Chapter 5

Approximately 4:30 PM WEDNESDAY

Master Joe inspected me roughly and quite thoroughly before letting me in the house. It is not my house any more. I just live here now. I don’t have a key and I am not permitted in without my family’s permission. That is why I have to wait outside and be grateful to enter. I thanked him for his attention.

Master Joe fingered my asshole, cunt, and mouth in that order. He pulled my hair, yanked my tits and slapped my belly before rubbing his hands all over my body. He sniffed my pussy and told me it was surprisingly fresh considering the number of cocks I had. He told me I could come in after I hosed myself down with the garden hose and left me outside on the patio to obey his instructions.

If any of our neighbors had been looking over our fence they would have seen the entire thing happen. We made no secret of the inspections in the backyard. The fence is high enough that the neighbor casually in their own backyard could not see but they could hear us talking and easily look over the fence any time they like. I was sure some of them have watched me get inspected outside before.

I am usually permitted to self-train and clean until their father gets home on Wednesdays. Hump Days for us have been a regular ritual, and he usually takes over my preparation before he takes me out for the evening. He has made contacts with local swingers (mostly bachelors) who want a gang bang experience, and they meet with us at random places and use me on Wednesday nights. My kids know what I do but not where I am going or the details.

They also see me prepare around the house by masturbating, lubing up, and putting on a lot of whoreish makeup. Master likes me to wear lipstick on my areola to make them bright red and rub it all over my cunt. He also likes me to use dark mascara to outline my pink asshole. Miss Claire jokes and calls it the “Smoky brown eye technique.”

Our typical routine is that I am fed on the floor. I eat mostly cum and table scraps. My husband is teaching me to eat stale bread and learn to really appreciate it. He never feeds me anything that is so rotten it would make me sick. If I were living in a third world country I’d probably think most of what I get is pretty normal.

Granted, most of it is coated in dried cum that I brought home and spit into a mason jar.

After I finish eating and clean myself up, a maintenance spanking is administered in the living room while we prepare for the hump night to come. My family is always permitted to watch me eat or get punished in the living room but now that it has become normal and mundane around the house they rarely pay attention. I am grateful they aren’t prudes about my training. The last thing I wanted to do was be a constant source of disruption and embarrassment for them.

Master likes me to dance on the coffee table like a stripper, and I’ve given lap dances to him and both of my sons. Miss Claire usually picks some intense booty music and encourages me to clap my ass cheeks.

Mister Kyle also had a science experiment he wanted to perform on me before I started dancing on the table. I laughed because his science experiments usually involve testing how the female body works. They are actually quite creative and clever.

The one he had in mind today was no exception. Mister Kyle told me to lay down on a sheet on the living room floor. He had me remove my butt plug and clean it and then hold my legs over my head with my pussy raised off the ground. He told me to hold my cunt open as wide as I could, and then he poured a bottle of water into my pussy.

“I want to see if you can take more than 8 ounces,” he said.

Miss Claire got huffy and left the room. I assumed she was disgusted, but it was nothing really out of the ordinary for me around the house. I giggled and told him that I thought he could probably get quite a bit more in my cunt.

It was a very interesting feeling having my pussy filled with warm bottled water. I held my cunt lips apart wide, and even Master Joe watched with interest to see how much he could pour in. Once he poured eight ounces inside of me, I felt full, and he told me I could squirt it out. He was disappointed with the giggly fountain of water that I was able to push out. He likes to watch a long stream of piss squirt at high pressure out of my pussy, but this was more like a disappointing pussy splash.

He tried it again and determined the maximum volume of my cunt was 10.5 ounces.

Miss Claire returned to the room when he was done and looked disturbed by the experiment. I was left lying on the floor on a sheet wet with my own pussy juices and water that had been poured in my cunt while my kids talked and joked about Mister Kyle’s experiment.

“Why don’t you just stick that entire bottle straight up her ass? Mom’s disgusting poop hole is definitely stretched out enough by now” she teased him. There was a subtle note of anger in my daughter’s voice that didn’t seem to fit with her teasing me. The anger was directed towards Mister Kyle.

Mister Kyle ignored her teasing. I think he had grown more confident now that he could boss me around, and it the side effect he was no longer afraid of his older sister’s barbs and criticisms. “Why don’t you mind your own business, Sugar?”

My daughter harrumphed and wouldn’t leave her room for the rest of the evening.

Master came home and took me to his room. It is no longer our bedroom, and he has made it clear that I am lucky to be permitted in that room at all. He beat me and fucked me before talking to me about my day. Master became aroused a second time when he learned that Master Joe had fucked me. He was shocked. I drank someone’s piss at school. I hadn’t done something as vulgar and degrading as that since my high school reunion. Master seemed pleased with me and that made me happy. I was growing into someone who wanted to make other people happy even if it meant my total degradation.

