Handgaglover
House Pet
Chapter 3-4
Chapter 3
My mother and the dominant Dita took a good, long time picking out whatever it was that would be applied to my face. At least, it seemed like a long time. Having my face utterly engulfed by Angie's large, lean, gloved hand made time pass slowly, for I counted every breath-reduced, speech-robbed second that passed by while hoping for some sort of reprieve. I desperately wanted my face to be free of female hands. Heck, I desperately wanted to be away from this salon, the cruel women that dominated me, and, yes, even my mother. That crazy woman had transformed from a peacefully existing housewife into a cruel "mistress" (as she put it) seemingly overnight, and I was the victim she had chosen. Her wrath was bad enough, but she had also permitted her wicked girlfriends to take out their wrathful urges on me by using their big hands as instruments of domination. And, boy, did her friends enjoy dominating me.
While my mother and Dita retrieved the makeup that they planned to "do me up" with, Angie could not keep a sly, evil smile from touching her full red lips which she would confidently purse at me through the mirror before revealing a broad, white, toothy grin. That grin was truly a sight to behold, and it forced the nervous knot in my stomach to tighten every time it was flashed my way. Whenever I saw that grin, I would try to move my head or jaw in order to attempt to protest the mistreatment I was experiencing. Angie would only squeeze my mouth more tightly and shush me or tell me to be still.
My face ached considerably from being held in such a restricting manner, and my lips were not exactly faring well either. They were squashed and jammed together by the broad, gloved palm of Angie's right hand, and there was absolutely no way that I could make anything other than the slightest of sounds. Along with the physical pain of having my mouth and lower face held and my arms and legs bound, I experienced quite a bit of "mental pain" as well because of the confusion racing through me. I understood my mother's words in the kitchen this morning, but I didn't understand why her and her friends derived so much pleasure from dominating me. I further understood that my father was a cruel person, but did that excuse my mother's cruelty toward me? If other men behaved as undesirably as my father did, were the affected women excused from being held accountable for their actions?
Aside from my situation, consider the blonde shopkeeper who kept her dolled-up son bound and gagged. What right did she have to do such a thing? If the goal was to educate her son and to teach him not to behave like other men of the time, that was fine, but she could have, and should have, done so in a far different way. The same could obviously be said of my mother and her awful friends. A group education of me could have been possible, but, again, in a far different way. I'm sure these women realized this, so why the charade? Were they sick or some sort of weirdoes who got a thrill from dominating and handgagging me? The answer was obvious to the second part of the question, but what about the first? Were these women's minds affected so extremely by the abuse (of any sort) of the men in their lives that their view on how to raise boys was skewed?
I wanted to scream such questions to the world, but Angie wouldn't let me. She kept me all shut up and gagged with her big, strong, lean, gloved right hand whose grip didn't lessen in the time it took for my mother and Dita to return from their time in the main part of the salon. I heard the two women chatting excitedly before the door to the back room opened and quickly closed as soon as my mistresses were through. Using her abusively-tight grip on my mouth as leverage, Angie turned my head to my left so that I could see who had just come in.
"Here they come," Angie mischievously whispered into my left ear, "Here comes Mommy and Dita." She straightened herself and watched as my mother and her dominant friend strode over to where I was. I thought for a moment how remarkable it was that Angie became so engrossed in a dominant role over me so quickly.
A couple of nervous whimpers leaked out of my oppressed mouth as I watched, through my left eye, my mother and Dita approach. I noticed that Dita held a container of foundation in her right hand and a brush in her left, while my mother held a tube of lipstick in her left hand and a small, thin container of eye-shadow in her right. Both women looked simply delighted to be alive and participating in the domination of me.
"Oh, well don't you just look precious all gagged up like that?" my mother asked teasingly as she reached the left side of the chair that I was belted to.
"Yeah, I trust that you were on your best behavior for Miss Angie," Dita said in a scolding manner.
"Mphh…mhmphhh," I whimpered nervously upon seeing the wicked glares being directed toward me by the two women.
"Oh, she behaved superbly! She only struggled a little but barely made a sound. Not as if she could, anyway…" Angie said thickly which indicated that she was wearing a smile when she spoke. Both Dita and my mother shared a few chuckles at my expense before beginning to punish me more.
"Good, that's exactly how she should behave," my mother said. Pointing her right index finger at me, she added, "And that's how you'll stay while we make you look beautiful." I could feel my eyes (at least my left one before Angie released my face) quivering helplessly with anxiety as I watched Dita open her container of foundation. Angie finally removed her hand from my mouth and simply let it rest on my right shoulder; a gesture that I found unsettling, for I was continually reminded of the size of that hand.
I breathed heavily and took in as much female-hand-free air that I could as Dita moved around the chair to my right side so she could begin applying foundation to my face. "Now, hold still. The easier you make this for us, the easier it'll be for you later on," she said as she swirled the fluffy brush in the foundation container.
I assumed she meant that I would receive less punishment later on if I behaved. It was a promise whose keeping I doubted, but it was not as if I could physically do anything about it. I guessed that it would be better for me if I just sat through what was being done to me considering there were three viciously-dominant women around me who were more than willing to subdue me and keep me quiet. Dita was quite generous with the amount of foundation she put on me via the swirling, dabbing, and swiping motions of her brush. It felt really weird as it accumulated on my right cheek and then my left cheek, forehead, and chin as Dita moved around the chair to apply the stuff evenly. The brush was even directed over my nose and my upper lip a few times. It felt as if there was a sticky, yet powdery, mask on my skin that, no matter how I flexed my face, would not come off or move. It was a thoroughly uncomfortable feeling.
The next thing to come was the eye-shadow which my mother dutifully and gleefully applied to my closed eyes. She took her time with the application and took a little advice from Dita who said that it might look good if she moved the brush a certain way. Once finished, my mother commanded me to open my eyes, and I was horrified by the reflection in the mirror. The eye-shadow was a very light blue and almost seemed to match the blouse I was forced to wear. Coupled with the smooth-looking foundation, I looked almost exactly like a girl. Especially with my mouth covered by a female hand, it would be difficult for anyone outside of these three evil women to tell that I was a boy. I could feel my bottom lip trembling with nervousness as I instinctively flexed my arms against my bonds. I wanted that makeup off of my face; what was happening to me was simply unnatural.
"Ah ah ahh, stay still, little lady. It's time for the final touch," said my mother in a scolding tone of voice as she popped the cap off of the tube of deep-crimson lipstick. It was the same shade that my mother was wearing (Dita's and Angie's lipstick colors were slightly lighter and redder). My mother moved in front of me and straddled my bound legs so that she could effectively apply the lipstick to my thin lips. Grabbing my face with her large left hand, she squeezed my cheeks a little so that my lips were forced to purse. I felt utterly and completely humiliated as the cool, thick paint was applied to my lips. The application of the lipstick went fairly quickly because, thankfully, I managed to keep my lips from trembling.
Standing back to admire her handiwork, my mother told me to rub my lips together in much the same way that she did almost every morning. Rubbing them together, I could feel them start to tremble as feelings of nervousness made room for hopelessness. I saw a tear fall from my left eye and expected the makeup to smear or at least to have a track laid in it. To my horror, I saw no such thing happen.
"And here, ladies, is the beauty of my product," Dita said (who had been standing to my left and was joined by my mother) as she reached forward with her left hand and firmly swiped the tear away from me in order to show her makeup's infallibility. With the makeup left perfectly intact, I swallowed hard and felt the knot of nervousness in my stomach return while my mistresses gasped, gaped, and awed at the effectiveness of the makeup.
"Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant," said my mother in admiration.
"Yeah, it's really something, Dita! And it makes our little Jamie here look so precious," Angie exclaimed, adding to the teasing punishment coming my way.
"Oh, I know! And, the best part is that, when we grab her mouth," Dita said before putting her strong, lean-toned right hand on the back of my head and unkindly grabbing my mouth with her left, "her makeup won't smear even then."
Dita did not simply handgag me. She enveloped my small, painted mouth within the velvety folds of her palm, hopelessly squashing it, while her long fingers gripped my right cheek with a fiery passion that made the skin bulge in certain places from the pressure. My nose was caught within the crook of her thumb and squeezed completely shut, rendering me breathless and smothered. Gurgling a short whimper in the back of my throat, I immediately began to struggle in my bonds, for I desperately wanted air. I was very scared from being smothered because of the ultimate helplessness that overtook me.
Dita held on as I attempted to struggle within my bonds for a few moments before giving my mouth a final extra-extra-firm squeeze and letting go. I greedily gasped for air and wiggled my nose in order to get some feeling back into it. Dita had so cruelly pinched my nose that more tears had welled up within my eyes and fell down my cheeks. I soon felt a few swipes of a handkerchief across my face as Angie quickly sopped up my stress-induced tears.
"See?" Dita said while holding out her big-looking hands with her palms up, "No makeup came off. So feel free to handgag her with or without gloves, because that makeup isn't going anywhere."
I looked at her and my mother with wide, helpless eyes and tried to get an idea of what would happen to me next. Was I really going to be taken to Parham's looking like that? The thought of being seen in public all done up was really scary! Heck, me seeing myself done up was bad enough, but other people were going to be seeing me, or at least part of me; the part of me that wasn't covered by a big, strong female hand.
"And neither is our little pet, come to think of it," Angie said which made her dominant friends laugh.
It was then that, while my three captresses giggled in mischievous delight, chattering female voices were approaching the area just outside of Dita's office door. All of us, including me, froze for a brief second in surprise before seeming to snap back to reality. The crazy women that were dominating me reacted more quickly than I did and moved with lightning-like purpose.
Dita, standing just to the left of me, shot her big, soft left hand up toward my face and roughly ensnared my mouth within its velvety folds. Her grip was really tight and caused my face to immediately hurt. Her broad, slightly-toughened palm pressed my thin, painted lips together in a hopelessly-silencing manner while her long, surprisingly-strong fingers wrapped much-more-than-snugly around my left cheek. The thumb of that cruel hand clamped down over the bridge of my nose which forced my nostrils to be pressed smotheringly-tight into the upper portion of the palm between the thumb and index finger. Because of the exceedingly-unkind amount of pressure exerted onto my face, my eyes were forced to squint and fill with stress-induced tears.
