Chapter 17

When I walked out of my bedroom, I saw Edgar, Steve, and Amanda sitting on the couch, laughing and carrying on. My daughter Heather was on all fours with her legs spread wide and her ass facing them. They were clearly entertained by humiliating their sister. Heather was holding her dildo in her mouth long ways like a dog would hold a bone.

That was not what I had intended, but I hadn’t explicitly told her what to do with the dildo when she was done. She was also only a few feet away from the couch. I had told her I wanted her in the middle of the room, which was quite a few feet further away. Edgar and Steve were certainly getting a close-up view of Heather’s snatch and pretty ass today!

My wife had taken a position on all fours right next to Heather. She lifted her knees slightly off the ground and lifted herself by straightening her arms and flattening her palms. She lifted her heels so that she was leaning on the balls of her feet like a runner waiting to lead off in a sprint, and her hips were raised above her head.

“Jeez, Dad, that was a lot longer than 20 minutes. Special privileges much,” Amanda teased me for taking a lot longer with Karen in our room, and implied that I was showing favoritism to their mother.

“I was punishing her,” I lied. I was fucking her sweet, tight ass. “What have you guys been doing? Watching Heather’s pussy like a television? Can you get the game on that thing? I heard the Broncos are playing,” I joked that the kids were gathered around like they were watching a television program.

“No, we’ve been taking turns giving her performative tasks,” my daughter explained with a bemused expression and told me to come around to watch. Heather was winking her pussy and asshole for them by performing Kegel exercises with her pussy and anal cavity muscles.

“Let me guess, this is Steve’s idea?” I asked sarcastically. He was the fitness nut.

“It was Edgar’s idea. He wanted Heather to say the alphabet with her pussy,” Steve explained proudly.

Edgar looked ashamed of himself for being so perverted. “Heather, do the ABCs again,” my youngest son wanted to show me what clever idea he came up with anyway.

“Sorry, you had your five minutes, and I am still doing pussy-winking for Amanda,” Heather answered submissively.

“Do ABCs for Edgar!” Amanda changed her command.

“Daddy, how am I supposed to handle this? If Amanda gives me an order, and I start doing it, and three minutes go by, can she just give me as many entirely new orders as she wants? And does the timer reset? It’s Steve’s turn after this, I think.”

Heather wasn’t opposed to doing what she’d been told. She just wasn’t sure if she was supposed to do it.

I wasn’t sure how to answer Heather’s question. I immediately noticed that my wife’s asshole was gaping like an open mouth about 2 inches across. My semen was slowly dripping out and down her elongated taint.

I felt a little embarrassed and frustrated. It was supposed to be easy to be the King. You just say what you want, and your subjects make it happen. What I was finding out, though was that the reality of wearing the crown was that you had to be responsible for your decisions.

“Show me the ABC’s Heather,” I placed my hands on my hips.

“I can only do through C,” Heather pouted and looked over her shoulder at me. “Fraaappp, Frrrppbbttttt, Fracccckkkkkk,” she queefed three times in rapid succession while mouthing the letters A, B, C. Her pussy squirt-blasted fluid on each release of air, and then she had to stop.

“Keep going, do the entire alphabet!” Edgar clapped his hands. The others chuckled.

“Wow, what happened to your Rooty-Tooty-Fresh and Fruity, Mom?” Amanda finally noticed the gaping hole between her mother’s spread cheeks. The others giggled at my daughter’s colorful choice of words to describe her mother’s butthole.

I was going to respond, but my wife answered since the question was directed at her anyway.

“Your father punished me for not showing enough appreciation that he gave me a masturbation break. Thank you, Mike. I am sorry I took longer than I was supposed to take,” Karen’s tone was sullen, dismal, almost miserable again.

I wouldn’t say she was casual about the new way of doing things when we talked 1:1 in our room, but she had seemed to be more of the “it is what it is, thank you for letting me do this” and less somber.

“Damn, Dad! What did you do? Make mom sit on a Coca-Cola bottle?” Steve joked.

“Some things you kids are going to see because you are in the common areas. That’s going to be red asses, and sometimes gaping holes and wet pussies. There is nothing I can do to prevent that short of locking you in your room or locking them in theirs,” I cleared my throat and announced this very obvious fact. It needed to be said, though.

“I am going, to be honest with you and not sneak around. That’s what everyone wanted,” I assured them. “At the same time, I do not think you should be present when I punish the girls harder than a spanking. Those are things I do not feel you need to see or are ready to understand, and you can’t really unsee them.”

“We’ve already heard my sister queef until she nearly shit herself. I think we can handle it, Dad,” my daughter chuckled.

“Yeah, well, I’m sure there are a lot of things you think you are ready to handle, but you aren’t,” I hadn’t meant to sound so curt and condescending. I was trying to be supportive and suggest there was to be a line.

