Mom's Rectal TherMOMeter (Illustrated)

“I am Inspector Phil McCracken, and I have a warrant to search EVERYTHING in this place,” my older brother Jeff abruptly opened the doorway to the bathroom that we shared with our brothers. He had a shit-eating grin on his face.

My little brothers flanked him on either side. Shaun and Bobby introduced themselves as Seymour Butz and Mike Huntz, respectively. They clearly thought their new names were really clever.

My older sister and I were down on our hands and knees cleaning the bathroom tile. It wasn’t a punishment. Cleaning the bathrooms was part of our weekly chores, but we were still in hot water with our parents and on restriction.

“We can’t afford to get in any more trouble with Mom and Dad, guys – truce, okay? Can you just let us finish cleaning the bathroom, and then we’ll play whatever weird game you want to play?” Lynda asked curtly. She is the oldest and used to be the one who could boss all of us around when Mom and Dad weren’t home.

However, since she got us both placed on restriction – my older brother Jeff has been put in charge, and he definitely enjoyed his new authority.

“No can do, Lynda,” Jeff shook his head from side to side. “This is an FBI matter, and lives are at stake. We have to search the entire premises from top to bottom, and we’ll start with your bottoms. Please stand up and pull your panties down to your ankles – don’t make this any harder than it needs to be,” he grinned wickedly.

My sister sighed in frustration. The guys had been teasing us relentlessly ever since Mom caught her sneaking her boyfriend into the house when she was supposed to be babysitting all of us.

“Don’t you ever get tired of sticking a thermometer in our butts?” she said as she stood up, faced away from the guys, lifted her skirt up, and started to pull her panties down. I joined my big sister.

“No medical emergency here, Lynda Foster – IF that is your real name,” Jeff pretended to be a wary lead investigator. “This is FBI business -Female Butt Inspectors, and we’ve got a hot tip that one of you is carrying around a bomb!”

“The only bomb they have in their asses is from eating one of Mom’s tacos,” Shaun quipped.

“We must take this potential threat seriously, Agent Seymour Butz,” Jeff was half-laughing about the time he said Seymour Butz out loud. The guys were tittering and joking as my sister, and I bent over.

“Skirts completely off, ladies!” my youngest brother Bobby insisted.

“C’mon guys, we have work to do – can’t you just play with Iris and let me finish cleaning the bathroom?” my older sister offered my bare behind like she was trying to make a deal. I glared at my older sister because I definitely didn’t want to be the only one humiliated.

“Nope, everything off,” Shaun confirmed that we’d have to undress completely.

“You just said skirts earlier,” my sister frowned, stood up straight, and began to remove her top. She didn’t wear a bra; she almost never did, but it was the 1970s, and most girls our age didn’t wear bras. I was too flat to need one, anyway.

“I am the lead investigator, and what Agent Mike Huntz MEANT was that this is a strip search – so strip!” Jeff confirmed as Shaun and Bobby emphatically agreed. The boys waited with arms crossed for us to remove our skirts and tops. Once we were naked, they still weren’t satisfied. They even wanted our socks off.

“All this to stick a thermometer up our butts?” Lynda turned around, shook her pretty brown hair, and spread her cheeks. I reluctantly did the same thing – preferring to let my sister do the talking for the two of us.

“I already told you that there is no medical emergency – it’s a strip search,” Jeff held up his finger as he approached us.

“Can you at least wash your hands?” Lynda looked over her shoulder at her little brothers and shot them a disgusted, condescending frown.

“Why? We are just going to get your poopy peanut butter on them,” Bobby giggled.

“I don’t have a poopy butt,” Lynda insisted angrily before seething as Jeff plunged his pointer finger all the way to the knuckle into her ass.

“We’ll see about that,” Jeff grinned.

“You could have at least put some K-Y on your finger,” Lynda frowned as she looked straight ahead and endured the humiliation of being naked and being drafted into our brother’s dirty games.

“What is K-Y?” Jeff giggled.