Sadly, that wasn't all that happened. Angie, as soon as Dita grabbed me in her breath-robbing embrace, reached around my head and clapped a huge, gloved right hand tight over the hand already keeping me quiet and smothered. Any hope I had of producing even the slightest of sounds was robbed by Angie's addition of her ultra-big hand. With a horrifyingly-tight set of two female hands over my mouth, coupled with the fact that my poor nose was cut off from its vital supply of air, I could only make a couple of minute gurgling sounds in the back of my throat that could not have been heard in a silent room let alone through the office door and over the giddy conversation of whomever was beyond.
I tried to see my reflection in the mirror, but found that all I could see were blurry patches of color due to the condition of my eyes which were squinted, teary, and partially blocked by Angie's glove-covered thumb. That thumb would have pressed down over my eyes, but, since Dita was expertly keeping me quiet and helpless, Angie decided to clamp her right hand over a lower portion of my mouth which allowed her to curl about a third of her lower palm under my chin. This forced my jaw to remain closed and meant that the thumb was in a different place on my face. It was, in fact, right over Dita's left thumb and was blocking only about half of my vision.
The amount of force used by those two cruel women was way, way too much and made me instinctively strain against the belts keeping me strapped to the chair as an instinctive response against what was being done to me. All of this happened, by the way, in a matter of seconds. My mother, seeing that I was satisfactorily quieted by her two friends, saw fit to go to the door of the office and open it a little so that only a sliver of space separated it from its frame.
Feeling as if I was going out of my mind, I desperately tried to struggle and move my head so that I could get some air. Any air would do; I just needed a little. Not even the faintest wisp found its way into my abused, blocked nostrils. Nor did I find any give in the unbearably-tight grips of the female hands over my mouth and lower face.
"Shht! Don't you dare make a sound," Dita hissed as she leaned forward and put her mouth by my left ear which was almost touched by the tips of Angie's long, glove-covered fingers. "Marion!" she said in a loud whisper after turning her head to look over her right shoulder at my mother, "What's going on? Are they gone?"
Since I couldn't move at all, I was unable to see if my mother turned around immediately or not. I could have listened for the sound of her shoes clopping on the tile floor, but I was far too concerned with the fear filling me from being rudely robbed of breath for at least thirty seconds.
Shutting the office door and turning to make her way back to where I was being held, my mother said, "They're just going to the bathroom. I thought that they were looking for you."
Sighing in relief, Dita responded with, "Yeah, me too. I imagined that they were going to the ladies' room, but I wasn't sure."
Did the evil women that were dominating me remove their vicious hands from my mouth at that point? No, of course not, and I was growing ever more desperate for air. My brief struggles further wearied my aching muscles, but I didn't care; I wanted to breathe. I wanted to be rid of the accursed female hands over my mouth so that fresh air could pervade my burning lungs.
More of those pathetically-innocent whimpers gurgled in the back of my throat as Angie said, "What do you think? Should we get her out of here? I mean, I don't think anyone's coming back here, but in case they do…"
My mother said that she had planned on taking her and I out to lunch at Parham's and invited her friends to come along. "Besides, I wouldn't mind a few extra 'helping hands' with Jamie. She needs to be taught who really runs this world," my mother said, meaning the female race, "And let her breathe already. I don't want her passing out."
With that, the pressure being exerted onto my face receded a little. Angie lifted her glove-covered thumb slightly which allowed Dita to do the same. Indescribable relief filled me as I greedily gasped in precious streams of air through my poor, aching nostrils that were barely above the upper edge of Dita's palm. The smells of these women's perfume and Dita's hand overwhelmed my nostrils with every breath that I took. Unfortunately, Dita kept her left hand viciously tight-clamped over my mouth, and Angie kept her gloved right one in place as well. That meant that, for a few brief moments, my mouth was kept shut in a more-than-effective manner in two different ways.
"Mhmphhh…mmphh…mphhhhh," came heavily-muffled moans from my tired mouth as I continued to gasp in air. Even though my nose was somewhat free, I still couldn't produce anything more than those barely-audible whimpers which must have made me sound so puny and helpless. That was, at least, how I felt, anyway, and I didn't imagine that I sounded any different.
"That sounds great! You can count me in," Dita said, affirming her attendance of my mother's lunch date.
"Me too! I don't exactly have anything to do today, and I would be glad to help educate Jamie here. She looks so damn adorable," Angie said, adding her two-cent's worth of creepy words. With the fire in my lungs fading away, my aching facial muscles reminded me of what was being done to them. My abused, squashed lips were especially hurting from being pressed, mashed, and mangled together by Dita's broad, soft palm.
"Well, what about her?" Dita began with a slightly worried tone, "She might try to scream for help at Parham's just as much as she might here. I guess we'll just have to hope that no one minds that we gag her with our hands."
"No, she won't," said my mother as she walked slowly and purposefully around Dita on my left side and stood directly in front of the chair to which I was bound. Moving forward, she straddled the foot rest of the chair and stood over my bound legs before leaning forward and placing her big, soft hands on top of my wrists. I could feel some of her weight being transferred onto my thin, glove-covered wrists as my mother leaned forward to glare menacingly at me.
Because of Dita's and Angie's thumbs, I could only see out of the upper halves of my eyes, but my mother's dominant friends were willing to compensate for that by pulling my face down so that the last two knuckles and lower palm of Angie's right hand touched my chest. I looked out past the thumbs near my scared, helpless, watery eyes and waited for my mother to speak.
"She isn't going to draw any attention to us at all. We'll keep her quiet with our hands when we can, but, when we can't, she's going to be as quiet as a mouse. Isn't that right?" my mother continued with a thick, warning tone of voice.
"Mphhh..mph..mmhhh," I moaned nervously into the tight-gripping, double set of female hands clamped over my mouth and lower face.
Her lips spreading into a shark-like grin, my mother said, "Yes, she is. She's going to take her punishment like a good girl."
I sensed that Dita and Angie were smiling down at me with evil satisfaction, and I suspected that with greater surety once Dita leaned toward my left ear a little and said, "That's right. So, you just behave, little lady, and don't go making a fuss. You listen to your mom; she knows what's best for you."
My mother suddenly stood up straight, her face brightening considerably. "Aww, thank you Dita. You and Angie know what's best for her too. I can tell that simply from how well you keep Jamie quiet. You two are perfect for helping me teach her a thing or two about how to behave around women," my mother said gleefully and with a tone that was the complete opposite of the one she spoke to me with.
"Well, I, for one, am looking forward to it," said Angie which caused Dita and my mother to agree with her. "What I'm also looking forward to is lunch," Angie continued.
Giggling briefly, Dita said, "Oh, yeah, me too. I'm absolutely famished."
"Me too," said my mother, "All that punishment really makes a girl hungry. And I could use a drink too." Although this made her evil friends giggle, I didn't think it was funny at all. One, my mother already drank something alcoholic that day, and, two, I didn't want her to act funny like she did in the park - kissing me and feeling me up. Heck, it was bad enough that she was obsessed with clamping her hands over my mouth. I didn't think that I could handle anything other sort of weird behavior from either her or her cruel friends.
"
"I'll unstrap her arms," Angie said and, after removing her big, gloved right hand from over Dita's left, worked at the belt buckle securing my right wrist to the respective arm of the chair.
Dita's strong, soft left hand had grown quite warm from making contact with my mouth and lower face and had taken on a slightly damp quality due to a thin accumulation of sweat on her palm and fingers. That bit of dampness created a more effective seal over my thin, painted, and squashed lips and ensured that no sound above a hopelessly-muffled whimper would escape me.
My mother and the awful Angie made quick work of undoing the belts around my legs and arms. "Here, give me the belts," Angie said to my mother once I was "free", "Do you want these on the desk, Dita?"
Taking a pinchingly-firm grip of my right arm, digging her red-painted nails into my wispy-haired skin, Dita said, "Yeah, but in the upper right drawer, if you please. I don't want anyone asking me about those later."
While Angie stowed the belts in a place that none of Dita's pupils would find them, my mother moved to the left side of the chair and took a two-handed grip of my arm that was just as painfully pinching as Dita's grip of my right one. I found that my mother's big right hand was grasping my upper arm, just above the elbow, while her left wrapped around my forearm near my lace-covered wrist.
"Mphh..mhmhhh," I whimpered nervously into the slightly-damp silkiness of Dita's tight-gripping left hand still clamped over my mouth as I was moved out of the chair by the two women holding onto me. I noticed that, because of the surprising strength in both Dita's and my mother's hands and arms, moving my thin, short-statured body was an all-too-easy task for those cruel women. I felt some irritation on my legs where the belts had been, and I imagined that the material had left noticeable imprints in my skin. That obviously didn't matter to the women dominating me; I thought that they would probably just cover it with pantyhose if they happened to notice.
The two women forcefully escorting me around the chair toward Dita's desk did not lollygag. Moving with efficient purpose, Dita and my mother quickly forced me over to the side of the desk and waited for Angie to open the door leading out to the parking lot. After holding the door for my two captresses, who had to turn to their left a little so that they could both keep a more-than-firm hold of me while moving me outside, Angie followed us closely behind.
"Hang on, I have to lock that door," Dita said while slowing the movement of me to a stop.
"It's okay, I'll do it. Where are your keys?" Angie asked and took them from Dita after the location was revealed. I was moved again in a less hurried manner toward Dita's big, purple Cadillac. I guessed that those crazy women didn't feel the need to rush as much given the fact that there was less of a chance of my muffled moans being heard out there. There was, after all, a bit of a breeze, the sound of traffic, and birds tweeting in the park past the fence, so any slight noises that I managed to make wouldn't be heard at all; especially by someone in another part of the parking lot.
I was kept silent and helpless by my mother and Dita as I was moved to the right rear passenger door of Dita's car. The two women held me there facing the car as Angie hurried back over to us, shoes clopping on the lot's blacktop. Catching a glimpse of my face in the reflection of the car's window, I marveled for a moment at just how big Dita's left hand was, especially when compared to my face. I had always thought (ever since Dita first handgagged me) that Dita's hands felt quite large, like my mother's, and my suspicions were confirmed when I saw my hand-covered lower face in the reflection of the right rear passenger window.
