Chapter 12

The next day I woke the kids up as I had the day before without being instructed to do so. I whispered and did it gently as I crawled from room to room and then begged my sons to walk me outside on the lawn and allow me to piss and shit like a dumb dog.

This time I had to crawl with hobbled legs and weights hanging from my chest. Casey apologized for being a brat the day before and even offered to apply Ben-Gay to me when she saw it dangling from my chest.

I took her up on the offer. It may have stung and made me feel like dancing around awkwardly when it was on my private parts, but it helped my sore bruises tremendously everywhere else.

My sons walked me to training and picked up Bambi just as they had the day before. I told them that their father would allow them to watch the entire thing if they wanted.

“Oh good, just what I needed!” Bambi teased playfully. “Now, you will tell all the men with mustaches and Camaros that I squee-squee like a piggy on the weekends and get my titties popped like balloons,” she jiggled her weighted tits and smiled broadly.

“Seems like she is getting very familiar with us, Mister Steven,” Mike was being facetious when he called his brother Mister Steven, but he had a point. We weren’t supposed to talk like that.

“I believe the cunt thinks she can talk whenever she wants and tell jokes. Are you a comedian or a cunt?” Steven asked rather seriously.

“I am sorry, Sir! I am so sorry! I am a loud-mouthed cunt, and I forgot my place!!” Bambi’s sudden panic almost seemed like an overreaction and a joke, but she fell to her knees and begged forgiveness.

This time Steven made her bend over but gave her ten swats on the ‘underboob.’ It didn’t physically hurt Bambi, but she counted each stroke and repeated a variation of her apology. “I shouldn’t have made jokes, Sir. I appreciate you escorting me to my sessions, and that was out of line.” Or “Thank you for correcting me; I won’t do it again.”

On the ninth swat under her weighted tits, my son asked her to repeat what she had said verbatim. After she did, Steven told her to repeat it until we got to Grove Street. “Squee-Squee like a piggy, and then say that you love getting your titties popped like balloons.”

“I do not like getting my tits popped like a balloon,” she squeed like a pig after she clarified but obeyed the order for about a hundred yards until the boys got tired of hearing her endlessly repeat it.

Mike swished her ass several times with the wooden dowel and smacked the back of her knees as well after he got bored of hearing her endlessly squee like a piggy.

“Who would you rather have as a master? Me or my brother Steven?” he asked.

“Respectfully,” Bambi was in a different mental state when he asked the question – a much more serious and austere one. “I would not like either of you as a Master, but I would like you both as friends here and at high school.”

Mike got quiet and sullen. I think he regretted “making his move” and hoped for a much better answer. The silence was palpable.

I didn’t want to speak to fill it, but I wished someone would.

“Who has the better cock?” Mike asked with a confident swagger. I was glad he wasn’t speaking to me. I’ve seen them naked, but they generally wore shorts in public – like today.

Bambi looked apologetically at me. It only confirmed what I knew was happening. My sons were teenage boys, and they had desires. It wasn’t easy for a mother (even a slut) to talk to her sons about sexual things, but they had accepted the changes in me, and it was the least I could do to accept the very natural conclusion that they had their dicks washed by a very capable little cock-sucker like Bambi.

“You both have yummy peckers,” she answered diplomatically. It wasn’t what either boy wanted to hear, though.

“We are almost to Grove Street. We could order you to drop to your knees and suck us both on the street,” they reminded her.

“You could, but that would also make us really late because we’ve been waddling like we have corn cobs stuck in our asses. I would love to gulp on your dicks, but your mom and I really need to get over to the final day of evaluation.”

The guys looked at me and then back to her. I didn’t know what to say or why they looked at me. “I do too, Gentlemen. You can make us do anything you like after class today.”

I do not know why I said “anything,” but the word hung heavy in the air for me – like a cloud that I should not have spoken. The boys didn’t say anything about my offer. My husband had said the night before that I could use my own judgment and he wasn’t going to ‘micromanage’ me. He was talking about picking up forks from under the table and not sucking dicks.

I told myself the boys probably did not think anything of what I had said and tried to forget about it. All day while Mistress Pepper reviewed our lessons, I kept thinking about my poor choice of words, “anything you like,” and what that implied.

We received our normal enemas, bathing, and public shaving. The weights were removed, and mousetraps were applied to our tits, assholes, and pussy lips. They were strong enough to snap the neck of a mouse. Mistress Pepper showed us how much tensile strength to scare and inform us of what we’d be wearing.

She slowly let the metal bars of the mouse trap close on our body parts, so they squeezed and bit into us but didn’t let the jaws snap down as if a mouse had activated the trap while stealing cheese. We wore these while practicing cleaning.

Mistress made us make beds, fold clothes, and perform very mundane chores with precise accuracy. It may sound very vanilla and boring, but there was seldom any chore we did that wasn’t made more difficult or humiliating.

Toothbrushes were shoved into our mouths, and assholes and sponges were attached to our tits while we scrubbed the floor on our hands and knees. We hand-washed their cars and had to dunk our heads in the soapy water and apply hot wax to ourselves and the car.

If we didn’t hold our heads under long enough, pull our ass cheeks far enough apart, or seem happy while we did it, Master Tucker would dunk us even longer. It was a great lesson in surrendering yourself to your new role for the amusement of your betters.

Mistress Pepper would sometimes shove washrags or sponges into our assholes and cunts – I have to admit, after wearing the chastity belt so much – any attention on my pussy was good attention.

