Chapter 39

We definitely got more than a few stares and dropped jaw reactions when we entered the truck stop diner. When Mike permitted us to wear clothes, it was always very trashy and revealing. He wanted to make it evident that we were obviously total whores.

He didn’t want us feeling empowered and sexy. He wanted us feeling trashy and sexy. He also wanted other women to ridicule us and look at us like we were pigs.

I had gone a week without clothes as a donkey in a leather harness and I think I was more humiliated by what I had on and where I was going than I had been at the BDSM camp in Serendipity.

There was nothing discreet about wearing a slave collar with a top that read “Swallows” and a denim micro mini-skirt with four-inch heels. My daughter looked cute though. She had a playful smirk on her face like she couldn’t wait to see everyone’s reaction to how she was dressed.

I assumed that would change when we got inside the restaurant and people started looking down their nose at us.

I was the trashiest of them all with my bald head. Master made us walk shoulder’s back, asses wiggling, tits stuck out, chins up.

Some people probably thought we were from a hidden camera show. There were many lizards we’ve seen who wore the same outfits but even they don’t usually sit with their knees as wide apart as they can go.

Master insisted that if we were going to get permission to eat real food at a table, wear clothes, and sit on the furniture, then we’d have to amuse him by flashing our pussies.

We smiled awkwardly. Master made sure we got a booth in the center of the restaurant where we could be gawked at more readily by the truckers, rednecks, and locals who happened to be eating nearby.

Master kicked my daughter’s legs apart wider. She had exposed herself, but Master didn’t want us to be subtle. “Knees are never to be crossed. You aren’t ladies. You can sit like the whores that you are.”

“Yes, Sir,” she stammered.

“You have a freshly shaved, tight little pussy under that clamp – show it off and smile if someone stares. I don’t want you making them feel like perverts just for looking at your little wet gash.”

“Yes, Master,” my daughter looked nervous. This was the first time she was serving in a public place outside of the nudist resort. I was sure she might even be having second thoughts about it all now that the reality of what was expected of us was hitting her.

A sassy older waitress introduced herself. She was chewing gum and seemed relatively unimpressed or uninterested in us. She looked down my legs and asked me if I was trying to catch flies. I knew she was talking about the fact that anyone walking past could probably see my pussy because of how I was sitting.

“No, Ma’am,” I replied politely.

“Yeah, well, you definitely are going to catch SOMETHING sitting that way. What will you have?”

I looked at Master and he remained silent. I started to order a patty melt. I got excited and hungry. I hadn’t eaten anything except for cold leftovers (or worse) for weeks. I imagined a burger dripping with cheese, savory grilled onions on a freshly toasted rye bun, and crispy, golden French fries with ketchup.

“What are you doing, Joy?” Master waited for me to make my order.

“Ordering, Sir?”

“Are you allowed to order?”

“No, sir,” I looked down at my hands.

“Look at me when I am speaking to you. Do you have money to pay for a Patty Melt and fries?”

“No, Sir,” I said.

“Are you permitted to manage money?”

“No, sir,” I admitted.

“I am getting tired of one-word answers. Elaborate on why,” Mike insisted I explain myself. I felt a new sense of shame wash over me.

“I am too stupid to manage my own money, Sir. I don’t show any common sense, and I have asked that you make those decisions for me.”

He told me to apologize to the waitress for wasting her time, and then he ordered a bowl of tomato soup for me, my daughter, and my sister.

“Three bowls of tomato soup?”

“No, just one. They’ll share. They can each have a glass of water.”

“Got it,” The waitress didn’t really care. She waited for him to order. Master ordered the same thing I wanted but asked for extra ketchup. He also ordered himself a large Coca-Cola.

Jessie asked for Chicken Strips with ranch and fries with a Dr. Pepper.

When the waitress left, Master shamed me for ordering.

“I am sorry Master. I thought you wanted me to order.”

“No, I expect you to demonstrate to your daughter how to behave. When you are asked a question, are you going to try to get away with having the same freedoms and liberties you used to have before you began your submission if I don’t’ stop you?”

“No sir, I am sorry about that.”

“Are you though? You would have ordered an expensive item off the menu for yourself and indulged in whatever you wanted if I had let you.”

