Chapter 23

“I’d consider it a personal favor if you let us finish at least a week of our punishment. If your father allows it, you don’t have to tease us or tell on us when we break the rules. We’ll do our punishment around the house, but maybe he can try to avoid the common areas and spank us in the bedroom. You don’t have to call me Spunky, but I’d appreciate it because I really do need to get used to it, and I’ll get punished at work if I keep forgetting and telling people that my name is Karen McGifford.”

“Jesus Mom, do you tell them our home address too?” Mandy laughed at how my wife had stated her name so plainly.

“How does Dad punish you in a strip club? Make it rain in quarters?” Steve pantomimed, throwing wads of quarters at his mother and pelting her with them.

“Do you really want to know? It’s very embarrassing, and I don’t want you to think your dad is the villain. He’s punishing us when we knowingly break the rules, and he’s been very fair. You keep calling him mean, but that’s because you only know the half of it. Heather and I were the ones yucking it up and being lazy last night. Your dad is just trying to keep us motivated and in line and give us consequences.”

My wife really defended me! It was obvious to even the kids that she was okay with being punished.

“You really want to continue being talked down to, teased, and standing around naked?” Mandy was skeptical.

“No,” my wife said emphatically. “No one wants to be punished,” she admitted. Heather jokingly raised her hand and smirked but then put it down when my wife scowled at her.

“You may think this is a joke, Gobbler, but allowing you to act like a total cunt, humiliate your brother, manipulate your father, covering for you when you broke the rules is the reason I am in this mess. I know that I broke the rules, and I accept the consequence. I am TRYING to make it right by showing you how to accept punishment graciously. Whatever he was doing this past week made you behave 100% better, so it was working, but if you are ENJOYING this, then I suggest your father make it harder on us, not easier.”

“You really don’t mind if we call you Spunky?” Edgar asked.

“Your dad said you could tease me and call me a dumb-dumb or a floppy-titted wrinkle bag yesterday. Spunky is far less humiliating and would actually help me get used to my stage name, so you’d be doing us both a favor if you call us Spunky and Gobbler,” my wife said. My wife had nice, natural tits with a little sag but was hardly anyone’s definition of a ‘wrinkle bag.’

The kids smirked and chuckled a little when she said that, but Karen’s sincerity and serious tone made it obvious she really wasn’t kidding.

“Do you think I am an idiot?” she asked. The kids naturally replied that my wife wasn’t an idiot. “Then trust me to know what is best for Gobbler and me,” she said so honestly.

The kids chuckled because of how deadpan and serious my wife sounded while at the same time calling our daughter “Gobbler.”

“Now, do you really want to know how we get punished at the club if we forget our stripper name? because I have to be honest with you if you ask. That’s part of my deal.”

“Sure,” they replied.

“Your father and Miss Barbie have different styles, but after our set on stage, she usually makes me come to the locker room, grab my ankles and repeat for the length of an entire song. “My name is Spunky. I am a Spunky Monkey. I need to learn to listen for my name. I am a dumb stripper.”

Karen even bent over to demonstrate the position. It was something I asked Barbie to do to them.

The kids chuckled and asked who Miss Barbie was. My wife told her she was the house mother and she was in charge of them when I wasn’t watching or dealing with something else. They asked how I was punished. I was afraid that my wife would tell them one of the more graphic ways that I punished them.

“Your dad is much more strict. He will make me clench my butt plug in my teeth, and high step in place, sometimes marching me around the locker room while the other girls laugh at us.”

“Oh my god,” Mandy covered her mouth to stifle a laugh at her mother’s expense and asked if it was embarrassing. My wife admitted it was, and it was supposed to be, just like it was at home when she laughed at her. “It’s a punishment.”

“What’s a butt plug?” Edgar asked. My wife explained that it was slightly larger than the metal plug that went up her ass in the chastity belt, black and made of latex.

“What’s it supposed to do? Hold your poop in?” Edgar laughed.

His older siblings chuckled.

“That’s one thing it’s supposed to do,” my wife admitted with a churlish grin that frequently made her feel like she had to use the bathroom. “It’s intended to humiliate us, but also so that we can’t easily play with our buttholes.”