My sister didn’t have a chance to explain before Shaun plunged his finger into my tight asshole – just the tip. I cringed and made a face in anguish because the biggest thing anyone had ever put up my ass was my mom’s rectal thermometer and the occasional well-lubricated gloved finger of a nurse or doctor.

“Whatever it is, you don’t need it- we are already in,” Shaun decided as he slowly applied pressure to my anus to push the tip of his finger slightly past my anus.

“If you three virgins ever score with a girl other than your sister, you’ll have to learn about K-Y, it’s sex lube. You can buy it at a Pharmacy when you pick up condoms – maybe you will get lucky and meet a girl who can show you how to apply it.”

“What does it do? Burn like Ben-Gay?” Jeff theorized. I quivered at the very thought of the guys lubing me up with Ben-Gay.

“Maybe it fizzles like Alka-Seltzer,” Shaun guessed. I couldn’t imagine my ass fizzing like my butthole had rabies – but it made me blush even harder with shame.

“It probably makes it easier to slide your dick in their ass,” Bobby’s guess was crass but correct.

“I can’t believe little Bobby knows what K-Y is for, and you two dummies think that girls would want you to make their ass burn or fizz,” Lynda said sourly. She clearly wasn’t enjoying what my older brother was doing to her ass. “Stop twisting your finger, please – that hurts!”

“I am searching for the bomb! Lives hang in the balance, Lynda,” my older brother joked. He smacked her butt cheek playfully.

“How come I have to wait to get a turn? It’s not fair,” Bobby whined.

“Unless these two fart sniffers grow an extra turd hole – or you want to ask Mom to play FBI with us – you have to wait, Bobby,” Shaun chuckled. He was slowly penetrating my asshole, and the worst part about it was that I was getting wet. I couldn’t help it – it was an automatic reaction to the situation and the pressure he was exerting.

“Gross, Mom!!” Bobby dramatically acted like he would rather die than even think about it. “The name is Agent Mike Huntz! And don’t mention Mom again!”

“Sorry, Bobby!” Shaun laughed, clearly not taking this game as seriously as his brothers. “There are only two butts and three of us – you are the youngest brother – so you get last dibs!”

I felt like a Pinball machine that the boys were arguing overusing and not a human being – my spine tingled as a fresh wave of humiliation washed over me -while my younger brother tickled my butthole and wormed his finger further into my clenched asshole.

“Let me get Iris warmed up for you – it’s like trying to stick a candle through a hole designed for a match stick. How do turds even pass out of your asshole, Iris?”

Once again, a second wave of humiliation washed over me as the guys theorized that my ass was so tight I must be constipated all the time.

“Iris doesn’t poop any turds; that’s why she always looks so constipated,” Jeff laughed at me. Everyone had a good laugh – even my older sister. We were largely in this predicament together, but my older sister still seemed to enjoy my humiliation at times. She said that I brought it on myself and seemed like a glutton for humiliation, but I disagreed.

“If you want to watch me go poop, all you have to do is ask,” I frowned as I attempted to stand up for myself.

“We don’t have to ask. Mom said we can come to the bathroom anytime we like,” Bobby countered. That much was true.

One of these days, you’re going to push us too far, and Dad is going to smack you back into next week, Jeff. Have your fun,” my sister surrendered her asshole to my brother and let him play.

I did my best to relax my sphincter and do the same thing.

“Dad knows that Mom said we can walk in and check on you,” Jeff reminded her, slapping her butt lightly and adding that was just how the cookie crumbled for us. “and call me Inspector Phil McCracken!”

A few days earlier:

“You got my seat all wet with your pussy drool,” my older brother Jeff pointed a finger angrily at me. I was mortified. He was able to get away with talking to me like that at the dining room table in front of my parents because my sister and I were on restriction, and my mom doted on my brothers. She always favored them over the girls of the family.

Even before we were on restriction, If they teased us and we complained, she’d tell us to grow thicker skin and just suck it up.

