Chapter 13

“I have some modifications to what we discussed that I’d like to discuss with you,” my wife suggested politely.

“Should we go into the other room?” I asked if she wanted to speak privately.

“No, I think we can do it here. There is no time like the present, and you can always say no,” my wife stood up. She looked pale as if she was trying very hard to present a brave face but was slightly nervous. I rarely saw Karen seem visibly shaken or lack confidence.

As a teacher in high school, she had to have nerves of steel and put up with a lot of bullshit from disruptive students. If she broke her composure in the classroom, she’d lose control of the class.

My wife stood up and said, “Your father and I have had a lengthy conversation about Heather, and we agreed that I contributed to spoiling her, enabling her, and covering up a lot of her mischief to help her get out of trouble.”

I didn’t know what mischief my wife was referencing. She must have left out some things when we discussed this, or she was embellishing for the kid’s sake.

“Your father decided that I should be a proper role model for Heather during her punishment. I concur, and so all of the same rules that apply to Heather will apply to me,” my wife said. The laughter was palpable.

Unlike my daughter, they weren’t laughing to ridicule their mother. They laughed because they thought she was kidding. She began by removing her top and revealing her blouse. Steve’s jaw nearly hit the ground. Amanda’s expression was almost like she felt betrayed that the only other girl in the family was doing this as well. Edgar looked away and blushed.

“You have seen your sister naked. I am going to wear the same house costume,” my wife seemed dour and unhappy. As if I was forcing her to do this by some secret blackmail and not because it had literally been her suggestion. Karen placed her thumb in the waistband of her shorts and shimmied out of them. The moment the stainless-steel belt was visible, everyone knew she wasn’t kidding and that this was for real.

“Your father had me fitted with a chastity belt, and I’ll be wearing it full time just like your sister. I know what this must look like. I do not have a masturbation problem like your sister, but it’s only fair that anything she does, I will do.”

My wife rifled through her shopping bag and strapped on the pig noise. She looked so serious that it was almost humorous. Heather had been playful and funny about it, and it didn’t seem quite so embarrassing. The fact that their mom was an authority figure donning the pig nose clearly made it seem even more disempowering and humiliating.

“I will be splitting the chores evenly between your sister and me. The only thing I ask that you do is to clean up any personal mess and clean your room. You guys barely do that now, and usually, I end up doing it anyway,” she complained.

My wife could be very passive-aggressive, and she had just asked the kids to clean their rooms but had basically told them that she’d probably end up doing that for them anyway since they wouldn’t. She fluffed the maid costume and began to wiggle into it. “This is going to get dirty, so we’ll probably need a few more, Tom.”

“You can’t be serious,” Amanda suggested that this was still some sort of weird joke. The other kids seemed to have doubts that their mother was serious too.

“How is this for serious?” my wife planted her feet apart next to Heather. She faced away from the couch and then bent over. She lifted her skirt in the back and bent over to show her ass cheeks. The chastity belt she wore was a little different, and the dark skin around her anus was more prominent, so the plug did very little to hide her anus.

“Gross, I can see your taint!” Steve laughed sadistically. My wife’s perineum (the fleshy bit between the vagina and anus) was very pronounced and elongated. The corner of her slit was visible just at the edge of the part of the chastity belt mesh designed to prevent masturbation.

“I don’t have anything you haven’t seen before, Steve, and you do not have to look. When I am in slut mode, I can be talked down to and teased just like Heather, so you can make fun of my taint, which I assume is my butthole, or even call me a taint if you prefer.”

“No, it’s the fleshy part between the butthole and the pussy!” Edgar explained with a wild grin.

I could tell from my wife’s expression that she was uncomfortable, and she probably wanted to chide her youngest son for his language. Why on earth was she going through with this if it made her this miserable?

I felt guilty. She had been laughing in the truck and, at times, at the adult bookstore. She seemed to get turned on when I spanked her, but now that she was showing her butt cheeks to the kids and actually talking about this, she looked positively mortified.

“How often are you going to be in slut mode?” Amanda asked warily.

“That’s completely up to your father,” my wife answered flatly.

“I guess when not in slut mode, you are back in mom mode and are going to bitch and complain like you normally do?” Amanda said. It wasn’t like Amanda to be that rude to her mother.

“I do not bitch and complain,” my wife clarified patiently. My wife could come off as being somewhat critical, but that was beside the point. “When I am in mom mode, then everything goes back to normal just as it was. You can say that I am a bitch while I am in slut mode, though, and it is fine.”

We hadn’t discussed this slut mode versus mom mode thing. I think when Amanda called it “Mom Mode,” that was how my wife envisioned it. I didn’t interject, though, because I liked that solution.

“How can you expect to go back to normal and have us act like we didn’t just see you show us your boobs?” Amanda asked.

“Because I am your mom, and you will,” my wife replied almost bitterly, as if she was biting my daughter’s head off.