“Yes, Master, I am sorry. I guess I am still easily tempted.”

“Stand up,” he insisted that I stand up, face the table, put my hands flat on the surface on the table and wait. He lifted the back of my skirt slightly and then raised my shirt so that my underboob was visible.

“You were lucky to sit on furniture, but you wasted that privilege. You are lucky I don’t take you outside and spank you.”

“Maybe the waitress didn’t want to hear Mom’s explanation, Sir.” Buttercup offered in my defense.

“She probably didn’t. I expect you girls to explain your actions if you are doing something that seems unusual, though. Think about this from my perspective,” Mike explained. “If that waitress thinks I am starving you, or being cruel to you, then it reflects upon me. If she thinks that I am traveling with three crazy bitches then it reflects upon me.”

“You are traveling with three crazy bitches, Sir,” my daughter added.

Mike smiled at her joke. Then he calmly made her stand up next to me. “You don’t talk without permission. You speak when spoken to. You can stand next to your Mom, and reflect upon your lack of respect at the table. You don’t get to just spout off whenever you like.”

“Yes Sir, sorry Sir. Should I lift my skirt and shirt a little as well?”

“What do you think, Buttercup?”

My daughter adjusted her sparse clothing to reveal the bottom of her butt crack, and exposed a little bit of underboob.

“Chair dirty?” the waitress returned and gave us a churlish glance as she set our drinks on the table.

“No Ma’am, I am being punished for trying to order for myself, and my daughter is being punished for talking out of turn,” I immediately responded.

“Oh, you guys are into that kinky stuff? Well, I’ve got a cousin who is into whips and chains on Twitter. She makes good money posting pictures for OnlyFans,” the waitress hustled away. She didn’t seem to care that we were dressed like kinky little tramps.

I have to admit – it was humiliating to admit that I was being punished, but it also seemed to be a little liberating. I didn’t have to wonder if the waitress just thought I was an unhinged lunatic that behaved erratically.

When she brought our soup, Master made us share one spoon and take turns eating from the bowl with it. Anytime we did not hold the spoon, my daughter and I were instructed to keep our hands flat on the table.

My daughter respectfully observed that she was starting to understand why Master liked us to dress like total trailer trash.

“Why is that, Buttercup?”

“I just thought that my Mom and Aunt probably liked showing off in skimpy outfits. These clothes are so trashy that I FEEL disgusted with myself just standing here. I know every eye is on me and most of the women in here think I am a whore.”

“You are a whore – well, you are in training to be one,” Master reminded her. “The clothes should reinforce your place in the world now. You are lucky to have anything on at all. Bend over a little more at the table. There is an old man watching you from across the restaurant that is craning his neck to see what you have up your skirt. He may as well have a better view.”

My daughter looked over her shoulder and smiled at him. Then she lowered her shoulders and stuck out her ass a little and wiggled it for him. I believe she even winked at him. Buttercup appeared confident and flirtatious, but I knew her well enough to know that my daughter was secretly mortified by her own behavior.

Master told her that he was being considerate for her first time in public. “I could have made you sit here with cum dripping off your nose,” he said.

The look on my daughter’s face surprised me because she smiled as if to suggest she couldn’t believe he’d have the audacity but that she’d do it if he made her.

There were several customers who frequently walked by our table. There were over a dozen customers nearby and we were clearly the focus of attention. Our nipples were poking through our shirts and our dog collars were probably enough to raise eyebrows just about anywhere.

The guys with wives or girlfriends were much more discreet about staring at our bodies. My butt crack was probably slightly visible and I couldn’t hide my rock hard nipples poking through my top.

The air conditioning in the Stuckey’s was kicking and I was feeling the increased excitement from being part of the center of attention.

A few people made snide comments about us. That was mostly women who assumed that Kim or I were responsible for raising such a slutty daughter. “I can’t believe these women would act like this in a FAMILY restaurant,” one woman said.

However, no one other than the waitress had approached us. I am sure we were a little intimidating, and no one wanted to be a part of the spectacle.

The nice gentleman who had been staring at us from across the room stood up and walked toward our table. We noticed, and I think we all assumed he was going to tell us we had gone a little too far. He was a slender man in his late fifties with a silver beard. He was probably a truck driver or a man that worked with tools from the looks of him.

