Chapter 21

I finished mowing the grass in that itty-bitty-monokini after that strange encounter with Carl. He really shocked me – he seemed angry with me. I really didn’t know what I had done wrong that offended him so much.

All I know is he slammed the door and I chuckled pretty hard. He would have really freaked out if I saw the next chore I had that day. I was supposed to spend an hour on my knees going down on a huge dildo to practice deep throating.

After two weeks of serving, the girls started letting Freddy give me little orders around the house. My son was permitted to order his father and me to do simple tasks. That doesn’t just extend to the house. I fought tooth and nail about that at first because I thought Freddy might abuse his authority. The girls made him aware of when he could order certain things and when he couldn’t. They even took him around the community and let him practice giving orders.

My daughters feel that if he can be trusted to give the order at home, he should be trusted to know if he can give the same order in public in appropriate situations. It makes me nervous and uncomfortable.

I just got used to serving my daughters. I do so obediently and willingly now. They’ve proven to be capable dominants despite a few mistakes along the way. I can’t say that I feel the same about doing what Freddy tells me. Even though he isn’t acting like a Master or making me do anything really sexual – it still feels so wrong.

The funny thing is my girls allow him to give them orders too. He can order anyone to hold their ass cheeks apart – and he often does. He loves to stare at our butts. He can order us to remove our butt plugs.

The only people he can order to clean their own butt plugs with their mouths are my husband and me. The girls haven’t told him he can’t order them to clean their plugs with their mouths. He just hasn’t dared ask.

If they take their plug out around me they usually order me to suck it clean before putting it back up their ass themselves.

I’ve seen him sniff the girls’ plugs before though. They know he does it and think it’s disgusting. He never dared actually lick their plug before handing it back to them.

The other day Freddy ordered me to go bike riding with him. As long as I don’t have appointments, I can go riding. We don’t usually start appointments until 6 or 7pm, and it was much earlier in the day.

He has to check with the girls. I have a very limited selection of clothes that I am permitted to wear now. He treats me a little like dress up Barbie. He’ll pick something and have me try it on. Then have me walk around and wiggle. “Flip it up like the wind blew it,” he said.

I did as my son told me, and he was disappointed because not enough of my gash was on display. He finally settled on an outfit that made even ME blush. He settled on a short black dress that is see-through. It isn’t subtle at all. It’s intended to be worn over a bikini at the pool and not as an actual dress at all.

I also wore my collar, a small skirt, and black high heeled boots with stockings (and my plug). Freddy chose one of my sparkling ones for me to wear.

Master Randy has made me ride my bike in a full negligee in the past – so it could be worse. I assumed we’d just be going around the block and most of the neighbors have already had an eyeful of the crazy slut (me) that lives on their street.

In short, I looked like a stereotypical trashy whore. When he saw the look on my face he asked “That is what you are isn’t it?”

“Yes Sir,” I admitted. “I am just not used to wearing clothes at all. I appreciate at least this much. Where are we going?”

“Oh, put this rubber ball in your mouth and close it.”

He’s not allowed to make me go down on a dildo, and he has never asked. He has seen me practice with one, and clean my bike seat (which is also a dildo) by throating it. Freddy is naïve and may never have had one but he knows what a BJ is.

He’s not allowed to actually gag me. At least, I don’t think he is. The girls have never told him he can.

However, we keep racquetballs around the living room. They can be stuffed in my mouth at any time as a form of gag. I can close my lips around them with some effort. It gives the impression I have chipmunk cheeks. I didn’t argue with him when he told me to gag myself with the ball.

I no longer hide the fact from my son that I am sitting on a dildo when I ride the bike. I used to quickly slip on to the dildo seat of my bike and hope I was wet enough. I wasn’t fooling anyone. When I got off the bike, it was always slick and wet with my cream, and it was obvious what I had been doing.

I dipped a few times and then wiggled down on it. The skirt hides the actual penetration, but if he wants to look, he is allowed to watch. He can order me to sit up and slide back down when we are riding.