Once Angie returned, she handed the keys to Dita who took them in her right hand after releasing her grip of my arm. "You ladies keep Jamie quiet while I drive. It shouldn't take too long to get to Parham's, but she needs to be kept quiet all the same," Dita said as she began walking behind Angie and I and around the rear of her car.
As soon as I was released, Angie stepped forward and clamped her huge, gloved left hand
When my mother let go of my arm, Angie put her big, gloved right hand on the back of my neck which allowed her to reinforce her unkind, face-scrunching grip of my mouth and to direct my head down and forward. Being forced into the car like that was horrible and scared me quite a bit, because I was being captured by the perfect trio of women: my mother and her friends; all of whom would never tell a soul about what they were doing to me. Not to mention the physical pain I experienced from having my poor mouth and nose mashed into Angie's thick, glove-covered palm. I caught a slightly distorted glimpse of the lusty expression on my mother's face before she reached out and ensnared my left arm again. There was little doubt that she wore that expression because of the way Angie's big hand covered my mouth and face.
Releasing my mouth and the back of my neck, Angie climbed into the car and shut the door on her side as my mother yanked me over toward her and as Dita was revving up the engine. It felt disturbingly weird as my white skirt glided across the vinyl of the seat; it wasn't a natural feeling that a boy my age should have had to feel. When the sliding stopped, I looked up with wide, stressed eyes at the rear-view mirror and noticed Dita flash me a mischievous smile and wink.
Before I could register anything else, except for the knot of nervousness in my stomach that Dita's look seemed to tighten, Angie reached around my head and clamped her big, strong, gloved left hand tight over my mouth, engulfing my lower face from my chin to just under my eyes in one of the most unkind, silencing, breath-reducing embraces I had ever experienced. Her thumb pressed down over my left eyebrow and extended up onto my forehead somewhere.
"Mphh…m-hmphh," came a couple of surprised, pathetic-sounding whimpers from my heavily-oppressed mouth as Angie's gloved hand ensnared my face as an octopus might ensnare its prey. Those barely-audible mewls were high-pitched and stressed-sounding and seemed like they should have been made by a frightened young cat rather than a boy. I tried to reach up to paw at the broad, glove-covered expanse that was the back of Angie's left hand which gripped my mouth so tightly that my eyes were forced to squint. Before I could attempt such struggles, Angie engulfed my small, gloved right hand in her much, much bigger one and forced it to remain at my waist.
I obviously couldn't use my left hand to pry at the hand that was robbing me of speech and much of my breath considering that my mother had assumed another two-handed grip of my arm - her right hand gripped the area above my elbow while her left gripped my small, gloved left hand. I was hopelessly trapped and quiet and found that I could barely move at all. I tested the strength of Angie's hand again, and, as Dita backed her car out of its parking space, I tried to move my head. Finding that I couldn't really stressed me, for I hated the helpless feeling of not being able to move. Trying to move my jaw stressed me even more seeing as how there was absolutely no way that I could move it. Unable to move and unable to speak, I was forced to ride to Parham's in a state of utter helplessness.
It was clear that my mother was enjoying the sight of Angie's large, gloved left hand clamped tighter-than-tight over my mouth, for she leaned toward me to throw a few taunts my way. Releasing my left hand, but keeping an unkind, pinching grip of my upper arm, she reached over to feel the back of Angie's gloved palm which was squashing my lips into silent oblivion. Using her grip on my mouth as leverage, Angie turned my head slightly to my left so that my mother could have a full view of my gloved-hand-covered face. My mother patted Angie's left hand and glared into my eyes. I could only imagine that she was wearing a cold, lusty expression given the fact that my eyes were still forced into squinted, teary slits.
"There; that's perfect. I don't think I've ever seen you look better," my dominant mother said thickly with a warm, matter-of-fact tone of voice.
"Mphh…hmhhh," came the only sounds I could make. Those sounds barely made it past the broad, glove-covered palm covering my thin, red-painted lips - a fact that made my mother wear a satisfied grin. She could feel me trying to move my left hand up, with the intention of pulling on the awful hand gripping my mouth and lower face, and ensnared it in her bigger one. "Mmphhh..nmphh," I moaned in defeated helplessness as my gloved left hand was once again pinned down between my left leg and my mother's right one.
"Ah, ah, ahhh, none of that now. You take your punishment like a good girl, and that means no struggling. Besides, it's not as if you're going anywhere, is it?" my mother teasingly warned with that same thick tone again. I really didn't like that at all; the way she talked to me was not how a mother should talk to her son. It was then that I felt my head being directed back toward my right and upward slightly.
Angie had used her grip of my mouth as leverage again and had forced me to look up at her smirking face which was only a blur to me given the squinched quality of my eyes. "Hnh hnn, nope," she said in a low, smooth voice dripping with teasing mischief, "And you certainly aren't going to be speaking anytime soon either, so you might as well behave."
Angie's gloved hand clamped over my mouth had become quite warm by the time Dita had pulled out of the parking lot. My facial muscles, as well, were aching warmly and reminded me of the unpleasantness of my situation with every passing second.
"Hm, such pretty eyes you have, little girl," Angie purred down at me while still forcing my teary, squinted eyes to make contact with hers.
"I wanna see too. Have her look up here," Dita cooed with a playfully pouty tone of voice.
"Don't you need to keep your eyes on the road?" my mother asked teasingly.
"We're at a stoplight. Come on; please?" Dita protested, and Angie saw fit to direct my face forward using her inhumane grip of my mouth as leverage for a third time. I could just make out the general details of Dita's face through the rearview mirror while she studied my gloved-hand-covered one.
The stoplight turned green, and Dita moved the car forward after breaking eye contact with me. "Hmm, she really is adorable, especially all shut up like that," she said in general, and, to me, "It's only a few more minutes to Parham's, so don't you go getting any funny ideas like making a fuss." The warning in her voice caused me to feel the knot of nervous dread in my stomach tighten, for the realization that I was going to be seen in public in the state I was in was worrisome and depressing. It was going to be so darned humiliating!
"Oh, she won't get any ideas like that, will you Jamie?" my mother asked in a condescending tone which was also meant as a warning. Since Angie didn't turn my head toward my mother, I couldn't see her, and, because the grip over my mouth and lower face was so tight, I couldn't move my head to show that I understood the warning. I could sense my mother's face dropping into an irritated expression. She shot her left hand up to my chest and took a very cruel hold of my small left nipple and twisted it painfully through the blouse material. I immediately responded by struggling in my mistress' grips, but felt all efforts go to vain. Angie took a more firm hold of my right hand and kept it pinned to the seat near my right side while my mother did the same with my left hand. Her pinching grip of my upper left arm was also tightened as she twisted my sensitive nipple with the knuckle of her thumb and the red-painted nail of her index finger. Sensing my struggles were futile, I tried to move my head and found that I couldn't do that either.
"Mmmphhh…mhmphh…mmhh," I moaned in pained helplessness into Angie's overly-tight gripping gloved hand as sharp pain shot through me from having my poor nipple mistreated.
"I asked you a question, little lady, and I expect an answer. You're going to be a good girl, right?" my mother asked with thick cruelty dripping from her voice. Fear filled me as well as pain, because my mother had gone into another phase of craziness.
"Hmmphhh..mphhh…mhmphhh," I responded in the form of heavily-muffled sobs. It was the only way I could respond, and there, again, I was questioning my mother's expectations. Was her craziness clouding her judgment so much that she forgot that I had a gargantuan gloved hand clamped over my mouth and would not be able to answer her?
Yes, of course I'll behave. Just, please let me go. Please! I screamed in my head, for I certainly couldn't scream in real life. The other women in the car didn't protest my treatment at all. They simply watched my mother's cruel act and didn't say a word. I think I even heard an airy snicker come from Dita. After a few more seconds of digging the tip of her index fingernail into my small, sensitive nipple, my mother saw fit to release me and resume her hold of my gloved left hand.
"Mmmhhh…m-hmphhh…mmhhh," I moaned in relief as my nipple was finally released.
"Good! I know you will. You've been such a good girl so far today. I know that you want to stay that way," exclaimed my mother in a chipper manner that was creepier than how she was talking to me before. I think what alarmed me was not so much the tone, for my mother had sometimes spoken giddily in the past, but the rapid change of her tones. It was the fact that my mother seemed to jump from one tone to the next that made me want to deem her as crazy. I, of course, deemed all of the women mistreating me as crazy considering what they were doing to me.
Only about three more minutes passed before we arrived at Parham's restaurant which was just off of Main Street. I knew the place well, for my mother had taken me there several times before. The building occupied an entire corner of the street on which it was set. The lower half of the building was brick while the upper half consisted of a creamy, off-white stucco finish with large, red, semi-cursive letters that read "Parham's". A white awning separated the brick from the stucco and wrapped all the way around the building.
Coming to a stop in one of the diagonal parking spaces in front of the building, Dita switched off her car before saying, "Alright, ladies. Here we are." She turned around and, before either my mother or Angie could taunt me with another warning, said, "Now, Jamie, remember my threat from the salon. You so much as make a peep in there or try to draw any attention to yourself, you're going into my trunk for three days. Understand?"
I couldn't move my head to nod, and I certainly couldn't verbalize an answer. "Mphh..mph…mh," came barley-audible moans as a response to Dita's warning.
"Angie, let her at least nod. Besides, it might be best if her mouth isn't covered until we get to our booth," Dita said, actually wanting an intelligible, albeit wordless, response from me. Angie let her hand linger for a minute before giving my poor mouth and extra-extra-extra firm squeeze.
Once my face was released, I breathed deeply for a minute before Dita sternly snapped me back to the horrible reality of my life. "Jamie, do you understand?" she asked somewhat hotly. It was clear that I was not to hesitate again. I nodded my head in defeat and let my gaze fall to the car's floor, for I couldn't bear to look into the cold, dominant eyes of any of my mistresses.
"Good," Dita said, satisfied.
