Alex’s Story
Chapter 8
The scene at breakfast the next day reminded me of a Jeff Lee Johnson painting—it seemed at first like your average American family meal, but the details were strange if you knew what to look for. Tracy gave me an enthusiastic, full-body hug when I came into the kitchen as though I were a long-lost friend, and Stacy asked from where she stood at the stove, “Sunny side up, down, or scrambled?” They were back in regular clothes, shorts, and tank tops, with their hair up in ponytails. A few days ago, the two would have been hidden behind their phones, letting Chelsea cook for them. Instead, she was eating a piece of toast at the table wearing a tight, v-neck t-shirt and no bra. I didn’t try to hide that I was staring, and she didn’t try to cover up.
“Scrambled, please,” I said because I didn’t trust anything more difficult to Stacy’s budding enthusiasm for cooking, and she turned back to the stove. Tracy continued to hang on me with her arms up around my neck, and out of the corner of my view, I saw Emily shooting eye-daggers at her; I guessed Tracy’s PDA made Emily feel insecure. From the table, Chelsea watched the drama with wry amusement.
In the old days, I would have shrunk away from Tracy out of social anxiety and uncertainty. Instead, I let my hands wander and felt her up, enjoying the double pleasure of her curves and my power over her. She was too short for me to reach her butt, so I cupped her bare waist where her shirt had ridden up with her raised arms. That frustrated Emily and she excused herself with an irritated huff to change—she was still in the same outfit from yesterday. Tracy didn’t pull away, and I peeked into her mind to see how she felt about being publically fondled.
The sore warmness of her ass from yesterday’s whippings was at the front of her consciousness. Behind that mental wreck, there was a traffic jam of unhappy feelings—the anxious anticipation of Sam joining us, neglected texts from popular friends, the embarrassment of me feeling her up in public, and the (to her) horrifying ascendency of Emily in the family hierarchy. I had suspected wrongly that my new status would make the twins rebellious and vindictive. I should have known better; Tracy was ready to do whatever it took to get on my good side. She wanted to join me, not stop me. I grinned and slid my hands up her torso, pulling at her shirt until my thumb met her nipple. Her sides expanded against my palms as she breathed in. Chelsea distracted herself from the show by fiddling with her phone.
Breakfast interrupted me from pulling Tracy’s shirt up further. “Scrambled eggs, coming up,” Stacey chirped, scooping them onto a plate, oblivious to Tracy’s predicament. As I released her, she tried to give me a warm, flirty smile, but I saw her anxiousness to please me in the lines of her eyes. I enjoyed her brownnosing, but I cautioned myself that the more freedom I gave the twins, the less respect I would get. Stacy set my place at the head of the table where Ted usually sat. I gave her a hard, unapologetic slap on the rear as she returned to the stove. She stifled an indignant yelp and forced herself to pout coquettishly at me over her shoulder instead.
“Will it be all hands on deck today, Alex?” Chelsea asked after I was seated beside her. “I need to know. I have a yoga class scheduled this afternoon.” The chilliness in her tone surprised me.
“Tell me frankly, Chelsea. What’s eating at you?” I could have read her mind or just guessed, but the sass in her voice irked me.
She picked up a fork to push crumbs around on the table while she thought. Being compelled to answer my question took a little of the fire out of her. From where I sat, I could see nearly all of her chest down the neckline of her shirt.
“Well,” she said after thinking about it, “Having you in the house disrupts everything. And you’re being reckless with my girls. Have you thought about STDs or pregnancy? What if they end up on social media?” She delivered the answer flatly and harshly but under her breath so only I could hear. I waited, suspecting there was something more, and after a moment, she continued filling in the pause, “And Sam has been trading sexual favors to let the twins get out of spankings.”
Her green eyes flashed at me with motherly defensiveness; whatever Sam was doing was getting to her. I looked inside her mind and discovered in her memories from last night a view down a hall and past Sam’s half-open door. Through it, the Twins were bare from the waist down and in Sam’s bed, face down in his pillows, and Sam sitting between them pawing at Stacy, his hand hidden between her thighs. He stopped chagrined when he saw Chelsea, but she knew that was only temporary.
Chelsea’s emotional reactions felt explosive and dangerous. I considered just changing her mind, but at the end of that slippery slope was a harem of brainwashed bimbos. As though summoned by the thought of him, Sam arrived for breakfast with his blond hair still an uncombed haystack from bed, trailed by Emily. “We’ll pick this up later,” I said to Chelsea, “And yes, it’s all hands on deck.”
“Oh. Hi, Alex,” Sam grinned at me. He was carrying a long, barkless twig. He saw where I was looking and flexed it for me. “A switch,” he said, “warms up their butts.” He cracked it in the air with a snap, which made Stacy startle, fumble, and drop an egg. It hit the floor with a wet crack, and she looked at it unhappily, her fingers unbuttoning her shorts for a spanking. I felt Chelsea’s eyes boring into me.
“Sam,” I said, “let’s give them a rest for breakfast. I have some new plans for discipline we can talk about.” Stacy sent me a “your-my-hero” look before fetching a washcloth for the mess, which gratified me. Emily wore the same soft, terrycloth shorts she’d worn my first evening at the Smith’s, but she’d pulled them up and rolled the top down to make them as small and tight as possible. She wasn’t wearing a shirt, just a sports bra, and she had put her hair up in a loose bun. The combination accentuated her long, sinewy waist and the curves of her hips. Next to her, the twins seemed pale and scrawny.
