The Creature -- Chapter Twenty-five free porn video

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE "Don't you look cute!" Mom said when she saw me. I turned slowly and modelled the little nightie for the three of them. "Adorable!" Mom said. "Wow!" my brothers both said. "Do you like how you look in that, sweetie? I bought it because I thought the girl in the picture looked a lot like you, but I thought you'd probably never wear it." "I like it a lot," I said. "It's cute. But you guys can see me like this and still treat me normal, right?" They all promised me that they could. I gave them all hugs, and enjoyed the way they hugged me back, squeezing me tightly. "Mommy, could you put pigtails in my hair for me?" "Sure, sweetie," she said. I climbed onto her lap, smiling, and enjoyed the gentle tugging of my hair as she formed two pigtails. "May I go see myself in a mirror now, Mommy?" I asked. "Sure, of course you may," she said. She lifted me by the waist and placed me down on the floor on my feet. I ran off to look in the mirror, and then came back. "Do you like them?" Mommy asked. I nodded. "Would you like me to paint your nails for you, too?" she asked. "I have a shade that would go really nicely with that nightie." I nodded with a big smile. "Yes please," I said. She went and brought the nail polish. When she returned, she sat down on the couch. "Come sit on the edge of the table," she told me, patting the coffee table in front of her. I sat there with my knees together and held out my hands, parallel to the floor, with palms down. She raised my hands a bit and then repositioned them so that the fingers were pointing down. The hands weren't completely vertical but were almost so. Then she gently spread my fingers. I remained still and watched her paint them. "Is this the first time you're having your nails painted?" she asked me. "Yes, Mommy, thank-you," I said. "Maybe you'd like a picture taken, to remember this by? Only if you want to." she asked. "Yes please," I said. "Roger, would you mind taking some pictures?" Mom asked him. "Use my phone only." Then she turned back towards me and said, "I'll email the pictures to you as soon as we're done, and then I'll erase them from my phone. That way, you can decide who gets to see them and when. And if you ever change your mind you can just delete them." I laughed and said, "That's OK, Mommy, he can use his camera too. I don't mind, I look cute." "Are you sure?" "Yes, Mommy," I said. Roger went and got his camera and took three pictures - two of Mommy and me, and one close-up of my fingernails and legs. "Now you just need to hold them like that for a few minutes so that they dry. Be careful not to touch anything, and not to touch your fingers together." "Thanks, Mommy." "Would you like me to do your toes, too?" "Yes please," I said. "I'll need you to put your feet up on the table, and you can't really use your hands. Is it OK if I ask one of your brothers to slide you back on the table so that you can have your legs out straight forward?" "Of course, Mommy," I said. She asked Randy to help. He held me under the armpits and waited for Mom. She held my ankles and lifted them up until my legs were parallel to the floor, gently holding my ankles together. She nodded to Randy, and he slid me backwards until my ankles were on the table top. My butt was not quite at the other edge of the table. Mommy asked me to hold my toes apart, and point them towards her as much as I could. Then she started painting my toenails. "Don't worry," she said. "We can take the nail polish off at any time. I have nail polish remover. We can do it tonight before you go to sleep, or tomorrow morning before we leave for our trip." "It's pretty," I said. "I like it." Mom finished my toenails. She checked my fingernails and told me that they were dry, but said I should keep my toes still and apart for a few more minutes until they dried. "Thanks so much, Mommy. I'll give you a hug and kiss as soon as I'm allowed to move again." Mom rased her eyebrows and said, "It's not that you're not ALLOWED to move, Ralph, it's just that if you do, the polish might rub off. But that's not a big deal, we can always do it again if necessary." "OK, Mommy, thank-you," I said. "May I ask you another question?" "Sure," she said. "I'm just wondering. Am I still not allowed to use bad language? Like swear words? Will you still punish me if I do that by mistake?" "I never told you that you weren't allowed to use swear words or any other language. I don't know why you're saying that. And of course I won't punish you. We've never had rules about language in this house. Nobody should be rude to anyone else, and nobody should use language that is inappropriate or offencive. But you also need to be able to express yourself, and should use whatever language will do that the best way. You certainly won't be punished in any case. I don't believe in that, and you're an adult, right? You still get to make your own decisions, Ralph. "And while we're at it, I know that I told you before that you should only call me 'Mommy' and not 'Mom', but, you know I was being weird then, partially because you hadn't received the antidote yet and partially just because I was getting used to you being in your new body. But please, feel free to call me 'Mom'. Or even 'Rita' if that's what you want to call me." "I thought you liked it when I called you 'Mommy'," I said with a pout. "I do, Ralph, I do. But it's completely your choice from now