Chapter 53

“I want you to eat my pussy like you did your mother,” Brunna made the request so calmly and casually that it really caught me off-guard. Did she really want me to go down on her in front of all these people at my own birthday party?

I was already blushing, and the reminder of what I did with my mother was enough to make me feel very ashamed of myself. I found it deeply humiliating to be reminded of it. I also didn’t want to eat this young girl out at my own party because she was obviously special to Dewey.

I had just eaten two pussies and needed to wash my face. I told Dewey’s friend that I’d be happy to do that for her but asked if there were something else I could do that would be equally satisfying. I wasn’t supposed to be reluctant about performing requests, but I have to admit that I felt it was inappropriate to go down on my teenage son’s girlfriend’s fat pussy at my own birthday party!

The paint on my body had pretty much worn off or ran together in a blurry mess. I was horny and excited, but I still wasn’t sure how I felt about eating out Dewey’s girlfriend. I couldn’t tell if he would be upset, jealous, or comfortable with the request.

“Right here?” I looked around at the people enjoying themselves in my living room.

“Why not?” was her prompt response in her thick Swedish accent.

I really didn’t have a lot of choice in the matter. My daughter had given my marching orders and this was a valid request.

This seemed so surreal to me. I got down on my hands and knees, put my face down in the girl’s oversized pussy. She had a pretty little clit that looked like a tiny penis. She guided my head lower so that I was licking the bottom of her pussy, near her asshole and taint.

Her pussy smelled like scrambled eggs, root beer, and fresh piss. It was huge and wet already when she laid back on her ass, spread her legs, and put her hands behind her back. She wanted me to eat her out in the middle of the living room while the guests were milling around.

I washed my face in her pussy, pushing my nose in and out with my tongue as she laughed and encouraged me. I looked up to find Dewey watching stoically with his arms folded. His penis was not hard. Brunna glanced up at me. She was young and naïve but so sexy. She had pouty lips and a cute little chubby face. “Please, don’t stop, Piggy-Wiggy!”

I didn’t like it when she called me Piggy-Wiggy. She made me sound even more ridiculous than I probably seemed to everyone else. It was humiliating to have to eat her out, and I hate to say this, but her musky scent was overwhelming.

Once she was satisfied, she pulled me gently toward her – clearly wanting me to continue by making out with her.

I laid down on her tits and began to make out with her; our big bodies were pressed together on the floor. I tried to block out my awareness that people at the party were casually watching me or walking by while I made a fool of myself.

I wasn’t sure how her parents would feel about it, but it was too late now to ask them, and she was of age to consent. She put her fingers in my butthole and began moving them around, trying to fist me as I kissed her. I felt she was trying to let Dewey watch, and so I played along and kept my ass facing him.

She seemed to enjoy licking her taste off of my tongue and my face, so I allowed her to lap up my skin like a dog would have while she played with my ass and tried to force her fingers inside of it. The party favor my son had shoved up my butt had long since fallen out somewhere on the floor.

Brunna had almost her entire wrist in my ass when our time expired. I wasn’t really keeping track, but Julie was, and she walked over and let us know the time was up. Dewey was frowning as if he was jealous.

“I am sorry, Dewey. Did that make you unhappy?” I asked as I wiped my face and adjusted my body. My asshole was gaping, and I am sure Brunna walked around with my butt smell on her fist, just like I had her pussy smell and glistening juices on my face.

“No, I enjoyed it, Piggy! Is it my turn?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Okay, make out with me the same way.”

I had kissed my son before but never made out for a full five minutes lying on top. I asked if he wanted to get on top of me because I might crush him.

“No, I want you to straddle me, with your legs on either side and let me get my hand all the way in your ass.”

“That’s fisting my ass, Dewey. I don’t think that’s a simple request,” I huffed. The force of his little hand going in and out of my asshole was driving me crazy with lust. I protested, but I also humped his wrist.

“You let Brunna do it,” he pointed out. I had. I steadied the voice in my head that told me it was wrong to make out with my son and told it to be quiet. I told the butterflies to go back where they came from and made out with my son for the first time. I was probably the most self-conscious about my big breasts crushing my scrawny son.

He was a very sloppy kisser, and I was a little embarrassed for him. His breath tasted like root beer and scrambled eggs. I was mortified that he kept playing with my ass as people walked past the two of us. My mother teased “Get a room, you two!”

It felt just like we were lovers in the back of a car seat, except we had an audience. I wouldn’t say everyone stopped the party to watch us, but it felt like everyone walked past and gawked at us. It was the longest five minutes of my life so far.

My parents watched and admired our make-out session. I never imagined they would be so comfortable with incest. That’s exactly what this was. There was no explaining it as a demonstration or special request. It also went well beyond just normalizing sexuality and kink.

It was plain old-fashioned, unadulterated incest, and there was no going back to normal after this. I had made out with my son, and I assumed it wouldn’t be the last time I did it, either.