"Do you think we'll be able to keep her quiet in there without having any stupid questions asked?" Angie inquired. I was surprised to hear a woman speak in such a way. I had only ever heard men speak so frankly.
"Well, I've known the hostess, Barbara, here for years. I called yesterday to ask if a corner booth in the back could be held for Jamie and I, and Barb said she'd keep it clear. There'll be plenty of room for all of us, though, and we'll be able to keep Jamie quiet without anyone seeing too much," my mother said which seemed to reassure both Dita and Angie. I imagined that Dita had a similar question lingering in her mind.
It was settled then; I would be forcibly kept in a corner booth in Parham's among those three crazy women while eating lunch. The idea of lunch did have some appeal, for I realized that I had not had anything to eat except for some cereal and cream - "cat food", as my mother seemed to think. I had a brief worry then: What if my mother forced me to eat real cat food in the future? That would be awful! I didn't think that I could stand the taste of that stuff.
My thoughts were cut short as the women that were dominating me began to move out of Dita's car. My mother pulled me out on her side and kept me close to her in a manner that was similar to how she walked with me earlier. She kept an unkind, pinching hold of my upper left arm while draping her right arm around my shoulders. Her big right hand hung near my lower jaw and near my mouth just in case I got the urge to cry out for help. Believe me - the thought did cross my mind.
Angie got out on her side, and Dita locked all four of her doors with her key. My mother had subtly forced me to the front of Dita's car and onto the sidewalk where Angie met us and stood to my right. Dita soon joined us, tucking her keys into her small, black purse which I had not seen until then. Maybe she had stored it in the front of her car somewhere. As the ladies walked me to the front double-door of Parham's, I imagined how the scene might look. I doubted that anyone would suspect anything. It probably just looked like a mom and her daughter were out with their girlfriends for lunch. No one suspected who or what I really was or what these three women had been doing to me.
Speaking of perception, as I was forced through the front door of Parham's, I immediately felt as if all eyes were on me. I felt my face flush and my breath catch in my throat because of the feelings of utter humiliation coursing through me. Angie held the door for my mother, Dita, and I and followed us in. My mother wanted to enter first because, I assumed, she had to speak to the hostess. What scared me was the prospect of seeing Miss Barb in the state that I was in. I had met her before, and she always delighted in seeing me; she thought that I was a cute little boy and bade me a happy lunch time with my mother every time that I was there. Would she recognize me? Tight nervousness gripped my stomach as we approached Miss Barb's hostess station at which the woman herself stood to greet us.
"Marion! Dita! Angie! Hey there; welcome to Parham's," Miss Barb exclaimed in genuine glee. She was a sweet woman and always seemed to wear a bright, white smile that lit up her full-cheeked face. The only makeup she wore was a bit of foundation and the lightest touch of eye-shadow that wasn't much darker than her foundation. Her golden, naturally curly, crimpy hair was kept in a ponytail and hung to the middle of her back. The work outfit she always wore was a sort of soft-yellow dress that hugged her full, thick-set frame. A motherly aspect was created by the white apron she wore that matched her white flats on her feet. I had to strain my neck to look up at Miss Barb's smiling face, for she was just as tall as my mother was. After the women secretly dominating me greeted their friend just as cheerfully as they were greeted, Miss Barb asked my mother if she wanted that corner booth she called about yesterday.
"Yes, please. I was hoping Angie and Dita could join me, if that's okay," my mother said.
"Well sure! Of course that's fine. The more the merrier," Miss Barb said and her smile seemed to brighten at the thought of more friendly faces at her table.
As Miss Barb directed her attention toward me, my breath caught in my throat again, and I swallowed dryly. My heart was pounding heavily in my chest as I waited to see if recognition would appear in Miss Barb's eyes.
"And who's this little lady you have with you today? She certainly is a cutie," Miss Barb asked heartily while bending slightly and planting her hands on her waist. I briefly glanced at those hands and noticed how large and full-built they were. Miss Barb wore her nails trimmed at about a quarter of an inch past her fingertips without any nail polish. I sensed that, from past glimpses of her full, thick palms, those hands were somewhat soft but tough from years of restaurant work. Gazing up into Miss Barb's bright blue eyes, I swallowed nervously again before breathing through an open mouth. To any passerby, I might have simply looked shy, what with my lack of a verbal reply and my mouth hanging open expectantly. Oh, how I wished that it was so simple.
Miss Barb waited for a reply for a few seconds and stared into my nervous eyes with hers; that gaze she met mine with displayed confidence, friendliness, a willingness to accept new people, and…lust? Did I detect lust-laced mischief in those eyes that had seemed to radiate with sweet kindness? Chuckling through a smile that
Flashing me another wicked smile that a woman her age should not have given a boy my age, Miss Barb said, "She seems to be a shy one." I felt my mother move the fingertips of her right hand to the underside of my chin and push gently upward as an indication that she wanted me to close my mouth.
"Yeah, she is. Her name's Jamie, and when she heard that I was going out to lunch with these lovely ladies behind me," my mother began which caused Dita and Angie to giggle a bit with mock giddiness, "She wanted to come along and have some quality girl-time with us." I really wanted to speak out against what my crazy mother was saying about me, but I felt her right hand move until her palm cradled the underside of my chin and kept my mouth closed without covering it. The only thing covering my mouth was her hooked thumb which rested against my thin, red-painted lips; her strong, soft fingers wrapped around the underside of my lower jaw and pressed against my left cheek with the tips pointing upward. I felt so utterly helpless in that grasp as I continued to stare up at Miss Barb. She knew something; she definitely knew something.
"Oh, is that so? Well, Jamie," Miss Barb said with a melodramatically sarcastic inflection of my name that just screamed to me that she knew who I was, "Welcome to Parham's. My name's Barb - Miss Barb, that is - and you just let me know if you need anything. Although, I'm sure you already know my name." Oh, she definitely knew who I was even if she didn't come right out and say it.
"Oh, Barb, you naughty thing," my mother scolded playfully which caused Miss Barb to chuckle.
"Don't you worry; your secret's safe with me," Miss Barb returned before saying, "Now, shall I show you to your booth?" She flashed me a wicked grin and a wink before turning to lead my mistresses and I further into the restaurant. That look she gave me was highly unsettling and caused the knot of nervousness in my stomach to tighten.
Keeping a subtly firm grip of my upper left harm, my mother moved her right hand from my lower jaw to my right shoulder which she took in an equally subtle, yet firm, grip. "Remember, not a peep," she quickly whispered into my left ear before forcefully escorting me behind Miss Barb. It was obvious that she was reinforcing Dita's earlier warning, and I understood why given the fact that Parham's had quite a few people in it.
The inside of Parham's was divided into two eating areas which were separated by a large kitchen in the middle. The area to the left of the hostess' station contained a bar on the right, a few two-seated tables in the middle, and several booths along the walls. The area behind the hostess' station was where Miss Barb led myself and the trio of crazy women dominating me, and contained booths on half of the left side and bathrooms on the other half. In the middle was one row of two-seated tables and, lining the right and rear walls were several more booths. The table that my mother had reserved was the right-rear corner booth which had a semi-circular seat that wrapped around a large, round, diner-style table.
Being walked through the restaurant was very humiliating even though my thoughts were still occupied with the possibility of Miss Barb knowing who I was. Just the fact that I was dolled up and forced to be in public was enough to embarrass me, but some of the looks flashed my way further added to the feelings of humiliation I was experiencing even though they were brief. Most of the people occupying the tables and booths on the right side of the restaurant appeared to be average; just out for a bite of lunch. There were few men on the side that I was in, because food took too long to eat there. Voices of men chatting and laughing could be heard from the bar area where a quick sandwich and soda could be had before heading back to work.
The majority of the people I saw on the right side of the restaurant were women. Like I said, there were a few men who accompanied the women, but there were many more groups of two, three, or four people that contained women and their children. At least, I imagined the women were related to the children. Walking past various women and children facing me, I received two sorts of brief glances. Some of the women would flash me a sweet, seemingly-innocent smile, while others, the scarier, more wicked-seeming ones, gave me mischievous looks that made me feel like prey.
From the children that glanced at me, for not all of the ones that I saw gave me any consideration, I received looks of fear and helplessness - nonverbal pleas for help. The children who gave me those looks were mostly boys; I saw a few girls, but I did not think that they were actually girls. They seemed to be boys that were forced to be in a similar state as I was at that point. I must have received looks of pity from some of those boys, for I did have a trio (and, more than likely, a quartet) of crazy, handgag-loving women forcefully escorting me through the restaurant. I didn't notice those looks though; I was, admittedly, too preoccupied with my situation to consider the needs of other boys rendered helpless by mean women in their lives.
"And, here we are," said Miss Barb once we arrived at was seemed to be one of the farthest booths from the entrance of the restaurant. She stood to the left of the booth which was the same side that I was forced to enter. I was made to scoot inward a little until I was sitting next to Dita who, along with Angie, slid in from the right side of the booth. I found that I was trapped snugly between my mother on my right and her two dominant friends on my left. Miss Barb then handed out menus, and I wondered when she had taken them from her hostess station. I must have been too consumed with fear-laced wonder to have noticed. Miss Barb handed the menus out individually and, when she handed me mine, she flashed me another wicked smile and a wink which made me feel highly unsettled. I knew that I needed food, but I didn't exactly feel like eating at that point.
"Alright, ladies, take a minute and decide what you want while I get someone to cover for me. I'll be your waitress for today," Miss Barb said before turning toward the kitchen and heading off.
"Well, aren't you a doll?" Dita called after her which caused Angie and my mother to giggle at the sarcasm of the comment.
"You know it," Miss Barb called back over her shoulder before entering the kitchen from a set of double-doors that separated the booths from the bathrooms.
"Keep your hands in your lap. I'll be doing the ordering for you," my mother said in a low voice while giving me a warning look that told me to "behave". Well, her request wasn't difficult to complete, for my small, gloved hands had been grasping each other at my waist ever since I entered the restaurant. I thought that it was due to nervousness or something; I guessed that I was trying to keep myself grounded in reality, but why would I have wanted to do that? Heck, I would have given anything to have some sort of mental escape from the horribly reality my life had become.