on." I didn't like where this was going and I started to feel a little sad. When Mommy told me that my toenails were dry and I could move my feet, I slid off the table and climbed into her lap. She put her arms around me. "Mommy, you don't have to call me 'Ralph' anymore. I know I asked for that before. It took me a while to get here. And I'm sure there will still be a lot of things I need to get used to. But I'm Jasmine now, not Ralph. So that's what you should call me, please." "Does that go for us, too?" Roger asked. "Yes. Ralph is gone, and he won't be coming back." Mom seemed a little disappointed and said, "You know, I love Ralph dearly. And I miss him, the way he was. I don't want him gone forever. It's OK with me if you still want to be him sometime." I hugged her. "*I*'m not gone, Mommy. I'm still the same person. You still have me. I'm just different now. Ralph turned into Jasmine. I just honestly don't think it's helpful for me or anyone else to pretend that I'm not at all different. Don't you think?" "Well, if that's what you want then fine. But if you ever change your mind, just tell me and we'll go back to whatever you want. And I'll make your brothers do that too." "Thanks, Mommy, but I don't want that. I don't think that's right. You told me that I need 'clear and consistent' rules, right? It's all just words, anyway. It shouldn't make a big deal. I think that I should be treated how I really am. Why should I have the right to be called by a boy's name, or with boy words like he and him, when the fact is that I'm a girl now whether I like it or not? Other girls don't get that choice. And I CHOSE to become this way to begin with." Mom said, "I believe that everyone has the right to be thought of, treated as, and spoken of however they want. It's all just external, anyway. You might look like a girl but you're still the nineteen-year-old man you were on the inside." "But am I really? Haven't you noticed that I'm different in other ways, aside from the way I look? All of you, tell me honestly." "But that's all an act," Mom said. "We know that. You're acting this way to make us happy, to be fun. It's a game." "It's not just a game. I mean, yeah, sometimes I feel like I'm acting, like I don't have to be behaving this way but choose to to make you happy or to make you laugh. But it's not just that. I've noticed that I'm actually different. And I'm sure you all have. My mind might not be completely like a little girl's, since I still have all the memories from when I was an adult man. But I know that my mind has changed a lot, too. I'm not interested in grown-up things anymore. Even if I am, somewhat, I have a hard time following them or keeping interest in them. My mind doesn't work as well. You all saw how math is harder for me." "We did?" Roger asked. 'Oh yeah, that was in my dream,' I said to myself. "Well, it is. And it's harder for me to spell, and harder for me to write nicely even without this antidote affecting my hands. I like different things now... I have to accept who I am, even if it's hard for me to do. The time has come. And I think it will be easier, all in all, if you don't try to please me and pretend that I'm something else anymore. It's better that you be honest with me and treat me the way I actually am, the way you actually experience me." "You know," Mom said, "In a way I think that what you're saying now is probably more mature than anything most adults would say. But I still want you to tell me if anything bothers you." "Well, maybe I will tell you Mommy, but just because it bothers me doesn't necessarily mean you should stop doing it. I'm surprised, too, that I'm actually saying this to you, but objectively I think it's right. Ultimately you should decide for me, because I trust you and you're the grownup now and I'm not anymore. I really do feel a lot like a child in my head sometimes. I worry about making wrong choices. Having you decide for me makes things easier. It makes me feel safer." Mom said, "OK, honey fair enough. Let me just make sure I got this right. You want to be called 'Jasmine' from now on, even when we're in private. And we should treat you as female, and speak of you using words like 'she' and 'her', not 'he' and 'him'. "What about age? I mean, when we're at home in private especially. Do you want to be treated like an adult woman, or should we treat you like a little girl?" I took a deep breath. It was a little hard for me to say it but I said, "Treat me the way I seem to YOU. The way I behave. The way you see me and experience me. Not JUST based on looks, but also based on my behaviour and personality and everything. How do I seem to you? Honestly?" "You want complete honesty? Then, you definitely seem like a cute little girl," Mom said. "And, like you said, it's not only based on your looks, but also your personality. Your behaviour, your knowledge, your mental capacity, the way your mind works. Do you boys agree?" she asked my brothers. They both said that I definitely act like a little girl. And not just when I'm obviously acting and trying to please them. It's my whole way of thinking, acting, my abilities and so on. "Then I guess that's how you have to treat me. No more pretending for any of us." "And HOW old should we treat you?" Roger asked. "And what age should we tell people that you are?" "Yeah, good question," Mom said. "Up until now we've been kind of joking about it, changing it from time to time, to tease you, to play with you... what should your