I half-smiled at my son as we started riding our bikes together. Spit was dribbling down my chin already from the ball-gag. I am used to being gagged and having big dicks down my throat. I’ve had a lot of practice talking with one in my mouth – but it still comes across muffled.

“It looks like you have red teeth,” he chuckled when he saw the racquetball stuffed in my mouth. He talks a lot for the both of us and I nodded along as we rode.

I didn’t expect him to leave the neighborhood.

The first place we stopped was a drug story. I was able to park my bike on the side of the building. I thought we would be kicked out because of how I was dressed. Freddy led me through the aisles as he picked up some snacks.

An elderly woman saw me and scoffed. I thought she might confront me but she didn’t. I thought I’d actually make it out of the store without someone confronting me.

A nice gentleman approached me. “Nice dress,” he said and made no secret that he could see my pierced nipples through the top of the skirt. He reminded me of a school teacher and had silver hair and a salt and pepper beard.

“Thank you, Sir,” I politely responded. He had left the rubber ball in my mouth so I am sure I looked absolutely absurd. I executed a very slight bend at the knee in a curtsy fashion. It was something the girls expected me to do when I receive a compliment. I am terrible about acknowledging them.

“Mom, that’s not a curtsy, do it right,” Freddy turned to me. He put one foot behind his other and then did a proper curtsy while holding up an invisible skirt with his finger.

I did as I was told and began to blush. I sucked the spit forming on my lip from the racquetball in my mouth back into my mouth.

“Oh, do you always do what your son tells you?” the man seemed delighted, puzzled, curious and genuinely amused.

“Pretty much, Sir” I remained tight-lipped as slobber ran down my chin. The man’s expression told me that he thought I was making a spectacle of myself, and he was rather intrigued.

“It was actually my sisters who came up with that idea. Mom has a hard time being gracious when she receives a compliment. She’ll usually make a wise-crack about how the person is trying to butter her up and give her a big ego. She is supposed to execute a proper curtsy and be polite so that she can learn to accept well-intentioned compliments.”

“Oh, I get a warm and fuzzy when I see someone trying to improve themselves,” the man was being a little facetious, but Freddy didn’t pick up on that. He continued to ogle me.

“I can tell her to pick things up for me though,” Freddy was excited to demonstrate his new authority over me to someone – anyone. I was mortified when Freddy pointed to the bottom of a freezer filled with TV dinners and frozen waffles.

“Honey, bend over and tell me what kind of Eggo’s they have in there,” Freddy wasn’t asking me to do it. He was TELLING me to do it. He was firm but not rude.

I blushed and failed to make eye contact with the man. I bent over at the waist as I am expected to do. I knew the man and (the rest of the store) would have a full view of my ass and my butt plug.

I began to read out loud doing my best to talk around the rubber gag. “Chocolate chip, buttermilk, blueberry, strawberry, cinnamon and brown sugar, oats and berries, whole wheat, and gluten-free, Sir.”

I am sure I sounded absurd with a mush-mouth. I did my best to sound coherent while I obeyed my son’s orders. He could order me to do something like this at home. I desperately wanted to tell Freddy that he couldn’t do it in public.

Imagine, a woman bending over with her entire ass on display trying to read a bunch of product names and she is obviously sucking on a racquetball. I imagined he thought I was probably out of my mind.

This man probably thought I was a terrible mom for exposing my ass to my son and him. It was done now though – I was bent over and could feel the cool air on my bare bottom.

My daughters probably would have embraced the opportunity to tease him and blow his mind. No one would probably believe him if he told them what just happened. I was so mortified and nervous that he would laugh at me.

What I was doing was far from sexy (to me) – it was simply incredibly humiliating.

I don’t know how long the man watched or what he thought when he saw me bend over. I stood up when it was over and he was gone. I was still red-faced.

“Aren’t you supposed to wait for me to tell you to stand up when you finish doing what I tell you?” Freddy asked with a disappointed expression on his face.

I began to suspect that he was testing me. He seemed to be wondering where his limits and boundaries were with me.