“Pardon me, I don’t mean to interrupt,” he clearly did mean to interrupt, but that is just something you say when you want to be polite about it. I would have said something snarky like that if I wasn’t in training. We stopped eating and looked at him.

“No bother, what can I do you for?” Master asked.

“I don’t really know how to say this, but I thought someone should,” he began. I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes. People often chastised us for exposing ourselves in public, and I thought he was going to preach to us about that.

“The way you two are standing, I am afraid that some people can see up your skirts,” he seemed embarrassed on our behalf.

“Oh no,” my daughter responded with a playful sarcasm that let him know she was fully aware. “Who are the ones that can’t see up my skirt, Sir? I’ll go to their table and let them have a look.”

Buttercup’s tone was sufficiently polite and playful that it didn’t come off snarky. I am sure it may have sounded that way if I had answered the same way.

The elderly gentleman clearly didn’t expect that reaction from my daughter. He probably assumed we would pull our skirts down immediately in shame and be thankful for the warning.

“I am sorry for joking, Sir. We are being punished because we misbehaved earlier. I spoke out of turn, and Joy tried to order food she isn’t supposed to have without asking permission. We have to stand with our hands flat on the table and expose our bodies to shame ourselves so that we remember to behave properly.”

It was a very clear explanation, and Master had only recently instructed us to be clear with people when we are acting strangely. I don’t think I could have said it all with a straight face.

“Is the punishment working?” he seemed empathetic towards our situation – as if he was not sure we deserved such a severe punishment.

“Not really, I just spent a week naked at a nudist resort and this is the most I’ve had on in a long time. I suppose if we showed anymore though we’d get kicked out of Stuckey’s.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want that. My name is Don, by the way.”

“Hi Don, my name is Buttercup, this is my Mom Joy,” she introduced us since Don seemed mostly interested in the two of us.

“Your mother? I thought she might be your sister,” Don offered as a compliment. My daughter usually hated it when people assumed we were sisters.

“Oh, we get that all the time, Sir. Do I look more mature, or does she look like a teenager?” Buttercup’s words were playful but hardly submissive. She was still learning. Mike was clearly observing and taking notes on how she handled herself.

“I think a little bit of both,” Don smiled. He politely apologized for interrupting our meals and offered to sit back down at his table. He addressed the others who were seated.

“Oh, where are my manners? This is Mike, my cousin Jessie, and my Aunt Chastity,” my daughter offered as he excused himself. She was clearly reluctant to call the Men “Master.” We all were – we tended to call them Sir around other people. “Mike and Jessie are our Masters. They train us,” she added as if that should be obvious.

“Train you? For the Olympics?” he was half-joking when he asked the question. It was obvious that he didn’t understand that she meant discipline and obedience training.

“Yeah, maybe the Special Olympics,” Jessie mused. Mike glared at him and then offered to let the man sit down with us because he was clearly alone.

“I am almost finished with my meal, and I do not want to be any bother,” he said.

“No bother, and we are finishing up as well,” Mike offered him our seat in the booth graciously.

Don joked that he wasn’t limber enough to sit with his legs as spread as Chastity. It was pretty obvious she was flashing him, and she didn’t care that he could see her freshly shaved, bald gash.

The waitress dutifully brought his remaining food over to us while he made a little small talk. I am not naturally a polite person, and I do not like small talk. I tend to roll my eyes and prompt people to get to the point. It’s actually helpful for me to practice engaging in it now, but he wasn’t interested in talking to me.

He mostly spoke with Mike and my daughter.

“Do you mind if I ask, what kind of training is it that you actually do? I still don’t understand. You seem like a nice enough person. I wouldn’t change a thing about you.”

Mike prompted my daughter to give the explanation.

“I have heard the term domestic discipline. I just started, and my Aunt and Mom have been in training for a few weeks now. They could probably explain it better than I could, Sir.”

My daughter has the gift of gab. I felt like she was giving an excuse to clam up and avoid saying what we were doing out loud. Mike obviously thought so as well because he told her that Don had asked her and he expected her to give a complete response to the question. “If you do not know what you are in training for, then we’ve got a big problem.”