real age be? What do you prefer?" I gulped. "Well, I guess I prefer as old as possible, given my personality and looks. But I think that you also need to decide for me what my real age is and not give me the choice. Because kids never get to decide their age, it's always decided for them by God." Mom said, "Well, truthfully, I think that you could pass for anything on the spectrum from 7 to 10. You're a little big for seven, but there are some tall seven-year-olds. And you're a little small for ten, but there are short ten-year-olds too. Eleven would be pushing it too far, I think. So you COULD choose ten, and we would accept that and go with that." "But she wanted YOU to choose for her, Mom," Randy said. "I don't think she acts like a ten-year-old. You need to decide how old she is and tell her. That's what she asked for." Mom looked at me. I shrugged and then nodded. Mom thought, and said, "Let's put it to a vote between me and your brothers. A secret vote, so that you don't know who said what. Between seven and ten. You'll close your eyes, and we'll each hold up a number of fingers. No peaking. Then we'll take the average. And if it's not a whole number, we'll round it to the nearest. That will be your age, and you won't know who voted for what. OK?" "OK Mommy." "Then close your eyes and don't peak." I closed my eyes, nervously putting my fate in their hands. "You can open them again," she said. "You are eight years old. And only about a month after your eighth birthday. Congratulations little girl!" She gave me a hug. I hugged her back, feeling a little sad that they saw me so young. "I'm eight years old," I said. "I just turned eight. I'm a very little girl, with the mind of a very little girl." "It's true," Mom said, "not a joke. I think you do have the mind of a very little girl. But that's nothing to feel bad about. It's really adorable and we all love you just the way you are." I hugged her some more. Then Roger said, "Don't you think you should hug your big brothers too?" I looked at Mom. "Go on," she said. So I climbed out of her lap and onto Roger's. I gave him a big, tight hug and a kiss on the cheek. Then I climbed off him and onto Randy's lap and gave him a big hug and kiss, too. I stayed sitting on Randy, and Mom asked me, "Are you OK with that being your age? If it's really a problem and upsets you, say so. And we'll raise it." Before I could respond, Roger said, "Mom, she asked you to help her. that's the age we all think she is. Don't make it too complicated for her. She's right that she shouldn't have a choice. People don't choose their ages, it's just what they are. And this is what she is, end of story." Mom looked at me. I shrugged, and said, "I guess I'll get used to it." Randy said, "If she's never going to age, does that mean she never gets a birthday? Or will we still celebrate her old birthday even though she's not gaining a year?" Mom said, "She still deserves a birthday celebration. Little girls especially need those." Roger said, "But if she's not 'Ralph' anymore, she shouldn't keep Ralph's birthday. Ralph is dead. Jasmine was born - the day of her transformation. That was, let me see, That was on April 20th. So from now on that should be her birthday." Mom said, "That's fine by me. Remember that, sweetie, your birthday is now April 20. You can tell people that you'll be nine, but in actuality you're just gonna be eight again." Randy said, "Hey, I have an idea. What if we say that April 20th - her birthday - is the day when she goes from being seven to being eight. You just said that she's about a month after her birthday, right? So that would put it actually there. And then on September 30th, which was Ralph's birthday, that should be her 'unbirthday'. On that day she should go from being eight to being seven. That way her birthday will mean something to the people she has around her. Half the year she'll be almost eight, and half the year she'll be just after her eighth birthday." "That's an interesting idea," Mom said. "That way people won't wonder why we keep her at the same age after her birthday, like you say. And then we can celebrate Ralph's birthday with a minor celebration too, her unbirthday. But, actually, I don't think it should be September 30th, in the middle of the school-year. I don't know that she'll be going to school, probably not. But still, kids are around then to notice it. Let's make it August 31st. On August 31 she becomes seven, and on April 20 she turns eight. August 31 will be her unbirthday." I said, "But don't you think seven is too young for me? If you told people I was seven, they wouldn't believe you!" Mom smiled and shook their head. "You act very young. People will believe it. When we had our secret vote, I actually voted for seven. It was your brothers who both voted for eight. And since this was his suggestion, it sounds like Randy's changing his vote to 'seven' anyway." Roger said, "You do all realize that if it's August 31st and April 20th, she has more time as a seven-year-old than an eight-year-old. It's not half and half." "Close enough. What is it, seven months to five months? Not a big difference." Roger checked on his phone. "It's like seven and a half months as seven, and four and a half months as eight." "I think that works fine. It's a great idea. Jasmine - now you know your age. You are currently eight years old. Your birthday is April 20. And your unbirthday is August 31." I was disappointed that they had just decided to make me a year