I was writing to add a scene in the Little Titties story, and I had so much fun with it that I decided to pull it out, set it in a different family/place and time, and make it stand alone.
I could add some pictures to this, but I'll say this - I was recently inspired by Taxi Driver returning to HBO on the Jody Foster's cute little butt and striking blue eyes, and Lynda Carter was always a favorite of mine - so those were going to be the two sisters to a much longer story. I decided to go ahead and use them for this short story.
There is a teensy bit of girls don't have modesty in this story but it's not an overwhelming theme of the story. I wanted to paint the parents not as villains but simply as typical parents of the 1970s, who no more see a reason for the daughter to wear pants when she's getting her temperature checked than they would a baby or a pet dog. It's not sexual to them - because it's not.
The overall vibe I was going for in the Little Titties story is a bit different than this one. I would have changed some details and there would have been an Aunt who was an advocate of change. Her daughter Penelope would agree wholeheartedly that there is no reason to see it as a big imposition to get her temperature checked rectally.
Here is a funny observation: For years and years, it was thought the most accurate and only way to reliably take temperature was to stick the thermometer up someone's butt.
It would have been a fairly simple experiment to prove through a case study that you could get the same results using the mouth. However, even after they realized that internal temperature could be taken via mouth - they still made (And still do) make rectal thermometers.
I grew up at a time when some of them were fairly big, and they very much went up our asses at home. Pants went down, and mom wasn't too concerned about your vanity/pride ego if you were sick.
This story follows that same premise, and has a nice twist. I don't think it needs a continuation - but ending a story is always difficult. Stories really don't "end" - they "end for now" for the most part. There is still more tale to tell for this family, but for my intention, I just wanted a basic, fun, ENF story with a fun premise - sticking small glass tubes up a pretty girl's ass, and reading the numbers on the side.
Mom's Rectal Thermometer (Complete Short Story)
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EddieDavidson
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Mom's Rectal Thermometer (Complete Short Story)
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EddieDavidson
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(Complete Short Story)
"Shorts down around your ankles, Iris," my Mom instructed, holding the thermometer in her hand like it was the universal panacea to diagnose and cure all maladies.
"Why can't we get the new kind that goes under the tongue, Mom?" I complained, crossing my arms over my chest.
It was 1977, and home healthcare options were limited. No digital thermometers, just this ancient mercury-filled relic that required being stuffed in a bum hole.
"Honey," she said, her voice firm but laced with a hint of impatience, "if you have a fever, you've got more to worry about than a little modesty. You never complained before. Just bend over and let me take your temperature. There's nothing to be ashamed of."
I sighed, feeling a flush rise to my cheeks. My hands hesitated at the waistband of my jean shorts before I finally pushed them down to my ankles. My white linen cotton panties went with them, the fabric brushing against my skin as I stepped out of the shorts entirely. I could feel the cool air of the room on my bare legs, and my heart pounded in my chest. I already regretted telling my mother that I thought I might be coming down with something.
"I was younger then," I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper. "I'm older now."
"Then you should be more mature," she said, her tone sharp, "and not act like such a baby."
I knew it was pointless to argue with my Mom because she was going to make me go through with it anyway. I had already asked if we could go into the bathroom or upstairs, and she told me to just get over it and stop being such a baby about it.
I bit my lip and did as I was told, bending over and gripping the edge of the bed for balance. The position made me acutely aware of my body, of the vulnerability that came with being bare-assed, legs apart, bent over in my own kitchen with a thermometer in my butt. I could feel her eyes on me, clinical and unyielding, as she prepared to do what needed to be done.
The thermometer felt cold against my skin, and I tensed as she pushed it into my butt – it was quick and relatively painless. I stared at the floor, my face burning with embarrassment. It takes about a minute for a rectal thermometer to get a proper reading, and it's the longest minute you are ever going to know.
My filthiest hole was exposed and stuffed, while my pussy lips were exposed as I bent over in my kitchen – legs slightly apart, palms flat on the kitchen counter. “You barely felt that – stop cringing and shivering,” my Mom chided me for overreacting. “You act like I put a thermometer big enough for a cow up your butt. You are sacrificing just a moment of unpleasantness to find out if you have a fever. This is not pleasant for me, either. I get no thrill out of this, Iris.”
“I know, Mom, but…” I was about to apologize when the phone rang. We only had one phone—no one had cell phones back then. The timing couldn’t have been worse.
My Mom didn’t even hear me groan when she told me to wait a minute. “I’ll be right back, Iris.”
I rolled my eyes and buried my head in my hands – red in the face.
“Oh, hi, Kathy! “Yes, yes, I did hear Elvis died. It’s so tragic. Can it really be true?” My mom started talking to her friend about the King of Rock and Roll passing away—it was all over the news. My Mom was a huge fan of Elvis, and it was devastating to her.
I heard tittering laughter behind me and tried to ignore it, but I couldn’t. “What’s so funny?” I sneered.
“Twelve,” my older brother Jeff said.
“No, I count fourteen,” my younger brother Bobby disagreed.
“I think you are both crazy; it’s only nine!” my youngest brother, Shaun, countered. I didn’t want to know what they were talking about -but I was certain they were going to tell me anyway.
“How many freckles do you have on your butt?” Jack grinned facetiously behind me.
“You guys are so weird!” I turned beet red and refused to turn around and look at them. They had been seated at the kitchen table, all of them finishing their dinner, when Mom told me to take my shorts down. “You have had to do this too,” I reminded them.
“Yeah, and you are free to count the freckles on our butts. I think you have fourteen, do you mind if I take a ball point pen and circle them so the other guys can see?”
“Stop, guys,” I pouted.
“Are you counting the little freckle on Iris’s pussy lip?” Bobby asked for clarification – I shivered.
“Yeah, of course!” Jack grinned sheepishly.
“That doesn’t count, because we said freckles on Iris’s butt! You might as well count all the moles and freckles on her back?”
The fact that I had tiny specks caused by an overabundance of melanin on my face, back, and apparently my butt and pussy was embarrassing enough without knowing that my brothers were going to catalog them.
I cleared my throat and tried to get my mother’s attention – it had been more than a minute.
“No, No, he divorced Priscilla. I don’t think she had anything to do with it; she loved Elvis,” I heard my Mom apologize to her friend, cover the phone, and shout, “Iris Dahl! Just hold your little horses. Your butt isn’t going to turn into a pumpkin if I am not back in precisely a minute, and your brothers have seen a little ass crack before – so stop egging them on and just be patient. I’ll be done talking in a minute.”
“Can’t I take out the thermometer and stand up?” I winced in humiliation, as my brothers chuckled- the more I turned beet red, the more they were enjoying my predicament.
“No, the temperature reading will fade by the time I am done, the longer you keep asking me questions, the longer this will take – hush,” My Mom complained.
“Watch out guys, don’t make Iris mad,” Shaun joked. “She’ll cut the cheese and fire that thermometer at us like a dart gun!”
The very idea that I’d possibly cut the cheese and my brothers would see my naked asshole open and close was enough of a visual to renew my shameful humiliation. The worst part was that I was soaking wet – my pussy was dripping down my thigh. I was just thankful that my brothers hadn’t noticed my thighs were sticky.
I hadn’t been in this situation since I was much younger, and I wasn’t aroused back then. My body’s reaction this time was entirely involuntary. I was directly under a chilly air vent, but I think the biggest contributing factor was the adrenaline pumping through my veins.
I was a young and dumb high school girl at the time – oblivious to the endorphins that are generated from the excitement that was triggering my little brain to send signals to my little pussy to make my twat slick with my own excretions. I was too naïve to understand why I was turned on, but I had enough sense to feel ashamed that I was physically excited.
The boys made farting sounds by blowing raspberries with their mouths – all to imitate the sound I might make if I cut the cheese. My face was crimson, my pussy was sticky and wet, and my butthole was growing increasingly sore as I gripped the thermometer with my anus – aware it was sticking out like a single birthday candle on a vanilla cake waiting to be lit between my ass cheeks.
My tiny nipples were stiff under my shirt – I was just thankful that I still had my top on. I could hear the muffled sound of our front door in the living room swinging open. It sounded like my father was home. I groaned impatiently.
I heard my Mom greet him , "Hello, dear, I'm on the phone!"
I felt the kitchen door open with a whoosh and the sound of my dad’s dress shoes on the kitchen tile. I also heard my brothers’ light laughter and chuckling as the humiliation continued to add up.
"Oh my," he muttered, his voice tinged with surprise when he noticed me – bare ass and bent over.
“Sorry, Mister Tate,” my father apologized to his boss. I glanced over at my father – standing there in his business suit next to his boss.
“I am so sorry I didn’t get a chance to warn you,“ My Mom frantically rushed in behind the two men. If they hadn’t arrived when they did, there was no telling how long she would have carried on her conversation. “My daughter thought she was coming down with something, and I was taking her temperature when I got a call about Elvis's passing."
"Nothing to be sorry about, Betsy," my father’s boss replied calmly. “Didn’t Robert tell you that I would be stopping by for dinner?”
“Yes, and I have an Irish stew. Hopefully, this little scene hasn’t ruined your appetite,” my Mom quipped -like just seeing my bare bottom was enough to put a man off of eating.
My dad cleared his throat awkwardly. "Um...Sorry about this, Larry."
Meanwhile, I felt increasingly mortified because my parents and my father’s boss talked about me as if I wasn’t in the room – and just an object.
“It’s just a girl’s bare butt, Robert,” my Mom walked over to me and slid the thermometer out unceremoniously – placing her hand on my back to guide me in place.
“Don’t you think the place to do this might have been the bathroom?” my father countered.
“I had dinner to make, the boys at the table, and you on the way,”
"Not a problem, Mrs. Dahl," Mr. Tate said. "I'm so sorry to hear about that."
