Any man who was walking past can take the Q-tip out, but why would they?” my Uncle teased me for my painful predicament.

“Daddy says that random strangers aren’t allowed to reach into my cunt when I am doing clit stretching on the lawn,” I explained calmly to my uncle. I was starting to hyperventilate a little because I was so nervous, and my eyes were watering up from the pain.

“You would stop a man from reaching into your soggy cunt to remove the Q-tip? God-damn sweetheart. You are dumber than your mother, aren’t you?”

“Yes, probably,” I admitted and looked down at my feet.

“Now this one here, What’s your name, sweetheart?” he admired my sister’s body and sniffed her hair.

“I am Sierra, Uncle Joe,” my sister was pleased for any attention. I was certain she hated that my Uncle ignored her. She always did, and that made her want his attention even more.

“I pity you, Sierra. You were born ugly, and you have to look at your spitting image every day and be reminded of it.”

“Aren’t I a little pretty?”

“A little pretty and a lot stupid, Sierra. Do you do any tricks?”

“Tricks?”

“Yeah, can you pop a ball out of your pussy, or blow a dandelion with your stink-box?”

“Is that possible?” my sister scrunched her nose in disgust and amusement.

My Uncle plucked a white plumed dandelion growing wild in our yard. “You girls need to mow the lawn. Look at all of these weeds,” he lamented his disgust at how lazy we were. We’d been outside all day on Saturday, though, and we hadn’t had a chance to do lawn work or our housework.

“Hold your stink box open wide for Uncle Joe,” he instructed. My sister was only too happy to oblige. She removed her hands from behind her head and pulled her ass cheeks apart as she could. “Make a wish and blow,” he said as he held the Dandelion a few inches from my sister’s anus.

“Really?”

“Yep!”

Frippppppppppppppttttttttttttt

The tiny white seeds on the Dandelion flew away on the farty breeze that my sister had just made like carefree wisps, unaware of how they were birthed into this world by the passed flatulence of a silly girl.

“Was that a queef or a fart?”

“A fart?” my sister was befuddled by the question and the distinction. It was after all, just warm air from one of our fuck holes.

“I didn’t want to smell your stinky shit, Dum-Dum. Always queef. Do it again.”

“I don’t know how!”

“Your mom hasn’t taught you to queef on command?”

“No sir,” Sierra pouted with a worried on her face. My mom had taught us, but my sister forgot, or she was lying again. She did a lot of both. I sometimes had to pretend to be stupid to avoid getting in trouble, but my sister didn’t have to pretend at all.

She wasn’t the dumbest girl on the block. In a way, I envied her because she never questioned our fate and why things had to be this way. She always took her punishments with a smile, accepted the decisions of the men without question, and appreciated what we were given. I felt like there was something wrong with me – a mutation that I had to hide from the world that was worse than my little clit.

I don’t want to sound like I have an ego, but I was almost as smart as the average boy. I am not just making that up. I was tested when I was young, and when I realized that I scored too high, my mom told me to fudge some of the answers so that it would seem like an accident. Girls who score too high are usually taken away from their families and never seen again.

Schools are co-ed, but many of the courses that are specifically for girls are about keeping the home, proper chores, maternity and breeding, and how to please men. Boys get mathematics, history, science, and all of the fun stuff.

I’ve got a math book that I stole from my brother. If it was ever found, I don’t know what would happen. I love to read it. It’s several years below my grade, but it’s so advanced. I knew addition and subtraction and how money works, but this book has division and multiplication. I’ve memorized the times tables!

When I am feeling a lot of pain, or I am about to have an orgasm, or both, I start calculating numbers in my head, and it usually helps block it out. It wasn’t working today. I was moaning and trying to stop my body from shaking. My Uncle hadn’t told me that I could remove my hands from my cunt flaps, so I had to keep them open while the chain on my nipples and clit bit into my skin and stretched them out.

