Chapter 16

I passed through the living room holding one of Heather’s dildos like it was Philip’s head screwdriver that I needed from the garage. The kids didn’t say a word about it. It felt weird, but the secret was out now, and they knew what was happening.

I wasn’t going to rub their nose in what we were doing, and I certainly didn’t plan to involve them more than they already were. I would have been satisfied with the kids being aware and passive observers of the things their mother and sister did out in the open in the common areas.

However, that just wasn’t entirely realistic. They needed to talk and interact with Heather and Karen, and they were going to use how I behaved with them as the model of what was and wasn’t acceptable. That was simply a given.

I was comfortable with them teasing the ever-loving shit out of Heather and calling her names without allowing Heather to get back at them. The shoe had been on the other foot so long, with Heather as the oldest, that it was nice to see some turnabout. Heather had called them enough names, and being the oldest and loudest, usually meant that she won all the arguments she participated in with them.

The role reversal with their mother was another thing altogether. I wondered how “Mom Mode” really could work at all. It hadn’t been my idea, but now that it was out there, it was up to me to execute it. I asked myself if the kids could really watch me call her a cum-piggy or a cunt, call her one too if they wanted and then flip a switch and go back to respecting her and her authority over them.

It was something that I would need to give some consideration. I also had to allow the kids some leeway in terms of the distribution of chores. Amanda especially, was all about the value proposition of things.

If this new relationship didn’t benefit her in any way, she was probably inclined to be disruptive and not supportive. It was a small thing to make Steve, Edgar, and Amanda’s lives better by having their mom and heather wait on them hand and foot. It would also humiliate the girls, so it was a win/win.

The chore distribution was going to give me opportunities to work the girls around the house and punish them for failures or reward them as they showed me they could work together as a team and do good things around the house. It only stood to reason that the kids would have minimal chores. I was cool with that.

The performative orders, such as dancing on the table had been fun and relatively harmless. It wasn’t my initial intention to introduce them, but initial intentions rarely survive the operational reality of a well-executed plan.

There were really two kinds of orders the kids could give. “Bring me a glass of tea,” was simple and straightforward. “Get the Hula Hoop and put two on your tits, one around your waist and one on your leg, and dance for 5 minutes” was a performative kind of order for their amusement.

I had to place the time limit of 5 minutes and ask that they take turns, or at least ask each other if they minded if they gave the girls another because I wanted to establish some kind of natural limit. If you ask me why, 5 minutes? I pulled the number out of my ass in the spur of the moment.

It gave the kids authority over their mom and Heather in a way that I wasn’t entirely comfortable with for reasons I couldn’t explain. I was the boss, and the king of the castle. I was the head honcho, the rule maker, and the punisher. I was now a judge, jury, and executioner and the entire damned justice system in the house.

It wasn’t that I felt if I gave up a little authority, I was losing some of my own. I could always countermand any of the kid’s orders and even put a time out on performative tasks. I knew that.

It wasn’t that I didn’t trust the good judgment of the kids. I knew they wouldn’t say, ‘jump out of the second-story window’ or something absurd like that.

It was quite simply that I did not feel comfortable “involving” them in the training and punishment of my wife and daughter. I was already ‘involving’ them by allowing them to observe it, but allowing more than that felt particularly wrong to me.

I was trying to think about that while at the same time training the girls in front of the kids, so it wasn’t easy for me to sit down and think about it. I thought about telling my wife all of this when I went into the bathroom in our room.

Karen had left the bathroom door wide open (but closed our bedroom door). Our bedroom opens directly into the living room. Even when it is open, you still can’t see in the bathroom from the living room. Even still, I was a little worried that the kids may have come in and seen her standing with her legs spread, fucking the shit out of herself with her own dildo, and playing with her ass with her finger.

I should also provide a little context about why this was shocking to me. In the many years of marriage that I’ve had with my wife, I have rarely seen her play with herself. We usually made love with low light and not the bright light of the bathroom, where you can see everything.

It wasn’t that I didn’t think my wife was beautiful – she is. It was simply that I was raised to think that low light was romantic and set the mood, and that is the way I thought sex was supposed to work between man and wife. I had never even questioned it.

Seeing her fuck herself silly in the bright light of the bathroom was a game-changer for me. I’d never go back to low-light sex again. It was like finding out you’ve been developing digital pictures in a dark room because that is how photographers did it, only to learn you never had to do that at all.

I was aware she had a sex toy, and I was aware that at times (boredom or after sex if she wasn’t satisfied) that she’d masturbate. She’d go into the bathroom and take care of herself. I didn’t begrudge her this or even mention it. I jerked off whenever I needed to relax. It was a good way to get dirty thoughts out of my head and focus on whatever it was I needed to do that day.

I assumed she probably played with herself at times when I wasn’t there. I never asked about it. Now, I was genuinely curious as she splayed herself out without any shame and fucked her cunt with a tiny purple dildo if she ever masturbated like this in the past? Or was this all new?