“You are right, Sir. I am sorry, I am not used to this,” I was absolutely mortified and happy when we finally left the store.

We didn’t actually buy anything. “Next time I’ll take the gag out. I don’t think that guy understood a word you said.”

I was incredibly worried that there would be a “next time”. I’d been humiliated at the store when Master Randy was in charge but I knew he had boundaries and limits. I had no idea where Freddy would go or what he would do, and that unknown was freaking me out.

I was also incredibly wet. The adrenalin from being in public had my pulse racing and my adrenalin was triggering my cunt to drip all over the bike seat I impaled myself on.

He decided he wanted to go to a nearby Mcdonald’s next. I am not permitted to handle money at all. I couldn’t tell him until we stopped and he let me remove the gag. I spit it into my hand quickly so no one noticed. It was lunchtime on a weekend, and there were a lot of people.

“Mister Freddy, if I park my bike here in front of the McDonalds, everyone will see that I have a dildo seat. Can we please take it behind the dumpster?”

“No, I think the seat is cool,” he said.

I wasn’t sure if he was allowed to make that decision, but since I asked him if we could and he said no, I didn’t reply that I was going to do it anyway. The old Kim would have. Instead, I felt genuine panic about what people would say.

I slid off the bike and stroked it once to clean my cream off. If Freddy wasn’t there and it was in the garage, I would have sucked it clean with my throat muscles. The dildo is about twelve inches long.

“Are you going to lick your hand clean?” He asked.

To me, that was a loaded question but Freddy was simply asking. His tone and inflection was questioning, not commanding. I wanted to answer it in a way that helped my son adjust more fully to the new family rules.

“You’ve given me quite a few orders this afternoon, Sir. I didn’t want to overstep my bounds and assume I could,” I said in a way that I hoped would help him understand that I was really trying hard to accept my place in the family pecking order - while not embarrassing myself any more than I had to in public.

“So clean your hand,” Freddy said casually like it was no big deal. I did as I was told – while feeling truly mortified.

Once I’d slurped my cream off my hand, I brought up my next concern. “I don’t have any money, Sir,” I reminded him. People were already staring at me like I was this crazy whore with her son.

“That’s okay, I get a cut of what you make,” Freddy pulled out a pocket full of money. I cringed. I didn’t want people to rob him or take advantage of him. However, I agreed to give up parental authority. I was still tempted to give him advice. The girls have been very clear that I cannot give unsolicited advice to Freddy. That’s basically the same thing as telling him what to do.

“What do you want, Honey?” he asked as we walked into McDonald’s. All eyes turned to me. I felt like Michael Douglas suddenly pulling out a submachine gun at Wallyburger in the movie Falling Down. I like the house because I feel normal and accepted there.

In public, I stand out like a sore thumb. The girls like me to go out in public, though. They think it helps. They also wanted to give Freddy some alone time with me. They do the same with his father. I appreciated that. Randy would never have considered that he might say things to me when we are alone that he wouldn’t say around the others.

“I am not permitted to order for myself, Sir,” I reminded him through clenched teeth.

“Okay, if you COULD have anything you want on the menu, what would it be?”

““Well, I guess I would take a Big Mac, A Large Coke, a 20 count nugget with Ranch, and a large fries with ketchup, Mister Freddy!” my eyes got really big, and I got excited. I used to hate McDonald’s – now it was like eating at a 5-star restaurant.

“Too bad you can’t have any of that stuff,” he said as he ordered a Cheeseburger Happy Meal with Apple Juice for himself. I don’t know what I felt at that moment – I wondered if I should choke him for being greedy or hug him for maintaining my discipline when he didn’t have to do so.

He got me so excited imagining that hot, delicious greasy fast food was going to be mine soon. I carried his tray over to a table, and we sat down.

“How does it feel to wear clothes?”

“A little weird. How about you, Sir?”

“I wear them every day to school. It is normal for me. Can you stand up?”

If I was feeling sassy, I would have told him that I could and waited for him to tell me to stand up.