“No, I didn’t,” I blushed and pouted – my face red with humiliation. I was wet, and I couldn’t help it. It was like my pussy had a mind of its own, and it wanted to betray me and make me look like a horny little girl whenever it had the chance.

“Jeff, I put you in charge of the others to REDUCE the drama and stress, not to add to it,” My mother sighed as she turned around from the stove to scold both of us. “I am trying to make breakfast, and I really can’t play referee while you and your sisters have disagreements.”

My father was quiet, as he often was – drinking his coffee and reading his morning paper. He saw everything but said nothing. He delegated the small stuff to my mother, and my mother delegated it to my older brother Jeff.

Mom frowned at us and told us to stand up and face her – I did as instructed and placed my hands behind my back, and so did Lynda.

Lynda is the eldest of all of my siblings, and she used to be mom’s enforcer. She was the undisputed person in charge when my parents went out and had been since we were all little. However, she had recently fallen from grace.

My mom hadn’t established an official pecking order or designated Jeff as in charge. She didn’t have any posted house rules, but she expected certain things, and one of them was that we girls wore panties under their skirts.

“Just because you sprouted titties and pubes last year, you started acting like you are an adult, Lynda. I have news for you, you aren’t!” Mom lectured my sister about being too big for her britches. It was a lecture we heard almost every morning since my sister, and she had a falling out. “You started inviting boys over to the house, smoking pot, and running around without panties, and now I can’t trust you.”

“I am sorry, Mom! I’ll do whatever it takes to make it up,” Lynda assured my mother.

“I’ve heard that one before,” my mom scoffed. “Jeff, you are the next oldest in the house, and your older sister Lynda just can’t be trusted to watch over you. I don’t mind if you tease each other, but show me how you are performing their panty check?”

My mother had initially started panty checks a few weeks ago. She would make us quickly flip up our skirts to ensure we had on panties before school. She’d sometimes do it after school, but she was rarely home when we got off the bus. It was mostly a once-a-day thing that only took a second. It was humiliating, but it wasn’t degrading and drawn out.

About a week ago, Lynda decided to get cute and had her panties pulled up in her ass-crack under a very short skirt. I am not sure if she was testing my mom’s patience or if she did it by accident, but after that, Mom made us turn around and show her front and back.

It went from a few seconds to a good long look and a warning to behave ourselves and not be dirty girls at school.

“It’s the same way you are doing it,” Jeff made us pull up our skirts and hold them up – to expose our white cotton panties to everyone in the kitchen. “I just make them pull their panties down so we can see if they are shaving their pussies.”

That was another recent humiliation. My mom had insisted that I shave up to my waist when she noticed that I had sprouted pubic hair a few weeks ago. Lynda laughed it off and told me that when I finally grew boobs and sprouted into a woman, our Mother would let me groom myself however I wanted.

After Mom caught my sister fucking around with her boyfriend, Billy Parker, while she was supposed to be watching me, I guess the two of them got into an argument. My sister said some choice words to her – practically daring our Mom to put her on restriction.

Lynda learned that it’s best not to try to bluff my mother into backing down when she got herself placed on restriction. She was usually the one in charge when my parents were gone – but that was over. Mom insisted that Lynda stay home and ask permission to go anywhere. Lynda’s foul-mouthed escalations only made it worse, and Mom made her start shaving everything below the waist – even her pussy.

She said she wanted me to shave because I was too young to have so much pubic hair, but for Lynda, it was obviously a humiliating punishment. The fact that my brothers knew I had to shave my pussy bald made it feel like a humiliating punishment to me as well.

So now, Lynda and I have to shave our pussies daily, and Mom started checking to make sure that we were smooth and hairless – but she got busy, and somehow, Jeff talked her into letting him be the one to make sure we had panties on. I don’t think he ever asked if he should be the one to check if we shaved or not. He just started doing it, but Mom didn’t stop him.

“Okay, I am fine with you doing a little panty inspection at the table. The girls seem intent on showing everyone else what they have under their skirts – so they may as well show their brothers. I am just asking why can’t the girls just flip their panties down quickly. Why do you make them take their panties all the way down to their ankles and sit down at the table?” my mom asked Jeff. She arched her eyebrows because even she felt that was excessive.