“You are just full of nasty little tricks today, aren’t you cunt! I have REALLY been wanting to make you drink piss,” my husband’s face brightened with joy.

“Why didn’t you make me, Sir?” I asked politely as I squatted in front of his flaccid dick to drip his cum out of my asshole.

“I just thought it might be going too far. You’ve already came a long way,” Mike stroked my hair. “My job is to push but not break.”

“Use me as your whore, Sir. If it amuses you to piss in my mouth, then do it please,” I offered politely. He didn’t hesitate to use my face as a urinal. He told me that I did well and that I would need to learn not to spill any when some ran down my tits again. “I want you to start pissing in your food dish from now on,” he said.

I swallowed his flavor. His piss reminded me of the taste of stale corn-pop cereal. “Should I piss without being told to do so, Sir?” I said.

“No, when you get ready to eat squat over the bowl and ask for permission. The kids may not want to see you do that,” Master said as if it was a minor detail, and he couldn’t be bothered to think about it right then. My life was all about tiny details now, though. I was so used to a rigid bathroom schedule that it shocked me that I might be allowed tod decide to do something (even something I used to take for granted) like that without first seeking permission. It felt wrong to let me make those decisions. I had accepted that I was no longer the one to make those choices, and I quietly panicked not because I had to piss in my bowl but because I might have to do it without being told to do it first.

I thought about what Miss Claire had told me when we were jogging. She had said that I was like her and that I didn’t always want a choice. I knew I could tell Master to get fucked and that he was asking for too much, making me drink piss at every meal in front of my family.

“I don’t want to have a choice in things like this, Master. If you decide I should have to SHIT in my bowl and eat it, then that is what I will do,” I assured him. I truly meant that I would do whatever he thought I should do. A part of my hoped he wouldn’t make me cash the check I just wrote with my mouth though and actually require me to prove I would gobble my own shit.

I’ve been rimming dirty assholes and cleaning my own butt plug for months though and I felt I could probably do even eat a turd if it came as an order from my husband.

Master stroked my hair with love on his face and told me to be careful what I wished for. I told him that I already got my wish and that everything that happens after this is a bonus wish.

Master smiled and kissed me even after I drank his piss. He told me that he loved me, and he didn’t want me to be miserable. “I am strict and even cruel at times because you need it. I want to push you, but I don’t want to break you, Karen,” he said to me. He rarely called me Karen anymore, and only when we were alone.

“The biggest favor you can do for me is taking the burden of choices away from me, Master. I trust you implicitly to know what is best for me. The training plan you have for me is difficult, but I think you should decide what I can and cannot endure from now on,” I said. I told him I loved him very much and that I wanted him to be happy with me as well.

“Even if we went back to vanilla and we were just Mike and Karen, I wouldn’t love you any less. I would be happy,” Master assured me.

“You wouldn’t be as happy as you are now, though, Master,” I smiled up at him. He agreed and said he liked me better this way.

I asked him for one more favor after the tender, quiet moment had passed where we stared longingly at each like we did when we first started dating. It was a time before kids, jobs, and real-life got in the way of everything, and perhaps I would have been his submissive, or he may have been mine if we decided things that way back then. I was just so glad he was looking at me with those loving eyes again that I didn’t think twice about asking him no longer to consult with me about limits.

“My one request is you no longer call me Karen, Master,” I begged.

“It is on your driver’s license, so there are times I am going to have to,” he joked. He knew that I meant I wanted to close out who I was and fully become Honey. My husband often liked to use humor to add some levity to moments like this.

“Then change my name legally, Master,” I said.

“Hmm, Honey Holes?” he joked about my last name being holes. It was the name the DJ called me at a strip club during a spur of the moment opportunity to called on stage. Honey had become my name, though, and it meant a lot to me now because my husband saw me as Honey, and he loved me as Honey. That meant so much to me that I couldn’t even express it in words.

The kids have stopped calling me Mom for the most part and it has taken some getting used to it but it really has made the transition to Honey even easier for me. I find myself getting humiliated even more than normal when they give me training commands and call me Mom at the same time.

“I might do that after I get you tattooed and pierced,” my husband told me that once I passed certain milestones and demonstrated my obedience, he would get me pierced and permanently tattooed to show his ownership. It felt surreal like he was kidding when we first started talking about it, but I craved reaching that point. I agreed and told him that would be his choice. I secretly hoped he didn’t get me tattooed on the face, but I just told him I no longer wanted choices, and he would decide what was best for me. If he wanted to make me look even like a crack whore sex fiend, then I would embrace my new look!