I felt like an object in the room as they exchanged small talk. My Mom finally walked over, pulled out the thermometer, and read it. "99.2 degrees. You do have a low-grade fever." She reached out and felt my head. "You do feel clammy."
"May I pull up my shorts now, Mom?" I asked; my voice was tight with fresh embarrassment – I felt like I was squeaking.
“I am afraid you may have to put on a fresh pair of panties,” My Mom noticed the long strand of pussy juice dripping off of my clit as I turned around to get dressed. She hit me with a second observation: “Oh my, you’ve got wispy little pubes already! I didn’t think you would develop this quickly.”
“I wasn’t sure what to say, Lynda – what could I have said?” I asked my sister a few hours later when I was sulking in my room and telling her all about my humiliating encounter with my Mom.
“I would have told Mom and Dad what our brothers said and then asked them if they had a good enough look at my twat or if they wanted to take a Polaroid so they could jerk off to it later.”
“No, you wouldn’t have,” I replied skeptically. “You would have crumbled like an old cookie just like I did and tried to melt out of the room.”
“Mom has made me do the same thing before,” my older sister complained.
“Yeah, but that was years ago, and the rest of us were way too young. The guys counted the freckles on my butt!”
“That sounds like guys,” She laughed. “Jeff was about Shaun’s age at the time, and he said my butthole was where farts were made – I nearly cleaned his clock!”
“As I recall, you whimpered and told him that everybody farts and said his were nastier than yours,” I reminded her that I was there when that incident happened.
“Yeah, that’s what I said – but in my head, I was like Wonder Woman,” my sister imitated the iconic Lynda Carter on TV – using imaginary bracers to stop imaginary bullets. My older sister and I had striking blue eyes, and she was often compared to the actress that played Wonder Woman.
I on the other hand, was compared to either flat-chested Jody Foster or the boy that played Charlie in the Willy Wonka movie because of my short blonde hair – and upturned nose.
My Mom opened our door without knocking – which was not unusual for her. She had recently caught Lynda smoking pot and was trying to catch her again. She thought very little about my privacy. “How are you feeling, Iris?”
“I am okay,” I shrugged. I had a case of the sniffles – the occasional sneeze and sore throat.
“We can’t be too sure,” my Mom held out the thermometer like it was the answer to all of our problems, “Pop off your nightgown.”
“Why couldn’t you have taken my temperature in here?” I asked, still annoyed about her making me do it in the kitchen earlier.
I didn’t hesitate to undress because my Mom shut the door to our bedroom.
“What’s the big deal?” she replied curtly. “You don’t care if your sister sees you get your rear end checked, but suddenly it’s a problem if your brothers see your butt crack? This isn’t about sex, and it’s not meant to embarrass you.”
“It does, though,” I complained as I turned around, bent over my bed, and presented my bare ass.
“Well, that’s because you were standing there with a hairy bush trying to act like a grown woman, Iris. You haven’t even started developing breasts yet,” my Mom explained. “I expect you to shave your legs and your pubic hair fully – all that wispy black, curly hair makes you look older than you really are.”
I frowned – I wanted that pussy hair, and I was proud of it. It made me feel mature.
“Lynda, come here and take your sister’s temperature, you need to learn to do this,” my mother said. I blushed – thinking about my sister planting the glass thermometer into my keister.
“Gross, I don’t want to stick things into my sister’s fart maker,” Lynda’s disgusted reaction only heightened my shame.
“Do you think I want to do it? You are going to be a mom someday – probably sooner than you think with the kind of boys you run with. You need to learn to take a temperature rectally.”
“What’s to learn? You just stick it up a girl’s ass like a finger and then take it out in a minute and read it,” my sister was not only reluctant – she sounded like she saw no point in the lesson.
My humiliation only continued to mount as they argued while I stuck my bare ass up, waiting for one of them to put the slender glass rod in my ass. “I am fine; I have a slight fever. I’ll let you know if it gets worse, Mom,” I interrupted.
“I want it checked every four to six hours, and I am not trudging up the stairs to check on you when your sister could do it,” my Mom said. “Do you want to see Bay City Rollers this Saturday night, Lynda?”
“This is so uncool,” my sister said as she jammed the thermometer up my butt abruptly. I wiggled my hips awkwardly when Lynda did that because I wasn’t ready for it.
“No, glide it in – don’t jam it in like you are trying to hurt your sister,” my Mom took the thermometer out of my butt and handed it back to my sister to try again – like my pooh hole was a pin cushion to be used for target practice.
“Gross, aren’t you going to wash it off first?” my sister scrunched her nose and examined the thermometer.
“There isn’t a speck of brown on that; just do it again, gently,” my Mom instructed.
“If it’s so clean, why don’t you put it in your mouth?” my sister joked as she slid the thermometer into my ass – the penetration forced my pussy to start getting soaked.
“Don’t be a dirty girl,” my Mom warned her before asking me how that felt.
“Just peachy, mom,” I answered sarcastically.
“I am up here trying to help you both, and you are both breaking my chops,” my Mom complained. “You should show some appreciation, Iris. I didn’t have to tell your sister to put it in gently. I could have let her stick it in any way she pleases.”
“Sorry, Mom!” I apologized.
“Yeah, Sorry,” my sister apologized to our mother as well. “Iris will have a boy try to finger her back door soon enough, and he won’t be so gentle. I was just trying to get her ready.”
My Mom sighed angrily and said that only prostitutes and wanton women let men use their “fundaments” for sexual gratification. “The only use of a woman’s rear end is to relieve herself, to take her temperature, to spank, and to sit down on it. It doesn’t make babies.”
“Yeah, no crap,” my sister said. “I’d rather take it in the poop hole than pop out a kid.”
My Mom harumphed and warned my sister not to corrupt me. “Iris, I want you to have your lower body fully shaved and presentable by tomorrow morning. If a boy loves you, he’ll wait to get married. There is absolutely no reason to let him put his thing in the same hole that your sister or I take your temperature.”
“Wait, I have to take my sister's temperature now all the time? this isn’t just a one-time thing?” Lynda asked before I could reply. I was in no hurry to respond to my mother’s comment anyway. Lynda and my Mom didn’t need to know that I’d already been to third base with some boys around my own age at school.
“Yes, and your brothers as well if I need you to do it. There is nothing degrading or disgusting about it, Lynda. If there was, that means that I am degrading myself or being disgusting. It’s necessary – just like it’s necessary for the two of you to shave your legs. I won’t have you running around hairy like two women’s libbers.”
“Ugh,” my sister whined. She grabbed the thermometer between my butt cheeks and yanked it out, shook it, and tried to read it. “I can’t read the number because it’s caked in Iris’s poop and pussy juice,” she frowned – I shivered with humiliation.
“How dare you!” My Mom took the thermometer from my sister and read it.
“What? Iris admitted to me that it turned her on to be naked downstairs in front of Dad and his boss, and her little sugar maker is dripping honey right now.”
My Mom was quiet for a long pause – “Ninety-nine point six,” her voice reflected her disappointment in both of us. “Iris, I noticed it as well. You are trying to grow up very fast. If you don’t think perverted thoughts when you are getting your temperature read – you won’t be afflicted with the shame of having a dripping vagina. I was lucky none of your brothers know enough about how girls’ bodies work to notice or ask about why you were so aroused. Your father and his boss probably noticed but were too polite to mention it. I would be mortified if I took you to the Doctor and you started getting drippy during the exam. You must learn to control yourself.”
I was so ashamed of myself – I blushed deeply and apologized.
My Mom instructed my sister to take my temperature before we went to bed and again in the morning and let her know right away if it changed. She abruptly left – before handing it back to Lynda. Lynda handed it to me and insisted that I wash it thoroughly in the bathroom.
I dashed across the hall to the bathroom we shared with our brothers, washed the shameful little thing, and dashed back to our room.
My Mom gave me some cough medicine, but there wasn’t much you could do for the sniffles—what we called anything from a cold to the flu or a stomach bug back then.
That night, I was thankful that my sister took my temperature in private. She wasn’t particularly gentle, and she wasn’t particularly polite about it – but there was no change. “I can’t believe you told Mom that I got turned on by this,” I said while the two of us were alone in our room.
“It’s perfectly natural to get turned on when you get attention from cute guys; it’s weird when you get turned on by your own brothers, but what’s really freaking me out is that you are gushing like a fountain, and it’s only the two of us in here. Are you a lezzy?” My sister asked derisively.
I felt fresh shame run down my back like a fast-flowing waterfall -triggering goosebumps as it ran the length of my spine. I had experimented at sleepovers kissing girls, but I had no desire for them or my sister.
“No, I can’t help it, Lynda. If you’d hurry up, then I could put my nightgown on, and we could get some sleep,” I answered defensively.
“It takes as long as it takes to get the temperature – if you think that I am dragging this out so I can get a good long at that little hairy slit and your mud flaps, then you are dangerously mistaken. I’m moving out to college next year – which means you are next in line to do this if our brothers get sick. I can’t wait until you get a taste of your own medicine and have to take a turn smelling their ass sweat and see their hard little cocks and tight ball sacks hanging down while you goose them with this thermometer.”
“My ass doesn’t smell,” I insisted defensively as my sister withdrew the thermometer to read it.
“Everyone’s ass smells, and the fact that you don’t think yours does, means you like the smell of your own toots,” Lynda teased before getting serious. “Oh wow, your temperature is a little over a hundred.”
“Should I go tell Mom?” I asked as I got dressed.
“Wait a minute, why are you getting dressed without permission? You always ask Mom if you can get dressed,” my sister stopped me.
“You aren’t mom, and I may need to tell her.”
“It was ninety-nine point six; It hasn’t gone up more than half a degree. You aren’t going downstairs and waking up Mom over that. If she takes it again and we are wrong, she’ll probably be pissed off at me. We can take it a second time and be sure if you are really worried about it, or tell her in the morning.”
“Let’s wait for the morning,” I decided before asking politely if I could put my nightgown back on.