“I haven’t done a very good job of defining where the boundaries are at the house. Until yesterday, the boundary was that your sister could wear her Virginity Rocks t-shirt and sit at the table with a chastity belt under her clothes, and nobody knew,” I said.

“I knew that something was up with that Virginity Rocks t-shirt. I thought Heather was trying to play some kind of practical joke on us, but I didn’t know what it was,” Steve admitted.

“Yeah, well, this is not a joke, and it is not a game,” I said. Then I realized that, in some ways, this WAS a game (at least to them). The kids were merely trying to have a little fun with it.

It was the epiphany that I needed.

“Look, some of this IS going to seem like a game, and for you guys, that is ALL it should be, okay? You aren’t their trainer or handler or boss. I am,” I clarified. “I am glad you are not freaked out about this, and you have kind of accepted this is the way things are now. I know you are trying to figure out what it means to you because, let’s be real – things have changed a lot. The entire dynamic of the household has shifted, and for as long as we do that, then you will wonder about your place in it unless I define it for you.”

The kids listened to me and nodded. There were no snide remarks or goofy looks.

“You can tease your sister and your mom, call them names, and give them little tasks and performative orders as long as they don’t contradict me. 5 minutes is a guideline. It’s not a hard and fast rule,” I decided.

“Heather, you are not their slave, so if they give you a hard task or something you don’t want to do for them, they’ll come to me and tell on you. It’s your choice not to do it. If you want to do it for 10 minutes because they like it and you can, then you can. They should take turns, but you don’t enforce that. You aren’t in charge, and neither is your mom. They need to work that out. You can tell on them if you think they are being unfair and monopolizing you.”

I also told them that if Edgar and Amanda both told them to do the same thing, that was fine as well. “When in doubt, clarify politely what is being asked of you, but try not to make it so complicated. My main concern was just that the kids were going to fight over you like they would over their favorite toy when they were little.”

“Do you cunts understand?” I asked after there was a long pause.

“Yes,” my wife and daughter replied from the floor.

“Good. Can you do the ABCs, Karen?”

I was testing to see if she truly was committed to the path she had embarked on - but I kind of wanted to see if she could do it as well. Her pussy was shaped much differently than her daughter with a lot more folds and flaps.

“I don’t think so,” my wife replied and looked bleak, desperate to run out of the room on the sprinter’s mark position she was in.

“Try,” I insisted. I let her climb up on the chair and spread her legs wide, while holding her ass cheeks apart so we could all have a good look. I still remember how her she looked completely naked, no make-up, hair plain and uncombed after being freshly fucked that morning, and wearing nothing but her gold wedding band.

She was so beautiful that I took a picture. I did it to humiliate her at the time – document her exposure. She was so spread open, fully exposed and vulnerable. My wife didn’t seemed to mind the instruction – at least not from the expression her face. It was if she was teaching a class on how pussies work.

In that snapshot, I captured a perfect moment of submission. It wasn’t the way she looked when she first started this. She was excited, nervous, and apprehensive then as she surrendered her dignity. This was a new phase. It was not blind obedience or disinterest. It was the look of acceptance. She had surrendered to my authority, she was not defiant – she was accepting of her new normal.

The look on Karen’s face was so complex – what was going through her mind? If I had to say – Karen probably had fear and doubts that she should be doing this, but she hid it well.

I do not need the polaroid anymore. I have the image of that perfect moment indelibly burned into my brain.

There was a long pause and a loud -SPLOOF- that sounded more like a freshly ripped fart than a queef would have. It rocked the room, and I swear it had a little trailing echo. My wife said, “Oh GOD!” and then fell flat on the carpet like she was trying to melt into it while the kids (including Heather) laughed raucously.

“Oh my god, Mom!” Steve was impressed and disgusted in equal measure. He laughed a great belly laugh as my wife turned 50 shades of red.

“Women queef, they fart, they poop, they piss, they get aroused, you are going to see things like that if you hang around in the common areas. Until today, I never saw you down here unless you wanted something to eat. Then it was back to your room to get on the video games or Twitter, and now you are down here all afternoon.”

“I do not fart,” Amanda preened like a pampered puppy that she was too delicate to do something that offensive. She was clearly joking.

“Well, your sister and mother are pigs that do, and if you want them to fart or queef, then that is performative, but obviously, they can’t keep it up for five minutes straight, or they’ll shit on the carpet. Your mother will start putting together a binder with some guidelines. Obviously, not everything can be planned and written down. I thought it would just be common sense, but I was wrong about that. If you give your sister a task that is super hard or only takes thirty seconds. Obviously, she can’t do it for five minutes straight,” I said to the kids.

“You cunts agreed to be punished. I am not forcing you against your will, am I?” I asked.

The girls responded with a confused tone that they weren’t. I just wanted to hear them say that. “If the kids give you an order, do your best to accommodate it. If Amanda changes her mind, then let her change her mind. She isn’t the naked pig on the floor who is being laughed at, so queef for her, like the dumb bimbos you are.”