I imagined having to introduce myself as Honey even in professional settings like at school, and it didn’t seem all that far out now that I’ve been living as Honey.

Ordinarily, my husband makes me masturbate all my holes and stretch out in the living room while the kids write an draw all over me in magic marker. They usually draw penises and write dirty words on my body before I leave for wherever he plans to take me.

However, today Miss Claire asked to take me jogging. She normally jogs with me around the block every night, but on Wednesday, there is never enough time. Today, she pressured her father to let her take me out for a run, and he agreed. I felt it really wasn’t about me though. She had something else on her mind. I just didn’t know what at the time.

She normally dresses me in some tight spandex shorts and tank top. The outfit is usually nearly see-through, and it is obvious I have a camel toe outline. You can probably see my butt plug if I bend over when you stand close because the material is white. The spandex stretches so that my ass and tits bounce tightly together. It is a different bounce then when I have no support at all, but they still have a healthy jiggle.

I get a lot of attention when I jog in our suburban neighborhood. However, the outfit isn’t so outlandish that you couldn’t imagine a woman jogging in it along a sidewalk in a normal neighborhood. I wear something similar to the gym when I work out, and there are other women wearing practically the same thing.

My daughter has been dressing almost the same way, except she wears a red or black pair of shorts that can’t be seen through. She usually wears sneakers, and I have to wear high heels or run barefoot.

Tonight she brought out my red wicked weasel one-piece swimsuit. The swimsuit is kind of a sling-shot made of Lycra that barely covers my nipples and slit. It rides up my ass, and if I bend over, it doesn’t cover the base of my butt plug. She told me to leave my butt plug and put the outfit on. I blushed but didn’t protest.

Once I had the outfit on, she came out of her bedroom wearing a skimpy two-piece bikini.

“Where did you get that?” Master asked her in surprise. It was small enough to be one of my bikinis, but I didn’t recognize it either.

The micro bikini was made out of a pink taffy-like material. It held up her tits, and the strings were so thin that it looked like she was wearing nothing at all to hold her boobs in place. She had a thong in the back covering her bare butt.

“Is that fishing string?” Mike was clearly shocked that his daughter would wear anything that provocative. He asked her how she got it.

“I bought it with money I saved up,” she harrumphed. Miss Claire doesn’t have an allowance because she doesn’t do chores. She doesn’t have a job, and I think everyone was puzzled how she bought it. She said it was cheap, but I knew better. A bikini like that wasn’t meant for the beach or water, and it usually cost quite a pretty penny.

“Fine, if you want to run around the block like that, then be my guest,” Master told her. I could tell he was confused, but he knew better than to tell her she couldn’t do it. If he did, then she would just want to wear it even more. “You are old enough to make your own choices about what you want to wear,” he said.

“I know, and I will,” Miss Claire insisted she would do exactly that. She was looking for a confrontation with her father for some reason. It wasn’t unusual for her to start an argument so I thought nothing of it at the time. The difference this time was that my daughter seemed to want him to actually stop her and tell her should could not leave the house dressed this way.

“You don’t say anything when a guy flips his dick out so mom can suck it in the living room. You have a problem with me in a bikini?” she asked him as if daring him to prove he was a hypocrite. Master Joe and Mister Kyle chalked it up to their sister being tightly wound and ignored her.

“No, I said when we started this that we can have a nudist household. I am fine with what you are wearing,” Mike said. He was her father, though, and it was obvious he had some reservations about how little she wore, despite telling her he didn’t. “I just didn’t expect you would wear something like that to go jogging.”

“You think you know me, but you don’t,” Miss Claire challenged him. She was ready to pick a fight with him. She asked him if he was going to keep whining because she wanted to jog before it got dark.

“No, I think I’ve said all I need to say” Master looked at Master Joe and Mister Kyle for a comment from them. “Back in my day, if we wanted to rebel against our parents, we’d just smoke cigarettes,” he offered in jest.

“Smoking is gross!”

Miss Claire offered him a snotty expression and then looked over her shoulder at Kyle. “Stop laughing! I am going to wear this because it is what I want to wear out of the house! I am not rebelling from anything. Rebelling implies I was told I couldn’t do something, and I did it anyway,” she explained.

No one stopped her, but she seemed to want to be stopped at the door anyway. I felt awkward FOR her.

“It’s still not as skimpy as mom’s bikini,” Master Joe snickered as we left the house. My daughter stuck her butt out and shook it like a duck shucking water to dry off to indicate she wasn’t ruffled by his comment. My daughter has a very healthy set of tits for a girl her age, but she has already developed a big round bubble butt like me. She clapped her cheeks as she walked out and flipped them all off.