“Karen?” I asked. My wife knew that she should not have snapped. She politely apologized to Amanda and said that this was new to her and that she was adjusting to it as well.

“Anyone have any questions about your mom’s role?” I asked. I was surprised there were none, but perhaps after she had been so defiant, they were a little intimidated. I asked my wife to tell me what modifications she wanted.

“I would like to be able to punish and direct Heather even when I am in slut mode. I would also like to be able to give her permission to eat or use the bathroom when you are busy or working. That way, you are not interrupted over something trivial as a potty break.”

“How does that work if you have to ask Dad to use the bathroom, but you can tell Heather she can?” Steve asked a good question. I doubted that my wife had thought things out that far.

My wife’s silence was a little scary. She talked so much that when she got really quiet, that is when I usually knew she was genuinely mad at me. I thought perhaps she’d abandon this idea as unworkable.

“Good point, Steve.” My wife thanked our son and then addressed me with a question, “I suppose we could have a third mode called supervisor mode where I could manage us both?”

“I can’t keep track of all of these modes, and I am not giving you the keys to the chastity belt. You are permitted to direct or punish Heather at ANY time regardless of mode, but you must wait for permission FROM me just like her.”

“That’s fair,” she replied thoughtfully. I thought that would be the end of her modifications, but she had others.

“You allow me to rewrite the rules to include the standard operating procedures around meals, laundry, chores, and behavior, and you approve them. I would like well-defined expectations, please, and I think Heather needs those as well,” she politely requested.

“I do not want to get so complex that I need an advanced law degree to find out that we are having Turkey on Wednesday because the schedule says that,” I joked.

My wife was about to explain that she was talking about a framework of rules that governed general conduct and not a daily schedule when the doorbell rang.

“Answer the door,” I said.

My wife stood up and, realizing she was in a black French maid costume, looked aghast. “Is it paid for?”

“Yes, but give him a big tip,” I smiled.

My wife trundled to the door to answer. The man serving the pizza wore a black Covid mask, so we couldn’t see his entire expression. We hadn’t been wearing ours in public for a long time. He obviously noticed the pig snout and the maid costume but acted like it was perfectly normal.

“Um, here,” she wrote something on the receipt, took the pizzas, and shut the door.

“Set the pizzas on the dining room table, and then let’s talk about what you could have done better,” I smiled wickedly.

My wife obediently set down the pizzas and the paper plates that came with them. She set the table for six (which was a mistake).

“Strip off your maid costume, Karen,” I said. My wife dutifully stripped down to her chastity belt and looked at me with an anxious and nervous expression.

“I told you to be nice and considerate. You could have told him thank you or even showed him your pretty ass when you walked away. You didn’t even bother to engage him. How are you being a good role model for your daughter? Would you have tolerated her behavior?”

“This is new for me, Mike,” my wife said.

“You and the other cunt will STAND while we eat and wait on us. Show your mother how you stand at attention,” I told Heather.

Heather was still in her maid costume. She stood up straight, legs apart, placed her hands behind her head, chest out, chin up, and waited in a military-style pose near the table. My wife had to do the same, except that she was nearly naked.

“When we eat, you’ll wait until we are finished and stand like this in case anyone needs a napkin, a drink, or drops their silverware.”

“Do I have to strip every time?” my wife asked politely.

“No, but you do because I told you to undress. You’ll stand there as you are dressed at the time unless given other instructions. You can talk politely to us, but you are not to interrupt any conversations or interject.”

The kids sat down to eat and chuckled about how weird this all was. Edgar kept looking over at his mother’s bare flesh in disbelief. I felt he kept stealing glances out of curiosity about what a woman looked like naked in person but also because he kept thinking this was a weird dream that he’d wake up from, and he had to keep checking to see if she was still nearly nude.

My wife has fantastic nipples, and I admired the way they perked up and presented when she stood there topless. I normally made love to her in low light, and in the sobering bright light of our dining room/kitchen, they were hard not to notice.

“Edgar, why don’t you take a good long look at your mother’s boobs, get it out of your system, or you may break your neck,” I finally addressed the elephant in the room. Everyone had noticed that he was boob-watching pretty hard. The others lightly chuckled.

“Sorry,” Edgar apologized profusely. “I don’t want to get in trouble when Mom is back in mom mode or whatever. This is just so weird.”

“It’s perfectly understandable,” my wife replied while standing perfectly motionless. “You don’t have to apologize for looking at my boobs. Your father is right to embarrass me for failing to be polite to the pizza guy. I was supposed to set a good example. You can look any time you like.”

My wife was being quite serious and understanding, but it was coming off a little rigid. I could tell she was just nervous, but it was probably intimidating my son.

We continued to eat pizza, but no one was talking. It was hard to chit-chat about normal things, given what had just happened. I had intended to offer a respite from the conversation and maybe break the ice by talking about something else over lunch, but everyone was still thinking about the pow-wow.