Chapter 40

“Piggy doesn’t need a towel because she isn’t permitted to sit on furniture,” Julie explained, saying that I wouldn’t be sitting on a towel or a chair.

“Nonsense, my daughter can’t stand at the table and eat,” My mom shrugged dismissively.

“She’s supposed to squat,” Julie said.

Mom laughed, and it was her blushing a little when she heard that. My mother was clearly more adventurous than I ever realized, but even she could clearly be dismayed.

She looked at me as if looking at me for the very first time with a new set of eyes. “I am sorry, Piggy. If you had told me you would have to do that, I would not have suggested we come here. I see now why you wanted to stay home and not come out to eat.”

“I don’t mind, but will you?” I asked. It was too late to change anything now, anyway. My mom already knew what I did night after night. The cat was really hard to keep in the bag!

“I am not the one that has to do it, Piggy! You are full of surprises,” Betty seemed mildly amused that I was going to really squat and eat my dinner.

“At home, Piggy has to sit on a bowling pin,” Reese shared. I blushed again. I already felt people staring at my back as I stood nude next to my daughter and youngest son.

“You sit on it with your rear end?” My mom was hesitant to use a more vulgar word for my ass. I don’t know why. She wasn’t the mild-mannered, boring old mom that I thought she was when I was growing up. Rude language was hardly a concern at this stage.

“No, I just have to sit on top of it,” I replied. I was aware people in the waiting area could overhear our conversation. There wasn’t much else to do except wait and watch the Koi fish darting around in the indoor ponds. I suddenly remembered that it was always so cold in Benihana that I used to bring a jacket whenever we went in the past. I was starting to get a chill, and my nipples were becoming engorged.

“Why on earth do you have to do that?” she asked pointedly.

“I am going to have a baby, and it’s part of the training,” I explained. I still wasn’t entirely sure myself. I had feeling being stretched out was a part of the discipline and fetish lifestyle, because I was often so turned on that I could barely think about my food.

Dewey mentioned that there were competitions with real money as rewards and that I would be paid out $50,000 dollars, plus a full-ride scholarship for Julie.

“Are you that hard up for money? You could have asked us, you know,” Mom scowled a little.

“It’s not about the money, Mom. I wanted to help Julie and bring a life into the world. I plan to use the money we get to pay off the house, and Jim wants an R.V. too.”

“Well, you won’t get one for $50,000,” my dad returned to the table just in time to hear the tail end of the conversation. He handed Dewey, Julie, and me a towel. “The one I have cost about ten times that amount, and an arm and a leg to keep on the road. New tires, new hydraulics, and just about everything else have to be replaced every few years. They don’t make them like they used to.”

“Your daughter was just telling me that she is going to squat when she eats with us,” Betty informed.

“Okay?” Dad shrugged as he found a place to sit near Mom.

Julie and my son sat on their towels. Dewey seemed very nervous that someone would be looking at his body. It took about 15 minutes to get called back to the table. There were ten seats to a table, and that meant three total strangers joined us. They were a married couple with a teenage daughter. I didn’t recognize her from our school.

They looked at us like we didn’t belong there because we were naked. However, I noticed several customers were completely nude and seated at various tables around the restaurants. In addition, every waitress was attractive. They were often topless or in very small tops, with thongs that barely covered their buttholes and slits. They wore kimono-style sashes around their thin stomachs. It was the way things were now that nudity was much more acceptable in common settings.

I took a spot at the end of the table next to Julie. I squatted down with my legs apart and my mouth slightly open.

Our waitress did a double take when she saw me but didn’t tell me to stand. She asked for my order; I hadn’t even looked at the menu. Julie chose the steak for me. My mother chose chicken for my father.

Everyone else ordered what they wanted.

People stared at me, and I stood out because of how I was positioned. However, no one told me to stop.

“We’ve only been out to a restaurant once since we began the Program about three weeks ago. I was told to pick places that have outdoor dining and not to make exceptions,” Julie explained.

We were provided with ginger salads as a first course. I ate that with a fork just from the floor.

“I am surprised that you aren’t eating without your hands off the floor, Piggy!” My mom chuckled over my predicament and seemed mildly amused as she wiped her mouth and looked down on me. I didn’t respond, and neither did Julie.

“Sorry for teasing you, Dear. Your father and I don’t go quite as far as you do. I am just not used to seeing a woman in your situation. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” I said. I really didn’t. I was used to eating this way, even though people were staring at me. Weeks in the cafeteria at school of boys whipping soft rolls at me when I wasn’t looking or girls laughing about my big butt had thickened my skin and made it possible for me to deal with this scenario. No one was catcalling me or ridiculing me.