younger for most of the year. "How do you celebrate an unbirthday?" Roger asked. Randy said, "Well, if on someone's birthday you do nice stuff to them, then on their unbirthday you should do nasty stuff to them... it should be a day that we are as mean as possible to her. Or a day that SHE has to do nice stuff for everyone else all day long." Mom and Roger both laughed. Nobody agreed or disagreed to Randy's suggestion. "He's joking, right?" I asked Mom. "Of course, sweetie. Nobody will be mean to you. We'll just have a small celebration, just the four of us. We'll make it special. You can decide what you want to do on that day." "Is there going to be a difference between how I'm treated when I'm seven and how I'm treated when I'm eight?" I asked. "I don't think so," Mom said. "It's just numbers." Roger said, "She should have an earlier bedtime when she's seven. Maybe half an hour earlier?" Mom shrugged. "OK, that's not a bad idea." There was a little lull in the conversation. I didn't know what to say. Finally Mom changed the topic. Mom said, "What about nicknames? What nicknames can we call you? I've been calling you a lot of nicknames, like Sweetie, Sweetheart, Honey, Cutie, and so on. Are there any you prefer? Are there any that really bother you?" I shook my head. "You should call me by whatever seems natural to you. I like those nicknames. As long as you're using them out of love and not to tease me." "What about calling you 'little girl'? Is that a problem?" I shook my head and said, softly, "Not a problem, if you mean it nicely. If you're saying it to tease me or be mean, that's something else." "Of course I mean it lovingly," she said. "You know, I was always disappointed that I didn't have a daughter as well as sons. Now I'm really happy that you're a little girl. "What about 'baby'? Or 'baby-girl'? Are those OK too?" she continued. I closed my eyes for a second, took a deep breath, and opened them again. Then I nodded. "I like being called those things, as long as I get the feeling that they're being said lovingly." She held out her arms for me and said, "Come let Mommy give you another big hug, my sweetest little baby girl." I got out of Randy's lap, who seemed disappointed about that, and returned to hers where she hugged and kissed me. She stroked my back, hair, and bare legs. "There, there," she said softly. "Everything's going to be OK. You're such a good little girl. Good little baby." Then she took my face in her hand and gave me a kiss on the tip of my nose. "Sweetheart, if we're being completely open and honest with you, in all fairness, I think there's one more thing that I should tell you about what we think of you, about how we experience you. OK, little one?" I nodded. "You're eight-years-old. That means that you should be in second grade, if you went to school. I guess since you're a little part animal we don't need to send you to school. Besides, you're going to be seven turning eight forever, you can't keep going back to second grade year after year after year! But, there's something else we need to tell you. You see, sweetie, and I don't mean to insult you at all, I just want to be honest with you. You deserve to know. "We, that is, your brothers and I, well, we don't think you're very smart." I gasped. "You think I'm dumb, Mommy?" "No, not dumb, honey. Of course not. You're just... not smart. Let's just say you're silly. And it's cute. Really cute. And we love you this way. I just mean that, let's say you went to school in second grade - I don't think you'd do very well in school, in second grade. Even though you've already graduated. I am pretty sure it would be hard for you to keep up with the lessons. "Everyone in school, especially the teachers, would love you, because you're so cute and pretty and fun. But you wouldn't be able to do well in your studies. You wouldn't get good grades. You'd get good grades for effort, but not for performance. Because I just don't think you're cut out for studying anymore. Maybe they'd put you back a year, back to first grade. And I think that would be hard for you, too. "It's nothing to be ashamed of, sweetie, it's just how God made you. School isn't for everyone. I just think you deserve to know that. You won't be going to school anyway. "But it's probably a good thing for you to leave serious decisions up to me and your brothers, because if they're really important decisions, I think it will be hard for you to analyze situations properly. So, like I said. You're not dumb. Just intellectually challenged." I sniffled and wiped away a tear, thinking to myself 'Wow! They really think I'm dumb?! Am I? Am I really?' I wiped away another tear. Thinking back, there seemed to be a lot of truth to what she was saying. I wiped away another tear. "Don't be sad, little one," Mom said. "You have the three of us. You can trust us. we'll always be there to protect you and keep you out of trouble. We won't let you make bad, harmful decisions. We promise." "And anyway," Randy said with a little laugh. "You know that dumb girls have more fun, right? So it's something to be proud of. You're a dumb blond!" And he laughed. I laughed when he laughed, but then sniffled again and wiped away another tear. It was confusing. I wasn't sure how upset I really should be about all this. "She's not dumb! I told you, sweetie, you're not dumb. You're just not very bright for your age. You're a little intellectually challenged. Or academically challenged. But you're not dumb." "I