“Let’s run cunt,” she said to me in a huff, and I made time next to her jiggle-jogging. My daughter seemed angry that no one stopped her on the way out of the house. It had been her idea to leave the house this way, though, and I didn’t understand. She had her cell phone with her even though she had no place to keep it. The kids these days can’t leave the house even for a minute without their phone.

“Thank you for jogging home with me today, Miss Claire,” I offered politely as we ran past the familiar houses in our neighborhood. “You didn’t have to do that, and I appreciated that you spent time with me, Ma’am,” I smiled politely. My daughter thinks when I am sweet that it is an act to get sympathy or to get under her skin.

I am naturally starting to become more considerate because of the training. However, in this particular instance, I was just trying to get her to talk to me. I am not supposed to talk to her unless she talks to me, but she is usually not a stickler for rules when we jog alone.

“Stop and give me twenty-five jumping jacks on the spot,” she demanded. I obediently stopped and performed the jumping jacks. My tits were flying up as my ass cheeks bounced down in what I am sure looked somewhat obscene to anyone who was watching my excercises. A car drove by and honked at us, and Miss Claire shot them a bird.

“Ugh, if anyone from school sees me like this, I am dead,” she groaned.

“May I ask why you wore the suit? Was it because I wear skimpy things, Ma’am?” I asked her politely when I finished counting my exercises and caught my breath.

“Not everything is about you,” she snickered and jogged away. She told me, “Keep up, Honey! I want you to have a nice little work out before we get back home!”

I realized something was going on with her that I didn’t understand. I knew I had to be delicate about asking my daughter too many questions, though. I no longer had parental authority, but that didn’t mean I no longer worried about her.

We stopped at Mr. Jenkins house to talk to him. “You don’t’ normally come out on Wednesdays,” the nice old man said. He was always outside around jogging time, waiting for us to run past. We’ve stopped and talked to him many times, and he no longer makes any secret about checking us out when we do. I once asked him if his wife knew what he was doing, and he told me she was inside and knows why he waters the grass when he does. “She isn’t happy about it, but at night I pop a blue pill, and you two inspire me to give her a nice little ride so she can’t really complain,” he said.

Miss Claire told him he was creepy and gross at the time, but she didn’t stop coming by and teasing him.

“Wow, I like the new swimsuits. Is this going to be a regular thing for you two?” he smiled as he held his garden hose like it was a dick in his hand and watered his hedges. The hedges were well watered and didn’t need watering, but he did it anyway just to pass the time until we stopped at his house to chat.

“It might be, depends on how much money you are willing to pay,” Miss Claire said. She normally said sarcastic things, but this was the first time she offered my body for money. I felt even more like a whore than I had ever felt before!

I didn’t disagree with her, but I didn’t say anything to agree either. I stood there practically expecting to be sold for whatever loose change Mr. Jenkins had in his pockets. I would have gone with him if she told me to do it.

“Well, I appreciate the offer, but I am more of an admirer than I am someone who wants to pay to play,” Mr. Jenkins said. He retired from the air force after 30 years. He spoke in a gentle southern accent, and he still wore his hair short and had a military bearing to him.

“Yeah, well, have a good look,” she said, and then she did something that really shocked me. She handed him her phone and sarcastically told him to take a picture because it would last longer. I was shocked as my daughter bent over and pulled her thong to the side. She wiggled her ass and asked if Mr. Jenkins if he liked what he saw.

He was so flummoxed he didn’t say anything.

She let him look right between her ass crack as she touched her toes and held the position so he could have a really good look. She cleared her throat to remind him to snap the picture. “Tell your wife that she is welcome,” Miss Claire said as she popped back up and adjusted her suit in the back. She took her phone back but didn’t send him the photo. She didn’t thank him. She just looked at the photo and called it “Cute” before jogging off like he didn’t matter.

I shrugged and ran after her.

“A collar! I didn’t think of that. I should have worn one of your collars!” Claire snapped her fingers as if she just realized what she was missing. I had on my solid steel slave collar, and she didn’t wear one. It was so much a part of my everyday life that I was no longer aware I was wearing it. I had leather collars, spiked ones, and pretty ones, but the one I had on was my everyday eternity collar.

I asked her as politely as I could to listen to me. My instinct told me that I had to say something even though I no longer had parental authority. Master told me there may be emergencies where I’d have to snap back to reality. I imagined an emergency like pulling everyone out of the house during a fire with my teeth because my hands superglued to my ass cheeks or something. However, Claire’s recent behavior was so strange that I felt I needed to confront her. I should have waited for Master, but I was too impatient.