Chapter 29

“What do you want to request, Jim?” I asked my husband. It was late, and I wanted a shower. I took a sip of water that I brought down on the floor while watching TV in the breeding position.

“Julie could get about half an unpeeled banana in her tailpipe today. I bet you could get a whole one in your stinker?”

Jim’s face when he made the request was like that of a precocious child who had just said a dirty word in a room full of adults to see their reaction. He smiled impishly, and I couldn’t be sure if he was serious or not. It felt more like a dare than a request.

My skin crawled when Jim referred to my asshole as a ‘stinker’ because I did feel kind of stinky after that long run with the butt plug.

“What makes you say that?” I asked.

“We’ve been sitting behind you since you took your butt plug out and admiring the big gap,” he admitted. My sons faced turned red with embarrassment. I guessed that my butthole must have been pretty wide. I blushed as well. I wasn’t angry with them for looking, though. One of the primary goals of the Program was to see how the body reacts to different stimuli.

I reached behind me and ran my finger around my sore asshole. I could feel my gape. It wasn’t huge, but it wasn’t fully closed. I was mortified, and my ears turned red with humiliation.

“Go get a Banana, don’t peel it, return here and suck and lick it until I tell you to do anything else,” Julie instructed once she decided for me that I’d be obeying this request. It made it easier for me to have someone else make that decision. I felt less naughty about doing it.

I got up off the ground and bounded into the kitchen. The guys said they would miss the view. I came back slurping and licking on the outside of a Banana.

“Let me see it?” Julie asked me to hand it to her, and she sniffed it and handed it back. “No, it’s not the one I used.”

“You put the banana you had up your ass back with the others?” Reese’s face twisted into disgusted disbelief.

“Yeah, it’s like Banana Roulette; which one of you is going to get the brown banana?” Julie giggled. Potty humor about farting and poop jokes was fairly common around our house, but this one was a little extreme. “Relax, unless you eat the banana peel, you aren’t going to even taste it,” she assured them.

The guys snarled in disgust and groaned anyway.

“I am just joking. The banana got crushed when it was inside me. I peeled it, and ate the mushy bits later. I was kidding. Lighten up,” Julie assured the guys. Reese promised he wouldn’t touch the bananas just to be on the safe side. I noticed Dewey didn’t seem all that concerned about it and even smirked.

My daughter told me to suck both ends of the unpeeled banana until they were wet. Then she guided the banana into my butt while I held myself open so everyone could watch it get inserted. This was being done for their education, but mostly for their amusement. Their tittering giggles told me that.

“The tip is kind of sharp. Just sort of relax your sphincter, and then bloooop, like that,” Julie said as she pushed the banana in as far as it would go.

I felt so full when the banana entered me. It was so intensely humiliating, but yet after all the things I had done around the house, it started to feel kind of normal to do things like this on request. I couldn’t quite explain it.

“I said I want to see it to the tip,” Jim reiterated his request that Julie fuck it a little deeper into my ass. I was holding my ass cheeks apart and relaxing my butt hole as much as I could to accommodate it.

“I don’t think it will fit, Dad. It’s not reasonable if it’s physically impossible.”

“Where there is a will, there is a way, I’ll just go out and get some WD-40, squirt, squirt, and it’ll go right in,” Jim joked while leaning forward and trying to push the banana up my butt. I could feel deep in my bowels, and when he pushed on it, I could at least imagine the sensation of the tip of the banana hitting the bottom of my lower intestine or stomach.

“Well damn, with as big as your momma’s butt is, I thought for sure it would go all the way in,” Jim was disappointed I could only take the fruit about three-fourths of the way up my ass.

“It’s a myth that butt cheeks have anything to do with storing a dildo,” Julie explained.

Reese joked that her “chipmunk cheeks could hold a lot of nuts,” referring to my daughter’s puffy cheeks on her face. She ignored his joke and continued her lecture.

“Brittany’s hole was round because it’s been trained recently, but that doesn’t mean something will go in long ways and fit. It means something much wider could go in more readily. With enough training, I could take something even longer than she could, even though I have smaller butt cheeks and a tighter asshole.”

I blushed and looked straight ahead at the TV. I was never so interested in a TV Commercial than while my family discussed the dilation of my asshole.

“I bet your Mom could inflate that Party Horn,” Jim joked.

“Just because Brittany has a bigger ass doesn’t mean she breaks more wind than someone with a smaller ass. Here I’ll demonstrate,” Julie removed the banana from my ass in a single motion and had me handle it. It had a tiny smudge of brown on it. I was so embarrassed! No one said anything about it, though.

“Watch,” Julie removed the Party Horn tip from her ass, gave it a quick lick, and stuck it in my butt. “Did you just lick that after it’s been in your OWN ass?” Jim was stunned by how casually Julie licked the part of the horn that had been up her ass.

“Yeah,” Julie seemed non-plussed. “Reese and Dewey gave me a request yesterday to suck my thumb after I gave Brittany double fudge. What’s the big deal? It’s not yucky, I keep my butt clean and wipe. Don’t you?” Julie pinched the party favor in my ass and said she’d pluck it out and let them have a taste by licking the tip to see for themselves.