My husband walked out and then walked back into the house. Everyone at the party knew what I did, and when Dewey finally got his wrist in my butthole, he pulled out some dirty fingers. I asked him politely to wash his hands and thanked him. I didn’t want him to have my butt stink all over his wrist.

Dewey’s little pecker was so hard, and the worst part was that I could not even tell until I got off of him.

I was dripping wet, and my asshole felt stretched out. I probably looked like a complete sex-beast. I felt like I was finally earning my nickname of “Piggy”.

I was so hot and turned on that I just wanted to masturbate. I was also red-faced. The humiliation and realization that everyone at the party knew that I engaged in incest with my family was giving me a buzzed feeling.

Dewey wanted to give me my gift. The box was from a pair of sneakers I’d bought just before entering the Breeder program. Sneakers I wouldn’t wear for at least another 8 months, I reminded myself wistfully.

“Go on, open it!” Dewey grinned eagerly.

I smiled back at him. His enthusiasm was contagious.

Dewey had lined the box with tissue paper, giving the impression that whatever was in the decorative gift box was valuable and important.

The box only protected a piece of plastic that looked like an oversized plastic mouth guard, a pointy, gaudy party hat, and a brightly designed party favor whistle.

The whistle was the sort that unrolled as you blew into it while honking out a duel, off-key pair of notes. Just a regular party horn, but the mouthpiece was oversized, in stark contrast to the party hat, which looked too small for my head. The whistle was much larger than the smaller, yellow party favor he inserted into my butt earlier in the party. It wasn’t long but it was about four inches in diameter.

“Let me put them on you, Piggy slut!” Dewey offered excitedly. He wasn’t asking me though. He was politely telling me to allow him to put his gifts on my body.

An elastic string held the party hat on, and I discovered the reason for the oversized party horn mouthpiece. Dewey had me bend over and grab my ankles, which was now much easier for me. He sunk the mouthpiece of the party horn into my asshole without any hesitation, like he was pushing a meat thermometer into a Turkey breast. My spine chilled because my mother was the one laughing the loudest. Betty had a really wicked laugh!

“You should have seen your face, Piggy!” she laughed hysterically with the other guests. “You have a tooter in your pooter!”

“It makes music when you fart!” Dewey exclaimed to the others. I almost rolled my eyes, but instead, I smiled and thanked him. “Go ahead and fart!” he insisted.

I felt I had no choice! I was expected to obey his requests, and he often made that request at home. I blushed as I squeezed a little gas out of my butthole. The horn squeaked, and Dewey clapped his hands in delight. The others at the party may have found it amusing or disgusting; either way, their laughing reaction sent shivers down my spine.

“It’s supposed to really hoot,” Dewey said, sounding a little letdown, but he quickly recovered. “You’ll get the hang of it,” he assured me.

“The best part is this,” he said, lifting the mouthguard and showing it to everyone.

“Turn around and face me, mom!”

I did as I was told and had to crouch a bit to bring us eye level. Then my new tray got in the way as Dewey leaned over it and installed the “mouth-chipmunk-device” as he called it because it was designed to puff my cheeks out in a wildly exaggerated fashion.

I wasn’t sure what the mouthguard was supposed to do, but once it was in and my mouth was closed, the hooting, hollering, and wisecracks suggested I looked weird with it in.

I later saw myself in a mirror and realized with my closed lips stretched over the mouthguard, I looked like I was smiling with a face full of nuts like a chipmunk. It was kind of funny and cute.

Julie decided now was a good time to bring out the cake. I was shocked that nobody was offended and no one had left. I assumed at least the Johnsons might find what I did offensive on some level. I was permitted to take out the mouthpiece for now, but I had to leave on the hat and the fart blaster.

My cake had 38 candles on it, all shaped like tiny penises. It was a simple white sheet cake. There was a pig’s face and a woman’s body with big boobs and the words “PIGGY” underneath.

I almost cried because, for a brief moment, I thought that was my actual name. I wasn’t sad, I was moved to tears over the thoughtfulness of the cake. I forgot my real name was Brittany Garner because I hadn’t used it in so long. I was truly becoming Piggy and I realized it at that party. “Make a wish and blow out the candles!” everyone said as they sang Happy Birthday to me.

I wished to continue having the courage to live as Piggy without shame. I didn’t tell anyone what my wish was, and then blew out all my candles.

“You just blew 38 cocks,” my mom joked, and everyone laughed with her. The candles were traditional for bachelorette parties and the like. We sliced up the cake, and I made sure everyone had a slice.

Julie dropped my piece of cake on the kitchen floor and pointed. It was chocolate with vanilla icing. She pointed to the floor. I instinctively sat down on it and bounced up and down with my ass-flattening it the way that I did my dinner. My parents laughed the loudest of anyone at the party about that.

“Good, get your pussy sauce all over it and your ass sweat and flatten it, Mommy-Slut!” my daughter patted my head. I was so overly mortified, that I could no longer truly feel humiliation. It had morphed into a big goofy grin while I acted like a big dumb bimbo for everyone’s amusement.