When we were seated at the table, I noticed everyone waited for my lead to take the first bite. Sam ate noisily, using his spoon like a backhoe while ogling his mother and sister. Chelsea ignored him, but Emily couldn’t help needling him with her eyes. The twins looked naked without their phones, even next to their mother’s and sister’s skimpy outfits. They traded one or two-word remarks after long pauses as though learning to converse without texting for the first time. Watching them, I had an inspiration about how to soften Chelsea’s resistance to the plan I’d worked out with Emily. I cleared my throat to get everyone’s attention.
“Sam,” I said, “did I give you permission to take the twins to your room and feel them up?” He sputtered and looked at Chelsea accusingly. “No,” I said, “she didn’t tell on you. I can read minds, remember? Stacy, what did he do exactly?”
Stacy’s face burned with shame. “We used up all the hot water without leaving any for his shower, so he said he would give us each twenty swats. Except the switch hurts so much, we couldn’t help squirming away, which he said reset the count. I knew he was turned on . . .”
“How?” I asked, curious.
“Whenever he spanks us, he touches us, and he was wearing sweatpants for bed, so we saw his boner,” she said in a hushed voice, like she was sharing a shameful secret. I nodded, and she continued. “So he said he would be willing to spank us with his hand but only on our bare bottoms, and we agreed. He positioned us on the bed in the way he wanted. Except he more like patted me than swatted, and the touching turned into petting.” Her voice had been growing softer and softer until it trailed off into embarrassed silence.
“Alright,” I said. “Sam, that was definitely not something I told you was ok. From now on, I’m putting Emily in charge; she’ll be in charge of who gets a spanking and when.”
Emily knew what was coming and took up the baton. “I think Sam deserves a whipping first, don’t you?” Her voice trembled at first with performance anxiety, but the green flecks in her eyes glinted with the same competitive energy that made her a beast at sports. With a shiver, I wondered what she would have tried to get away with if she’d won at cards yesterday.
“It’s your call,” I said. I didn’t have to read their minds to feel relief emanating from the twins. Chelsea leaned back with her arms crossed, but she didn’t protest. Sam looked at me with injured disbelief. I shrugged back at him.
Emily stood, picking up the switch from where it lay, beckoning for Sam to join her. He didn’t move. “Simon says,” she commanded, “bare-bottomed, bend over and grab the counter.” I wasn’t into seeing his dick flopping around, but I couldn’t contradict Emily without undermining her authority, so I resigned myself. The twins, on the other hand, watched with fascination as Sam pulled down his shorts in profile to the table. I wondered if they’d seen his or anyone else’s penis before in real life.
“Whap!” went the first stroke, and “One!” Counted Sam. He took it like a man until the third swat when he began to stand and turn away from us. Only when Emily commanded him back down into position did I see it wasn’t because of the pain; he was trying to hide a ginormous erection. It bounced like a horse dick after every impact, and by ten, it throbbed when Emily’s hand made contact with his ass—I couldn’t look away. By thirteen, his counting dropped deep in his throat and became more of a husky grunt. Around the table, his mom and sisters watched with wide eyes. The fifteenth swat pushed him over the edge, and he came, groaning and thrusting into the air as he shot thick ropes of cum on the kitchen floor. Everyone froze, and Sam turned his head away so he didn’t have to see his mom and sisters staring at his dripping cock. Somewhere outside and down the street, in the silence, a car door slammed faintly.
Emily reacted first and took charge, turning the situation to her advantage and filling up the awkward silence with busyness. “Stacy, Tracy, scrub that up, and Sam as well. Sam, relax. I know with everything going on, you’ve been over-stimulated recently. It’s nothing to be ashamed of; I have a plan to help you.” She put her hand on his back reassuringly, and his dick twitched out one last gob of cum onto the tiles.
I noticed Stacy taking her time to observe the mess up close while she cleaned. When she wiped the floor with a paper towel, she paused to open it and examine the gooey contents with an expression halfway between disgust and curiosity. Stacy was also the twin who chose to clean Sam and didn’t hesitate to wipe down his shaft and where semen had clung to his thighs. I thought her curiosity meant she must be a virgin and very likely kinky.
A few minutes later, we were sitting at the table again, not meeting each other’s eyes and embarrassed about what we’d seen and, in Sam’s case, done. Except for Emily, she’d picked up a notepad-magnet from the fridge door, clicked the retractable ballpoint pen into the write position, and continued.
“Ok,” she said in a businessy voice, addressing the twins. You guys will be my maids—cooking, cleaning, and doing errands. I want you two to find some authentic maid outfits. Look for a recognizable style like a French maid and as sexy as possible without being too conspicuous. Sam needs to ok them, and then Mom will buy them for you.” Tracy and Stacy looked resigned; they had already lived through worse. But Emily continued, “Things will get a lot more steamy around here after this, and Sam will need some relief after being around that all day. I guess that’s obvious.” Sam blushed, and the twins sat up; their interest and anxiety peaked. I entered Emily’s mind and changed blowjob to a handjob before she could continue—I didn’t want to over-alarm Chelsea. “Twice a day, Sam can ask and have a hand job from both of you.” The room was less shocked than I’d expected. The twins relaxed, expecting worse, Sam seemed less humiliated, and Chelsea frowned only a little.