“Say Pretty please,” my sister teased. My siblings and I had a habit of making each other say pretty please when asking for a favor.
“Pretty please, may I put on my nightgown,” I asked formally and with the appropriate amount of flourish to sound sincere.
“Say Pretty please with sugar on top,” my sister added another stipulation. I frowned and started to put my nightgown on anyway. We had a tendency to continue asking each other to say things like that when requesting favors, but I wasn’t going to play her game.
“Fine, would you rather I grease up the thermometer with Ben Gay or hot sauce in the morning when I take your temperature again?” my sister half-joked.
“Pretty, Pretty Please, with sugar and whipped cream on top, may I put on my nightgown,” I asked with a dour expression of formal grace – not wanting to take any chances that she wasn’t joking.
“Yes, you may,” my sister stroked my hair and reminded me to shave my pussy before morning.
“I’ve never done it before,” I admitted.
“I learned through trial and error and got the knicks and cut on my cunt lips to prove it,” my sister frowned. I was prepared to go to the bathroom and do the same thing. I had to clean the thermometer again anyway. “I am too nice of a sister to let you twist like that, Iris. I’ll show you how to shave your little twat, but you owe me.”
I reluctantly agreed, and we walked across the hall to the bathroom in our nightgowns, bare feet slapping against the tile.
"Strip," Lynda said, shutting the door behind us.
I pulled my nightgown over my head and tossed it onto the counter. We’d never had any modesty around each other – we’d shared a room our entire lives. We used to share clothes, but my sister had developed into an adult body, and I still had a very girly-undeveloped figure.
"Get in the tub," she instructed, turning on the faucet just enough for a trickle. "Squat down, knees pointing toward the faucet, rest on the balls of your feet. Legs apart."
I did as I was told while she grabbed the shaving cream and razor. The position wasn’t comfortable, but it made sense. It was deeply humiliating to hold the position – but I had no reason to question my sister.
"Alright," Lynda said, shaking the can before squirting a foamy line onto her palm. "Time to part the seas."
I snorted with amusement – imagining my pussy like the Red Sea.
"Yes, really," she said, slapping the cream onto me. "Now, hold your little pussy open so I can see what I’m working with."
“You complained about looking where the sun doesn’t shine, and now you want to see the inside of my beaver?” I asked – scrunching my nose in disgust. I hadn’t even looked deeply inside myself – although I’d been curious about the folds and flaps inside my pussy and what buttons I needed to press to get myself turned on.
“It’s like Mom said – this isn’t sexual. If our brothers were here, they’d tease you and say you smell like tuna and try to stare up your hole to get their jollies. I’m equipped with the same holes you are, and I’ve seen everything you have before. Pussies have a few different shapes and sizes – I just need to see what yours looks like to instruct you.”
I reached down and spread apart the small folds of skin, feeling ridiculous -but not as ashamed of myself as I had showing my rear-hole in the kitchen.
"Jesus, Iris, you’ve barely got anything here," Lynda said, tilting her head as she looked. "It’s like shaving a damn peach – you betty hope your first boyfriend has a tiny pecker."
“I am not a virgin,” I admitted.
“Who did you make it with?” she asked.
I listed off three guys that my sister knew from our school. She told me they were perverts and losers, but she didn’t doubt me. “You can do better than those dorks. Let’s get your puss shaved.”
“Does mom make you shave your beaver?” I asked as my sister taught me how to hold myself apart and shave down delicately. We started with the easy stuff first – the hair above my slit.
“No, because I am older, and she just calls it shaving your legs. Some girls shave just up to the knees, some up to the thighs. She expects you to shave up the waist.”
“I hate this – it’s going to make me look like a little girl again,” I said.
“You are as flat as a pancake and no curves, you ARE a little girl, Iris.”
I couldn’t really argue that with my older sister – especially consider she was full-figured like our Mom. “Do you think I’ll blossom like you when I am your age?”
“We aren’t that far apart in age, and I had a full set of knockers by the time I was your age – don’t be in a hurry though, Iris. It’ll happen for you. If it doesn’t, there are lots of women who aren’t stacked. Cybill Shepherd has little boobies and she’s alright looking.”
“I hate it when the people laugh at me for having tiny boobs,” I admitted as I continued shaving my pussy – moving on to pulling my lips out so that I could shave.
“You aren’t supposed to love it, Iris. It’s part of growing up. If every girl had an impressive set of tits – then none of us would have a reason to be proud.”
I didn’t like that logic, but I couldn’t argue against it.
“It just feels like I am considered less of a woman because I don’t have two big milk sacks hanging off my chest,” I admitted.
“You aren’t a woman, Iris. You are a girl – which is why Mom still makes you take your pants down and bend over for the thermometer. It’s almost over – hang in there. Once you graduate to looking like this,” she grabbed her tits, lifted them and let them drop and bounce “You can expect Mom to treat like you a woman, and shave your pussy or not. A lot of the easiest girls at school shave their cunts.”
“it sounds so nasty when you say cunt,” I frowned skeptically and indicated my freshly shaved pussy “Why would the slutty girls want to look like this?” I felt so vulnerable – extra naked without my pubes.
“Some guys like it, and it feels good – it’s easier to clean all the cum off when a guy shoots his load.”
“Guys shoot their load ON our cunts...I mean pussies,” I corrected myself – having accidentally said cunt – a word I found deeply offensive and degrading.
“You can act like Tinkerbell the goody two shoes, but are a little cunt, Iris and, I am too. Your pussy was soaked because you got horny earlier when you had a little tube shoved in your ass – face it, you are a slutty little pervert.”
“I am not a nympho,” I frowned as I finished shaving my pussy in front of my sister and tapped the razor against the faucet to clear off the Barbasol shaving cream.
"You may not be a little nympho, but you are a horny little twat, Iris. How’s it feel to be bald again?" Lynda asked as she helped me out of the tub.
"That wasn’t so bad," I admitted – wondering if I could tell a guy that I shaved my pussy because I thought it was slutty, and not because my Mom made me do it so I didn’t look too grown up -too soon.
I turned on the water and rinsed away the last of the shaving cream, then grabbed a towel and patted myself dry. My skin tingled, feeling almost too exposed. Lynda pulled her nightgown back on while I did the same.
She sat down on the toilet, lifting the hem of her nightgown as she got comfortable. "Yeah, yeah. You’ll thank me when you don’t slice yourself open next time."
I shook my head, opening the door to leave. "Enjoy your pee."
"Enjoy your newfound baldness," she shot back.
I smirked and shut the door behind me.
Early the next morning, I awoke feeling a little better – my sister didn’t want to make my temperature for no reason, and she agreed that I probably just had a 24-hour virus. I told my Mom that I thought I was fine.
“What was your temperature this morning?” she asked as she finished pulling fresh biscuits out of the oven.
“I didn’t take it, and it was a half a degree higher last night – but I am not sneezing or anything,” I assured my Mom.
“Symptoms can come in waves. Your fever might break quickly, and sneezing might lessen because I gave you some cold medicine, Dear,” my Mom said sweetly. “Let’s take your temperature again, and if you are back to normal, then you get a clean bill of health from me – which is good because your father and I have to go out for a few hours by ourselves today, and I can’t be home to watch over you.”
“Great,” I replied enthusiastically, I asked my sister if she would take me upstairs and take my temperature again because my father and brothers were already assembled for breakfast.
“Nonsense, just take off your nightgown. Everyone, including your father’s boss, has seen your little butt crack,” My Mom shrugged with a frown – clearly, that didn’t reflect well on my father. “You shaved off the disgusting little hairs you started to sprout, like I told you to do, didn’t you?”
“Yes, mom,” I said, reluctantly pulling my nightgown over my head – revealing my bald pussy. As soon as the cool kitchen air connected with my bald pussy I could feel my pussy starting to drip. I didn’t sleep in panties – and only put them on after I had my morning shower.
“Hah-hah, Iris’s penis is as bald as Kojak,” my little brother Shaun joked.
“Girls don’t have penises,” my sister countered with a lemony grimace – I actually started to snicker because Shaun should have felt embarrassed for not knowing the basics of how a girl’s body worked.
“What do you call that?” Shaun pointed his finger right at my clit – and I noticed that it did look a lot like a tiny penis.
There was a long pregnant pause as everyone stared directly at my pussy – and wondered.
“That is a clit, Shaun,” my Mom finally explained in a clinical fashion. She was red-faced and added, “The start of one, anyway – your sister is still developing.”
I began to turn beet red. I faced away, grabbing the counter and sticking my butt toward the rest of my family. I wanted to get this humiliating encounter over as quickly as possible.
“Iris, stop acting like this is such a big deal – you’ve taken baths with your brothers many times in the past,” My Mom noticed that I was tongue tied – panic had set in and I felt like I couldn’t make eye contact or speak with anyone.
“Does Iris get a boner?” Shaun asked my Mom. I’d seen my brothers get boners plenty of times during baths, but we were younger then. I was glad that my Mom didn’t expect me to answer these humiliating questions – at least, that was some consolation to the indignity of feeling on display in the nude in a room full of fully clothed males.
“No, girls don’t get boners, Shaun,” My Mom replied. She asked my sister where my thermometer was.
“We left it upstairs because Iris seems fine,” My sister apologized – already standing up to go get it. I also volunteered -anything to disappear.
“No, you stay here,” my Mom told me to turn around and face the kitchen table, while directing my sister to bound upstairs to retrieve the object she was going to push into my butt to check my temperature. “Let the boys have a good look at your clit, go ahead and lift it up and hold it out,” she instructed.
I felt ashamed of myself, but did as instructed. There was no point in arguing with my Mom at this stage – she would have her way and It wouldn’t have occurred to me that rebellion was an option. “Once you boys have a good long look, you can put your eyes back in your head. Do you see any balls hanging down? A tiny sack?”