“You wanted them shaved, and they could miss a spot. We look them over and make sure there isn’t any stubble or stray hairs sticking out of the sides of their little clams!” Jeff fired back – like it was an imposition for him to admire our pussies every morning.

Mom continued to frown. She looked at my father – dad wasn’t engaging in any of this conversation. My mom turned around and left us standing there with our skirts up. We’d already been panty-checked once this morning. My mother turned around to check on the eggs before they burned and started preparing the breakfast plates.

“YOU are in charge, Jeff. Shaun and Bobby are their LITTLE brothers. They are not in charge of anything,” Mom reminded him with her back to us. It did feel a bit like girls were on one team (the losing side) and boys were on the other team lately; It was Lynda and I against our brothers.

“They are just helping me, Mom. If they spot wild hairs, they tell me,” Jeff assured our Mom.

“Can you not handle it? You don’t have to look THAT closely to see if there is hair between their legs, do you? I feel like the panty check is turning into a bit of a three-ring circus in the mornings. It’s getting ridiculous. You make them stand up, sit down, knees apart – it’s also a little disgusting, and it’s not a surprise to me that your sisters are getting the slime from their bottom parts all over the chairs.”

I felt so ashamed to be a girl. The pussy “slime” on my seat was caused by my horny thoughts and not standing up and sitting down. I could have easily sat down and stood up repeatedly and not soiled my panties if I had them on.

“I am trying to do a thorough job keeping the two of them in line, Mom! I don’t want you to accuse me of letting Lynda and Iris slide because I am afraid that they will retaliate when you give Lynda her old job back as boss of the rest of us.

Mom set the plates on the table and told us to let our skirts flop back down and have a seat. “I am not going to put Lynda back in charge, and I certainly won’t tolerate her retaliating against you for doing what I asked you to do,” my mom assured him.

I saw my older sister cringe and blush when it dawned on her that she would be permanently relegated to the bottom of the family pecking order alongside me. Her lip curled up into a snarl like Elvis, but she held her tongue.

“Why don’t you check on the girls while they are shaving at night, and then you won’t need to do that at meals,” my mom offered the idea sweetly bending over the table as she did. I wanted to smack her butt hard for suggesting he invade our privacy during our bath.

“I don’t want to sit in there while these two pigs fart and shave their flappers,” Jeff feigned outrage over the imposition he’d face of spending his time watching Lynda and eliminate our pubic hair completely.

Dad looked up at him, arched one eyebrow, and then silently went back to his newspaper. I assumed he was suggesting that Jeff watch his vulgarity.

“You don’t have to stay in the bathroom the entire time, Jeff. You can just come in at some point and spot-check to make sure that they are finished. I don’t see what the big deal is,” Mom said. She sounded very reasonable, and the conversation was mundane – like she was suggesting he try a different breakfast cereal. She calmly asked my father if he wanted more coffee. He nodded, and she poured him another cup, adding two creams and a sugar just like he liked it.

“Only if the two of them merge bath times,” Jeff insisted – like he had to be talked into this. I was shocked – we hadn’t taken baths together since we were little, and as the middle child, I was often paired with Shaun and Bobby. Jeff and Lynda hadn’t bathed with me since I was little, and I barely remembered that.

“You wouldn’t dare make us bathe together,” Lynda seethed and narrowed her strikingly beautiful blue eyes at him. We both had blue eyes but somehow Lynda’s eyes had power – they could burn right through my soul if she glared at me like that.

“Lynda, what I wouldn’t dare is wear a top like the one you have on – your boobs are practically hanging out and poking through the material!”

My sister was wearing a green tube top. They were all the rage in the mid-1970s, and they were worn without a bra. I was sure that my sister knew that her nipples were poking through the material, and she wore it today because she wanted to show off at school and make her ex-boyfriend jealous.