“So twice total?” asked Stacy.
“Yes,” said Emily.
“Where on us is he going to jizz?” asked Tracy.
I couldn’t help laughing a little, which drew their glares. It was an obvious question for someone on the giving end of a handjob to ask, but I hadn’t considered it.
“Now wait a moment,” said Chelsea, “Sam is their full-blooded brother.”
“You’re saying you or Emily should help him out instead?” I asked innocently, and she closed her mouth, her frown deepening.
“Well,” said Emily, “above the waist except for your hair. If you don’t want it on your shirts, take them off.”
Sam, who had been in an embarrassed sulk since his spanking, was perking up. “Can I touch their boobs?” he asked.
“Yes,” I preempted Emily to get points with Chelsea. “But only outside the panties, or it will be a hundred swats next time.” She didn’t appear impressed by the boundaries I was setting.
Emily picked up where I left off, “Sam, I also need you to do fit checks to ensure our outfits are up to spec.”
“And that means Emily as well,” I chimed in. “Every day, the most boring, conservatively dressed girl starts with one demerit, and each demerit is worth fifteen swats.” They traded looks around the table at each other’s clothes, but no one said anything.
Emily added bullet points to her pad to document what we had covered so far. She continued, “Ok, Sam, you’ll still be giving spankings, but only for official demerits, and when I tell you it’s time. Fifteen per demerit.” Sam’s enthusiasm was back, and he was trying to make eye contact with the twins, but they had understood the power shift away from him and wouldn’t be baited.
“Wait just a minute,” said Chelsea, her confusion and frustration bubbling over. “What’s going on, Emily? Where are these rules coming from?”
I took over. “I’ve enjoyed experimenting with you and the girls this weekend, but I want a more organized, disciplined harem. You collapsed too easily into a submissive role to lead, which, don’t get me wrong, I loved. So, I’m putting Emily in charge. She and I worked it out this morning.” My unhesitatingly direct response took the wind out of her sails, and my allusion to our evening with Sandra embarrassed her to silence.
“Let’s keep the interruptions down,” said Emily to Chelsea, “we still have a lot to go through. Chelsea, you and I will take care of Alex’s needs. The deal for you and Ted is the same as for the Twins and Sam—twice a day, he can ask for a handjob. But no sex outside that for us without my or Alex’s permission.” Chelsea looked resigned. I was relieved; she was becoming habituated to her daughter’s sexual leadership more quickly than I’d expected.
“Chelsea, you’ll lead a daily “sex ed class,” continued Emily.
“A what?” said Chelsea.
“Something new every day, like practicing blowjobs on a banana or kegel exercises,” said Emily. Chelsea looked dubious. “Like when you gave me the talk on how it was ok to use lube, just google something if you run out of ideas.” Chelsea shrugged and sighed.
“And I am going to lead the fitness classes,” said Emily casting an evil side eye at the twins. “You’ll come with me for my five-mile morning jog; we’ll do weights, yoga, and drills. You guys are going to be swol.” The twins were naturally slender and too lazy for the gym, and the thought of physical activity turned them a sickly green.
Emily plowed on. “Things that will get you a demerit—giving yourself an orgasm, screwing someone outside the harem without permission, dressing conservatively, evading rules or punishments, not being receptive to Sam’s outfit critiques, being resistant to physical affection . . .”
“I’m sorry?” said Chelsea, who was listening carefully.
“We’re probably going to get slapped on the ass and groped around the house,” explained Emily. Chelsea took it in stride.
“Demerits,” continued Emily. “Not taking birth control, not being cleanly shaved and washed, not sleeping in at most panties and a T, not addressing Alex as sir or master in the house, fully closing one’s self in a room, going out without permission, using phones to which we don’t have tracking software installed, . . .”
The list went on and on, and I saw the girls’ eyes glaze over in a mixture of tedium and horror as its length drilled into them the intensive thoroughness of their servitude. I looked for signs of rebelliousness inside and out. Chelsea had already given in and mentally reorganized her life to get with the program. Stacy and Tracy were preparing themself for cutting corners and circumventing as much of the system as possible while still sucking up to me. Good, I thought; Sam needs to work on his underhand swing.
While Emily droned on, I made a mental dashboard for each person that only I could see. They looked like car tachometers, with the needles gently bouncing around at around 0.5 out of 4.0 for the girls and 2.0 for Sam. Under each was a knob I could reach out and turn up or down with my mind. I labeled them arousal meters and tested Stacy’s, slowly cranking the base state from 0.5 to 1.0 and, noticing no visible change, from there to 1.5.
Stacy began to sit straighter and breath more deeply, and she fidgeted, flexing her thighs and playing with her hair. I pushed it up to two, and she licked her lips, leaving them parted. When I moved the dial a little past the two mark, the change in her became more pronounced. She arched her back and rocked her pelvis surreptitiously against the chair. Her eyes glazed; I guessed she was lost in fantasy and peeked inside.