don't really understand the difference," I muttered, sadly. "How is that not 'dumb'?" Then Randy said, "So, little girl, if you can't understand the difference between those two, what do you think that says about you?" I didn't like being called 'little girl' by him. He was saying it in a mean, teasing way. I pouted. "Randy!" Mom scolded him. "Don't be mean to your little sister!" "Sorry, Jasmine. I didn't mean to sound mean. But it's a serious question. Can you figure it out? What does it say about you if Mom says there's a difference but you can't understand it?" "That I'm dumb," I said, pouting. "You're not dumb!" Mom said. "Stop it, boys," she said. The boys were trying to hide their snickering. "Anyway, 'dumb' is a person who can't speak. As in 'deaf and dumb'. You're only dumb after we make you swallow some garlic. Otherwise, you're not dumb - because you can talk. You're just not very smart." "That's not what it means today, though," I said, sadly. "Even *I* understand that! Today, when people say 'dumb' they mean not very smart." Mom sighed, and shook her head. "That's not what I meant. Look, you're just good in some things and less good in others. That's all. It's not your fault. It's just the way you are. There's nothing you can do to change it. You just have to accept it. WE love you this way. In fact, it makes you even cuter and more fun. You have us to figure out the difficult things for you, or to make decisions for you when it's too hard for you to do yourself. So don't worry about it. Enjoy being this way! Own it! Be proud of it! It takes a lot of responsibility away from you, it's an advantage. And boys, if I ever hear you teasing her and calling her 'dumb' or 'stupid', you'll be severely punished." They were both snickering. I just sat there silently. Then Mom asked, "Are you mad at me for telling you about this? Should I have kept it from you?" "No, Mommy, I'm glad you told me the truth. It's better this way. I just have to get used to it." She hugged me and I hugged her back. She kissed me on the cheek and stroked my hair for quite a long time until I finally began to calm down. Then she said, "Hey, sweetie, why don't you do a cute little dance for us in your cute little nightie?" "Mommy, don't be mad," I said. "But I don't think that's a good idea. I'm not wearing any panties. And I think if I do a dance, my night gown will lift up and my naked parts will show." "Why aren't you wearing panties?" Mom asked. "I couldn't get that drawer open, and I didn't want to ask for someone to come help me yet another time. It's OK, I'm being careful. I just think a dance isn't a good idea." She hugged me some more. Then she said, "I guess it's almost bedtime. Are you a little hungry? Would you like a little snack?" "Yes, Mommy, I'd like that. Thank-you." She came back a few minutes later with a plate - a normal, glass plate - with a peeled carrot, two small apples and a plum. She placed it on the coffee table in front of me and said, "I know it's a little hard for you to use cutlery right now, so I brought you things that even grown-ups eat with their hands." I felt a little disappointed, and again was surprised with myself for feeling that way. "I'm allowed to eat at the table?" I asked. "Of course you are!" she said. "Are you OK eating here, on the coffee table? You can sit on the floor or kneel, whichever is easier and more comfortable for you. Or we could go to the kitchen and you could eat at the table there. I'll come sit with you so you don't have to be alone." "No, this table is fine," I said, dropping to my knees beside the table. In my mind I tried to imagine that she had told me that this was the only way I was allowed to eat. But something definitely felt missing. I picked up the carrot in my fist and took a small bite. It was the first time in a while that I could eat a carrot on my own instead of being fed by someone else, and that I was allowed to chew and swallow normally instead of having it shoved down my throat. After taking that one small bite I put the carrot back down. I didn't like eating this way. It's hard to explain it, really, but it somehow felt like I was going against my true nature. I felt like if I swallowed it whole while putting it in my throat by myself, that would feel much better. But I didn't even want to do that. I longed from the attention I could get if someone fed me. So I waited with the carrot, hoping I'd come up with a plan. Mom had sat down behind where I was kneeling and began stroking and tugging on my pigtails, and rubbing my shoulders and the top of my back. "What's wrong?" she asked when she noticed I'd stopped eating. "Is there something wrong with the food I gave you? Do you want something else?" I said, "The food is really lovely, Mommy, but it feels a little wrong. Don't you want to give me peels and stuff, the bad parts of the fruits and vegetables, and some grass or leaves from outside? Isn't it wrong to waste food like this on me, when real people could be eating it and I could be eating the stuff that people can't eat?" "Sweetie, don't talk about yourself as if you're not a person! You're a person too! You shouldn't have to be eating only garbage! You're no worse, no less worthy than anyone else. You can enjoy the tasty food too, even if technically you're able to eat other stuff." "But, Mommy, you know that I'm not quite 100% a person - you said so yourself. I thought we decided that we weren't going to pretend I was something else anymore. It doesn't