My brothers crowded close and got within twelve inches of my bald pussy – staring at my extended clit. I was already soaking wet, and the musky scent of my arousal was unmistakable.
“No, Iris has got no balls,” Jeff teased me – as if I should have them.
“Clits come in different shapes and sizes, Iris is likely to change as she goes through puberty. Her nipples are puffy little bubs right now, but as the milk glands in her breasts mature – they’ll shift and hopefully her boobs will start to inflate.”
I was deeply mortified – to the point that I felt like a human training dummy. I even pointed to my tits like an idiot.
“They know where your boobs are, Iris,” my Mom chuckled, which added some levity to the awkwardly and deeply humiliating lesson she was teaching my brothers. All I could do was stand there in stunned embarrassment while the rest of my family stared up at my naked body. My father did his best to pretend he was engrossed in his coffee and newspaper – but even he couldn’t resist the spectacle.
“Does Iris pee out of her clit?” Bobby asked my mother in enthusiastic wonder.
“May I ask why you want to know that, Bobby?” my Mom asked calmly - I still had my clit extended, except now I was pinching it slightly. I was subconsciously trying to remove it from my body.
“Iris has thick yellow streaks of snot hanging off of it, like she just sneezed out of her pussy, is that girl pee?” Bobby observed. The others laughed – but I was floored. They had picked up on my arousal.
“Bobby!” my Mom was shocked by vulgarity. “Your sister has a vagina, pee-pee, or a slit – let’s not use street language in the house. That’s not pee, that’s like the little bits of white cum that probably appears on the tip of your penis in the morning?”
The guys were in shock -suddenly processing that I was aroused. “Iris is horny?” Jeff guessed correctly.
“Is that why she smells like fish?” Bobby asked, and my youngest brother just said “Disgusting!”
Thankfully, my big sister arrived with the thermometer.
“You may stop pulling out your clit, Iris,” my Mom observed. “Girls get excited – and you have plenty of time to learn all of that. There is no point in spoiling the surprise that you’ll have on your wedding night,” My mom naively assumed that we’d all wait until we were married to have sex for the first time.
“What did I miss?” my sister guffawed as she approached with the thermometer and handed it to my mother.
“The boys had a few questions about girl parts – and I incorrectly assumed they were mature enough to have an intelligent discussion that didn’t devolve into sex.”
“Why else would they need to know about girl parts if they aren’t going to have sex with one of us?” my sister asked with a wicked grin.
“Get your mind out of the gutter, Lynda. They were asking about a little girl like your sister – not a grown woman,” My Mom handed her the thermometer back. “I don’t know why you are handing this to me. You are the one who will be taking temperature from now on.”
My brothers quickly rejected that idea – agreeing that they didn’t want my sister anywhere near their butts and taking offense to the idea.
“I shouldn’t have to be the one to take your temperatures, and your sister will only do it when you are sick. She isn’t going to do it for her own jollies,” she assured them while directing my sister to take my temperature.
I bent over, put my hands flat on the counter, and surrendered my ass -to my sister. My sister slid the thermometer up my ass almost as easily as my Mom did, and I waited.
“Your father and I have to do some errands after breakfast. Your sister will be in charge while I am out,” she said. That wasn’t shocking at all. We were old enough not to need a babysitter, but my sister was usually the one in charge by default when my parents weren’t around.
“What about me?” my older brother Jeff asked if he’d get a chance to take our temperature when he was Lynda’s age.
“That’s a woman’s job, Jeff. I would never expect your father to take your temperature. Women are nurses; men become Doctors.”
“Some women can become Doctors,” my older sister countered. I was just thankful the discussion had moved away from my body and physical arousal. I was quietly dipping pussy juice down my thighs while my family discussed progressive women’s civil rights.
“Don’t you think women can do anything a man can do?” My sister couldn’t believe that my Mom had no use for equal rights or equality of the sexes.
“Every President in this great country, every Vice President, has been a man. Every notable leader and every notable invention has come from men. If men and women were meant to be the same, men would give birth to children and probably raise them faster and stronger.”
“That’s changing, Mom. Women are taking a more active role in politics,” my sister argued.
“God help us if we ever do,” Mom frowned, clearly siding with the traditional views of womenhood. “In this house, we all have our roles to play. Your father is the head of the household and makes the big decisions. The girls clean and cook, and it’s ours to pull the little glass tubes out of butts and read the numbers on the sides – speaking of which, it’s been a minute. What is your sister's temperature?”
Lynda reached between my legs, grabbed the tip of the thermometer, and pushed it in further on accident – causing me to gasp. “Oops, sorry, sis,” she said as she withdrew it from my butt. A smidge of my girly-goo dripped onto the kitchen tile at my feet, but nobody had the audacity to say anything about it.
“Lynda pulls that thermometer out of Iris’s tush like King Arthur pulling the Sword of Excalibur out of the stone,” my father observed quietly. At first, no one processed that he was joking because my father seldom spoke and had a very dry wit.
It may have been Jeff who got the joke first, followed by Shaun and Bobby. They began to laugh hysterically, and my sister and mother joined them. I giggled a little – even though I felt like the literal “butt” of the joke. It was hard not to laugh in a room full of people laughing – even if it was directed AT me.
“A hundred and two!” My sister observed with alarm as she read the thermometer.
“Let me see that?” my Mom took it from her and confirmed – telling my sister to wash it and do it again. I had to remain naked, ass out, and repeat the same humiliating experience while everyone else enjoyed breakfast.
“Are you sure you are feeling okay, Dear?” my Mom asked sympathetically – prompting her to take more medicines out of the medicine cabinet.
“I am fine. I don’t feel bad at all,” I said, although I felt a light sneeze coming on “ACHOO!”
“Snot came out of Iris’s pussy lips and her nose at the same time!” Shaun observed with a laugh – I couldn’t have been more beet-red. My chest was tight, goosebumps all up and down my spine, as my body cringed and shivered.
“Shaun Dahl! Stand up right now,” my Mom insisted angrily. “Shaun, didn’t I warn you about vulgarity?”
“Yes, but..” he started to explain defensively. That was a bad move. Mom doubled down on his punishment and insisted that he get a bar of soap from the downstairs bathroom.
“Clench that in your teeth and face the kitchen table,” my Mom said firmly but patiently. She explained that she was loathe to punish us but that she would not tolerate “gutter language” at the table. “You won’t be harmed by missing a single meal, but this will teach you a lesson that you won’t soon forget. I meant what I said, Shaun.”
“Yaffff, bot Irishthh freally didthh have snotthhh frying out of both endzzzz,” my little brother insisted with a lisp from the suds dripping down his chin – in words that most of us clearly understood.
“Be that as it may, your sister couldn’t help it any more than you boys may not help the bulges in your jeans in the morning when you come to the table. We don’t need to discuss it in graphic detail. I understand that your sister is starting to enter puberty – but she’s still just a girl. If you have questions about something like that – ask it appropriately and politely or not at all.”
“Mom,” Lynda asked, “am I allowed to wash their mouth out with soap if they are vulgar when you are not here?”
I was shocked that was Lynda’s question -
“Absolutely not,” my Mom decided. I couldn’t see Shaun’s face but judging from the mirth on Bobby and Jeff’s face – he was more humiliated than I was by it. I felt like that was some consolation for being the only nude one in the kitchen.
“Why not? You said I’d be learning to raise my own family soon, and if I have to stick glass tubes in their butts, I should be able to punish the others if they start talking dirty at the table,” my sister countered.
“That’s not a decision that I feel comfortable making,” My Mom looked over at my father – quietly aloof.
“I would ask that you be judicious about it, and only use it as a last resort,” my father decided after what appeared careful consideration. “If you have to punish your siblings, let us know as soon as you are able.”
My sister thanked my father and then checked my temperature again – I was still at a hundred and two degrees. I really didn’t feel bad, though. I was thankful to be permitted to put my nightgown back on and finish breakfast.
My Mom let Shaun, and I sit and eat after everyone else was finished, and then we cleared the dishes together.
When she was ready to leave, she hugged and kissed all of us, checked my head again, and pressed her hand to my cheek. She confirmed I was feeling okay and gave instructions to my sister to check my temperature every three hours. “If your sister gets to a hundred and three – I want you to call an ambulance and get her to the hospital.”
“I am fine,” I insisted.
“You will do as you are told. Is that understood?” my Mom instructed. She kissed me and told me she loved me. “You are a very stubborn girl – do as your sister tells you today, and we’ll talk when I get home,” she whispered in my ear. “I am sorry for asking you to show your clit to your brothers,” she whispered. “I assumed it was not going to be that big of a deal – I didn’t think they’d make so much out of it. It’s nothing but a little skin flap. However, I am also very concerned by how aroused you are. Try to think clean thoughts, dear,” she warned quietly before leaving.
I was going to go get showered and dressed for the day, but my sister said that since I was sick and had to be checked every three hours that I should remain in my nightgown.
“Please, Sis?”
“Nope,” she said at first but then softened. “Fine, I’ll let you get dressed, but I want to invite my boyfriend over and hang out with him. Can you check yourself every few hours?”
I agreed happily and then went up to bed. I felt drowsy after all the medicine my mother gave me. I awoke to find my mother over me -frantically worried about me. “Get up,” she had a cold washcloth pressed to my head. I was sweating, but my fever broke shortly afterward.
When I was feeling better, I went downstairs to see that my sister was standing in the living room, stark naked, bar of soap in her mouth, thermometer in her butt, palms of her hands flat on her head, legs apart.
Every five or ten minutes, one of my brothers walked over and checked the thermometer “Ninety-six degrees,” they announced.
“Very good,” my Mom said with pride. “Oh, you are awake; how do you feel, dear?” my Mom felt my head and declared that my fever had broken.
I told her I felt much better and asked what was going on.