Miss Barb came back through the entrance to the kitchen in less than a minute and was followed by a thin, younger redhead who hurried over to the hostess station where a group of three men was waiting to be seated in the bar area. "Now, what can I get for you ladies? Let's start with some drinks," Miss Barb said while pulling out a worn pad of ordering slips and a cheap, black pen. I noticed how large and strong-looking her hands were as they wrapped around and gripped the pen and pad of paper.
"I'll have a vanilla Coke with vodka, and she," my mother said indicating me, "will have a glass of water."
"Okay, one vanilla Coke with vodka, one water," Miss Barb said while jotting down the order, "And for you ladies?"
"I'll have a Shirley Temple, please," Dita said which caused her friends to teasingly jibe her.
"A Shirley Temple? Really?" teased Angie while my mother asked her why she wouldn't get a "real" drink.
"Hey, listen, you two," Dita said playfully, "I have to drive, okay? I've already had two drinks today, and I'm still feeling them. I'll have a few more later."
Amidst good-natured chuckling, Miss Barb said, "Okay, okay, one Shirley Temple it is. And for you Angie?" Angie considered her menu for a minute, and I imagined there was a page in it containing a list of drinks. I wasn't able to know since my mother demanded that I keep my hands in my lap. That meant that my menu remained unopened on the table.
"I think I'll have some of the Victorian merlot," Angie said after a few seconds of consideration.
"Oo, good choice," Dita said, indicating that she was a fan of the stuff.
"Yeah, it is. I discovered it about two years ago after the company made a comeback," my mother said. The commonplace nature of the conversation disturbed me, because it was if being all dolled up and taken to lunch by these women was normal; it was as if I was "one of the girls", and no one was indicating otherwise. Only I seemed to know who and what I was.
"Alright, I'll get those drinks put through. Do you know what you want to eat yet, or would you like another minute or two?" Miss Barb asked. The trio of women dominating that was me looked at each other for a few seconds and tried to gauge whether or not everyone was ready to order.
"I'm ready if you are," Dita said. Angie and my mother agreed that they were ready as well, and the ordering started. Angie went first and ordered a turkey club with a side salad.
"You know, that sounds good to me. I'll have a turkey club and a side salad as well; with the vinaigrette please," Dita said while closing her menu.
"Yeah, that's one of our most popular lunch choices. And the vinaigrette's just wonderful," Miss Barb said while jotting down the order, "And for you, little lady?" She flashed me another wicked look and a smile that made me very uncomfortable.
Before I could even try to part my lips, my mother reached around my head and clapped her big, soft left hand tight over my mouth and lower face. The sound of her hand making contact with my mouth was audible and added to the feelings of surprised helplessness that I experienced.
"Oh, I'll be ordering for her, if that's okay," my mother said while giving Barb a mischievous, knowing look.
"Hnh hnn, that's just fine. She doesn't need to speak anyway," Miss Barb said, and my eyes widened for a moment as a response. She knew! She knew who I was! My slightly-squinted eyes darted around to see if anyone else was looking at my hand-covered lower face. The booths directly to the right and left of our booth were empty, and the guests at the booths beyond didn't turn their heads; they didn't have any reason to. Anyone sitting at the two-seated tables wouldn't have been able to see what was being done to me, because Miss Barb's body was blocking the view from that area. She made sure to stand in the middle of the table so that any view of me from the rest of the floor would be obscured.
"No, she doesn't," my mother said while turning my head to my right, using her grip over my mouth as leverage, and giving me another warning glare. "So," she continued as she looked down at her menu, "She'll have a roast-beef club with no side. And can it be cut up into more than just four pieces?"
After nodding and jotting down the request, Miss Barb said, "Sure, that's no problem at all. That's best for hand-feeding, anyhow." I looked up at her, for my head was still forcefully directed to my right and slightly upward, with a convicting stare of incredulous helplessness. How could she know about what my mother, and these other women, were doing to me and not try to help? She seemed like such a nice, sweet woman, and I always got the impression that she wouldn't hurt a fly.
"Hnh hnn, that's right. And I'll have an Italian-style club, not cut up into more than four pieces," my mother said which caused her friends to giggle knowingly, "and a side salad, please. And I'll have the vinaigrette too."
"Okay, great choices all around. And Jamie's lucky too. You're little kitty actually gets to enjoy some big-girl food," Miss Barb teased which caused the feelings of incredulity within me to increase.
"Mph…m-mph," I whimpered in response to Miss Barb's words and felt the grip over my mouth tighten considerably.
"Yeah, she does," my mother said with a thick, warning tone of voice as she looked over and down at me, "And she should remember just how lucky she is." Giving my mouth an extra-extra-tight squeeze, and another stern glare, my mother released my mouth and let her hand slide away from my face before resting it on my left shoulder. "She'll be back to her usual diet soon, but I thought that I might treat her just this once. Kitties can't be too spoiled, you know," my mother said in a different tone of voice that was more teasing and less warning. And, yet, she sounded so matter-of-factly serious about what she was saying. Did Miss Barb react normally or with concern for my well-being?
"Oh, I know. A spoiled kitty is a disobedient kitty. You and I both know that," Miss Barb said with another knowing smile. So, no, she didn't respond normally at all. Why in the world did she react that way? And what did she mean by "you and I"? Was she talking about me, or did she have her own son dolled up somewhere?
"I'll get these orders put through. Be back in a jiffy with your drinks!" Miss Barb said while switching to a friendly, somewhat excitable tone of voice. The rapid manner with which those tones changed was similar to the way that my mother changed her tones. The awful realization that the seemingly-sweet Miss Barb might be like my crazy mother and her friends began to dawn on me as she turned toward the kitchen to turn in the orders. She didn't return immediately, as I thought she might, but busied herself by going to other tables in the area and checking on people. She had to, I supposed, for she was covering for the redhead at the hostess station.
My mother looked over at me lovingly for a moment and scrunched her nose a little while smiling. She leaned over and kissed my right cheek a couple of times while using her left hand to push my face toward her. "Hm-hmm, what a good little kitty you are; such a good little pet," my mother said as I shrugged my shoulders leaned to my left to try to get away from my mother's lips. I tried to bring my gloved hands up to push my mother away, but I couldn't even get them past the table, because my mother took my right one and pinned it to my right thigh. Dita, without saying a word, caught my left hand and pinned it down to my left thigh.
"Aww, what's the matter? Do you not like mommy kissing you?" my mother asked me through pursed lips. She gave me a very mischievous look which seemed to go right through me. I didn't dare respond; I only looked back at her with wide, nervous eyes and waited to see if she was going to do anything to me. The dominant woman only chuckled evilly and sat up straight again while releasing my small, gloved right hand.
"Well, that's just something you'll have to get used to, isn't it? I suggest that you get used to it as soon as possible, because you'll be sharing many kisses with us; and I expect you to do your part," my mother said, and I continued to look at her with nervous eyes as her words sunk into me.
Dita then decided to release my left hand as my mother pointed her right index finger at me; the nail of that finger seemed to glare at me with a red stare of cold dominance. "Now, keep your hands in your lap. I will not tell you again," she said with a warning glare that did not belie the lusty enjoyment she was experiencing.
"In fact, put your hands behind your back and lean against them. That should keep you from wanting to move them," my mother added, and I did as I was commanded. I bent my arms and pressed my gloved, right hand against the back of the seat while putting my left over top. Leaning back, I adjusted myself a little so that my hands wouldn't fall asleep from being squished by my back.
"Actually, I have something to help you with that," Dita said and popped open the snap of her little, black purse.
"Oh, well, aren't you sneaky?" Angie playfully teased as Dita pulled out a short coil of white rope from her purse.
Wearing a sly smile, Dita said, "Well, a girl's gotta be prepared." I was commanded to turn, so that my back was to her, and to keep my hands behind me. I looked down at my mother's waist and felt defeat washing over me. It wasn't the first time that such feelings had rushed through me that day. Dita wound a bit of rope once around each wrist separately before crossing them and wrapping more rope around both. The knot she tied was expertly secured and seemed to grow tighter if I struggled even in the slightest.
"There, that should keep you from trying to refuse your mom's love; or our love, for that matter," Dita said, and seemed to be serious. Angie and my mother, however, giggled anyway at the cruel, teasing remarks being directed at me.
My eyes darted back and forth for a few seconds to see if anyone was looking at us. It didn't seem like it; most people were just having lunch and weren't concerned about me. I noticed Miss Barb coming around the bend from the bar area with a tray of drinks in her strong hands. Wearing a bright, chipper smile, she came over to our booth and began passing the drinks around.
"And a glass of Victoria for you," Miss Barb said as she handed Angie's glass of wine to her. That was the final drink she passed out, and she gave me another wicked wink before turning to attend to other patrons of the restaurant. The three crazy women that were dominating me began to enjoy their drinks while ignoring me for a moment. I sat silently (for what else was I to do?) and stared at the small, perspiring glass of tap water in front of me. There wasn't any ice in it or anything; it was simply cold tap water. Miss Barb was really seeming just as cruel as my mother and her friends, what with winking at me knowingly and getting tap water for me. Tap water was, after all, what I imagined most cats would be given to drink by their owners.
"Oh, that hits the spot, doesn't it?" my mother said, talking like a man again.
"Mhm; mine certainly does. Victorian wine is fantastic," Angie agreed before taking another sip. Miss Barb had not simply given her a third of a glass, as I had typically seen women drink on television. She had filled her glass to just below the rim, so Angie had quite a bit of wine to enjoy.
"Well, my Shirley Temple is pretty refreshing too," Dita said and her friends laughed while she took another sip of hers drink.
Those mean women then talked among themselves about various things. Gossip about the abuses of men quickly turned to recounts of steamy "educational" efforts that various female friends undertook with their sons. I looked at the disturbing way that the women's eyes lit up while telling various tales. Those looks caused my stomach to turn cold and my mouth to dry out; I could have used a drink then. With my hands bound behind my back, I could only stare longingly at the glass of tap water in front of me.