“Sorry, yes, I know what I am in training for, Sir,” my daughter apologized to Mike and agreed with him. She seemed thankful that he insisted she keep talking. “We agreed to live under specific rules and give up certain privileges like being able to eat whatever we want, when we want, how we want. We can’t manage our own money, go where we want, or even slouch when walking or sitting down. Our trainers tell us what to wear, how to wear it, and teach us to be polite and considerate.”

“Wow,” Don seemed bemused and even more intrigued by her response. “Why would you agree to give up your freedoms to make choices for yourself?”

“My mom and I did because we are natural bitches who have always been stingy with our time, affection, consideration, and respect. This training forces us to be kind and well behaved.”

“And when you are not, then you have to stand up at the table?” Don seemed a little puzzled.

“That’s one consequence and a mild one. It’s supposed to humble us and make us less prideful. We can also be given physical pain like being spanked. I wear a pussy clamp at all times that can be tightened to squeeze my cunt lips as a constant reminder that I can be a pain.”

Don seemed more than a little shocked by what he was hearing.

“Don’t feel sorry for us. My mom and I asked for this because we can’t tolerate ourselves without discipline and we’d prefer a structured, disciplined environment.”

He pointed out that she didn’t say anything about her Aunt. “Is she doing this for the same reason?”

Chastity didn’t say anything. My daughter explained, “No, I think she is just doing this for the money.”

“Money?” Don was puzzled. I could tell he wondered if this was a grift or a scam and we were going to ask him for cash.

“Well, I probably should have said that we are whores and that the training is supposed to make us better ones. I was always stingy with my affection and my body just like my Mom. The training is to make me more generous with others. That’s part of why we were sitting with our legs spread and we have to stand with our skirts pulled up so the cracks of our butts can be seen. If we make a few people smile by sacrificing a little of our dignity, that’s a lot better than the alternative. I used to wear baggy clothes and stare daggers at men like you if they stared at me too long.”

Don looked nervous.

“Don’t worry, I am trying to be a better slut. We surrendered the decision on who we could or couldn’t have sex with. I am just starting out but my Mom and Aunt are full-service whores.”

“Full service?”

“Anything goes, rough stuff, any holes, any thing you like, Sir!”

Don blushed. “You’ll have sex with anyone that Mike tells you to have sex with?”

“No sir,” my daughter looked down for a brief instant. It was understandable considering how humiliating it was to admit this. The people in the booth next to us were probably eavesdropping and shocked as well.

“As I said, I am just starting out and I am still learning the fundamentals of pleasing others and serving. I can’t do everything until I master just the basics of giving head. I’ve got a lot to learn! I can only give hand-jobs and blowjobs. I am not fully trained like my mom and Aunt. They can do anything you want. They will fuck anyone Master Mike or Master Jessie tells them, but they will also fuck anyone with twenty dollars for a half-hour, five dollars for a blowjob, and hand-jobs are free.”

Don was so flummoxed by my daughter’s explanation that he couldn’t say anything. I don’t think he doubted we were for real any longer. I think he was just trying to get his head around everything she was explaining to him.

My sister grinned sheepishly when my daughter told him the prices we charge. They were so ludicrously low that I think some guys thought we were joking or we were trying to scam them somehow. I assumed they thought it was going to be a bait or switch or that maybe we were cops just looking to entrap them.

“That’s not very much,” was all Don could manage as he took a drink of water.

“They used to charge more, but Master Mike decided that they were charging way too much for their stretched-out cunts and that he’d rather we make our money by volume,” she said quite seriously. I heard tittering laughter at a table nearby. I am sure it was because of what she just said.

“You said earlier that you can’t manage your money, so why are you doing this for money?” Don was trying to wrap his head around what he was telling her. I think he believed her – Don simply found our new way of life as fascinating as he did confusing.

“That’s true, we’ve proven time and again that we can’t make good decisions for ourselves. We are forbidden from making decisions to spend money, but tomato soup costs money,” my daughter pointed at the nearly empty bowl. “Master spends a portion of our earnings on the cost to support us. The rest he is saving for us. In two years, my Aunt and I will be free to go with whatever we’ve managed to earn, but my mom is going to stay a whore forever.”