bother me to eat people's 'garbage', you know, as long as it grew from the ground and wasn't cooked. In fact, I think the peels actually taste BETTER than the fruit, to me! My body is just built differently. That's normal for animals. Think about it - dog food is totally gross for people but dogs love it." I felt like I was really digging my own grave with these things I was saying to her. It wasn't true that I liked the peels more than the fruit. I loved the fruit. And when I was forced to eat the garbage and not allowed the good stuff, I definitely DID feel bad and insulted. But now I was missing those times, missing those games, and I was trying to think of a way to get her to start treating me that way again without her feeling guilty about it. "Also," I added, "eating the stuff that would go to the garbage otherwise makes me feel really special, like a super hero. Like I'm doing something really special to save the world, to recycle, you know. So being given only that stuff makes me feel special and important." I wondered to myself if I'd regret telling her all this later. I thought I wouldn't because there was some logic to what I was saying, and now that I'd actually requested it, being given that food wouldn't be humiliating to me anymore. At least not until I asked for something else and wasn't allowed to have it. "I see," Mom said. "I'm sorry. You're right. I don't want you to feel pressured to act against your true nature! There's absolutely nothing wrong with what you are, in fact, it's fantastic! I thought you wouldn't want to have to eat that garbage, especially not all the time, and that this would be a treat for you. But I misunderstood. OK, I'll take those away and save them for people. I'm sure I can find some things that are appropriate for you in the kitchen, things that were left over from when your brothers and I ate earlier, while you were still asleep." She stood up and took away my plate. She started to walk away, but then turned back and said, "But you should eat your carrot stick first. I'm sorry I peeled it for you, I won't do it again next time. But let's not waste it now, and you need it." "Yes, Mommy," I said, and quickly tipped my head back and opened my mouth. She saw this, laughed, and obliged me, saying "You look so cute and irresistable like that!" She pressed the tip of the carrot against the opening of my throat, and began to push it in. "Wait, Mom, don't give that to her now," Roger said. "Don't we want her to go to sleep pretty soon? It'll be easier to put her in bed and make sure she stays there if she hasn't had that carrot." It was already partially down my throat, but Mom pulled it back out. "Sorry, baby," she said. "Your brother's right. It's better if you're able to fall asleep easily." "OK, Mommy," I said, knowing that the carrot wouldn't keep me up if I wanted to sleep. It would just make it harder for them to force me to sleep against my will. By withholding the carrot I was more at their mercy. She petted me on my head, and then held her fingers in front of my face and said, "Do you mind helping me out, sweetie? My fingers are a little sticky." One by one I put her fingers into my mouth, closed my lips around them, licked them, and then slipped them out of my lips. "Wow," she said, inspecting her hand. "Better than soap." "And probably more... what's that fancy word for clean? Like in a doctor's office?" I asked. "Sterile," she said with a giggle. "Yeah, probably more sterile than if you had used soap, too." I said. "I can taste the germs, and I can clean you until I don't taste them anymore." She laughed. Then she began to walk away with the plate. "I'll have the plum, if you don't mind," Roger said, interrupting her. "And I'll have an apple," Randy said. Mom was already close to the kitchen, so she called me. "Jasmine darling, would you mind bringing the fruit to your brothers?" "Sure," I said. I stood up and walked to her. "You can bring it to them on the plate," she said. "Maybe they'll want the other apple afterwards. And I can bring your food on another plate." I took the plate from her hands. She said, "Hold it carefully with both hands, sweetie, and make sure nothing falls." It seemed accidental and natural; I loved that she was 'talking down' to me again! "Maybe I can have my food in my special bowl, the one you gave me before?" I asked. "You WANT that one?" she asked. "Really? It's not embarrassing for you? I thought I made a mistake getting you that. It looks like a dog bowl." "But it has my name on it and I love that," I said. Then Randy said, "I thought the idea was that we didn't want to put her garbage food on people plates, so we got her a special bowl just for her. I would feel too gross eating from a plate that had her stuff on it before, even if it was washed. Just like I wouldn't want to eat from a dish that a dog ate from." Roger said, "I agree. I mean, it doesn't necessarily have to be that specific bowl. But she should have a bowl that's just for her, at least for when she's eating food that isn't fit for human consumption." "I guess your brothers make a good point," Mom said. "Especially since you like it because it has your name on it. If you ever want a different one, though, just tell me. Because I can just as easily get you a normal person's bowl and just save it for you. I can even put your name on it. That bowl I actually bought at a pet store!" Mom went to the kitchen, and I brought the plate with the three pieces of fruit to my