Staring blankly through the glass of water, I thought about how Miss Barb's left hand looked when it was wrapped around it as it was placed on the table. I thought about how big that hand looked and how strong the fingers and thumb seemed to be. Given the thickness of her palm, and the general fullness of that hand, I wouldn't be able to make any sound whatsoever if it was clamped over my mouth. Gosh, I hoped that I wouldn't have to experience such a thing.
"Well, the same thing happened with Celia. You know…the woman who works at 'Bettie Page's'?" I heard my mother ask as I faded back into the conversation my mistresses were having. She proceeded to tell her friends the story of Celia's poor son that she told me. Again, I could feel pity for the boy tearing at my heartstrings as I was subjected to a retelling of the abuse he was facing at the hands of a woman who sounded even crazier and crueler than the women dominating me. She didn't sound that much crazier given the blatant delight my mistresses exhibited when talking about the fate of Celia's son.
It was only a few more minutes until the food was to arrive. Miss Barb greeted us with another broad, white smile while setting a large, round, metal tray onto a stand so that she could more easily pass out the sandwiches and salads. My mother was served first, followed by myself, Dita, and Angie, by Miss Barb who placed the sandwich plates down first before the salads and, finally, a two-compartmented cradle containing olive oil and vinaigrette. The sandwiches that my mother and her evil friends ordered looked incredible! Each seemed to be carefully crafted and overstuffed with toppings; they were certainly getting their money's worth. My sandwich may have been nicely stuffed with toppings and well-crafted at one point, but it did not look that way once it was presented to me.
I must have been visibly disappointed, for Miss Barb chided me after placing the dressing cradle onto the table. "What's the matter, Jamie? Don't you like roast beef?" she teased through slightly-pursed lips which made her friends elicit wicked laughs that I sincerely did not like. I looked up at her briefly, taking in the wicked look the seemingly-sweet woman was giving me, before returning my gaze to my plate.
"Jamie, make sure you think before you speak. In fact," my mother said before taking a big, hearty bite of her sandwich, "Don't speak at all. Just sit there like a good, quiet kitty until you're fed." Dita and Angie had also taken big bites of their sandwiches (again, it appeared as if they were acting like men) and so chose to enjoy their food rather than tease me at that moment.
"She likes it just fine," my mother said to Miss Barb after swallowing her first bite, "She's just so grateful for having people-food that she can't speak at the moment."
Nodding and continuing to participate in my mother's sick game, Miss Barb said, "Oh, I see. Well, that's okay. I'd rather not hear her mouth at the moment." Hearing those words coming from Miss Barb's sweet-looking face was highly disturbing, and I felt as if a rock hit me in the gut, for I never thought that she of all people would say such things. In her defense, my mother was partially right: I did like roast beef. I just didn't like the state my sandwich was in. The thing had been mercilessly chopped into what appeared to be eighteen square-like pieces. After being chopped up, it wasn't put back together; things just sat on the plate in a sort of heap that, although smelling good, didn't look all that great.
Miss Barb was then called away to another booth further down the side of the room to which she made her way over to. Upon sensing the smell of the roast beef, my stomach rumbled audibly, and I forgot how little I had been allowed to eat that morning. I looked at my mother expectantly, hoping that she would untie my hands or at least give me a piece of the sandwich herself. Upon looking at her, I only saw her putting a fork-full of lettuce and thin tomato slices past her lips.
"Aww, I think the little kitty's hungry," Dita said after taking a drink of her Shirley Temple.
"Well, Little Kitty should learn to be patient and wait for her mistresses to finish their meals first," my mother said after swallowing her bite of salad.
"Hnh hnn, that's right," Angie chuckled mischievously, "Let that be lesson number one: patience. I think all men should learn to be patient, don't you, Marion?" I looked over at Angie as she said this in a somewhat hushed voice, for that sort of language would attract attention, in time to see her lick her full lips in order to savor both the last sip of wine that she took and her malicious words.
"Mm, of course I agree. That's one of the fundamental problems with men in today's society. They don't have the same sort of patience as us women do; they always have to be doing the talking, as if they are the only ones with important things to say. They never just sit there, silently, and listen. But, with just a little education," my mother said before directing her words toward me, "the virtue of silent patience can be well learned." I looked at my mother's crazy face with nervous eyes while feeling another hunger pang roll through my stomach.
My mother and her wicked friends took their time eating their delicious-looking meals while I sat in "silent patience" for several minutes. When my mother had finished half of her large sandwich, and most of her salad, she decided to grace me with a bit of much-desired food. "
"Keep in mind, Jamie, that this won't happen too often. I'll hand feed you, of course, but you won't be sitting at a table. That's not where little kitties eat," my insane mother said as I stared at her with eyes that revealed the creeped-out feelings that I experienced as I heard those words. "But," she continued while taking a section of the sandwich mound in her lean-toned fingers, "I can't have you bound and kneeling on the floor in public, now can I? That would attract way too much attention."
As she moved her fingers holding the piece of roast-beef-lettuce-tomato-white-bread conglomeration toward my mouth, my mother said in a low, whisper-edged voice, "Open up." I parted my red-painted lips and felt my mother's soft fingers slide into my mouth along with the piece of sandwich that came to rest on my tongue. The feeling of my mother's rounded, yet sharp, nails sliding along the insides of my cheeks caused the hunger in my stomach to make room for anxiety, for the gesture was so dominant.
"Good girl," my mother said with the most creepy, sinister smile touching her lips as she slid her fingers out of my mouth and placed her left hand on the back of my neck to steady me. I noticed, out of the corner of my left eye, Angie take a slow sip of her wine before watching me being fed; I wondered if Dita was doing the same thing, for I didn't hear many chomping sounds coming from that direction.
Despite how the sandwich looked on the plate, it tasted very good! I was really glad that I was being allowed to eat and believed that I could eat a second sandwich if I was allowed.
"Wow…look at that," I heard a breathy whisper come from directly to my left as I chewed my first bite of sandwich. Looking over, I watched as Dita slid her left hand up to her left breast and slid the tips of her nails over the place of her shirt that covered her nipple. She flashed me one of the most disturbing, lust-filled looks I had ever seen before my face was curtly forced back to its original position by my mother. She moved her left hand so that her palm was on my left cheek and her fingers hooked under my chin so that she could force me to face her right hand whose fingers were grasping a slightly larger piece of sandwich.
"Hey! Keep your eyes forward, little lady. You'll see plenty of Dita and Angie later. Now, eat," my mother hissed at me as she moved her hand further around the underside of my face and pulled downward which forced my mouth open.
"Ah-mmh," I whimpered in surprise, for my mother moved her hand in quick, curt motions, before the piece of sandwich was forced into my mouth. The sharp edges of my mother's crimson nails raked against the corners of my tender lips as they were forced past them and into my mouth.
"Sh sh shhh," cooed my mother as she slid her fingers out of my mouth so that I could work on chewing the sizeable wad of sandwich that she pushed onto the middle of my tongue. To reinforce her shushing command, she released my lower jaw and slid her left hand up and over my mouth so that my lips were centered in her velvety, somewhat toughened palm. Clamping her hand very tightly over my mouth, my mother then took a leisurely sip of her drink while I worked to chew the piece of sandwich that was occupying my mouth.
With nervousness gripping my stomach, I instinctively tried to pull my wrists apart which only served to tighten the rope around them. My slightly-squinted eyes darted back and forth and tried to detect if anyone was noticing what was being done to me. The people in the booths to our right couldn't possibly see me, for any view of me was blocked by my mother's body and the booth seat. Since the place was noisy, the people in the second-to-last booth to our left couldn't possibly have heard any sounds I managed to make behind my mother's tight-gripping hand, and, therefore, didn't have any reason to turn around. Only one of the two-seated tables in the middle of the floor was occupied, and it was the furthest one from us; so, those people couldn't have possibly seen me either.
Only one person caught a brief glimpse of my hand-covered mouth and lower face. That person was in the second booth on the far wall next to the double-doors leading into the kitchen. He was a worried-looking blonde boy that was about as old as I was; he was looking around nervously for the woman he was with - a tall, lanky blonde who looked to be in her forties - had just snapped at him for something, and I guessed that he was looking around to see if anyone heard what she was saying. He didn't look like a typical boy in trouble who was trying to keep his mother's angry words between himself and her. Rather, he appeared to be wordlessly searching for help, and I sensed that he might not have liked what his mother was saying, because what she was saying might not have been words that a boy his age should have heard. His worried eyes met mine, and we stared at each other for a second before his gaze was averted by his mother who reached a long arm across the booth's table and snatched his face in the bony fingers of her big right hand. Squeezing his cheeks, she had a mean look in her eyes as she said something else to him; she probably told him to keep his eyes on her, or something like that.
I wasn't able to see what happened after that, because Miss Barb walked up to our table and blocked my view of the poor boy. "And, how is everything?" she asked while locking a wicked gaze onto my forcefully-squinted eyes.
"Oh, it's wonderful, thank you," Angie said first before Dita followed with a similar compliment. I heard a quick movement to my left which sounded like a hand being brushed against a bit of fabric. I imagined that Dita had quickly moved her hands over her shirt to smooth it out or something after…you know…touching herself.
"Mm, it's fantastic," my mother said while her friends were speaking.
"And how's Jamie liking her sandwich?" Miss Barb asked me teasingly while still staring into my helpless eyes.
"Well, I don't know. She seems to like it. Jamie, why don't you answer Miss Barb," my mother said teasingly.
"Yeah, go on, tell her if you like the sandwich or not," Dita teased while Angie simply laughed. Working to chew the last of the piece of sandwich in my mouth, I moved my head a little to try to get some more room to work my jaw. It was a real struggle for me to eat with my mother's big, strong, soft hand clamped tightly over my mouth and lower face. My mother had unkindly squashed my lips together and had gripped my face so tightly that my cheeks were depressed and pushed inward which meant that I could neither move my lips or my lower jaw. I could only use my tongue to press the piece of sandwich against my teeth until it was rendered easy to swallow. I was worried to find that my tongue was already growing sore by that point even though I had several more pieces of sandwich to eat.
"Well, as you can see, she's having a hard time speaking at the moment," I heard Angie tease which caused a few giggles to be shared by the evil women surrounding me.