We were finishing our broth soup when the chef arrived. He banged his metal tray with a spatula to let us know he was arriving. He wore a white chef hat and an apron with nothing underneath. “Hello, Hello! Ladies and Gentlemen! What do we have here? Oh my!” he said in a very thick Japanese accent. He sounded almost comical, like he was half drunk and very excited to be there. He introduced himself as Chef Ishida.

“We have one naked person, two naked person, three naked person, whoa, four naked person,” he said in his very fast-paced, Japanese accent. He pointed to each of the people in our group who were naked individually before leaning over the Hibachi table to look at me. “And you down there. Why are you hiding, pretty lady! We have a seat right here for you! You not fit?”

I smiled and politely declined his offer.

“Oh, you shy, pretty lady?” he said even louder. Everyone at the other tables looked over at me while the Hibachi chef made funny faces. I blushed and smiled broadly while saying nothing. I was too mortified to speak.

“Okay, you make it weird. I make it weirder! I sit down with you! How is that?” Ishida asked. He squatted down next to me, stuck his butt out, put his arm around me, and smiled really big. “Quick, someone take the picture! I never seen this in my life! Oh my gosh!”

He was really affable, and his antics took the edge off the situation. He was full of wisecracks, and he was very skilled at juggling his knives. He chopped the tail off of a shrimp and then popped it into his hat. Then he pretended to throw it to my husband. “Here, catch in your mouth! Too slow! Ahh-So!”

“Asshole?”

“You hear Asshole? No, I say Ass-ah-Ho! It’s Japanese word. It means Asshole!” Ishida joked with a wry grin and said his last sentence in perfect, unbroken English. He was a little raunchy, but he was constantly laughing while he told his jokes, and that made it seem not vulgar at all. He quickly started up the rice and formed it in the shape of a penis. He didn’t tell us that’s what it was, though. I think the idea was that you’d get it if you were mature enough to get it.

Everyone at the table knew what it was, though and we all had a big laugh.

“Oh, I make a mistake! A big mistake!” he used his spatula to pick up a portion of the rice and make it seem like the penis was moving. Then he quickly turned the penis into a heart. “Boss man going to fire Ishida now! You didn’t see that! This lovely Heart, that’s what I make! I have so many naked people at the table; all I think about is the pee-pee! Wee-wee! Choo-choo!”

Ishida was very animated and he laughingly moved the rice around on the hot grill like it was part of a train.

We laughed a lot at his wise cracks. Our chef was really taking the edge off the situation. He gave us rice, cooked the noodles, and then started cooking up the veggies.

My mother explained to us that she doesn’t go in for the formal protocols and she even mentioned BDSM. I really hadn’t processed my relationship with my daughter as “BDSM” but my mom picked right up on the elements of my behavior that had something to do with it.

“We don’t need things like that in our relationship. We each know our roles, and your father and I have very casual conversations. I don’t like to be called Ma’am or Mistress. That makes me feel old. I don’t like being called Grandma either for the same reason.”

“Can I call you Betty?” Dewey asked enthusiastically.

“No, you may not,” my mother affirmed emphatically, with a very deadpan expression. It was funny because while it made her feel old, she definitely wasn’t going to let my son call her Betty. The Chef chose that moment to ignite some fluid in an onion he had cut up and stacked on the grill.

It exploded in a fiery plume, and I felt the immediate warmth against my skin. “BOOM! Hah-haa! Fire! Fire! Fire! Japanese Fire Truck, ding-ding-ding,” Ishida used his spatula to simulate a fire truck heading toward the onions and made it clang against the hibachi griddle like it was sounding an alarm.

As the Chef continued to prepare the meal, my mom asked me a question directly. “Piggy, what would you do if someone gave you a reasonable request inside Benihana?”

“It would be up to Julie whether I would do it or not,” I answered without hesitation.

“I thought you said there were requests you had to do no matter what at home, Milk, Lemonade, and Fudge, right?”

“I think that is only at home and only for Dewey, Reese, and Jim. Julie decided that so they didn’t keep sending me to find her and ask to perform simple requests.”

“Okay, but let me ask you another question,” My mom seemed genuinely curious but confused. “No one came to Benihana to be educated on the female anatomy. No one here knew you’d be here. Why is it fair to disrupt their meals doing Lemonade or Fudge, whatever that is, when they are trying to enjoy a meal?”

“Grandma, that’s why the Program has a Trainer. I don’t have to agree to any request. If it is not safe, or there isn’t time, or it would be disruptive to class, then I wouldn’t agree to do a request or have my mother do one. I would apply the same logic here at Benihana. The Program is teaching us to use our best judgment.”