“We came home early and discovered that your sister had abandoned taking care of you in favor of taking care of her boyfriend – in OUR bed. We decided to punish your sister by granting her wish that boys and girls be taught equally. Jeff, Shaun, and Bobby have been taking turns taking your sister’s temperature and re-applying the thermometer. Do you want to take a few turns?”
Oh, and Lynda’s pussy? Completely shaved, just like mine. The guys were directed to ask her questions about clits (if they had any more).
"Why can't we get the new kind that goes under the tongue, Mom?" I complained, crossing my arms over my chest.
It was 1977, and home healthcare options were limited. No digital thermometers, just this ancient mercury-filled relic that required being stuffed in a bum hole.
"Honey," she said, her voice firm but laced with a hint of impatience, "if you have a fever, you've got more to worry about than a little modesty. You never complained before. Just bend over and let me take your temperature. There's nothing to be ashamed of."
I sighed, feeling a flush rise to my cheeks. My hands hesitated at the waistband of my jean shorts before I finally pushed them down to my ankles. My white linen cotton panties went with them, the fabric brushing against my skin as I stepped out of the shorts entirely. I could feel the cool air of the room on my bare legs, and my heart pounded in my chest. I already regretted telling my mother that I thought I might be coming down with something.
"I was younger then," I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper. "I'm older now."
"Then you should be more mature," she said, her tone sharp, "and not act like such a baby."
I knew it was pointless to argue with my Mom because she was going to make me go through with it anyway. I had already asked if we could go into the bathroom or upstairs, and she told me to just get over it and stop being such a baby about it.
I bit my lip and did as I was told, bending over and gripping the edge of the bed for balance. The position made me acutely aware of my body, of the vulnerability that came with being bare-assed, legs apart, bent over in my own kitchen with a thermometer in my butt. I could feel her eyes on me, clinical and unyielding, as she prepared to do what needed to be done.
The thermometer felt cold against my skin, and I tensed as she pushed it into my butt – it was quick and relatively painless. I stared at the floor, my face burning with embarrassment. It takes about a minute for a rectal thermometer to get a proper reading, and it's the longest minute you are ever going to know.
My filthiest hole was exposed and stuffed, while my pussy lips were exposed as I bent over in my kitchen – legs slightly apart, palms flat on the kitchen counter. “You barely felt that – stop cringing and shivering,” my Mom chided me for overreacting. “You act like I put a thermometer big enough for a cow up your butt. You are sacrificing just a moment of unpleasantness to find out if you have a fever. This is not pleasant for me, either. I get no thrill out of this, Iris.”
“I know, Mom, but…” I was about to apologize when the phone rang. We only had one phone—no one had cell phones back then. The timing couldn’t have been worse.
My Mom didn’t even hear me groan when she told me to wait a minute. “I’ll be right back, Iris.”
I rolled my eyes and buried my head in my hands – red in the face.
“Oh, hi, Kathy! “Yes, yes, I did hear Elvis died. It’s so tragic. Can it really be true?” My mom started talking to her friend about the King of Rock and Roll passing away—it was all over the news. My Mom was a huge fan of Elvis, and it was devastating to her.
I heard tittering laughter behind me and tried to ignore it, but I couldn’t. “What’s so funny?” I sneered.
“Twelve,” my older brother Jeff said.
“No, I count fourteen,” my younger brother Bobby disagreed.
“I think you are both crazy; it’s only nine!” my youngest brother, Shaun, countered. I didn’t want to know what they were talking about -but I was certain they were going to tell me anyway.
“How many freckles do you have on your butt?” Jack grinned facetiously behind me.
“You guys are so weird!” I turned beet red and refused to turn around and look at them. They had been seated at the kitchen table, all of them finishing their dinner, when Mom told me to take my shorts down. “You have had to do this too,” I reminded them.
“Yeah, and you are free to count the freckles on our butts. I think you have fourteen, do you mind if I take a ball point pen and circle them so the other guys can see?”
“Stop, guys,” I pouted.
“Are you counting the little freckle on Iris’s pussy lip?” Bobby asked for clarification – I shivered.
“Yeah, of course!” Jack grinned sheepishly.
“That doesn’t count, because we said freckles on Iris’s butt! You might as well count all the moles and freckles on her back?”
The fact that I had tiny specks caused by an overabundance of melanin on my face, back, and apparently my butt and pussy was embarrassing enough without knowing that my brothers were going to catalog them.
I cleared my throat and tried to get my mother’s attention – it had been more than a minute.
“No, No, he divorced Priscilla. I don’t think she had anything to do with it; she loved Elvis,” I heard my Mom apologize to her friend, cover the phone, and shout, “Iris Dahl! Just hold your little horses. Your butt isn’t going to turn into a pumpkin if I am not back in precisely a minute, and your brothers have seen a little ass crack before – so stop egging them on and just be patient. I’ll be done talking in a minute.”
“Can’t I take out the thermometer and stand up?” I winced in humiliation, as my brothers chuckled- the more I turned beet red, the more they were enjoying my predicament.
“No, the temperature reading will fade by the time I am done, the longer you keep asking me questions, the longer this will take – hush,” My Mom complained.
“Watch out guys, don’t make Iris mad,” Shaun joked. “She’ll cut the cheese and fire that thermometer at us like a dart gun!”
The very idea that I’d possibly cut the cheese and my brothers would see my naked asshole open and close was enough of a visual to renew my shameful humiliation. The worst part was that I was soaking wet – my pussy was dripping down my thigh. I was just thankful that my brothers hadn’t noticed my thighs were sticky.
I hadn’t been in this situation since I was much younger, and I wasn’t aroused back then. My body’s reaction this time was entirely involuntary. I was directly under a chilly air vent, but I think the biggest contributing factor was the adrenaline pumping through my veins.
I was a young and dumb high school girl at the time – oblivious to the endorphins that are generated from the excitement that was triggering my little brain to send signals to my little pussy to make my twat slick with my own excretions. I was too naïve to understand why I was turned on, but I had enough sense to feel ashamed that I was physically excited.
The boys made farting sounds by blowing raspberries with their mouths – all to imitate the sound I might make if I cut the cheese. My face was crimson, my pussy was sticky and wet, and my butthole was growing increasingly sore as I gripped the thermometer with my anus – aware it was sticking out like a single birthday candle on a vanilla cake waiting to be lit between my ass cheeks.
My tiny nipples were stiff under my shirt – I was just thankful that I still had my top on. I could hear the muffled sound of our front door in the living room swinging open. It sounded like my father was home. I groaned impatiently.
I heard my Mom greet him , "Hello, dear, I'm on the phone!"
I felt the kitchen door open with a whoosh and the sound of my dad’s dress shoes on the kitchen tile. I also heard my brothers’ light laughter and chuckling as the humiliation continued to add up.
"Oh my," he muttered, his voice tinged with surprise when he noticed me – bare ass and bent over.
“Sorry, Mister Tate,” my father apologized to his boss. I glanced over at my father – standing there in his business suit next to his boss.
“I am so sorry I didn’t get a chance to warn you,“ My Mom frantically rushed in behind the two men. If they hadn’t arrived when they did, there was no telling how long she would have carried on her conversation. “My daughter thought she was coming down with something, and I was taking her temperature when I got a call about Elvis's passing."
"Nothing to be sorry about, Betsy," my father’s boss replied calmly. “Didn’t Robert tell you that I would be stopping by for dinner?”
“Yes, and I have an Irish stew. Hopefully, this little scene hasn’t ruined your appetite,” my Mom quipped -like just seeing my bare bottom was enough to put a man off of eating.
My dad cleared his throat awkwardly. "Um...Sorry about this, Larry."
Meanwhile, I felt increasingly mortified because my parents and my father’s boss talked about me as if I wasn’t in the room – and just an object.
“It’s just a girl’s bare butt, Robert,” my Mom walked over to me and slid the thermometer out unceremoniously – placing her hand on my back to guide me in place.
“Don’t you think the place to do this might have been the bathroom?” my father countered.
“I had dinner to make, the boys at the table, and you on the way,”
"Not a problem, Mrs. Dahl," Mr. Tate said. "I'm so sorry to hear about that."
I felt like an object in the room as they exchanged small talk. My Mom finally walked over, pulled out the thermometer, and read it. "99.2 degrees. You do have a low-grade fever." She reached out and felt my head. "You do feel clammy."
"May I pull up my shorts now, Mom?" I asked; my voice was tight with fresh embarrassment – I felt like I was squeaking.
“I am afraid you may have to put on a fresh pair of panties,” My Mom noticed the long strand of pussy juice dripping off of my clit as I turned around to get dressed. She hit me with a second observation: “Oh my, you’ve got wispy little pubes already! I didn’t think you would develop this quickly.”
“I wasn’t sure what to say, Lynda – what could I have said?” I asked my sister a few hours later when I was sulking in my room and telling her all about my humiliating encounter with my Mom.
“I would have told Mom and Dad what our brothers said and then asked them if they had a good enough look at my twat or if they wanted to take a Polaroid so they could jerk off to it later.”
“No, you wouldn’t have,” I replied skeptically. “You would have crumbled like an old cookie just like I did and tried to melt out of the room.”
“Mom has made me do the same thing before,” my older sister complained.
“Yeah, but that was years ago, and the rest of us were way too young. The guys counted the freckles on my butt!”
“That sounds like guys,” She laughed. “Jeff was about Shaun’s age at the time, and he said my butthole was where farts were made – I nearly cleaned his clock!”
“As I recall, you whimpered and told him that everybody farts and said his were nastier than yours,” I reminded her that I was there when that incident happened.
“Yeah, that’s what I said – but in my head, I was like Wonder Woman,” my sister imitated the iconic Lynda Carter on TV – using imaginary bracers to stop imaginary bullets. My older sister and I had striking blue eyes, and she was often compared to the actress that played Wonder Woman.
I on the other hand, was compared to either flat-chested Jody Foster or the boy that played Charlie in the Willy Wonka movie because of my short blonde hair – and upturned nose.