I scrunched my nose in disgust.

“What do you think oral sex is? It’s putting your mouth on places that we go pee and poop out of. If you really want to learn what it tastes like then ask, but don’t act like my butt has cooties on it,” Julie added.

Even Dewey refused her offer. He seemed obsessed with butts to me. I suspected he might have gone for it since he wanted to sniff me the other day.

“Rip a Fart, Brittany,” Julie turned her attention to my butt and gave me a small slap on my butt cheek.

“I can’t, Ma’am,” I grunted. I was too embarrassed to do that in front of my family.

I didn’t have to do it once Reese and his father started squirming and pretending they had to get behind blast doors to protect themselves.

“When you guys are ready to have a serious conversation, let me know,” Julie removed the party horn and told me to wash it and the banana. I eagerly ran to the kitchen while hiding my dirty banana from the rest of the family.

“A serious conversation about farts? Do you even hear yourself?” Reese goofed on his sister.

“Look, flatulence is part of reality. We ALL do it, just like we ALL masturbate. Your reaction to run and hide while giggling like little boys is the reason that I would prefer to educate you and normalize it. I don’t want to smell it, but if you want an actual lesson on girl farts then just ask me. It’s no different than sneezing or burping. If someone sneezes, you say god-bless you, and no one minds as long as it’s not ON them. Why must you make such a big deal because the air came out of a different hole?”

That was actually a valid point. I listened in the kitchen. My daughter was much more mature than her brothers.

“Because sneezes don’t stink,” Jim answered for his son. When I returned to the living room, Julie told me to squat and eat the banana.

We watched TV as a family for a little while, and the others started going to bed one by one. Eventually, when I was done, my daughter allowed me to peel the banana and suck it like a cock while eating, showering, shaving, finishing my Portal work, and joining her at the foot of her bed.

SUNDAY: AUGUST 25, 2047

We had begun to follow a routine by Sunday. The reasonable requests continued to be a big part of our day, but they were less frequent than the first day. The guys couldn’t frequently think of new ones. I chalked it up to playing with your toy on Christmas morning and then losing interest after the new, shiny feeling disappears.

I wondered if there would come a time when they didn’t want to give me reasonable requests at all. My husband and I used to make love nightly when we first got together. 17 years later, we were sleeping on opposite sides of the bed and rarely having sex.

I settled into doing my chores in the nude. Mowing the front yard was just as physically difficult as the back, if not more so, because we had more trees and plants in the front. The big difference was that on Sunday, the church was as crowded as ever, so I had far more people honking, yelling disgusting things at me, or stopping and staring while I took care of our yard.

Julie allowed me to apply sunscreen to myself after I applied it to her. That was an important lesson learned from the previous day. I didn’t realize that I needed it until I started to Lobster up and turn red. Julie apologized for not thinking about it. I wasn’t angry, though. I told her I should have suggested it.

“The whole point of this exercise is you are supposed to stop thinking for yourself, and trust me. I don’t need you topping from the bottom, Mom.”

I didn’t know what that term meant.

“Staci’s Mom tops from the bottom. She tells her daughter how it is going to be, or she tries to manipulate her daughter and negotiate to get her way. Everyone can see it, and I am sure Ms. Collins will address it. You shouldn’t have to make suggestions for your own well being. That was on me, and it won’t happen again.”

I thanked her and smiled warmly. This was actually a good thing. I usually forgot important stuff like sunscreen until after I got a sunburn.

She came outside and had me set up a lawn chair from the backyard for her in the front yard near the house. I made lemonade for both of us, and she sat outside, sunning herself in the nude and watching me.

After the first church session let out, she walked over to where I was working with the weed eater. It wasn’t a bitch to start like the lawn mower, so I turned it off so that I could hear my daughter speak.

“You may be noticing all the cars that stop and stare or yell at you. However, I realized that many more cars just keep driving. It could be they don’t notice you are naked, but I am guessing a lot more people just don’t care. I know this is hard for you, but I am really proud of you, Brittany.”

I blushed again. It was really nice that she was being supportive. “I am kind of enjoying it.”

“You aren’t enjoying the dry heat, the gnats, the sweat, the cuts and knicks on your feet,” Julie dismissed my comment and waved a few gnats from her face.

“I am enjoying doing this with you; these gnats are little, like those problems.”

“Aww, you always know just what to say, Mom,” Julie hugged me tightly, then corrected herself and called me “Brittany.” She apologized and told me, “Sometimes it’s hard to remember all the rules. We’re making progress, and it’s only the first weekend.”

I was enthusiastic about what the future weeks held, making the grueling task of mowing my front lawn in the nude much easier with so many people driving by.

After I finished, Jim came out and checked, and there were only a few mistakes. My daughter didn’t even spank me when I corrected them. After I washed up, I planned to make lunch, but Jim said he wanted to take us out for lunch.

That’s really unusual for us. I am a good cook, and Jim is notoriously cheap, so we almost never eat out.

“Where do you all want to go?” he asked the kids. He obviously had his heart set on Shark’s Fish and Chicken. That was the fast-food restaurant I’d run past in the nude the day earlier that was just down the street from our house.