A few people watched me brush the crumbs off my ass and get on my hands and knees and eat with my hands behind my back, but most went back to conversation after the initial shock of what I had done was over A few of the Karlsons came over and chuckled about what I was doing on the floor. Helena in particular found it amusing and asked me how I enjoyed my cake.

“I love it, Ma’am.”

Dewey walked behind me, plucked his fart-whistle out, and spat on my asshole. I wasn’t sure why. Brunna chided him and told him he was being disrespectful. “It’s Piggy, she likes it!”

“It’s your mom’s birthday party!” Brunna warned that he was being too mean.

“I do like it, Miss Brunna! Feel free to spit on my ass anytime!” I added in defense of my son. I didn’t have to say that, but it felt natural. Julie patted my head, and massaged my shoulders briefly as a reward.

“Really?” she asked with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

“Yes, Ma’am!”

Brunna wanted to test my offer. She twirled her fingers to indicate I should face my ass toward her. I even pulled my cheeks apart to give her a target. She spat on my butthole and giggled. It was obvious that Brunna delighted in spitting on the butt of an older woman and told me that made her horny. “You are a better kisser than your son! You kissed my pussy so nicely! You should teach him how you do it!”

The rest of the Karlson family looked at me to see my reaction, but neither Rolf nor Helena objected to what I had done with their daughter.

Brunna’s comment was a backhanded compliment that put down my son, but I didn’t address it.

Jim came over and spat on my cake instead of my ass. “Having fun, Piggy?”

“Yes, Daddy!” I smiled up at my husband, thankful to change the subject from eating this high school girl out.

“Your parents are a riot. Your mom is not what I thought at all. She’s like the opposite world of you. Are you ready for my gift?” he asked me as he stroked my hair. Julie stopped massaging my shoulders at the same time.

“I need to finish my cake, Sir, and clean up the mess, and then it is up to Julie. I am going around asking if I can perform requests,” I explained Julie’s instructions.

“Your Mom and Dad don’t go in for that Sir and Ma’am thing either like Julie has you doing. They are just Betty and Stanley. Did you know she legally changed his last name to hers? If you asked me to do that, I’d divorce you.”

“You better not!” I told him with a playful grin. I knew he was joking and that he knew that I’d never ask that of my husband.

“I wouldn’t divorce you! You really surprise me, Brittany Brewer, I guess...” Jim used my real name and my mother’s maiden name together. I think he was trying to pay me a compliment and not call me Piggy.

“I am just Piggy,” I reminded him.

He ignored what I just said and told me that he likes it when I call him Daddy. “I like Daddy. You can keep calling me that. It’s kind of hot.”

“I know, Daddy!”

Jim brought out his gifts. It wasn’t wrapped and was still in the bag from the store where he bought it. That was typical Jim. There was a very simple Birthday card from the dollar store. It didn’t seem particularly thoughtful until I read the caption. Jim hand-wrote, “To Piggy, a hell of a wife! and slave!”

I didn’t feel the need to correct him and say that I wasn’t a slave. I considered myself a Breeder even though I answered to my daughter and, by extension, my family or anyone she wanted me to perform requests for.

I teared up a little and hugged my husband. It was still quite thoughtful for him to write something like that. I couldn’t remember Jim ever spending money to get me a card. He considered them frivolous expenses.

Everyone gathered around as I looked in the bag to see what else he had given me.

I pulled a 7-foot black nylon leash out of the plastic shopping bag that Jim had given me all of my gifts in. It attached perfectly to my collar. It had a comfort grip for the person holding it.

It was definitely practical.

The next item was a stainless-steel dog dish. Jim had purchased some cheap stick-on magnets and spelled out PIGGY. It was very cute, and everyone laughed. He had a few bells added to my collar to make it jingle. They could be clipped on anywhere, including my nipples. He even demonstrated, but not for my benefit. He was showing Julie how they could be used.

I suspected they would also be attached to my clit and pussy lips soon enough.

“The next item was a black funnel. Jim said, “I looked and looked, and I couldn’t find a plastic tail. I guess kids don’t play with those in the toy section,” he joked.

I was a little aghast at what could probably be seen inside my butt through the hole in the funnel.

He also gave me some Elmer’s glue, 500 popsicle sticks, markers, a bag of rubber bands, and preparation H. He told me that he planned to use those later (on me).

Jen took note of the gift and walked over. She told me to stick out my tongue. She placed one popsicle stick on top of my tongue and one underneath it, and she used two rubber bands to bind the sides together. I couldn’t pull my tongue back in my mouth. Everyone laughed as drool ran down my chin, and my face turned red.

“There is one more IMPORTANT thing in the bag,” he said. There was a Home Depot bag inside the larger bag. Inside were two industrial knee pads for roofers. “That will protect your knees when you are crawling around! I don’t know how you do it!”

“Wow, Jim, that’s fantastic,” I said, but it sounded like “Wowtth, Jimffff, thassss ffffffffffanttasthick!” and everyone laughed at me. I was permitted to take it off after humiliating myself in front of the guests.