My Mom opened our door without knocking – which was not unusual for her. She had recently caught Lynda smoking pot and was trying to catch her again. She thought very little about my privacy. “How are you feeling, Iris?”
“I am okay,” I shrugged. I had a case of the sniffles – the occasional sneeze and sore throat.
“We can’t be too sure,” my Mom held out the thermometer like it was the answer to all of our problems, “Pop off your nightgown.”
“Why couldn’t you have taken my temperature in here?” I asked, still annoyed about her making me do it in the kitchen earlier.
I didn’t hesitate to undress because my Mom shut the door to our bedroom.
“What’s the big deal?” she replied curtly. “You don’t care if your sister sees you get your rear end checked, but suddenly it’s a problem if your brothers see your butt crack? This isn’t about sex, and it’s not meant to embarrass you.”
“It does, though,” I complained as I turned around, bent over my bed, and presented my bare ass.
“Well, that’s because you were standing there with a hairy bush trying to act like a grown woman, Iris. You haven’t even started developing breasts yet,” my Mom explained. “I expect you to shave your legs and your pubic hair fully – all that wispy black, curly hair makes you look older than you really are.”
I frowned – I wanted that pussy hair, and I was proud of it. It made me feel mature.
“Lynda, come here and take your sister’s temperature, you need to learn to do this,” my mother said. I blushed – thinking about my sister planting the glass thermometer into my keister.
“Gross, I don’t want to stick things into my sister’s fart maker,” Lynda’s disgusted reaction only heightened my shame.
“Do you think I want to do it? You are going to be a mom someday – probably sooner than you think with the kind of boys you run with. You need to learn to take a temperature rectally.”
“What’s to learn? You just stick it up a girl’s ass like a finger and then take it out in a minute and read it,” my sister was not only reluctant – she sounded like she saw no point in the lesson.
My humiliation only continued to mount as they argued while I stuck my bare ass up, waiting for one of them to put the slender glass rod in my ass. “I am fine; I have a slight fever. I’ll let you know if it gets worse, Mom,” I interrupted.
“I want it checked every four to six hours, and I am not trudging up the stairs to check on you when your sister could do it,” my Mom said. “Do you want to see Bay City Rollers this Saturday night, Lynda?”
“This is so uncool,” my sister said as she jammed the thermometer up my butt abruptly. I wiggled my hips awkwardly when Lynda did that because I wasn’t ready for it.
“No, glide it in – don’t jam it in like you are trying to hurt your sister,” my Mom took the thermometer out of my butt and handed it back to my sister to try again – like my pooh hole was a pin cushion to be used for target practice.
“Gross, aren’t you going to wash it off first?” my sister scrunched her nose and examined the thermometer.
“There isn’t a speck of brown on that; just do it again, gently,” my Mom instructed.
“If it’s so clean, why don’t you put it in your mouth?” my sister joked as she slid the thermometer into my ass – the penetration forced my pussy to start getting soaked.
“Don’t be a dirty girl,” my Mom warned her before asking me how that felt.
“Just peachy, mom,” I answered sarcastically.
“I am up here trying to help you both, and you are both breaking my chops,” my Mom complained. “You should show some appreciation, Iris. I didn’t have to tell your sister to put it in gently. I could have let her stick it in any way she pleases.”
“Sorry, Mom!” I apologized.
“Yeah, Sorry,” my sister apologized to our mother as well. “Iris will have a boy try to finger her back door soon enough, and he won’t be so gentle. I was just trying to get her ready.”
My Mom sighed angrily and said that only prostitutes and wanton women let men use their “fundaments” for sexual gratification. “The only use of a woman’s rear end is to relieve herself, to take her temperature, to spank, and to sit down on it. It doesn’t make babies.”
“Yeah, no crap,” my sister said. “I’d rather take it in the poop hole than pop out a kid.”
My Mom harumphed and warned my sister not to corrupt me. “Iris, I want you to have your lower body fully shaved and presentable by tomorrow morning. If a boy loves you, he’ll wait to get married. There is absolutely no reason to let him put his thing in the same hole that your sister or I take your temperature.”
“Wait, I have to take my sister's temperature now all the time? this isn’t just a one-time thing?” Lynda asked before I could reply. I was in no hurry to respond to my mother’s comment anyway. Lynda and my Mom didn’t need to know that I’d already been to third base with some boys around my own age at school.
“Yes, and your brothers as well if I need you to do it. There is nothing degrading or disgusting about it, Lynda. If there was, that means that I am degrading myself or being disgusting. It’s necessary – just like it’s necessary for the two of you to shave your legs. I won’t have you running around hairy like two women’s libbers.”
“Ugh,” my sister whined. She grabbed the thermometer between my butt cheeks and yanked it out, shook it, and tried to read it. “I can’t read the number because it’s caked in Iris’s poop and pussy juice,” she frowned – I shivered with humiliation.
“How dare you!” My Mom took the thermometer from my sister and read it.
“What? Iris admitted to me that it turned her on to be naked downstairs in front of Dad and his boss, and her little sugar maker is dripping honey right now.”
My Mom was quiet for a long pause – “Ninety-nine point six,” her voice reflected her disappointment in both of us. “Iris, I noticed it as well. You are trying to grow up very fast. If you don’t think perverted thoughts when you are getting your temperature read – you won’t be afflicted with the shame of having a dripping vagina. I was lucky none of your brothers know enough about how girls’ bodies work to notice or ask about why you were so aroused. Your father and his boss probably noticed but were too polite to mention it. I would be mortified if I took you to the Doctor and you started getting drippy during the exam. You must learn to control yourself.”
I was so ashamed of myself – I blushed deeply and apologized.
My Mom instructed my sister to take my temperature before we went to bed and again in the morning and let her know right away if it changed. She abruptly left – before handing it back to Lynda. Lynda handed it to me and insisted that I wash it thoroughly in the bathroom.
I dashed across the hall to the bathroom we shared with our brothers, washed the shameful little thing, and dashed back to our room.
My Mom gave me some cough medicine, but there wasn’t much you could do for the sniffles—what we called anything from a cold to the flu or a stomach bug back then.
That night, I was thankful that my sister took my temperature in private. She wasn’t particularly gentle, and she wasn’t particularly polite about it – but there was no change. “I can’t believe you told Mom that I got turned on by this,” I said while the two of us were alone in our room.
“It’s perfectly natural to get turned on when you get attention from cute guys; it’s weird when you get turned on by your own brothers, but what’s really freaking me out is that you are gushing like a fountain, and it’s only the two of us in here. Are you a lezzy?” My sister asked derisively.
I felt fresh shame run down my back like a fast-flowing waterfall -triggering goosebumps as it ran the length of my spine. I had experimented at sleepovers kissing girls, but I had no desire for them or my sister.
“No, I can’t help it, Lynda. If you’d hurry up, then I could put my nightgown on, and we could get some sleep,” I answered defensively.
“It takes as long as it takes to get the temperature – if you think that I am dragging this out so I can get a good long at that little hairy slit and your mud flaps, then you are dangerously mistaken. I’m moving out to college next year – which means you are next in line to do this if our brothers get sick. I can’t wait until you get a taste of your own medicine and have to take a turn smelling their ass sweat and see their hard little cocks and tight ball sacks hanging down while you goose them with this thermometer.”
“My ass doesn’t smell,” I insisted defensively as my sister withdrew the thermometer to read it.
“Everyone’s ass smells, and the fact that you don’t think yours does, means you like the smell of your own toots,” Lynda teased before getting serious. “Oh wow, your temperature is a little over a hundred.”
“Should I go tell Mom?” I asked as I got dressed.
“Wait a minute, why are you getting dressed without permission? You always ask Mom if you can get dressed,” my sister stopped me.
“You aren’t mom, and I may need to tell her.”
“It was ninety-nine point six; It hasn’t gone up more than half a degree. You aren’t going downstairs and waking up Mom over that. If she takes it again and we are wrong, she’ll probably be pissed off at me. We can take it a second time and be sure if you are really worried about it, or tell her in the morning.”
“Let’s wait for the morning,” I decided before asking politely if I could put my nightgown back on.
“Say Pretty please,” my sister teased. My siblings and I had a habit of making each other say pretty please when asking for a favor.
“Pretty please, may I put on my nightgown,” I asked formally and with the appropriate amount of flourish to sound sincere.
“Say Pretty please with sugar on top,” my sister added another stipulation. I frowned and started to put my nightgown on anyway. We had a tendency to continue asking each other to say things like that when requesting favors, but I wasn’t going to play her game.
“Fine, would you rather I grease up the thermometer with Ben Gay or hot sauce in the morning when I take your temperature again?” my sister half-joked.
“Pretty, Pretty Please, with sugar and whipped cream on top, may I put on my nightgown,” I asked with a dour expression of formal grace – not wanting to take any chances that she wasn’t joking.
“Yes, you may,” my sister stroked my hair and reminded me to shave my pussy before morning.
“I’ve never done it before,” I admitted.
“I learned through trial and error and got the knicks and cut on my cunt lips to prove it,” my sister frowned. I was prepared to go to the bathroom and do the same thing. I had to clean the thermometer again anyway. “I am too nice of a sister to let you twist like that, Iris. I’ll show you how to shave your little twat, but you owe me.”
I reluctantly agreed, and we walked across the hall to the bathroom in our nightgowns, bare feet slapping against the tile.
"Strip," Lynda said, shutting the door behind us.
I pulled my nightgown over my head and tossed it onto the counter. We’d never had any modesty around each other – we’d shared a room our entire lives. We used to share clothes, but my sister had developed into an adult body, and I still had a very girly-undeveloped figure.
"Get in the tub," she instructed, turning on the faucet just enough for a trickle. "Squat down, knees pointing toward the faucet, rest on the balls of your feet. Legs apart."