“You like playing with your butthole?” Edgar asked brazenly.

My wife was mortified by the question and deflected by saying she didn’t, but Gobbler did. The kids once again laughed about their sister’s new name.

Heather (Gobbler) quoted me and said that it was supposed to remind them both what pains in the asses they were. My wife nodded her approval.

“So, how come you don’t have one in now?” Edgar looked at his mom’s bare butt cheeks. When she bent over, there was no doubt she wasn’t plugged because we could see the dark circle around her anus and her sore, puffy pussy lips.

“That’s up to your father, but also, I think you said that our nudity made you uncomfortable. Wouldn’t my wearing a butt plug around the house make you uncomfortable too?” Karen asked.

“No, Mom,” Edgar admitted eagerly.

“Considering the alternative is we have to see your uncensored b-hole, I guess I’d rather you wear the plug or the chastity belt as well.”

“Okay, so let’s talk about what it would take for you to be comfortable, and in a week, we can re-evaluate this? Give it that long to see if it actually teaches a lesson?” she asked rhetorically. She looked at me and asked if I was willing to negotiate that with the kids.

The kids were confused by my wife’s willingness to be humiliated and punished. I was as well. When Heather first approached me about punishing her, I was confused.

I slowly began to realize that my daughter enjoyed performing humiliating tasks, rough sex, and bondage. She didn’t understand her needs any better than I did, but slowly I found that by giving her what she asked for – I was bringing out a different version of Heather – one that was giggly, caring, and even polite and considerate.

My wife, on the other hand, was an even greater enigma. She had practically jumped at the chance to participate. I didn’t buy that she simply wanted to set a good example for Heather, and I do not think the kids did either. I knew my wife had some wicked fantasies, but fantasies are just that – not real life.

Yet, the two of them stood naked in the kitchen area at the dining room table, and this was REALLY happening.

“Do you want the girls to wear clothes in the common areas of the house?” I asked my kids. I had been referring to my wife and Heather as ‘the girls’ even though Mandy was a girl as well.

“Well, at least ONE of the girls will be wearing clothes,” Mandy huffed and folded her arms across her chest.

“No one wants to see your little nubby-puffins, Mandy,” Steve teased his little sister over her smallish boobs. She offered him a sour face in response and stuck her tongue out at him.

“As long as I can stick a chip between Gobbler’s butt cheeks,” Steve snickered as he plucked a Dorito from a snack bag. He inserted it gingerly between Heather’s tight ass crack, and it stuck out like a small, triangle tail. The other’s giggled when Heather’s eyes got wide. Even my wife laughed a little.

I would have chalked it up to a joke if Heather had simply plucked it out of her cheeks and let the matter go.

“Daddy, I don’t mind being naked, but tell them they can’t stick snacks in my ass crack, at least!”

It was Heather’s baby voice that set me off. The one that she used when she tried to manipulate me into siding with her. She pouted and looked genuinely upset and humiliated. She plucked the Dorito out of her ass crack and went to the trash to throw it away.

“Hold on a second, Gobbler,” I insisted.

She sighed and stopped. Heather’s body language suggested that she was running out of patience with all of this.

“You brought this on yourself. You came out here in that skimpy bikini and forced my hand. I was happy keeping your punishment a private matter. The kids just said they wanted us to stop, and now you are making demands on what you will and won’t do?” I asked. I was growing angry with my daughter.

“No, they asked for MOM to stop because they don’t want to see her embarrass herself. I agree. She didn’t do anything really all that wrong. They don’t give a shit if I am in trouble – they want to see me get punished.”

“We didn’t say that,” Mandy got defensive.

“Oh, you didn’t have to! You pleaded with Daddy to let Mom out of it, but no one stood up for me! Instead, you stick corn chips up my ass and laugh!” she held up the corn chip.

I have to admit that, at the moment, it was kind of funny. My naked daughter held the corn chip between two fingers as if it was the most disgusting thing she had ever seen and glared at us.