“I don’t see why you would need to take separate baths and wastewater, anyway,” my mom decided while the two of us remained in panty check position – skirts up, but at least we had our panties on.

“Yeah, the girls are in there for over an hour each and if we want to take a dump, they make us wait!” my little brother Shaun complained.

“What are we supposed to do, Shaun? Let you in while we are taking a bath so you can poop in front of us?” I laughed over how silly that idea sounded.

“You make your little brother stand around and hold his pee for an hour while you luxuriate in the bathtub?” My mother flashed me a lemony expression and didn’t find any humor in it. I could feel my mother’s disapproval wafting over me, and it made me tremble. I was mortified being teased for being so horny that I left pussy tracks on the chair, but that feeling was much more preferable to how it felt when My mother glowered at me like that.

“They do! And if they are washing their hair and shaving their legs, they take even longer,” Bobby backed up his older brother and confirmed it.

“If the boys want to go to the bathroom, they can definitely come right in and do their business – that shouldn’t bother either of you,” my mom decided before asking Jeff to make sure that we started doubling up and bathing together.

“Mom, that’s weird – I don’t want to take a bath with my little sister,” Lynda frowned. “Are we supposed to sit on the toilet back-to-back and go pee together, too?”

“No one said anything about using the toilet together, Lynda. Stop being so overly dramatic; all I said was that you can bathe together. It will save water, and you can shave each other if there are parts you can’t reach.”

“I don’t want to take a bath with you either,” I snipped sourly at my big sister.

“How does it feel to WANT, girls?” My mother asked sarcastically. She keyed in on my use of the word “Want” and addressed us both. “You want everything laid at your feet and your father and I have given you way too much freedom. You squandered that, and now you dare to make demands about what you WANT to do and what you DON’T WANT to do? I don’t recall this being a democracy. If we only did what we wanted, I wouldn’t be up before everyone else making breakfast and the last one to go to bed because I had to clean the kitchen. Your father wouldn’t go to work; he’d enjoy his leisure time and not have to listen to your petty gripes about not wasting water on separate baths.”

Dad said nothing. His silence was tacit approval for my mother’s lecture. She had made it crystal clear that it wasn’t up to us what happened around the house. Now, Lynda was glaring at me like this was all my fault.

“You girls will leave the door unlocked so that Jeff can spot-check you. If any of the boys need to use the bathroom, they will come in and do so. The entire reason we have a panty check is that you were determined to show off to the entire world those little cracks in the front and the back between your legs. If you are so proud of those little flaps of skin – you aren’t going to mind if your brothers see them, are you? They’ve seen them plenty of times already! Honestly, I don’t know what you think is so special about the holes you pee and poop out of!”

Mom waited for us to answer, but my sister and I remained silent. Talking would only get us in deeper doo-doo.

“I can’t believe how stingy and selfish the two of you have been. I had no idea you were making the boys stand outside of the bathroom door and wait on you two Prima donnas while you fix your makeup and your hair. You take forever in the mornings, and there are only two of you and three of them – so you will accommodate them. “ You should both be ashamed of yourselves,” she said, frowning. “You should also thank your lucky stars because now you won’t have to pull your panties down around your ankles at the breakfast table anymore – so count your blessings!”

Since losing her spot as Mom’s enforcer and the oldest in charge, Lynda’s been a lot more humble and compliant. She still comes off as tough and defiant, but the truth is, both of us were raised to follow orders. No matter how we act or how old we got – we did what our parents told us to do.

It was just ingrained in our upbringing, and while we weren’t robots, we were not openly rebellious brats. I knew that I could try to protest, argue, or debate, but if my mom wanted something a certain way – she was going to get things the way she wanted in our house.

My mother managed the day-to-day affairs – cooking, cleaning, and settling the thousands of little disputes that arose between siblings. She often settled them by ignoring the petty stuff and letting it fizzle out.

My father on the other hand was the bread winner, and he rarely spoke -or needed to speak. However, he was lock step with my mom, and I seldom saw the two of them disagree or argue in front of us.