The kids wanted to go to Texas Roadhouse, Hooters, or BJ’s Brewhouse. There were restaurants clustered around 167 down by the old McClain Mall. They settled on “BJ’s Brewhouse.” It actually had nothing to do with the name “BJ” being associated with Blowjobs.

Julie simply showed an advertisement that came in the mail to her father for BJ’s offering happy hour on beer, wings, and appetizers, and he was on board. The problem was that Jim’s truck was too small for us, and my car didn’t fit five comfortably.

“Put your Mom in the truck, simple fix,” Jim joked that I could ride in the truck. He was only kidding, obviously, but I could have imagined riding that way. We hadn’t gone to many places as a family before, and the kids could easily cram in the backseat when they were little, so the logistics were a little hard to figure out.

“Brittany, you sit up front. I’ll cram in the back with Reese and Dewey,” Julie decided. She was wearing a T-shirt, shorts, and sneakers. Her brothers argued about who would get the middle seat, but whoever it was, Julie was going to get a window seat.

“I am surprised you’d let Mom ride in the front since you are the boss now,” Reese observed while accommodating his sister and scooting over in the backseat.

“I am surprised you aren’t riding naked. I thought you said you’d do it anywhere, anytime,” Jim checked the mirrors on the driver’s side and spent a long time fixated on getting the chair adjusted just right for him.

“I just felt like wearing clothes,” Julie shrugged. “You are right, though; Brittany should either ride in the back or be our chauffeur.”

“Oh no, if we are going anywhere, I am fucking driving,” Jim insisted stubbornly.

“I was just thinking that Mom’s got a bigger butt, and she needs a little more space up front,” Julie decided.

I turned a little red and looked down at the floor.

“You can say fat ass,” Jim reminded my daughter. She used the term already on me.

“I think that’s body shaming,” Julie blushed a little.

“Wait, I heard you tell your mother you’d spank her fat ass for every spot she missed when mowing the grass just yesterday!” Jim called out the obvious conflict in what his daughter was saying.

“Yeah, that just slipped out,” Julie admitted sheepishly.”

“Hey, if you can say cunt, asshole, and even twat, then what’s the difference in saying fat pussy or fat ass?”

“Okay, Brittany, get your fat ass in the backseat with the boys and sit in the middle seat,” Julie snickered playfully. I obliged. I knew that my daughter was teasing me, and I knew I had a big rump. It wasn’t like she wasn’t telling the truth. “Is that going to bother you?” she asked with a smirk. I think she knew the answer already.

“No, it’s the truth, I’ve got a big butt, and I cannot lie,” I quoted an old rap song that came out before I was born that nobody remembered.

“Hey, it’s better than Fat Belly!” Jim patted his beer gut. He told a typical dad joke: “I got Dunlap’s Disease. My belly done lapped over his pants.”

We laughed, but we’d heard him tell that joke a thousand times before. There’s something about how Jim tells that makes it funny. You had to be there.

“How does it feel to ride in the backseat, hon?” Jim asked as he drove out to Pike Avenue so that he could get on Interstate 40 and head in the direction of the restaurant.

“It’s cramped, but I am managing,” I replied.

“I admire you,” Jim said. “I wouldn’t have the patience to sit in the backseat of my own car. I’d be pissed, but you can handle it.”

“It’s no big deal, Jim,” I shrugged. It felt a little demeaning to be relegated to the backseat, but I had pledged to obey my daughter, and this is where she wanted me. I smiled and took in the sights along the way. There is a beltway of beautiful trees along the Interstate.

In the meantime, Dewey and Reese decided to start tapping the tips of my stubby nipples while pressing them down like a button. It didn’t hurt, but it wasn’t pleasant either.

“Would you guys stop tormenting your mom,” Jim chuckled.

“Julie said we could touch her boobs, and mom consented,” Dewey pointed out.

“Brittany, do you still consent?” Julie asked politely. The boys were kind of tickling my tits at this point and hadn’t stopped.

“I don’t mind. They aren’t hurting me,” I said, but I pointed out, “You said it was just at home, and we are in the car.”

“Yeah, so knock it off you, knuckleheads,” Julie insisted. The boys seemed disappointed.

“I was just pointing out that fact; as I said, I really don’t mind. It’s much easier than the breast Trainer that you use on me,” I decided to embrace it. The boys had given me a request for double milk previously and played and pinched my tits for 60 seconds at a time; this wasn’t much different. They were tapping and giving me little pokes. It was annoying, but I didn’t really mind it.

“Okay, and that’s a good point; touching them will help stimulate your nipples,” my daughter said to me, but then warned her brothers, “When we get in the restaurant, behave yourself. Don’t get us kicked out,” Julie said.

The boys went back to tapping the tips of my nipples and alternated. They occasionally flicked or pinched but extremely lightly. I smiled and got used to it.

“What a crazy world we live in,” Jim said to himself. He changed my radio station to an old country station. The song “Coal Miner’s Daughter” by Loretta Lynne was on. It has a plodding melody that is hard to get out of your head.