The fact that she kept rubbing one finger down the crack of her ass and touching her butthole was also intriguing. I’d touched her butt a few times with my fingers, but generally, she never showed any interest, and I wasn’t going to try to do anal if she didn’t want it. In 20 years of marriage, we never even talked about it.

Now, she was playing with her own butt on her own time. My wife was so consumed with her own sexual gratification that she barely acknowledged that I was her personal audience. “I can’t believe we are doing this,” she said to me as she pumped herself.

“We are,” I reminded her and offered her Heather’s dildo from upstairs.

“This is nice,” she took it from me and sniffed it. “Did she use this, without washing it?” she scrunched her nose in disgust but didn’t stop fucking herself with the smaller toy.

“She sucked it clean. I keep it locked upstairs. I will get you one like it if you like it,” I said.

“No need, we can share,” my wife slipped the smaller dildo out of her pussy, replaced it quickly with the larger one. Her wet meaty pussy made a ‘sluice’ sound as she inserted it all the way to the base. Her pussy lips opened and expanded around the base of the dildo to accommodate the sisze. She offered me a satisfied but tiny grin, and then licked her other dildo clean.

“Did you always clean your dildos with your mouth after you used them?” I was delighted my wife was such a freaky-little slut.

“No, never. It’s disgusting,” my wife admitted. She removed one finger she had been casually rubbing around her anus from under her leg and brought it to her nose, and sniffed it as well. “It’s just this is my life now, right? I need to get used to the taste of my own juices.

“You are my little whore, now,” I nodded my approval.

“I was always your little whore, Mike,” she smiled and moved around to bend over so she could fuck herself from behind. She looked into the mirror at he pretty face just like Heather. The only difference is she didn’t like the face that she saw and looked away. “I have dreamed about something like this. I never thought you’d really spank my butt. That was intense.”

My wife’s thighs were glistening from her pussy dripping. She touched her leg and then brought a finger to her mouth and tasted herself.

“There is going to be a lot more of that. You don’t know the half of what you are in for until you’ve tasted the paddle!”

Karen bit her lip and begged me to come fuck her.

“You’d like this cock?”

She nodded and gave me a baby-face sort of pout. It reminded me so much of Heather when Karen did that. They truly were a lot a like in many ways.

“Beg me then, slut? Let me hear what you’d do,” I took my shorts off. I had no qualms about fucking my own wife.

“Fuck me in the ass, Mike,” Karen’s words were not the submissive, baby-talking, sweet-cutesy begging that Heather usually did for me. She was direct and to the point. I was planning to just tease her and let her lick my pecker while she creamed herself. I remembered the lesson that I learned from Heather early on about how anticipation drove her crazy and that being denied turned her on more than getting everything she wanted.

However, those six simple words had never been uttered by my wife in 20 years of marriage and several years of dating prior to that. “Fuck ... ME ... in ... the ass ... MIKE” is how I hear those delightful words when I replay that perfect moment of sexual bliss and liberation in my mind. She had said it so casually, as if she was asking me to pass the salt at the dinner table.

“Suck it, and get it wet,” I was insta-hard, and my boner felt BIGGER than normal. It was like EXTRA blood gave me about a half-inch more length and some extra girth. My wife dropped the dildo on the floor and bent over, and gave me a quick hummer – just enough to slick it up.

I brought her over to the bed, through her on it, put her on all fours, and mounted her from behind. I put the tip of my cock to the rim of her anus. I planned to be gentle our first time. I watched Heather destroy her anus and wear it out, fisting or shoving massive dildos in it, retch it out, and leave her sweet little pucker gaping wide. I knew my daughter had practice – LOTS of practice.

It would have destroyed me, but Heather seemed to take pride in how wide she could be opened up, and pleasure in how rough and filthy she could be treated.

Heather’s asshole slowly returned to a tight little button size, but it was when it was stretched out, and I could see inside the pink cavity of her bowels, that I was probably most turned on by my daughter. I wanted to see if it would be the same with my wife.

“Fuck my dirty asshole, Mike,” my wife demanded. She grabbed my hips from behind, and I thrust into her. “Yes! Oh yes, why have you never done this before?”

I felt like a fool for never having tried, but I can honestly say that I always assumed my wife would not have enjoyed it. I didn’t want anything going up MY ass. She used to treat sex between us somewhat mechanically, and it had only been recently that we were renewed like young lovers again.

“You like dirty stories about being tied up and fucked in your butt?” I whispered softly in her ear as I slid into her. I was trying to talk dirty like I did with Heather but it came out wrong – strange. It didn’t feel right being that nasty with my wife.

“Yes, blackmailed teachers diddling their students, dirty, dirty, stories about sweet girls turned into bimbos and fuck-dolls. Do you read them?” she asked as she masturbated her pussy with her hands while I worked my cock into her tight asshole.