"Yeah, but I assure you that she absolutely loves it," my mother added.
"Great! The cook worked really hard on making it, so it's nice to hear that she's enjoying it," Miss Barb said with what sounded like genuine glee. If the cook worked hard on the sandwich, I couldn't exactly tell from just looking at the thing.
"Let me know if you ladies need anything else," Miss Barb said before winking at me and turning to leave our table. Before my mother continued to abuse me, I briefly glanced at the booth where the blond boy was and saw that it was empty. I wondered what happened to him. I didn't wonder for too long, for my mother released my mouth so that she could effectively wipe her hands on her serviette. She, apparently, desired to eat more of her own meal and stabbed at the remaining bit of her salad with her fork. I was really, really glad to have her hand off of my mouth, because it meant that I didn't have to worry about as much attention being drawn toward me in the made-up state that I was in.
"You know," my mother said through a mouthful of salad, "It really is incredible how well that makeup stays on her face. Look at that: not a smudge." My mother held out her big left hand, palm up, near my chest so that Dita could see.
"I know. I was surprised too when I first wore it," Dita said while Angie nodded approvingly and told of her own surprised experience with the horrible stuff.
Looking over at me as I looked up at her, my mother said, "No, I'm going to finish my sandwich before feeding you some more, so just sit quietly and be patient."
As I looked back down at the remaining lump of sandwich stuff on my plate, Dita said, "Good, because now I can play with her for a while. Come here, baby." She took a hold of my chin in the fingertips of her right hand and turned my head until I was facing her.
"Open your mouth," Dita said as she took a chunk of the sandwich in the fingers of her left hand and brought them to my mouth. Keeping a firm hold of my chin, she then forced the piece of sandwich past my agape lips and onto the middle of my tongue. The feel of her long, lean fingers entering my mouth caused me to feel just as helpless as when my mother's fingers were in my mouth. Her nails felt sharp as well and scratched the insides of my cheeks a little as she pushed her fingertips into my mouth along with the piece of sandwich.
"Such a good girl you are," Dita said in an almost condescending tone as she slid her fingers out of my mouth. It was almost as if she was speaking to a house pet. I didn't have time to chew, because Dita grabbed another chunk of the dismantled sandwich with the fingers of her left hand while maintaining her grip of my chin. "Here you go. I know you want some more," she said as she brought the chunk of sandwich to my mouth and shoved it passed my lips. I tried to keep my mouth closed, but Dita simply pulled down on my chin which forced my lips to part just enough for her to force her fingers past them.
"Mmhh..m-mh," I whimpered as I felt Dita's fingers enter my mouth and place another piece of sandwich on my tongue. Her eyes sparkled with grotesque delight as she slid her fingers out of my mouth which forced me to feel the coolness of her nails again.
"Oh, you're not done yet. There's still room in that mouth of yours," Dita said as she released my chin and scooted closer to me so she could reach around my head and take a hold of my lower jaw. Her palm was planted squarely under my mouth while her thumb gripped the right side of my lower jaw. I could also feel her fingers wrapping around and putting some pressure on my left cheek. I found that I didn't have a choice regarding whether I wanted to chew or not, for Dita now had assumed control of my mouth.
Yanking my lower jaw downward, Dita forced my mouth to remain open while she took another sandwich chunk that was about the size of both of the ones already in my mouth. "Here, have some more. You can take some more," Dita said with a crazy-sounding fascination as she brought the large piece of sandwich to my parted lips. I watched with wide, helpless eyes as the chunk of sandwich entered my field of vision before being shoved past my lips.
"Mh..mmph," I moaned as the uncomfortable sensation of having my mouth stuffed full of sandwich by a strange, dominant woman overtook me. Dita's fingers didn't enter my mouth as much as they did before; only the tips entered since there wasn't any space left to occupy any more of them. Using the tips of her fingers, Dita mercilessly crammed the thick, meaty piece of sandwich into my mouth and forced it against the other pieces already inside. I was really scared because I thought that the evil woman meant to make me choke.
Just when I thought that the first piece of sandwich was going to reach my gag reflex, Dita stopped pushing on the last sandwich chunk and took her fingers away from my mouth. Releasing my face completely, Dita said, "There, that should keep you busy for a little while. Now, be a good girl and let your mistresses finish their meals." She said this with a cold, warning tone while wiping her hands on her serviette, and I felt helplessness wash over me as I struggled to chew the unbearable amount of food in my mouth. I was, however, thankful that Dita didn't choose to keep her hand clamped over my mouth which would have made it difficult - if not impossible - for me to chew.
Glancing at Angie, I noticed the woman's lusty eyes were locked onto my face while her full, red lips wore a contented smile that displayed the pleasure she was deriving from seeing me being dominated. "Oh, I wouldn't concern yourself with me, little lady. You have plenty to occupy yourself with, thanks to Dita, so why don't you focus on not choking, huh?" she said after a few seconds of me making eye contact with her while struggling to get a handle on the sandwich chunks stuffing my mouth to the brim. I could barely close my lips around them and, when I did, I felt my cheeks bulge fully like never before.
"Also, I'd try not to choke if I was you. Anything you spit out, you're going to eat again, regardless of where it goes. Just remember that," Angie continued and was visibly delighted with the fear that filled my innocent eyes.
The three cruel women that were dominating me took their time finishing their lunches while watching me struggle to eat mine. I had to keep my head back a little, so that nothing would prematurely fall out of my mouth, while working my jaw in slow, gentle, short motions in order to get the sandwich chunks broken down and able to be swallowed. Each aspect of the sandwich presented its own challenges. The tomato bits slipped down my throat before I had any time to chew them; that was okay since they were slippery, small, and soft. The bread soaked up all of my saliva and was difficult to swallow because of its dense, doughy quality. The roast beef was the thing that caused me the most trouble, for it was stringy, lean, and required a fair amount of chewing in order to properly break it down. The taste of the sandwich was great, but I was more concerned with not choking. With Angie's warning constantly echoing in my head throughout the entire chewing ordeal, I thought about what it would be like to be forced to eat food off of the restaurant floor if any happened to land on it. That was one of the most unpleasant thoughts I had ever had, and I forced it from my mind as soon as it came.
It took several minutes for me to work through the enormous amount of sandwich stuff that had been stuffed into my mouth. In fact, it took me just as long to get through my "bite" of sandwich as it did for my mother, Dita, and Angie to finish their lunches completely. By the time I had gotten the wad of sandwich down to a proportion that was similar to a normal bite, my mistresses were taking small sips of their drinks while wordlessly watching me struggle. My jaw and tongue ached considerably from being overworked, and I could feel the rope biting into my gloved wrists, for I had tried to move my hands more than once as instinctual reactions to my predicament.
Finally swallowing the last of the sandwich, I closed my eyes and breathed through an open mouth for a few seconds in order to catch my breath. I was quite tired at that point from working muscles that I didn't normally work that much. Opening my eyes, I fought the urge to cry out and protest the abusive treatment that I was facing. I met the cold, satisfied gazes of my crazy mother and her equally-crazy friends with nervous, helpless eyes and was practically overwhelmed by the delight exhibited in those eyes.
Taking the small glass of tap water in her right hand, my mother said, "Here, is the little kitty thirsty?" She held the water to my lips and tipped the glass back, forcing me to drink the water whether I wanted to or not. My stomach cramped a little as the water I swallowed met the lump of food it had just received. I was made to drink about half of the glass, before my mother set it back down on the table. While wearing a sly smile on her red lips, my mother blotted my mouth with her serviette and removed any trace of water or sandwich from my lips.
It was as my mother was setting her serviette down that Miss Barb came over to our table again. Under normal circumstances, I would have thought very highly of such consistent, committed service, but I knew why Miss Barb frequented our table. She wanted to see what was happening to me.
"How are we doing over here? All finished, or are you still working on things," Miss Barb asked with a bright, chipper tone of voice.
"Actually, we'd like to order some dessert, if that's okay," my mother said, with which Miss Barb heartily agreed.
"Why that sounds like a fine idea. Let me get these plates out of the way, and I'll get you some menus. Would you ladies like some refills?" Miss Barb asked cheerily.
"Oh, yes please. I'll have another glass of Victorian," Angie said before Dita ordered another Shirley Temple, and my mother ordered another vanilla coke, but without vodka.
"Okay, be back in a jiffy," Miss Barb said as she took plates and empty glasses away on another large, round, metal tray. Turning toward me a little, my mother took some pieces of the sandwich mound that was on my plate and put them in her right which she cupped in order to more effectively hold the stuff. Once the cavity created by her hand was about half full, she put her left hand on the back of my neck, to ensure that I didn't lean away from her, and held her right hand at about the level of my chest. I really didn't like where things were going, and I looked up at her questioningly; I mean, having food forced into my mouth was one thing, for that was out of my control, but what was expected of me then was entirely new. I was being forced to willingly participate in my own humiliation. Eating out of my mother's hand, or any of the other ladies' hands, was indeed humiliating.
"What? Aren't you still hungry?" my mother asked before commanding me to simply nod if I wanted to affirmatively answer her. I nodded my head and looked down at my mother's cupped right hand with sandwich bits in it with disappointment and disgust. I wanted to try to silently convey my displeasure, for I knew the consequences if I verbally conveyed them.
A somewhat irritated look falling over my mother's face, she said, "Then what are you waiting for? This is how kitties are fed - out of their owners' hands. I can always shove it down your throat, if that's what you prefer."
That was enough to motivate me, and, after fear briefly filled my eyes, I moved my head forward until my thin, red-painted lips touched the small pile of sandwich stuff in my mother's big, right hand. I felt cold shivers of humiliation moving through me as I wrapped my lips around a bit of sandwich and took it into my mouth. The positive side of that experience was that I could actually control how much of the sandwich I ate with each bite.
"Hnh hnn," my mother giggled cruelly, "That's what I thought."
As I swallowed my first bite and wrapped my lips around another bit of sandwich, Dita said, "It's a shame we can't have her kneeling on the floor; you know, where kitties belong." Another wave of cold humiliation washed over me upon hearing those words.