brothers. Randy said, "Do you think it will taste even better if I ask you to lick it for me first?" "Yeah, probably," I said. "Do you want me to?" "Do you mind?" he asked. "Sure, I'll do it." I held out my hand to take his apple back. Instead of giving it to me he said, "Just stick out your tongue." I did, and he wiped his apple on my tongue. He licked his apple and said, "Mmmm, it really IS better. You should try this too, Roger." Then he patted me on the head, shoulder and thigh to thank me. I walked over to Roger. "Do you also want me to lick yours?" I asked. "If you don't mind, why not?" he said. So I stuck out my tongue and he wiped his plum on my tongue. After taking a bite, he thanked me by pulling me towards him, giving me a side-hug and kissing me on the cheek. I kissed him on the cheek too, and then he gave me a nose-to-nose rub ('eskimo'- kiss). That was fun and caused me to giggle. He held me a little longer and I snuggled against him. When a bit of juice from his plum dripped down his chin, I cleaned it off for him with my tongue. "What are you? A living napkin?" Randy asked with a laugh. "If I can clean him instead of a napkin, it saves the environment, doesn't it?" I asked him. "What's the matter, Randy? Jealous?" Roger taunted him. I got up off Roger and walked over to Randy. "Don't worry," I said. "I'll clean you too. Do you want me to finish that?" He had finished eating his apple and was holding on to the core. He held it out for me. I opened my mouth and let him push it down my throat. He put a hand on my neck and felt it go down, and then gave me a tummy rub. "Good girl," he said with a whisper. Then I licked his hands clean. Mom walked into the room. "Nice of you to help your brothers out," she said. "Jasmine, um, how do I ask you this? I have food here for you, but, um, I took it out of the garbage. Is that all right? It was the only shavings and stuff that I had left. If you don't want to eat it that's OK, I can find you something else." Randy answered for me. "Of course she'll eat it! She's an animal, remember? Animals eat from the garbage all the time. It doesn't bother them at all." "She's your SISTER! Don't call her an animal!" Mom scolded him. Randy said, "'Animal' is not an insult! Especially not to her." Then to me he said, "you like animals, right, Jasmine? You don't think animals deserve less respect than you do, do you?" "Um, well, yeah I like animals." Mom rolled her eyes and said, "Regardless, you have to treat her with respect." "Fine," said Randy. "Jasmine, darling, will you eat the food your Mommy gives you or will you refuse?" "I'll eat it," I said. "You don't have to," Mom said. "I don't mind. I won't be insulted." "No, Mommy, it's OK. Randy's kind of right. It won't bother me. He's right that I'm like an animal in that way. I can clean things with my mouth, and I can eat dirty things. That's why you haven't had to clean or peel vegetables for me before." "Well, then come and eat it, sweetie." Mom put my bowl down on the coffee table. I saw a bunch of carrot, potato and zucchini peels, as well as some of the outer part of an onion in my bowl. It all looked pretty old and dirty, with some black sludge on part of it. Randy saw it too and said, "Mom, if it's from the garbage, please, can we not put that on the table that we put our drinks and people food on? She can eat from her bowl on the floor just as well. She's done it before. I mean her no disrespect by it, but it really won't make a difference to her and it's pretty gross to us, seeing that stuff on our table." Roger said, "He's kinda right, Mom. It won't matter to her anyway." Mom sighed. She picked up my bowl, stood up, and then put it down on the floor in the middle of the room. "Sorry, baby, I hope you don't mind. Come eat over here." I nodded, and walked over to the bowl. As I got down on my knees, Mom turned me around so that when leaning over, my head would be pointing towards the boys, not my behind. I put my face into the bowl and started devouring its contents. Standing behind me, I felt Mom try to tug my nightie downwards. When she let go, though, it sprung right back up. "This is no good," she said. "Get back up." She gave a gentle tug on the back of my collar and lifted me up so that I was kneeling upright again. She continued to explain. "I mean, it's a really cute smile... but your nightie is really too short for you to be bending over like that. I'll get you some panties first. Just wait like this for a minute." She left the room. My brothers were looking at me, smiling. "What?" I asked. "Nothing," Roger said. "You're just really cute." I smiled back at him. Mom soon came back into the room carrying a shiny bright purple small pair of panties. The purple matched the colour of the frills on my nightie, except that it wasn't see through. "Stand up, sweetie," she said to me, and held out a hand to help me up. Once I was on my feet, Mom went down on her knees and held the panties up against my crotch, in front of my night gown, measuring them against me. "They look too small," I said. "Too small is good," Mom said. "They stretch, see? Too big would be a problem." Then she held the panties open with her fingers, in front of me, close to the floor, and said, "Step in, sweetheart." "Mommy, you're not going to dress me right in front of my brothers, are you?" I asked. "Don't worry, I'll make sure your nightie stays down." So I stepped into the leg holes. Mom slid the panties up my legs. She pulled them up under the