All it took was a nod from my father, and our fates were sealed.

Lynda seemed disgusted and angry with me that I’d be sharing the bathroom with her. I suppose that was because she couldn’t really take out her wrath on our parents. “Does that mean these little fart sniffers can just walk in when one of us in the commode and watch US go poop, too?”

My mom placed our breakfast places, complete with eggs, grits, and bacon, on the table and turned up her nose in disgust when she was confronted with the question. “Lynda, you have a pretty face and a cute little body, but you are delusional if you think anyone wants to hang out and watch you sit on the toilet and make a stinky – now eat your breakfast and stop asking silly questions.”

My mother had grown frustrated and said she wanted to eat in peace for the rest of the morning. “Does anyone else have any other serious questions?”

I could tell from the look on Lynda’s face and how she blushed that Mom had taken the bluster and wind right out of her sails, and she was going to sulk in silence.

“If Lynda and I have to bathe together to save water, then shouldn’t my little brothers Shaun and Bobby have to do it as well?” I asked with a pout as I took a bite of my grits. I can still remember how buttery and delicious they were.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” my mother warned me as she thought about my question. “How long do you boys take in the bathroom to take your bath?”

I was delighted that my mother hadn’t dismissed my question the same way she had done with Lynda’s question. I shot a victorious glance at Lynda to rub it in my big sister’s face, and she rolled her eyes like it was no big deal.

“I don’t take a bath, Mom! I take a shower, and I am in and out in three minutes,” Shaun insisted. Bobby said he could finish his shower in half the time as if it were a competition.

“I want you to thoroughly clean your bodies, but I can’t see how a few minutes of water is going to make much of a difference,” my mom decided that the new rule didn’t have to apply to them. Bobby and Shaun shot me the same victorious glance that I had just used on my sister. I could see why she rolled her eyes – but I quietly accepted my new rules without further question.

“Imagine thinking that what you have between your legs is important enough to show off to everyone, but then acting shy and coy around the house because you have to shave it and not let it grow wild and shaggy like a trashy prostitute working at a truck stop gas station! Then imagine thinking that what you do in the bathroom is so fascinating boys will come and smell your farts! Now imagine thinking you know better than your Mother how to run this house, and that’s these two little sluts!”

We were finally permitted to let our skirts back down, but I remained red-faced and humiliated for a while. It stung worse than a spanking!

After breakfast, my mother told Jeff that she was proud of him for stepping in to make sure that things ran smoothly upstairs. “If you can keep your sisters from getting into mischief and make sure that your brothers are actually washing their behinds, that would be outstanding. Your father and I don’t go upstairs very often. If you can manage the chaos for me at night – that would be a huge help.”

“Sure, Mom! I am responsible for what goes on upstairs, but I may delegate a little to Shaun and Bobby.”

“Don’t make it more complicated than it needs to be, Jeff. You are only in charge when we are out of the house and now around bath time. Don’t bite off more than you can chew,” she advised. “Your brothers and sisters have to do what you tell them. If they don’t, let us know. We’ll let you handle things your way as long as there is peace upstairs. If we hear constant bickering and running around upstairs, then we’ll know this isn’t working out!”

“I appreciate that, Mom. I will try to be fair, but Lynda and Iris make it a little hard. They talk back, roll their eyes, and don’t listen.”

That wasn’t true. I did that sometimes but not all the time, and I was mostly getting lumped in with my older sister Lynda because we were both girls and shared a room.

All the while, my sister and I were listening and being spoken about as if we were naughty pets that had to be walked so, we didn’t pee on the carpet – talk about embarrassing! I looked at Lynda to commiserate, and I could tell from my sister’s expression that she didn’t like this any more than I did.

Things had changed around the house for us, but no one, not even us, saw it as anything more than regular household discipline. We weren’t panicking, and while it was humiliating – we weren’t going to rush out and tell someone it was abuse. It was kind of like – paying your dues and taking what you had coming.

That’s just how things were in the 70s.