No Master ever made me obey Freddy before. This was all new territory for me. I was terrified he would tell me to do something crazy, and I wouldn’t know what to do. I stood up.

“Don’t look so scared. I’ve never seen you afraid of anything,” Freddy stuffed a fry in his mouth and told me to lean forward and put my hands flat on the table. I wondered what he was doing. “I am going to put a fry down on the table. I want you to bend over slowly and eat it.”

I didn’t know if he wanted me to show my butt to the person behind me. It certainly wouldn’t seem like it was a happy accident. I looked at him with a confused and mortified expression, and when he put the fry down, he held up a finger to indicate I should slowly lower myself at the waist and pick it up with my teeth.

I ate it. It was delicious, golden-fried Mcdonald’s fries – so salty – almost sweet.

“Next one I want you to pick up just the tip with your mouth and hold it. Don’t eat it until I tell you,” he said, and we repeated the exercise. I found myself smiling because this was so goofy I was just thankful I was sitting on the far side of the restaurant so I couldn’t see how many people were staring at my backside. I was pretty sure my ass crack was visible and probably part of my butt-plug.

I slowly lowered myself down and picked up the second fry – just the tip. I held it in my mouth and rose back up. I looked him in the eye and waited for another command. This was weird – definitely weird. My nipples were bursting through my shirt. I don’t think it was sexually arousing. It was just the sheer adrenalin factor of being in public like that. The fact that my son was telling me what to do made it equally weird. I was used to obeying Athena and Myra now. I licked their assholes, feet, drank their piss, and they inspected me regularly. We were pretty familiar with each other’s bodies.

Freddy was entirely different – doing what he told me felt much more taboo.

“Okay, suck it up slowly like you do when you are cleaning my butt plug.”

I did as he told me. Freddy stopped me and asked why I didn’t acknowledge his orders like I do at home. I usually curtsy and respond “Yes Sir” or “As you wish, Mister Freddy.”

“Well, people are watching, and I am not sure if I am going to offend them, Mister Freddy,” I said.

“So what if you do?”

That was kind of cathartic for me. He made me eat pieces of his cheeseburger slowly and bend over like that while he finished his meal. He even let me suck his apple juice straw when he drank almost all of it.

I asked him politely why he made me do that exercise while I cleaned up his mess and put it in the trash.

“You do what I say at home. I just wondered if you do that because my sisters are watching and they are really the boss of you or because you believe I am the boss of you.”

That was a strange way of putting things. “You have some authority over me, but you are not my owner, Sir,” I reminded him gently. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. His sisters had gone over this plenty of times while they used me to demonstrate what he could and could not make me do. It was the first time he was talking to me about it.

“Well, why do they get to be your owner, and I can’t?”

“Do you want to be my owner, Sir?” I felt the blood rushing to my face – what if he said yes?

“Not really,” Freddy bounced the ball I’d had in my mouth, in his hands and we walked outside. “I just wonder why they get to be the boss and I don’t,” he said.

“Well, if you don’t want to be the boss, why does it matter, Sir?” I didn’t want to confuse him. I thought that was a fair point. He told me he wanted to know. The girls would have wanted me to tell him the truth. “I think because you do not have enough maturity and experience to be a Master, Sir.”

“How do I get that experience if I never do it?”

“Well, like you did today. You gave me instructions, and I obeyed. You told me when I was going too fast or when I did something wrong, and I adjusted my behavior to suit your instructions.”

“Do you mind if I want to be your boss?” Freddy’s question was confusing, and I didn’t quite understand what he was saying. He said something about the fact that after the girls graduate, they are going to take me to college, and he may never see me again.

I wanted to assure him the girls would never keep me from him. There was a black guy staring at us. He looked homeless. He was eyeing our bikes. “That’s a pretty seat you got there,” he said.

I instantly stiffened. I wouldn’t let anything happen to the bikes or my son – no matter what role I was in. “Yes, that’s my bike. It’s pretty hard to ride,” I said. I didn’t call him Sir. I felt myself tense up – ready to pounce.