I did as I was told while she grabbed the shaving cream and razor. The position wasn’t comfortable, but it made sense. It was deeply humiliating to hold the position – but I had no reason to question my sister.
"Alright," Lynda said, shaking the can before squirting a foamy line onto her palm. "Time to part the seas."
I snorted with amusement – imagining my pussy like the Red Sea.
"Yes, really," she said, slapping the cream onto me. "Now, hold your little pussy open so I can see what I’m working with."
“You complained about looking where the sun doesn’t shine, and now you want to see the inside of my beaver?” I asked – scrunching my nose in disgust. I hadn’t even looked deeply inside myself – although I’d been curious about the folds and flaps inside my pussy and what buttons I needed to press to get myself turned on.
“It’s like Mom said – this isn’t sexual. If our brothers were here, they’d tease you and say you smell like tuna and try to stare up your hole to get their jollies. I’m equipped with the same holes you are, and I’ve seen everything you have before. Pussies have a few different shapes and sizes – I just need to see what yours looks like to instruct you.”
I reached down and spread apart the small folds of skin, feeling ridiculous -but not as ashamed of myself as I had showing my rear-hole in the kitchen.
"Jesus, Iris, you’ve barely got anything here," Lynda said, tilting her head as she looked. "It’s like shaving a damn peach – you betty hope your first boyfriend has a tiny pecker."
“I am not a virgin,” I admitted.
“Who did you make it with?” she asked.
I listed off three guys that my sister knew from our school. She told me they were perverts and losers, but she didn’t doubt me. “You can do better than those dorks. Let’s get your puss shaved.”
“Does mom make you shave your beaver?” I asked as my sister taught me how to hold myself apart and shave down delicately. We started with the easy stuff first – the hair above my slit.
“No, because I am older, and she just calls it shaving your legs. Some girls shave just up to the knees, some up to the thighs. She expects you to shave up the waist.”
“I hate this – it’s going to make me look like a little girl again,” I said.
“You are as flat as a pancake and no curves, you ARE a little girl, Iris.”
I couldn’t really argue that with my older sister – especially consider she was full-figured like our Mom. “Do you think I’ll blossom like you when I am your age?”
“We aren’t that far apart in age, and I had a full set of knockers by the time I was your age – don’t be in a hurry though, Iris. It’ll happen for you. If it doesn’t, there are lots of women who aren’t stacked. Cybill Shepherd has little boobies and she’s alright looking.”
“I hate it when the people laugh at me for having tiny boobs,” I admitted as I continued shaving my pussy – moving on to pulling my lips out so that I could shave.
“You aren’t supposed to love it, Iris. It’s part of growing up. If every girl had an impressive set of tits – then none of us would have a reason to be proud.”
I didn’t like that logic, but I couldn’t argue against it.
“It just feels like I am considered less of a woman because I don’t have two big milk sacks hanging off my chest,” I admitted.
“You aren’t a woman, Iris. You are a girl – which is why Mom still makes you take your pants down and bend over for the thermometer. It’s almost over – hang in there. Once you graduate to looking like this,” she grabbed her tits, lifted them and let them drop and bounce “You can expect Mom to treat like you a woman, and shave your pussy or not. A lot of the easiest girls at school shave their cunts.”
“it sounds so nasty when you say cunt,” I frowned skeptically and indicated my freshly shaved pussy “Why would the slutty girls want to look like this?” I felt so vulnerable – extra naked without my pubes.
“Some guys like it, and it feels good – it’s easier to clean all the cum off when a guy shoots his load.”
“Guys shoot their load ON our cunts...I mean pussies,” I corrected myself – having accidentally said cunt – a word I found deeply offensive and degrading.
“You can act like Tinkerbell the goody two shoes, but are a little cunt, Iris and, I am too. Your pussy was soaked because you got horny earlier when you had a little tube shoved in your ass – face it, you are a slutty little pervert.”
“I am not a nympho,” I frowned as I finished shaving my pussy in front of my sister and tapped the razor against the faucet to clear off the Barbasol shaving cream.
"You may not be a little nympho, but you are a horny little twat, Iris. How’s it feel to be bald again?" Lynda asked as she helped me out of the tub.
"That wasn’t so bad," I admitted – wondering if I could tell a guy that I shaved my pussy because I thought it was slutty, and not because my Mom made me do it so I didn’t look too grown up -too soon.
I turned on the water and rinsed away the last of the shaving cream, then grabbed a towel and patted myself dry. My skin tingled, feeling almost too exposed. Lynda pulled her nightgown back on while I did the same.
She sat down on the toilet, lifting the hem of her nightgown as she got comfortable. "Yeah, yeah. You’ll thank me when you don’t slice yourself open next time."
I shook my head, opening the door to leave. "Enjoy your pee."
"Enjoy your newfound baldness," she shot back.
I smirked and shut the door behind me.
Early the next morning, I awoke feeling a little better – my sister didn’t want to make my temperature for no reason, and she agreed that I probably just had a 24-hour virus. I told my Mom that I thought I was fine.
“What was your temperature this morning?” she asked as she finished pulling fresh biscuits out of the oven.
“I didn’t take it, and it was a half a degree higher last night – but I am not sneezing or anything,” I assured my Mom.
“Symptoms can come in waves. Your fever might break quickly, and sneezing might lessen because I gave you some cold medicine, Dear,” my Mom said sweetly. “Let’s take your temperature again, and if you are back to normal, then you get a clean bill of health from me – which is good because your father and I have to go out for a few hours by ourselves today, and I can’t be home to watch over you.”
“Great,” I replied enthusiastically, I asked my sister if she would take me upstairs and take my temperature again because my father and brothers were already assembled for breakfast.
“Nonsense, just take off your nightgown. Everyone, including your father’s boss, has seen your little butt crack,” My Mom shrugged with a frown – clearly, that didn’t reflect well on my father. “You shaved off the disgusting little hairs you started to sprout, like I told you to do, didn’t you?”
“Yes, mom,” I said, reluctantly pulling my nightgown over my head – revealing my bald pussy. As soon as the cool kitchen air connected with my bald pussy I could feel my pussy starting to drip. I didn’t sleep in panties – and only put them on after I had my morning shower.
“Hah-hah, Iris’s penis is as bald as Kojak,” my little brother Shaun joked.
“Girls don’t have penises,” my sister countered with a lemony grimace – I actually started to snicker because Shaun should have felt embarrassed for not knowing the basics of how a girl’s body worked.
“What do you call that?” Shaun pointed his finger right at my clit – and I noticed that it did look a lot like a tiny penis.
There was a long pregnant pause as everyone stared directly at my pussy – and wondered.
“That is a clit, Shaun,” my Mom finally explained in a clinical fashion. She was red-faced and added, “The start of one, anyway – your sister is still developing.”
I began to turn beet red. I faced away, grabbing the counter and sticking my butt toward the rest of my family. I wanted to get this humiliating encounter over as quickly as possible.
“Iris, stop acting like this is such a big deal – you’ve taken baths with your brothers many times in the past,” My Mom noticed that I was tongue tied – panic had set in and I felt like I couldn’t make eye contact or speak with anyone.
“Does Iris get a boner?” Shaun asked my Mom. I’d seen my brothers get boners plenty of times during baths, but we were younger then. I was glad that my Mom didn’t expect me to answer these humiliating questions – at least, that was some consolation to the indignity of feeling on display in the nude in a room full of fully clothed males.
“No, girls don’t get boners, Shaun,” My Mom replied. She asked my sister where my thermometer was.
“We left it upstairs because Iris seems fine,” My sister apologized – already standing up to go get it. I also volunteered -anything to disappear.
“No, you stay here,” my Mom told me to turn around and face the kitchen table, while directing my sister to bound upstairs to retrieve the object she was going to push into my butt to check my temperature. “Let the boys have a good look at your clit, go ahead and lift it up and hold it out,” she instructed.
I felt ashamed of myself, but did as instructed. There was no point in arguing with my Mom at this stage – she would have her way and It wouldn’t have occurred to me that rebellion was an option. “Once you boys have a good long look, you can put your eyes back in your head. Do you see any balls hanging down? A tiny sack?”
My brothers crowded close and got within twelve inches of my bald pussy – staring at my extended clit. I was already soaking wet, and the musky scent of my arousal was unmistakable.
“No, Iris has got no balls,” Jeff teased me – as if I should have them.
“Clits come in different shapes and sizes, Iris is likely to change as she goes through puberty. Her nipples are puffy little bubs right now, but as the milk glands in her breasts mature – they’ll shift and hopefully her boobs will start to inflate.”
I was deeply mortified – to the point that I felt like a human training dummy. I even pointed to my tits like an idiot.
“They know where your boobs are, Iris,” my Mom chuckled, which added some levity to the awkwardly and deeply humiliating lesson she was teaching my brothers. All I could do was stand there in stunned embarrassment while the rest of my family stared up at my naked body. My father did his best to pretend he was engrossed in his coffee and newspaper – but even he couldn’t resist the spectacle.
“Does Iris pee out of her clit?” Bobby asked my mother in enthusiastic wonder.
“May I ask why you want to know that, Bobby?” my Mom asked calmly - I still had my clit extended, except now I was pinching it slightly. I was subconsciously trying to remove it from my body.
“Iris has thick yellow streaks of snot hanging off of it, like she just sneezed out of her pussy, is that girl pee?” Bobby observed. The others laughed – but I was floored. They had picked up on my arousal.
“Bobby!” my Mom was shocked by vulgarity. “Your sister has a vagina, pee-pee, or a slit – let’s not use street language in the house. That’s not pee, that’s like the little bits of white cum that probably appears on the tip of your penis in the morning?”
The guys were in shock -suddenly processing that I was aroused. “Iris is horny?” Jeff guessed correctly.
“Is that why she smells like fish?” Bobby asked, and my youngest brother just said “Disgusting!”