In her mind, Sam was being spanked again, except her view was from beneath. She held his cock, feeling how hot it was and how it throbbed every time he was whipped. In the fantasy, he was aimed directly at her face. Smiling, I inched the dial to 2.5, and Stacy began to whimper and moan. Tracy noticed first and nudged her sister to cut it out, but Stacy waved her off. Around the table, everyone else began to see as well, and Emily stopped mid-list. “Are you ok?” She asked Stacy. I adjusted the knob down to just above two, so her base level of arousal dropped to a whisker higher than Sam’s resting state.
“I’m fine,” she said, trying to smile casually as she emerged from the fog of horniness, “No, really, I am.” But because I was sitting next to her, I saw where she was flexing her thighs together below the edge of the table. Exactly where I wanted them, I thought and nudged up the rest of the girls’ dials to the same level.
The immediate effect was understated—better posture, more hair twirling, friendlier smiles, and prolonged eye contact around the table. But as Emily continued to lecture, the changes became more entrenched and substantial. Chelsea leaned back against her chair, crossing her arms behind her head in a pose that left her shirt stretched indecently thin across her breasts, and then pretended not to notice the looks she was drawing. Emily turned her body towards me, looking up from her tablet between bullet points at my face as though she couldn’t get enough of the sight of me. Her attraction to me filled me with a warm glow. Stacy, next to Sam, put her mouth to his ear to whisper and let her hand rest on his thigh. When she finished, she didn’t shift back; she just hung out there, leaning against him. Tracy watched her sister and Sam flirt. She was moving her hand in an unusual way under the table, and after shifting my posture to get a better look, I was shocked to see she was rubbing herself between her legs. Sam, staring at his mother’s areolas through her shirt across the table and feeling his sister’s warm breath on his neck, dabbed perspiration from his forehead and neck with a napkin. I considered whether I wanted to keep turning the knobs up until the situation devolved into an orgy, but I decided a slow burn was more fun.
When she finished the rules, Emily took Chelsea’s and Sam’s phones from them—she already had the twins’—and gave them to me. Then, one by one, they wrote their passwords on sticky notes. That was symbolic because I could read their minds. But I could tell from how they looked with trepidation at the pile of oblong devices that it drove home how deeply in my control they were. The phones represented my power over their social networks, correspondences, private photos, porn habits, bank accounts and credit cards, dirty secrets, and more. “Ok,” I concluded the meeting, “Let’s get to work.” The twins cleared the table, and Emily and Chelsea left to each claim a bathroom.
For the next few hours, the girls were busy with Emily’s to-do list—shaving, brushing, washing, choosing clothes, and a thousand other small tasks to get them in the habit of obeying her orders. They would have to put up with Sam following them around like a terrier to ogle and grope and the whole time watching like a hawk to snitch on any demerit-earning behavior. Meanwhile, I installed programs that would turn my phone into a command center. I wanted the ability to reach out and spy on them and take control no matter where they went.
I saved Chelsea’s phone for last and was distracted by her browsing history after running my programs. According to her logs, pretty much anytime she was on her phone, she was reading Literotica. After navigating to the webpage, I discovered she was still signed in. Her account had logged thousands of ratings and bookmarked hundreds of stories. Mostly they were in the non-consensual or bondage categories, but she had a taste for exhibition and humiliation as well. And she left comments on the stories she liked, which drew me in. In the back of my brain, she was still the bitchy MIlF who’d successfully campaigned to ban skateboarding in our neighborhood. And I couldn’t reconcile that image with her profile persona’s desire to be owned by a middle eastern sheik—“Fuck, I want that to be me!”—or her love of public use and degradation—“If someone put me in stocks for a whole town to use me, I would come so hard.” I wondered, with all the time and energy she spent reading and reacting if she might be some kind of low-key sex addict. When Tracy knocked on the doorpost to announce herself, it startled me. I had been imagining how that evening, I would start giving Chelsea what she begged for online.
“Sir?” she asked, and her little submission made my heart beat quicker. I nodded for her to go ahead. “Well, I saw that Emily’s door was closed, I remembered the rule about no closed doors, so I opened it a little, and I think you’ll want to come and see.”
In lieu of a maid’s uniform, she had changed into a mid-thigh, pleated black skirt and a black sweater over a white collared shirt. She looked more like a melange of goth and country club than a French maid, but I appreciated the effort. “You’ve found a way to get back at your rival a little?” I asked, and she gave me a naughty, evil smile. Privately I wondered how pissed Stacy would be at Tracy for antagonizing Emily. I left a sticky note on the phones saying, “Ask permission to use.”
We stopped outside Emily’s door, and Tracy put her fingers to her lips and opened a wedge. I leaned in next to her and put my hand on her lower back to brace myself—she, in turn, was braced against the door.
Emily was lying on her back facing away from us, wearing nothing but the sports bra, one hand between her legs and the other massaging her breasts under the top. When Stacy noticed and joined us, she squeezed between me and the door to see. I knew she could feel my erection pressed against her side. Her outfit matched Tracy’s. Inside the room, Emily slid her index finger from her clit down her vulva and back, penetrating herself with every stroke. When she pulled up her bra to free her tits, I gave into temptation, put my hand on Stacy’s, and guided her to stroke my cock through my pants. Stacy demurely followed my lead. The three of us standing silently together attracted Sam’s attention, and then, just as Emily brought herself to climax, Chelsea came to see what was going on as well, but she left just as quickly when she saw what we were staring at. I was on the edge myself, with Stacy obediently running her fingers up and down my shaft through my pants.