Mom actually seemed convinced that wasn’t a bad thing after all.

We had a lovely meal, and my parents brought us back to our house. They didn’t stay all that long, but they both gave us all hugs. My mom slipped some money into each of her grandson’s pockets when she hugged them. She slipped my daughter a twenty-dollar bill into her hand.

It was really a fun time, and my parents seemed reluctant to go, but they hadn’t planned on spending the night.

After that night, my daughter stopped teasing me and being strict like she had been on Thursday night and Friday. I think my mother’s relationship with my father had influenced her tremendously. I didn’t miss being teased in the car and made to repeat naughty limericks or jump around and shake my tits like a silly slut, but I also didn’t mind it all that much any longer.

We started talking more casually, and while I couldn’t sit when I was using the computer, she was far more lenient with me at home and at school. Obviously, there was no shortage of humiliating requests at school, but my daughter usually did them with me.

My sons were still allowed to put a dildo in my mouth to shut me up, which they frequently did. Julie didn’t make a formal announcement that the rules had changed or that she was taking a different approach. I think she just mellowed out some in her leadership style.

My sons sometimes put the dildo in going lengthwise because they were used to seeing me practice deep-throating. They could tell me to do Milk, Lemonade, or Fudge, or really basic requests at home. It happened so frequently that I seldom felt very shocked by it in my own house. I just opened my mouth or stuck a finger in my hole and did what I was told.

It was an entirely different story thinking about doing things like that in a restaurant like Benihana.

We rarely came there and only on special occasions. However, I didn’t want to freak anyone else out, and to be quite honest, I was feeling increasingly humiliated even thinking about it.

At school, I continued to learn and practice every day. We volunteered at the request line. Hugo was almost aware of when I’d be there and showed up for a kiss or to ghost over my face.

My daughter began hanging out with Astrid and Ingrid much more. Ingrid’s name wobbled from Cookie and back to Ingrid. My daughter called me Mom, Brittany, or Piggy interchangeably, and I answered to anything.

My husband and sons got much better at playing Pop the Booty. Usually, my daughter joined me and let them pop her ass like they popped mine. The guys developed several variations of the game but most of them ended with sore tits and red asses. They managed to find ways to tie us up while giving us the mobility to at least try to avoid getting our most sensitive parts smacked.

I liked knowing what the rules were ahead of time, but the guys often added new rules in the middle of the game. I have to admit that it was kind of exciting never to know what would happen next while they experimented with different ways to play the game. There was seldom any point in keeping score, and there was certainly no way for the girls to ‘win’ other than to come out of the game with fewer bumps, bruises, and smacks on our butts.

They included a lot of tickling and “goosing” (Two fingers quickly jabbed toward your ass or pussy) and even pulling our noses and ears. We seldom cared if we won or lost the game. It was fun to play, and most nights, Julie would let me play it.

THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 12th, 2047 –THURSDAY AFTER SCHOOL

Darla and her daughter, Staci, were scheduled to spend the night with us. They chose to meet us at our house, but they wanted to go home first and freshen up. I took the time to clean up and prepare for their arrival.

They didn’t show up until after dinner and said they stopped for fast food on the way over. I was a little disappointed because I had made enough food for all seven of us. I packed it away as leftovers and showed them around the house. Staci wore street clothes, but her mother was nude. It was obvious she wore shoes and socks and had recently removed them to come inside our house. I could still see the lines where the socks had imprinted near Darla’s ankles.

“It’s quaint. Are you and your husband 420-friendly?” Darla asked me in front of her daughter. I knew that meant marijuana, and none of us smoked it as far as I knew.

“We are not supposed to smoke, Darla.”

“We aren’t supposed to do a lot of things, but it’s just pot, Brittany. It takes the edge off. It’s not cigarettes. Those things will kill you. Come on, be cool. We’ll be out in the car and be right back, okay?”

I shrugged because it really wasn’t up to me what they did. They went outside and probably smoked pot together. Darla came back much happier and easygoing. She sat down on the couch, making it fairly obvious that she was comfortable using furniture.

“Oh crap, I guess I get a spanking,” Darla smiled wickedly. She bent over and offered her ass to my husband. “You are the man of the house. Do you want to give me a pounding?”

I didn’t appreciate Darla flirting with Jim, but at the same time, I had a boy who had a crush on me at school, and I hadn’t told Jim about that. I also hadn’t told Hugo that he shouldn’t get attached to me. I had managed to tell him I was married, but Hugo didn’t care, and I believe he thought he could win me away from Jim somehow.

Jim was only too happy to spank Darla’s ass when Staci gave him permission and propped herself up to get a good view.