frill of my nightie. And then she kept pulling them up. The hem of the nightie pressed against the waistband of the panties and got pushed up together with the panties. But as long as they were touching as I thought they were, my brothers wouldn't have been able to see my bare butt. As soon as the panties were in place Mom pulled my night gown back down all around my body, to cover the panties. I thought she was done. But then she lifted my night gown in the front, showing only the front of my panties, and only to her, and pulled the panties up a little more, tugged on the waistband here and there, tugged at the elastic on the leg holes, and made sure they were perfectly flat and smooth against my vagina. It made me pretty self-conscious having her so close to my 'tulip', purposely looking at it and its exact shape. But I didn't feel I had the right to try to stop her - she was doing me a favour putting these panties on me, after all. She pulled the night gown back down in front. Once again I thought she was done, but then she lifted the night gown in the back, this time, exposing my panty-covered butt to my only-too-happy brothers! She leaned around my body so that she could see my butt too, and then proceeded to tug and pull the panties in different directions, while inspecting my butt from up close. She also put her hand flat against my butt and gave a quick rub, making sure that the panties were fitting perfectly without a single wrinkle, flawlessly conforming to my shape. The way she was treating me gave me a really weird feeling. It was like she wasn't purposely exposing me to my brothers, and at the same time, when she seemed to have a valid reason to do so, she didn't make any effort to try to conceal my private parts. She took her time getting the panties on my butt just the way she wanted them. Once she was confident that the panties were on properly, she covered them again with my night gown. She stood up. "OK, sweetie, go back down now and continue eating. you're dressed properly now." When I bent over to continue eating, I became aware that my night gown slipped up and revealed the panties. At least my brothers were still on my other side. But then, while I was working on the food, my brothers got up and walked around to stand behind me. I put a hand behind me and tried to pull the night gown back down, and when that didn't work, I started to move around to the other side of the bowl. Mom stopped me with her leg, keeping me in place. And she bent down, pulled my hand away from my butt, and put it back down on the floor beside the bowl. "Don't worry about that," Mom said. "That's why I put the panties on you. There's nothing wrong with your brothers seeing you now. You look fine. Just concentrate on eating, because it's time for you to go to bed." Then, addressing my brothers, she said, "There's nothing wrong with you guys watching. After all, she's just a little girl. But no pictures. Put your phones away." When I was done all the food and had licked the bowl perfectly clean, I rose up onto my knees once more. Mom handed me a water bottle after she had taken the top off and told me to have a drink. The water was clear, not muddy, but had a very faint strange flavour to it. I had a feeling that she'd take the water from the toilet bowl. I drank it anyway. It didn't bother me. "Good girl," she said. "But now it's time for you to go to bed. Why don't you pick one of your brothers to take you to your bed and read you a short story - no more than ten minutes. I'll come to tuck you in and turn out your light." "Doesn't she need to brush her teeth?" Roger asked Mom. "Do you need to, baby girl?" Mom asked. "Well, not really... like the rest of my body, my mouth is self-cleaning." "So who do you pick?" "I can't decide. Can't they both come?" Mom laughed. "You don't want to hurt anyone's feelings, don't you? OK, you both can go. Randy, you carry her to her bed." I stood up. Randy lifted me up over his shoulder and carried me to my bedroom. He put me down on my bed and then pushed my shoulders down, causing me to lie down. Roger straightened my legs for me, and straighted my night gown over my panties for me. "Do you need a blanket?" he asked. "No thanks," I said. "What story should we read to you?" Randy asked. "Mommy's been reading that one to me -- 'The Witches'," I said. "There should be a bookmark where she stopped." The two of them started reading the book to me, taking turns making different voices. I laughed. They were funny. Then Mom came into the room. "OK, that's enough. It's time to go to sleep." "Mommy, is it OK if I try sleeping on a blanket on the floor? I think this mattress might feel a little too soft to me." "If you think it will be more comfortable for you, go ahead and try it," she said. She took the blanket that hadn't been covering me, and tossed it down onto the floor in a pile. I got up off of my bed, and then lay down on the blanket, curling up into a ball on my side. "How does that feel?" Mom asked. "A little better. Thanks, Mommy." "OK sweetie. See you in the morning. Sleep well. Have pleasant dreams." She blew me a kiss. Roger and Randy both got down on the floor and kissed and hugged me. I realized my panties were showing on my butt again and tried to pull the nightgown down. But since I enjoyed being curled up like that, I gave up on the panties. My brothers got up to leave the room. Mom shut off the light. Since I hadn't had a carrot in quite a while, I was fast asleep within seconds.