Without any interference from me, Emily quietly moaned my name when she came arching her back and vibrating her clit in rapid little circles. She continued gyrating her hips and fingering herself as her breathing slowed. I nearly came from hearing Emily say my name—it’s good to be the king, I told myself—and pushed Stacy’s hand away to avoid creaming my pants. That knocked Stacy’s elbow against the wall and caused Emily to pull her top back into place and turn to look behind her. She froze when she saw the four of us, our heads stacked on top of one another in the door’s crack like a totem pole, watching her. Her pupils contracted into pins from shock.
“Eek!” she said and whipped a pillow from behind her head to cover herself. “What are you doing? Close the door!”
In a shrill, tattling voice, and before Stacy could shut her up, Tracy said, “It’s a rule not to close the door and make yourself come.”
I stifled a laugh and jumped in just as Emily began to really lose her cool, “She’s right; that’s thirty swats. Don’t bother putting on your panties.”
Emily gritted her teeth and slowly got control of herself, “Yes, sir, but would you mind not waiting at the door while I get up?”
“They’ll close their eyes,” I said, knowing she knew it was a white lie, but it was enough bluff for her to get up the courage to uncover herself and get out of bed.
I had seen her naked before, but being bottomless accentuated the tidy vertical line of her newly shaved v. I imagined running my hands lightly along the outside of her cleft until she was so wet just the weight of my finger was enough to part her lips. I made a note to try that later. “Ass to the door, bent at the waist, feet apart, hands on your bed.” She clenched her fists in frustration and obeyed, blushing red, bending forward and exposing her sex. Sam blew a wolf whistle, and the blush spread from her face across her torso. He squeezed by the twins, and he traded his switch for the riding crop on Emily’s dresser. The semi-circle of stuffed animals on her bed formed a mirror audience to us for her punishment.
Sam, now a disciplinary expert, moved in on her confidently, taking charge of the situation. “Ok,” he said, resting his left hand on the small of her back and lining the crop against her upper thighs, “don’t forget to count.” Without being asked, Stacy wrapped her hand around my erection again, looking back and up at me for confirmation. I nodded without looking away from Emily’s perfect ass.
Sam whipped Emily with the cadence of a metronome, not leaving enough time between strokes for her to collect herself. Her pitch as she counted rose in desperation after every strike. He didn’t hit the same spot twice, moving up her ass and leaving distinct, evenly-spaced horizontal lines. The twins smirked at her punishment at first, but the savage artistry of Sam’s abuse reminded them that it was only a matter of time until it would be their turn. Midway through, Emily became visibly aroused, and the jostling of the beating on her lubricated pussy caused her lips to part, exposing that she was wet inside. By thirty, her meter was nearly three, and I knew the tension in her voice was due to more than pain and humiliation. I sent Sam and the girls away afterward to enjoy touching her upturned ass alone. Sam lingered at the door, trying to memorize as much of the scene as possible before closing it. I ran my hands over Emily’s exposed lips and slid my finger into her pussy, making her moan, but I stopped before she could come.
“Please,” she’d whimpered. “Please, I’m so ready.” I loved that she was desperate enough to beg.
“I’m denying you relief to teach you self-discipline,” I said. “You’re going to need it. You have five minutes to compose yourself, and come join us.”
I wondered what my meter would show if I had one. I felt like it would be all the way at four, and I began planning how I wanted to experience release. I could have just taken Emily in her room, but I enjoyed disciplining her too much. I hoped she would still be able to lead effectively after the show.
As I returned to the living room, I saw the twins sitting on either side of Sam through his cracked-open bedroom door. They were bare from the waist up on his bed, chatting with each other like nothing unusual was going on. Stacy had her hand around Sam’s cock and was pumping him vigorously. Good girls, I thought to myself. I wondered why they were topless; there was no way Sam would be able to spurt on them from that position.
I heard Chelsea in the kitchen, and I thought she would try to lecture me when she saw me, so instead, I headed home to let Onion out. I thought about bringing him back to the Smith’s, but they didn’t have any dog care stuff, and Mom would be back late that night. I paused in my room to spy on the Smith’s from my room, seeing the house I’d gotten to know so well from the outside. Sam was in Emily’s room, and she was turning for him, showing off a ridiculously short tennis skirt and pink varsity sweater. He shook his head no, and left the room for her to change. She stood behind the door instead of shutting it and exchanged her sweater for a thin white tank top. For a moment, I had the thrill of spying on her heavy bare boobs. I was surprised to discover I was just as turned on and excited by that as I’d always been; my pulse pounded in my chest.
Emily called for Sam to come back, and this time he gave her a thumbs up, and I could tell from his face he thought the outfit was stellar. Before he left, he reached out to touch her. She raised her hands to push him away, but at the last moment, resigned herself and let him feel the weight of her breast through her shirt. I could not wait to get back to the Smith’s; I didn’t want to miss a second of the depraved scenarios I was creating.