Joe and Charlie ignored me, of course, but a few people out walking noticed. A boy at school that I liked saw me and waved as he rode past. I wanted to wave back, but I didn’t dare say anything or remove my hands.

“Now, Sierra. It is Sierra, right? Do you even remember?” Uncle Joe loved talking down to my sister like she was a total simpleton. I think it amused Sierra. She’d always laugh out loud when he called her a “Turnip.”

“I want you to keep your gas chamber open and spread like you have it until a man comes along and tells you to take your hands off.”

“Yes, Okay, Uncle Joe!”

“Oh, I am so glad you agreed with me and didn’t say no; that would have just been heartbreaking,” he teased her like she had a choice in the matter anyway. “Now, the next time your stupid sister passes gas in front of you, I want you to tell her to do this. Okay, Charlie? It will help her air out her stinky gutty guts and teach her a valuable lesson about farting around men.”

I wanted to yell at them that it was HIM who told her to do it in the first place. There was no way Sierra would have thought to queef. I wished she would stand up for herself, and explain how it happened, but it would probably make things worse. Guys call it “Cunterupting” when we try to do that.

“I used to make your Mom stand like this for hours after she let out a stink blast,” Joe said that all of his daughters and his wife soon learned to fart in the other room away from him. “I carry around Q-tips with me, and I seldom get to use them,” Uncle Joe said as if he were passing on ancient wisdom to my brother.

He had my brother’s complete attention.

“Get yourself a little bottle of hot sauce. You can put it on your food when you go out to eat, and you can dip the Q-tip like this,” he said. “Then get yourself a little Super Glue, and just dab a little bit around the end and on the side. Not too much! Just enough to hold it in place. Just like this,” he demonstrated. I couldn’t watch because I had to look straight ahead (but I got the general idea).

“Now, Sweetheart, do you know what we are going to do with this Q-tip?”

“No, Uncle Joe?”

“Bless your little brainless head. You are truly life support for two tits, a cunt and an asshole, aren’t you?”

“I think so? I have all of those parts, Uncle Joe. What are you going to do with that Q-tip?”

“This goes in your stink hole. It’s going to block your toots, so we don’t have to smell your stink anymore.”

“Oh? Okay,” my sister shrugged, looked straight ahead with dull eyes, and smiled while holding her butt cheeks as wide apart as she could. When he inserted it, she screamed for a full thirty seconds until her voice cracked, and she cried a little.

“Oh, you get used to it. The hot sauce sting goes away in a few seconds. Do you feel it now?” he asked her in a patronizing way, like he was talking to a small child.

“A little,” she pouted as tears watered in her eyes.

“Okay, good. Well, you keep ahold of your best features, and later when you are allowed back in the house, you can ask your mom how to get that out, okay, sweetheart?”

“What are my best features?” Sierra was already over the pain and smiling through the tears as she anticipated a compliment.

“Your ass, Honey. Your big, sweaty ass.”

“Thank you, Uncle Joe!”

“Do I have to wait until they pass gas, Uncle Joe?” he asked.

“You should. If you start doing it randomly, then it won’t mean anything. Girls are stupid, and they need constant reminders of who is the boss, but they also need stimulation. If they do something good – which they rarely do, then they get to pleasure a man. If they do something shitty, which they always do, then they get treated shitty. Now, in this case, your sister, who is dumber than Christmas in July, farted in front of us. So, we glued her fart box shut and gave her a little dose of pain to remind her not to do that. If you do that every time, she rudely annoys you with flatulence, then she’ll eventually learn not to do it...”

“Is there Christmas in July?” my sister asked excitedly. It was getting close to July.

“Oh, that’s funny. Do you know your months, Sweetheart?”

“Yes, there is July, June, July, and December, right?”

“Sure,” Joe said.

I didn’t think that was right. There was at least ten months. I didn’t have access to a calendar. I just knew it was warm outside, so it must not be Winter. I wasn’t going to question it.

“What happens if she never learns?”