“I don’t know what makes you think you can yell at Mandy or find fault with anyone else. If they didn’t stand up for YOU, it’s because YOU wouldn’t stand up for them if the tables were turned,” I challenged her. “Second of all, what did you call your Mother?”

“Mom...” Heather pouted. She looked nervous.

“What are you supposed to call her?”

“Spunky Monkey?” she used baby talk to make it sound cute and try to butter me up. It wasn’t working – in fact, it had the opposite effect on me.

“And were you given permission to leave the table area?”

‘No, but I didn’t think I needed to...” she began to get defensive.

“You didn’t THINK? Well, that’s part of the problem, Gobbler. Wedge that chip back between your ass crack. If you drop it before I give you an order to take it out – then you’ll eat it off the floor, and I will personally wedge the rest of the bag of chips between your ass crack and make you eat them one by one until the bag is empty! Get back to the table, hands behind your head, chin up, tits out, ass cheeks clenched! Face away from us so we don’t have to look at your pouty face and chubby chipmunk cheeks!”

My daughter has a beautiful face, but when I teased her about her appearance, it usually got the desired result of humbling her. She assumed the position I commanded and tightened her cheeks around the Dorito chip, and held it there.

“You two dummies are GOING To be punished. That’s a given. We all just agreed that in a week, we’ll talk about it, and if it bothers your brothers and sister, then we’ll move most of it behind closed doors into the bedroom. You aren’t putting conditions on it. THEY are!”

“Yes, Daddy! Sorry!” my daughter blubbered. She wasn’t crying, but she sounded nervous and sorry for her earlier behavior.

“You don’t need to say anything. Your silence would be sufficient,” I demanded. Then I told my wife to face away from us as well. “You too, Spunky! Face away from us! We don’t want you staring at us while we eat. If we need you, we’ll call your name.’

My wife assumed her original position, placed her hands behind her head, and faced the front door.

“Is it going to bother any of you to have meals like this around the house?” I asked the others.

“Can we stick things up their butts?” Steve was half joking.

“If I catch you sticking something up their asses, I’ll shove it up YOUR ass!” I told him. “If you want to wedge a chip between their ass crack or something silly like that, I have no problem with it.”

I got an uncomfortable boner thinking about that particular scenario. I did my best to hide it by taking a seat at the table and crossing my legs.

“Really? I was just joking,” Steve seemed delighted by the opportunity to continue his little game.

“Me too? Or just Steve?” Edgar piped up.

“I am not going to have three sets of rules. I already told you that as long as you don’t abuse your authority, you can give them little orders around the house to fetch things for you. You can tease them. The only chore you have to do is clean up your room. I ASKED if you would voluntarily call them by their stripper names and tell me if they misbehave or break any rules. If you see something isn’t clean or a chore was done half-ass or they talk back to you or behave rudely, then come tell me. That’s the only involvement we’ve discussed. Is that a problem for any of you?”

None of them had a problem with it. I knew that they were simply having a hard time getting their head around the new power shift in the house and feeling guilty about their mom being punished and teased. However, I felt this discussion had been helpful, and they were willing to see where things went.

“Mike, can I speak?” my wife asked.

“What is it, Spunky?”

“I am sorry if I made you guys feel guilty about my punishment. I probably look gloomy and angry – but I am mad at myself for allowing things to go so far with Gobbler. You saw her little outburst – I let her talk like that to me and even encouraged that annoying baby talk. I am glad your father isn’t putting up with it,” she said. That inspired some confidence in the kids. “It was my idea that you should have to clean your rooms so that you have some chores to do. I didn’t realize that the punishment would be annoying and interrupt your regular day. Would it help if your father made us clean your rooms too? You should get something out of this for putting up with it, and you’d have more time to do your homework and relax.”

The kids wouldn’t say no to having their rooms cleaned. I quickly replied with consensus and complimented my wife by telling her that was a good example she was setting for Gobbler of contrition and accepting responsibility for the things she had done. My wife thanked me curtly. I couldn’t see her face because she had her sexy back turned toward me.

I remembered a little too late that I had agreed not to compliment the girls, but that was Heather’s rule and not my wife’s rule. I wasn’t going to apologize for saying something nice to her.