I relaxed in their living room, watching what I was beginning to think of as my harem adjust to their new life. On some level, I think everyone became aware of how horny they and everyone else was. Sexual arousal and the rules eroded their inhibitions and self-control as the day wore on. The twins “lost count” of hand jobs going back to Sam’s room three times before Emily called them out. The girls took every opportunity for bodily contact and touching. They cuddled with each other on the loveseat, and prolonged hugs became as frequent as saying “hi.” The twins developed a routine where they would inspect each other’s outfits to give themselves an excuse for exhibitionism. Under cover of the fashion check, they would invite Sam’s or my input, posing and touching each other to emphasize the other’s best features.
Emily or one of the twins appeared beside me like magic whenever I sat down or stood in one spot long enough. They would rest their heads on my shoulder and ask me if I thought they were pretty, if they could get me anything to eat, if I would help them apply sunscreen or lotion, or if I would come back and help them in in their room with a “problem. “ Emily was the most aggressive, tickling my ears with whispers of how much she wanted to spend time alone with me and how she was ready to do anything I wanted.
The effect of my arousal boost to Chelsea fascinated me the most. After I settled on the couch, she made herself a cup of hot tea, sat across from me on the opposing loveseat, and tuned out everything around her to read a book titled “Story of the Eye.” She had chosen to wear the same black cocktail dress from Sandra’s party and risked a whipping resisting Sam’s attempts to get her into something more revealing. In case I was too thick to understand the implication, she also went barefoot and wore a thin, black choker. I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
Her calm poise made me need to dominate her, and it was insufferable to me that that was probably the effect she intended. I started sending her on meaningless errands, first to get a Coke and then a little later to get a beer, then a sandwich, and when I had nothing left to ask, to go outside and report back on the color of the neighbor’s car. She dispassionately and patiently obeyed me, saying, “Is there anything else I can do for you, sir” before sinking back into her book each time. I started to look for any excuse to punish her and break her aloofness, but there wasn’t a crack in her facade until after dinner when I asked Emily to have the girls dress for bed before their traditional family TV time.
The twins came back first in pink matching panties with little bows on the front and petite tank tops. They joined me on the couch and haggled over what to watch.
“But oh my god, in the next episode of Generic Fantasy Drama, Generic New Actress gets completely bare to play a slave girl,” said Stacy selling me on their favorite series before anyone else came in.
“Deal,” I said. “Do you know where the remote is?”
Tracy fetched it from a basket under the TV, staying bent over unnecessarily long to rummage. Emily was next out in a lace-edged cami tied shut at the sides. It was more feminine than her usual athletic gear, and she wore it awkwardly. Sam’s choice, I figured. When she saw what we were watching and that the twins had already flanked me, her face fell. She thought the show was childish, and she was jealous of the twins.
“You can come to sit her on the floor in front of me,” I said. And she did, curling her legs beneath her and resting her back against my calf. I put my arms around the twins and slipped my hands down their tops. After a moment of indecision, they went with the flow and snuggled up to me. Stacy put her hand over mine, encouraging me to play with her chest. We got through nearly the whole episode like that before Sam exited Chelsea’s room alone. Frustration twisted his face into a scowl, and he was carrying a tiny scrap of fabric.
“What’s taking so long?” I asked.
“Alex, I mean sir,” he said. “Chelsea hasn’t been cooperating with me all day. The only outfit she’ll try on is some PJ shorts. I kept my expression neutral, but inside I was jumping up and down. I extracted myself from the pile of girls and followed him back, telling them to “stay put.”
I hadn’t been in Chelsea’s room since the morning after Sandra’s party. She was by her dresser in the PJs. They weren’t flashy or skimpy, but the cut and style were softly and deeply sensual. I felt like they were inviting me to touch her. Sam didn’t understand the appeal, and I disagreed with him that she needed to change, but I wouldn’t let the opportunity slip through my fingers. She looked up at me and asked, “Do you like my pajamas, sir?”
I couldn’t lie because she saw me look at her with desire. “Yes, I said,” but that’s not the point. You know the rules.”
“I just wanted you to see and decide, sir,” she replied demurely.
“And I want you to obey,” I retorted, feigning anger.
Sam held out the scrap of cloth, “This is what I found in your closet that I want you to try, Mom.”
I hadn’t realized before that he was holding a garment, and given its size, I wasn’t sure it could be. The sight of the tiny lace broke Chelsea’s composure, and she pleaded, “Please, sir; it’s not appropriate for Sam and the girls.”
“You’ve already earned forty-five swats by my count; put it on and join us in the living room for your punishment.”
“Please, Alex,” I heard her say after me. “Just let me model it for you in private.”
“Someone’s in trouble,” chirped Tracy cheerfully as Sam and I returned. Emily had moved next to Sam on the loveseat while I was away. The show was on its last scene when I sat down, and I’d lost track of the plot. On-screen, mud-streaked knights gathered around a crowned head on a pike in a bloody field. I regretted missing the nude slave scene.
“One more episode,” begged Tracy. Emily pretended not to notice that Sam had rested his hand on the couch, edging it against her thigh. I knew we needed something to do until Chelsea got the courage to come out, so I said ok. We finished the opening titles and half of the recap before Chelsea presented herself. I paused the show just as the goblins captured the queen elf and stripped her of her robes. Next to the naked, chained elf on screen, Chelsea stood at the entrance to the hallway in a sheer, black bodysuit.