“Then you get to have fun teaching her, and you’ll eventually have to do something more drastic. Considering your age, technically, you aren’t old enough to punish a grown woman like your mom, but I don’t see any harm in Q-tipping your sisters when they misbehave.”

I dreaded this new authority my brother was going to have. I didn’t know what a “Catheter” was, but it definitely stung. The cotton swab in my pussy still hurt, and I was very much aware of its presence, but I was getting used to it. It felt almost like a sliver of a piece of glass might feel inside me.

I asked permission from My Uncle to ask a question. He sighed and gave it to me but said it had better not be a dumb question. “There are NO dumb questions, except the ones women always ask,” he shrugged and said that I could go ahead.

“I understand that it’s rude to fart around a man,” I began. I felt like I was already on thin ice for asking this question, but I was genuinely curious about the logic here. It was too late to withdraw the question, so I asked, “What lesson is Q-tipping my pee hole when I didn’t do anything wrong teaching me?”

“Hmmm, we have a scholar here, Charlie,” my Uncle insinuated. I was smart, and that meant he was not happy. I began to twitch a little. “You were just demonstrating to your brother what he can do if you piss him off. Do you have a problem with helping to educate your brother?”

“No, Sir!”

“Do you think that you should be allowed to piss your brother off without any consequences?”

“Of course not, Sir!”

“Do you think you ever pissed him off?”

“I am sure, yes, Sir.”

“Do you like the Q-tip catheter? Is it warming you up and making your little stinky-pinky feeling tingly-wing?”

“No, I don’t like it.”

“Then, are you going to avoid pissing off your brother in the future?”

“Yes, I always try!”

“You think you might try harder?”

“Yes!”

“You see Charlie? When you have a wife or daughters, you’ll need to teach them these same lessons, like my Father taught me and his father taught him. You can’t feel sorry for them. Do you see her big puppy-like eyes?”

My uncle cradled my face and held my eyes open wide. I was afraid he might put hot sauce in them.

“Open your mouth for Uncle Joe,” he instructed. I did as he said. “Wider ... wider ... wide like your soggy cunt...”

I was afraid he’d Q-tip my throat and gag me. He looked into my mouth. “You see? Girls love to just open their mouths and let all the hot air out. Okay, Sweetheart. Stay just like you are, and I am someone who will be by to tell you what to do next. Come on, Charlie, let’s go see your Mom!”

They laughed as they left us holding our body parts wide and exposed.

“Do you think this glue is going to permanently block off my asshole?” she asked.

I couldn’t close my mouth, so I could only mumble and drool. My sister complained that I was not making sense.

We stood like that for what felt like forever. My legs were shaking and the sun was beating down and making both of us sweat buckets. Holding the position with my flaps and mouth open wide was agonizing not only physically but so embarrassing.

Gnats and an occasional fly were buzzing around my lips and my pussy, because of the moisture. I couldn’t close my mouth so sometimes I’d even end up swallowing them. My sister seemed to be stoically enduring it all and even giggling softly sometimes as if she thought of something funny that amused her.

I felt like the day couldn’t come to an end soon enough. My tummy was rumbling from not eating lunch and I had to go to the bathroom but there was no way to do that in this position. If I left my post outside I would definitely be punished. It just seemed to get worse and worse that afternoon.

I longed to hide in the bathroom, have a nice long pee with the Q-tip out, and read my math book. I’ve solved every math problem in the book dozens of times over, but it’s still fun trying to see how fast I can remember the answer from the last time I solved it.

A girl from school that I don’t get along with named Angela Duke came riding by on her bike. She stopped and smiled at us. Boys can be cruel, but girls can too. She seemed amused by our predicament. She was wearing regular street clothes, a pair of jeans and a tank top with sneakers.

“Clit pulling time, huh?”

We didn’t have to answer her. My sister did anyway. “Yes,” she said.

“Why do you have to bend over and hold your butt.

“I farted in front of my Uncle and Brother, and they are teaching me a lesson,” she admitted like it was not that big of a deal.