We were handcuffed together or tied up in humiliating poses while we vacuumed the floor or swept. Mistress created difficult-to-clean goopy messes and instructed us to lick the floor clean. All the while, Tucker and Mistress called out one-word commands for various positions and corrected us for slanted shoulders or hips slightly out of place.

One of the more unusual things we did was march out to the woods behind the community center. Mistress Pepper and Master Tucker made us use hand tools, squat in uncomfortable positions, pull stones attached to clips on our cunt lips and tits, and add to a garden walkway.

It was an ordinary, mundane walking path with rose bushes and butterflies – the kind you’d find in any community in Florida. People might use it to walk their dogs (or their slaves). We actually did some community service to make the area brighter and more pleasant. It was very satisfying despite leaving me sweaty and feeling stretched out.

Some of those rocks were twenty pounds, and we had to inch them a little at a time as we struggled to perform even basic tasks. We didn’t actually have to lift the rocks with our cunt lips, but it felt like that when they were clipped to canvas straps around the rocks.

No one complained; everyone worked together. It was a good test of our obedience. It was also an exercise in teamwork and not being an individual.

“Good news, you get to eat out today!” Mistress joked sweetly around lunchtime. Tawny joked back by asking enthusiastically who she got to eat out.

“Not who, where!” we were placed in full pony livery, with leather harnesses and mousetraps on our tits and cunts and pulled Mistress in a sulky (one-person cart) to the swimming pool. I was embarrassed because my daughters were there, and they saw me. I had been introduced to serving in a pony procession before, but my kids hadn’t seen me before. This was a fresh new humiliation. I hoped that they would be proud, but I assumed I was embarrassing Casey.

Casey looked incredibly embarrassed. She was talking with a much older boy (With a mustache). It looked like they were really hitting off, and they were both naked at the pool. I did not get a chance to eavesdrop, and I felt guilty for being nosy – it’s hard not to be, though.

I was soon presented with “lunch.” There are several well-known glory holes in the bathrooms at the pool between the stalls in the men’s bathroom and between the women’s bathrooms. It would have been no big deal to make us squat and station us at glory holes and let us suck dicks. There were also slave bathrooms, and we could serve there.

I’ve played in glory holes plenty of times at the adult theaters back home, and I assumed the other girls might have no problem with anonymous sex. I heard Karen say that she loves it when men cum and leave without talking and gloryholes allow her to keep it friendly without getting to know the guy.

“It also keeps them from having to look at your ugly face. They can imagine Bambi on the other side of the opening,” Mistress Pepper smacked Karen’s tits. She told us we were on ‘clean up duty,’ which meant licking urinals, toilets, and any eating cum filled condoms we found on the floor.

I found three condoms while I licked my way through the bathroom on my hands and knees.

“What are you doing here, Mom?” Casey asked as I emerged from the men’s bathroom and wiped my face. The boy she had been talking to looked like he was in his twenties.

“It’s part of our evaluation,” I explained.

“Bathroom clean-up, my Grandma did that,” he said knowingly. I instantly imagined his grandmother to look like Rue McClanahan, the sexy southern senior from the Golden Girls.

He didn’t introduce himself, but I later learned his name was Simon. Simon was handsome and had a lot of swagger and personal confidence. He was also tall and broad-shouldered like Master Tucker. Casey rolled her eyes at me as if I was truly an embarrassment, and I waved goodbye.

“Kids can’t live with them, can’t drown them,” Tawny offered a conciliatory joke after my eldest daughter sashayed off. I stared at her well-sunned butt crack as she did and stifled the urge to call out a reminder that she needed to wear suntan lotion. I was a slave, but still, her mom and the biological need to nag was strong in me. My mom would have reminded me to put on suntan lotion in front of my friends WHILE I was applying suntan lotion.

I didn’t want to be like my mother, though.

“Is Dawn still thinking about being a slave?”

Tawny sighed and said she didn’t think so. “I was a stripper for 17 years in Tampa, and she would probably make a good dancer, but I do not think she has a temperament for real submission. I am not even sure that I do.”

I didn’t want to blow smoke and tell Tawny she was a real submissive, but I said that she was proving she did have what it takes bypassing the evaluation. Tawny thanked me for the kind words. “I didn’t think I’d be a slave. My boyfriend told me I had to serve a nigger for six months before he’d marry me to prove that I would do anything he wanted me to do. I thought being a slave was basically the same thing as being pimped out and stripping, so I let my new Master sign me up. This past week I’ve learned there is a whole lot of shit that I am too stupid to fully understand,” Tawny sounded like a frustrated bimbo.

“You might not want to say the n-word,” I reminded her in a whisper.

“No, my Master wants me to say Nigger, because I was so hateful about it and take responsibility. If I get the eternity collar, he’s going to engrave nigger lover on it before he gives me back to Pea-pod,” Tawny said.

Peapod was her former white boyfriend that told her to serve a black man. “I am not even sure I want to go back. Dawn had a 99.99% chance of being a stripper or pregnant teen mom like me if we go back to Ybor City,” she said of the notorious party city she hailed from in Tampa. “Slavery is a lot harder than I thought it was, though. I just think the little twat is sweet on a boy, and she thinks he’d make a good Master, but boys don’t know jack shit any more than most men do,” Tawny offered me a sunny grin.

I wondered if Steven had been talking about Dawn the night before and had a crush on her, and maybe she had a crush on him.

Pepper decided that we weren’t quite finished with our little field trip to the pool area. She broke out leashes and told us all that we would be putting on an impromptu dog show. I wasn’t sure how spontaneous this was because the DJ at the pool played “Who, who let the dogs out” by the Ba-Ha Man to announce it.