It covered the same areas a one-piece would have, except it was transparent, only adding a light shadow to the curves and hues of her bare skin. The thinnest, most insubstantial line of lace flowers sewn into the netting covered her slit. It drew the eye to where she was most vulnerable while concealing next to nothing. She seemed more naked to me wearing it than she would have bare. “Oh my god, Mom,” said Emily, shocked. “Wow, Mom,” said Sam, “You look sexy.”
To me, the perfect last detail was the choker still around her neck. If the Satin PJs were quietly sensual, the bodysuit screamed “whore.” “Do you like, sir?” asked Chelsea steely, refusing to be ruffled.
“Very much,” I replied, “I think everyone appreciates the view; an offended wrinkle formed between her eyebrows. I want you to bend over the armrest with your head in my lap for your spanking.
I saw the gears turning in her head as she tried to figure out how to avoid draping herself across her daughter while being whipped. “Wouldn’t you have a better view of me if I positioned myself doggy style on the floor, Sir?” she countered.
“Maybe later,” I said.
“It’s ok, Mom,” said Tracy reassuringly, “we’re used to it. It’s easier if you just get through it.” I noted how casually she excluded me from “everyone.”
Chelsea tried positioning her pelvis ass up on the armrest, but we couldn’t get the angle right. She was too short to keep her feet on the floor and lay across Stacy and me, and when her head was in my lap, her legs stuck out into the air. Emily led a discussion with Sam and the twins on how to position their mother like it was an engineering puzzle. It was a strange conversation to listen to, and I theorized that there was an element of hazing to their readiness—everyone else had already gone through the public whipping ordeal. I let them figure it out and explored the shape of Chelsea with my hands. She’d settled beside me on the couch in emotional and physical stasis while her punishment was delayed.
“Alex, sir—“ said Emily, the group resolving on a consensus, “sit back and see if you like this.” I did, and she took her mom by the hand and positioned her kneeling on the floor, bent over the front of the couch between my legs. Chelsea leaned forward, her arms braced on either side of my thighs, looking up directly into my eyes. I was close enough to feel her breath on my face and see her pupils expand and contract as she experienced conflicting emotions. “Hey,” I said, smiling at her. “Hey,” she replied. And then, after she thought about it, “Hey, sir.”
“Perfect,” I told Emily. I would miss the view of her ass and slender, muscled torso. But from this perspective, I would experience her humiliation intimately reflected in her face. And with her chin level with my cock, she would see how hard her helpless desperation made me.
The first strike took her by surprise. First, her eyes opened wide in shock, and then she parted her mouth as though to plead, but no sound came out. The second strike fell before she had a chance to count the first. Feelings washed over her beautiful, delicate face like waves—the pain making her blink and gasp, followed by a grimace as she found the strength to count the blow, and finally, the helpless anticipation of the next to fall. Around twenty, she couldn’t hold back a tear, and the sensation of it rolling down her cheek broke her composure. Her counting became whimpering sobs, and she began to twist and turn so the switch wouldn’t fall on the same spot twice.
“Sam, let’s take a break,” I said, and Chelsea, overwhelmed, buried her head in my lap. I stroked her hair and the back of her neck as she caught her breath. “Does anyone have a rope?” I asked the room. We need something to restrain her with.”
No one answered for a moment; I think they were overwhelmed by the show. “Dad has some nylon rope in the garage,” said Sam.
“Can you bring me three lengths of fifteen feet?” I asked, and he headed out, eager to see what I would do with it.
I put my hands under Chelsea’s face lifting her chin so she had to look at me. She was still breathing hard. “Are you going to be a good girl for me?”
“Yes, sir,” she said, nodding to emphasize her willingness.
“What did you do wrong?” I asked.
“I didn’t follow the rule to let Sam inspect my outfit,” she replied with a hiccup for punctuation.
“Why?” I asked.
Her only resistance was a short pause, “I was too proud to accept that you had given him the right to enjoy looking at me and choosing what I’d to wear, sir.”
“Good girl,” I congratulated her. I cupped her chin and put my thumb against her lips. She opened her mouth, and I slipped in to enjoy the feeling of her warm wet mouth and her willingness to open herself for me. Every arousal meter in the room rose above 2.5, and Chelsea’s ticked above three. Looking directly into my eyes, she closed her mouth around my thumb and gently sucked.
That’s how Sam found us when he came back from the garage. “Woah,” he said, stopping at the door. The tension broke a little, and the twins giggled beside me. Emily googled how to immobilize Chelsea and settled on binding her hands behind her back, and her ankles spread to a small broom handle. I had the twins kneel beside her to brace her. Sam took his position behind her. Chelsea breathed quickly and deeply as anticipation flooded her with adrenalin.
I used my fingers to trace the pretty, narrow cheekbones down to the racing pulse in her neck, then her clavicles, and finally the outline of her chest feeling her breasts rise and fall with her diaphragm. She reminded me of a hummingbird. I nodded to Sam; Chelsea sucked in air like someone about to hold their breath, clenched her teeth, and yelped when the blow came, “Twenty-two!” No one else but me could see her meter rise, so only I knew that the emotion in her voice was only partly pain and distress. “Slowly,” I said to Sam. “I want to savor this.”