Thankfully, my big sister arrived with the thermometer.
“You may stop pulling out your clit, Iris,” my Mom observed. “Girls get excited – and you have plenty of time to learn all of that. There is no point in spoiling the surprise that you’ll have on your wedding night,” My mom naively assumed that we’d all wait until we were married to have sex for the first time.
“What did I miss?” my sister guffawed as she approached with the thermometer and handed it to my mother.
“The boys had a few questions about girl parts – and I incorrectly assumed they were mature enough to have an intelligent discussion that didn’t devolve into sex.”
“Why else would they need to know about girl parts if they aren’t going to have sex with one of us?” my sister asked with a wicked grin.
“Get your mind out of the gutter, Lynda. They were asking about a little girl like your sister – not a grown woman,” My Mom handed her the thermometer back. “I don’t know why you are handing this to me. You are the one who will be taking temperature from now on.”
My brothers quickly rejected that idea – agreeing that they didn’t want my sister anywhere near their butts and taking offense to the idea.
“I shouldn’t have to be the one to take your temperatures, and your sister will only do it when you are sick. She isn’t going to do it for her own jollies,” she assured them while directing my sister to take my temperature.
I bent over, put my hands flat on the counter, and surrendered my ass -to my sister. My sister slid the thermometer up my ass almost as easily as my Mom did, and I waited.
“Your father and I have to do some errands after breakfast. Your sister will be in charge while I am out,” she said. That wasn’t shocking at all. We were old enough not to need a babysitter, but my sister was usually the one in charge by default when my parents weren’t around.
“What about me?” my older brother Jeff asked if he’d get a chance to take our temperature when he was Lynda’s age.
“That’s a woman’s job, Jeff. I would never expect your father to take your temperature. Women are nurses; men become Doctors.”
“Some women can become Doctors,” my older sister countered. I was just thankful the discussion had moved away from my body and physical arousal. I was quietly dipping pussy juice down my thighs while my family discussed progressive women’s civil rights.
“Don’t you think women can do anything a man can do?” My sister couldn’t believe that my Mom had no use for equal rights or equality of the sexes.
“Every President in this great country, every Vice President, has been a man. Every notable leader and every notable invention has come from men. If men and women were meant to be the same, men would give birth to children and probably raise them faster and stronger.”
“That’s changing, Mom. Women are taking a more active role in politics,” my sister argued.
“God help us if we ever do,” Mom frowned, clearly siding with the traditional views of womenhood. “In this house, we all have our roles to play. Your father is the head of the household and makes the big decisions. The girls clean and cook, and it’s ours to pull the little glass tubes out of butts and read the numbers on the sides – speaking of which, it’s been a minute. What is your sister's temperature?”
Lynda reached between my legs, grabbed the tip of the thermometer, and pushed it in further on accident – causing me to gasp. “Oops, sorry, sis,” she said as she withdrew it from my butt. A smidge of my girly-goo dripped onto the kitchen tile at my feet, but nobody had the audacity to say anything about it.
“Lynda pulls that thermometer out of Iris’s tush like King Arthur pulling the Sword of Excalibur out of the stone,” my father observed quietly. At first, no one processed that he was joking because my father seldom spoke and had a very dry wit.
It may have been Jeff who got the joke first, followed by Shaun and Bobby. They began to laugh hysterically, and my sister and mother joined them. I giggled a little – even though I felt like the literal “butt” of the joke. It was hard not to laugh in a room full of people laughing – even if it was directed AT me.
“A hundred and two!” My sister observed with alarm as she read the thermometer.
“Let me see that?” my Mom took it from her and confirmed – telling my sister to wash it and do it again. I had to remain naked, ass out, and repeat the same humiliating experience while everyone else enjoyed breakfast.
“Are you sure you are feeling okay, Dear?” my Mom asked sympathetically – prompting her to take more medicines out of the medicine cabinet.
“I am fine. I don’t feel bad at all,” I said, although I felt a light sneeze coming on “ACHOO!”
“Snot came out of Iris’s pussy lips and her nose at the same time!” Shaun observed with a laugh – I couldn’t have been more beet-red. My chest was tight, goosebumps all up and down my spine, as my body cringed and shivered.
“Shaun Dahl! Stand up right now,” my Mom insisted angrily. “Shaun, didn’t I warn you about vulgarity?”
“Yes, but..” he started to explain defensively. That was a bad move. Mom doubled down on his punishment and insisted that he get a bar of soap from the downstairs bathroom.
“Clench that in your teeth and face the kitchen table,” my Mom said firmly but patiently. She explained that she was loathe to punish us but that she would not tolerate “gutter language” at the table. “You won’t be harmed by missing a single meal, but this will teach you a lesson that you won’t soon forget. I meant what I said, Shaun.”
“Yaffff, bot Irishthh freally didthh have snotthhh frying out of both endzzzz,” my little brother insisted with a lisp from the suds dripping down his chin – in words that most of us clearly understood.
“Be that as it may, your sister couldn’t help it any more than you boys may not help the bulges in your jeans in the morning when you come to the table. We don’t need to discuss it in graphic detail. I understand that your sister is starting to enter puberty – but she’s still just a girl. If you have questions about something like that – ask it appropriately and politely or not at all.”
“Mom,” Lynda asked, “am I allowed to wash their mouth out with soap if they are vulgar when you are not here?”
I was shocked that was Lynda’s question -
“Absolutely not,” my Mom decided. I couldn’t see Shaun’s face but judging from the mirth on Bobby and Jeff’s face – he was more humiliated than I was by it. I felt like that was some consolation for being the only nude one in the kitchen.
“Why not? You said I’d be learning to raise my own family soon, and if I have to stick glass tubes in their butts, I should be able to punish the others if they start talking dirty at the table,” my sister countered.
“That’s not a decision that I feel comfortable making,” My Mom looked over at my father – quietly aloof.
“I would ask that you be judicious about it, and only use it as a last resort,” my father decided after what appeared careful consideration. “If you have to punish your siblings, let us know as soon as you are able.”
My sister thanked my father and then checked my temperature again – I was still at a hundred and two degrees. I really didn’t feel bad, though. I was thankful to be permitted to put my nightgown back on and finish breakfast.
My Mom let Shaun, and I sit and eat after everyone else was finished, and then we cleared the dishes together.
When she was ready to leave, she hugged and kissed all of us, checked my head again, and pressed her hand to my cheek. She confirmed I was feeling okay and gave instructions to my sister to check my temperature every three hours. “If your sister gets to a hundred and three – I want you to call an ambulance and get her to the hospital.”
“I am fine,” I insisted.
“You will do as you are told. Is that understood?” my Mom instructed. She kissed me and told me she loved me. “You are a very stubborn girl – do as your sister tells you today, and we’ll talk when I get home,” she whispered in my ear. “I am sorry for asking you to show your clit to your brothers,” she whispered. “I assumed it was not going to be that big of a deal – I didn’t think they’d make so much out of it. It’s nothing but a little skin flap. However, I am also very concerned by how aroused you are. Try to think clean thoughts, dear,” she warned quietly before leaving.
I was going to go get showered and dressed for the day, but my sister said that since I was sick and had to be checked every three hours that I should remain in my nightgown.
“Please, Sis?”
“Nope,” she said at first but then softened. “Fine, I’ll let you get dressed, but I want to invite my boyfriend over and hang out with him. Can you check yourself every few hours?”
I agreed happily and then went up to bed. I felt drowsy after all the medicine my mother gave me. I awoke to find my mother over me -frantically worried about me. “Get up,” she had a cold washcloth pressed to my head. I was sweating, but my fever broke shortly afterward.
When I was feeling better, I went downstairs to see that my sister was standing in the living room, stark naked, bar of soap in her mouth, thermometer in her butt, palms of her hands flat on her head, legs apart.
Every five or ten minutes, one of my brothers walked over and checked the thermometer “Ninety-six degrees,” they announced.
“Very good,” my Mom said with pride. “Oh, you are awake; how do you feel, dear?” my Mom felt my head and declared that my fever had broken.
I told her I felt much better and asked what was going on.
“We came home early and discovered that your sister had abandoned taking care of you in favor of taking care of her boyfriend – in OUR bed. We decided to punish your sister by granting her wish that boys and girls be taught equally. Jeff, Shaun, and Bobby have been taking turns taking your sister’s temperature and re-applying the thermometer. Do you want to take a few turns?”
Oh, and Lynda’s pussy? Completely shaved, just like mine. The guys were directed to ask her questions about clits (if they had any more).
All of my stories: https://storiesonline.net/a/eddie-davidson
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EddieDavidson
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Re: Mom's Rectal Thermometer (Complete Short Story)
All of my stories: https://storiesonline.net/a/eddie-davidson
The site is free up to 100 chapters a day. You can get unlimited just for submitting stories.
The site is free up to 100 chapters a day. You can get unlimited just for submitting stories.
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EddieDavidson
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Re: Mom's Rectal Thermometer (Complete Short Story)
All of my stories: https://storiesonline.net/a/eddie-davidson
The site is free up to 100 chapters a day. You can get unlimited just for submitting stories.
The site is free up to 100 chapters a day. You can get unlimited just for submitting stories.
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EddieDavidson
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Re: Mom's Rectal Thermometer (Complete Short Story)
All of my stories: https://storiesonline.net/a/eddie-davidson
The site is free up to 100 chapters a day. You can get unlimited just for submitting stories.
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Hooked6
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Re: Mom's Rectal Thermometer (Complete Short Story)
Nicely done. Very entertaining short story that was very well written. I enjoyed this very much!
I realize that this was a stand-alone short story but the possibilities are enormous if you ever decide to expand on this.
At any rate, thanks for sharing and for making my day.
Hooked6
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I realize that this was a stand-alone short story but the possibilities are enormous if you ever decide to expand on this.
At any rate, thanks for sharing and for making my day.
Hooked6
..
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