“Oh, it looks like a hard ride, you know what I am saying?” he chuckled like a weasel. “Listen pretty momma, you dressed like you ready to make some money. How about I take you behind that dumpster and put a baby in you?”

I was going to say something to him that was definitely not submissive in nature. My son stopped me and told him, “My mom works on donations. 100 roses, and she will rock your world,” he said plainly. He just offered me up. He spends a lot of time in the living room - which is a de facto waiting room for my customers. He knows the prices and probably what the packages mean.

“Shit, too rich for my blood. Maybe I will just take this little man’s bike, pawn it and come back with the money then,” he was sleazy, and his teeth were brown.

“How about I call the police,” My son held up a brand new iPhone. The girls bought brand new electronics with some of the money I have been earning and upgraded their plans.

“No need for that little man, shit! I Am just joshing with you, just joshing,” like any bully, he evaporated back into the filth encrusted world that he lived in. My first thought had been to offer him a blowjob to leave us alone. I was happy that my son had thought much more clearly and all it took was the immediate threat of the police coming to end the confrontation.

“Thank you Mister Freddy, when we get home would you like me to ask the girls if you can also be my owner?”

“Would you?” he asked.

“Is that what you want? To own me and your father with your sisters?”

“Yes!”

I didn’t answer him. I didn’t know how to respond to that. It may seem crazy to give up my freedom and access to my own money/house/car. However, as a submissive I felt it was important to surrender to my dominant.

The person who holds the purse strings still has some control/authority. We were still in a trial period but the only way I’d know if they could handle the household is to watch them take care of bills.

When my daughters became my owners, I continued with that logic that I needed to cede authority to them. I am not careless though. I wanted to ensure that there were some limits and boundaries. The girls agreed to be good stewards with the household income and not to be careless with the car. They even asked me when the roof was last serviced and considered getting it looked at.

As long as I know things are being handled – I can give up that kind of control. Just like as long as I know that my owner is being responsible about me I can give up control sexually.

I still couldn’t process the idea of someone as young and naïve as Freddy having authority over me. My son was just a year younger than Athena but they were light years apart in terms of maturity. Freddy is quite intelligent but mostly with technology and books.

“You asked to be disciplined when you behave poorly. You asked to be trained. You wanted to be embarrassed. Was that only supposed to happen at home?”

“No Sir, I did ask to be humiliated as part of my training,” I blushed. I couldn’t look directly at him while I pondered his question and replied.

“Why? You don’t seem like you like it,” he asked.

It was a great question and one I didn’t have a ready answer for. Humiliation had been such a deep part of my training that I never questioned it. I never questioned why rough sex or paddling was involved either.

“There is an act of subservience to accepting humiliation – name calling, being spit on, being made fun of. I am particularly embarrassed when a Master calls out my physical imperfections and my (many) shortcomings. I imagine it establishes the dominant as the one who gets to dish those humiliations out and affirms their control over me too, Sir. I am just not used to engaging in it in public,” I admitted ruefully.

“Yeah, but you should like that if it helps you,” Freddy replied with a confused look. He couldn’t understand how I could want something and not “like it”.

I took solace in the fact he wasn’t humiliating me to make my life miserable. He seemed to be doing it in an attempt to please me. I wanted to explain that there was a cathartic element of wanting discipline that kept me in line but I wasn’t sure how to put it in words he would understand. My son had no common frame of reference and I think males don’t always really “get” why I do this.

Yes, I get off on some of it- but most of it is painful, humiliating, difficult and the misery feels like justice. Surrendering control to someone else is liberating on one level because I no longer have to make decisions for others. On the other hand, it is incredibly scary because you have to trust them.

All of that would not make sense to my son – it barely made sense to me. I wanted to explain that I was a bad person with bad judgment and discipline was a way of keeping me in line.

“I am not doing this because I LIKE it, Sir. I can behave like an insufferable bitch when I am free to do as I please. Humiliation is part of the bitter pill I need to swallow. I don’t enjoy eating off the floor or getting spanked either. It keeps me in the proper mindset to maintain my submission,” I explained.