I made her look into my eyes until she reached forty-five, which she did without crying this time. And then, to grind her into complete submission, I said to Sam “again” after what she thought was the last, giving her an additional swat. And when she counted the extra, I had Sam give her another and another until she did begin to cry again, which is when I waved Sam off and let her collapse in a puddle of exhaustion.
“Leave her hands tied; she can sit in my lap for this episode,” I told Emily, who helped her mother stand. Which surprised everyone else who thought the move night was over. “Are you cold,” I asked Chelsea; she said yes, and Sam fetched her bedspread. It was too warm for us both to be under it at once, so when she was in my lap, the twins tucked it only around our legs and waists. Emily made her some tea, which I patiently held for Chelsea to sip because her hands were still tied behind her back. She was small and light, and I enjoyed how delicate she felt in my arms. After a few minutes of aftercare comfort, everyone relaxed, and Chelsea leaned back into me. Stacy pushed play, and Sam dimmed the lights.
The first scene opened to a dungeon of captured, bound elve. My erection grew against Chelsea’s ass, and I slowly turned up her meter to match my arousal. She tried her best to remain impassive with her girls beside her on the couch, but when I got to two and a half, she leaned her head back against my chest, and her breath became ragged. I moved my hands up her sides feeling her muscles like a dancer’s, and cupped her small breasts through her bodysuit. She submitted to my groping without objecting.
When I turned the needle to three, she couldn’t help herself and ground her hips slightly into mine. I reached down with my hand under the blanket, unbuttoned my pants, and eased out my dick. With the same motion, I moved the crotch of her bodysuit aside so my cock rested parallel against her bare pussy. She turned to my ear and whispered, “No, Alex!” distracting Tracy from the show. But Tracy hadn’t understood what was happening and just told us to shush.
I wanted to see how far I had to push Chelsea with the knob before she couldn’t resist fucking me under the covers beside her family. I turned the dial to 3.2, and she began gyrating again and quietly moaning. Where I pressed against her heat, her lubrication seeped onto me. I was sure her mewling sounds would catch someone’s attention, but no one looked. I guessed the tits on the screen were more socially acceptable to stare at than Chelsea’s bare under her bodysuit. I pushed the dial up to 3.3, and the upward pressure of my erection became enough to part her wet lips. The feeling was too much for her, and she pushed herself up with her legs so the head of my cock parted her labia as it rose until it pointed straight up into the center of her entrance. And then she sat back down, slowly, impaling herself on me. The sensation of wet heat wrapping around my cock inch by inch was overwhelming.
I held myself back from bucking into her. We stayed like that, with me motionlessly in her for what felt like forever. It was a contest of wills to see who would give in first. On-screen, the elf queen struggled up a vast mound of skulls toward a glowing ring. I distracted myself from orgasm with the scene to my last drop of concentration. Meanwhile, I felt Chelsea’s muscles contract around me. Her mewling grew more intense as I nudged the dial to 3.4 and then 3.5.
Giving in to me, she pulled her legs up under her as covertly as she could so she was kneeling over my lap. The twins on either side couldn’t not notice, and their mouths gaped as they saw Chelsea raise and lower herself on me under the covers. I slipped the straps of her bodysuit off her shoulders and then eased it down to her midriff. She was hardly more naked, but I knew the act made her feel exposed. I twisted her nipples between my forefingers and thumb, and she moaned without holding anything back this time, which alerted Emily and Sam to what was happening.
The girls pretended to keep watching the show, and only Sam stared right at us and jerked himself off. The pulsing of Chelsea’s interior drove me to orgasm as much as her thrusts, and I wrapped my arms around her, burying myself to the base in her. She shuddered, “I’m coming!” and squirted, soaking the blanket. I came into her and felt like I would never stop. I wouldn’t have been surprised if I’d seen her belly bulge with jizz. We both lay back exhausted and sweating, Chelsea alternating between “Oh fuck, that was intense” and “Oh fuck, that was so wrong.”
It was oven hot under the covers, and I was feverish with post-coital tristesse, so I just pulled them off us, revealing to Sam and the girls that I was still in their mother. “Jeezus, guys,” said Emily breaking the silence, “get a room.” But under her facade of disgust, her needle and the twins were running at a robust 2.5 to 3.0. The show’s credits began to roll, and I felt my phone buzz from my pants pocket, which was almost certainly my mom wondering where I was. “Sam, ladies,” said Chelsea, still twitching and breathing hard, “can you give us a moment?” And they filed out, leaving us alone. I heard nervous chatter from behind the entrance to the hall, where they gathered for a sibling conference to work out how they felt about what they’d seen. Chelsea pulled off of me with a wet schlup sound. I couldn’t believe watching my cock slide out of her that it had ever been inside her small frame. It looked like a CGI special effect. I lay sleepy and panting on the couch, and she turned to face me, barely taller standing than I was sitting.
“I guess, sir, it would be pointless for me to try and explain how indecent and inappropriate that was?” she said fiercely, glaring at me. The top half of her bodysuit hung limply from her waist, and I grinned at her. “Well then,” she said, “hear this. If you don’t give those girls an orgasm or release them from whatever you’ve done to us, they aren’t going to get a second of sleep tonight.” She put her hands on her hips, looked down at me with exasperation, sighed, and said, “How am I going to explain to the steam cleaners why the couch smells of sex?”