"Well, look on the bright side. There's always dinner time for that kind of thing - especially if we go to…I don't know…say, the Stork Club!" Angie said while reaching a somewhat excitable crescendo at the end of her proposal. I heard Dita and my mother gasp in excitement at the thought of having dinner at the Stork Club. As I wrapped my lips around another bit of sandwich in my mother's right hand, I realized that I had never actually seen the Stork Club. I had only ever heard of its name, and that it wasn't the Stork Club. The original was, apparently, in New York, but there was another one in the town that I lived in. That realization occurred before a thought about how humiliating it would be to, once again, be forced out in public in a dolled up state. It would be especially humiliating to be forced to kneel on the floor and be hand-fed in public.
Absent-mindedly feeding me from her cupped hand, my mother said, "Oh, that's a wonderful idea! They have those tablecloths that hang all the way down to the floor, even at the corner booths, and we could keep her underneath. No one would be able to see her at all." Feelings of dread and hopelessness rolled over me as I considered the seriousness of those crazy women's proposals. We hadn't even finished lunch (at least, I hadn't) and those women were already talking about dinner. The small pile of sandwich bits in my mother's palm was decreasing in size, so my mother, without taking her attention off of her conversation she was having with her friends, flattened her hand a little and made her fingers and thumb even with her palm. I was, frankly, a little glad that she did that, because it meant that I could still use my lips to eat. I really didn't want to be subjected to the further humiliation of licking my mother's hand like an actual house pet.
"Mhm, it'll be perfect. And the food is to die for," Dita said, catching the excitement being spread by Angie and my mother.
"Oh, I know. I practically fainted when I first had their mussels in a white-wine-cream sauce," my mother added as I swallowed another bit of sandwich. She looked away from her evil friends for a few seconds as she grabbed another, slightly-larger handful of sandwich pieces from the plate with her right hand before bringing it back in front of my chest.
There was only about another half-handful of sandwich on my plate which I noticed Dita moving to take. "Here, I'll help you. We need to have time for dessert," she said as she scooped up the last of the sandwich with the long fingers of her left hand. Turning it over and cupping it, Dita then brought that hand to my chest where my mother's right hand was, and I noticed that the nails of her and my mother's fingers almost touched.
"Jamie, I want you to eat out of both of our hands. Take a bite out of your mom's hand, then take a bite out of mine. I think you'll enjoy it just as much as we will," Dita said as if she was educating a child on a simple, everyday task. I felt a sort of depressed hopelessness wash over me as I looked at both of those big, soft, surprisingly-strong hands cupped in front of me, waiting for me to eat out of them.
As I moved my face toward my mother's right hand and wrapped my lips around a bit of sandwich, Miss Barb came over to our table with a tray of drinks and three small menus. "Alright ladies, here are your drinks and dessert menus," she said as she set the tray onto the table. She gave Angie her wine first before serving Dita her second Shirley Temple which the dominant woman took in her right hand after reaching over my head. My mother took her second drink in her big left hand and, like Dita, sat slightly turned toward me with her refreshment in the hand that was not being used to feed me.
"And, since I can see you're a little busy feeding your pet," Miss Barb said, "I'll just give a menu to Angie who can read out whatever desserts look tasty." I had just taken another bite of sandwich, this time from Dita's big, slightly-cupped left hand, when Miss Barb had referred to me as a "pet". I looked up at her with incredulity filling my nervous eyes as I took in those words which I never, ever expected to hear from her. She was flashing me a wicked, satisfied smile that told me how much enjoyment she was deriving from seeing me being dominated.
"Hey!" my mother snapped, "Don't you look at her. You keep your eyes on our hands. That's where they belong." I quickly averted my gaze and resumed my eating of the last of my sandwich by taking another bit of it from my mother's right hand with my lips. "I'm sorry, Barb. She's still learning how to behave," my mother said to her mean hostess friend.
"Oh, it's alright. It's only the first day of education. She'll behave more properly after a few months," Miss Barb returned with words that added to the knot of nervous dread in my stomach. It was difficult for me to imagine days of what was being done to me, let alone months.
"Or a year," Angie said with a smirk touching her full, red lips as she opened the dessert menu Miss Barb had given her. I resisted the urge to look up at her and simply stared at the two big female hands partially filled with my sandwich that were held near my chest.
"Well, hopefully the initial training won't take a year, but, if it does, it isn't as if we have anything else to do," my mother said forebodingly which made me feel as if a cold butterfly was tickling the inside of my stomach. So it was official then: those women really meant to dominate me for the next year or even longer.
"Hnh hnn, you're right about that. So, ladies, as far as dessert goes, we have a few choices that sound good," Angie began while reading from her menu, "Well, they all sound good, but I thought that we might get a second-rate dessert here since we'll probably get a first-rate one at the Stork Club later." Dita and my mother seemed to agree, and verbalized those agreements after taking long sips from their drinks.
"There is a white cake with vanilla icing that looks good. What do you think? A piece of cake for each of us?" Angie proposed before Miss Barb cut in.
"Uh, well, if I may make a suggestion. The pieces of cake are enormous. One piece could probably feed all of you," the blonde hostess said, making her friends look thoughtful. At least, I imagined they looked thoughtful. My vision was occupied by Dita's big left land which she absent-mindedly flattened a little, similar to how my mother did earlier, so that I could get at every bit of sandwich on her broad palm and long fingers.
"Yeah, okay. We trust you. One piece of cake would be nice," Dita said before taking another sip of her drink.
Handing back the dessert menu to Miss Barb, Angie asked, "What about Jamie? Should we get her anything?"
"Sure," my mother said, "Why not let her have a sweet treat to go with her lunch? And, you know you don't have to ask me. She's just as much your pet as she is mine." I hated to hear my mother talk like that; the craziness of her words really scared me. "You too, Barb. I know how much you've been wanting to play with Jamie, and we could always use an extra hand with her education," my mother continued, that time speaking to Miss Barb, of course.
"Well, I might just take you up on that. First, I'll get you your dessert. What are you ordering for your pet?" Miss Barb said matter-of-factly as if we weren't in public at all.
"How about one of those delightful blueberry muffins? Any of those left from the breakfast hour?" Angie asked hopefully.
"No, I'm sorry to say. But, I do have some banana muffins left over. Would one of those be alright?" Miss Barb asked as if she didn't know that the thing was going to be used as another tool to dominate me with.
After her wicked friends gave their approvals, Miss Barb headed off to the kitchen again to put the dessert orders in. It was at about that time that I had taken the last bits of sandwich stuff off of the big female hands being held in front of me.
"Hn hnn," my mother giggled in a low, satisfied tone of voice, "Looks like our pet's finally finished."
"Yeah, but he made an awful mess of our hands. I think I'd like to wash mine," Dita said disapprovingly, as if it was my fault that there was sandwich residue on her left hand.
"Both of you should. I'll stay here with Jamie and make sure she behaves," Angie said while sliding to her left to get out of the booth.
"That's a good idea," my mother said while sliding out of her side of the semi-circular booth as Dita followed Angie and got out of the left side. Pointing her left index finger at me menacingly, my mother said, "You make sure you behave, little lady." I looked up at her with nervous eyes until as Angie slid into the booth and sat where my mother was, thereby blocking any potential view of my aching hands that were bound behind my back.
Draping her long, lean-toned left arm around my shoulder, Angie said, "There we go. Now no one can see that you're hands are tied. We wouldn't want that, would we?" I noticed that her gigantic left hand that was gripping my upper left arm was bare, and I surmised that she must have removed her gloves before eating lunch. Looking briefly to my left, for I really didn't like Angie's creepy, dominant gaze, I indeed noticed the pair of gloves on the table near the glass of wine.
"Oh, don't worry. You'll feel those over your mouth again soon, I promise," Angie said when she noticed where I was looking. I resolved myself to simply look to my left, and away from the tall, cruel woman entrapping me, but I soon found that I didn't have any choice. "But, for now," Angie said as she moved her left hand up in a slow, methodical manner, so as not to attract any attention, and clamped it tight over my mouth, "You can enjoy my bare hands. I know how much you've been dying for me to gag you that way." I rediscovered how absurdly broad Angie's soft, slightly-toughened palm was, and experienced feelings of utter helplessness as her big, left hand covered my lower face from the underside of my chin to just above my nose. Angie had decided not to cover my face as much as she could have, and resorted to mainly keeping my mouth closed. The lower part of her palm curled under my chin, forcing my lower jaw to remain in a fixed position, while the rest of it squashed my poor lips into hopeless silence. I was overwhelmed by the sandwich-laced scent of her hand as the upper portion of that palm pressed down firmly over my small nose while the long thumb curled over the bridge of it.
Completely speechless, and more than a little breathless, I sat in a state of humiliated helplessness while hoping that no one could see what was being done to me. I couldn't tell if anyone could see or not, because Angie's left thumb was blocking about half of my field of vision. I also found that I was unable to keep my eyes off of the cruel woman keeping me quiet, for the big hand over my mouth directed me head back to my right and slightly upward. All I could see was Angie's dominant, lust-filled eyes as I looked out above her thumb over the bridge of my nose.
"Mph…m-mph," was all that I could muster. I knew that I couldn't possibly be heard by anyone else on this side of the restaurant.
"Shhhh," Angie whispered through confidently-pursed lips that were touched by a mischievous, highly-unsettling smile. I noticed, then, out of the corner of my left eye, a yellow blur coming from the direction of the kitchen. Taking it to be Miss Barb, I watched as the yellow blur stopped momentarily before making her way over to our booth.
"Wow, Angie! I never thought I'd get to see this. You're hands are just perfect," Miss Barb said in a sort of hushed excitement. Looking over at her, Angie revealed a toothy grin before thanking her friend. I looked up at Miss Barb (at least, I tried to) and noticed that, after watching my hand-covered face for a moment, she looked to her right as she set a small tray of desserts onto the table.
"As much as I love what you're doing to Jamie, you might want to let go of her. There're people coming to sit at this next booth here," Miss Barb said while indicating the booth directly to the left of the one I was being held quiet and helpless in. She was right, for I could hear a bit of chatty female conversation coming our way and, as my face was released, I noticed the side of the redhead hostess' face as she stood with her back to Miss Barb and directed her guests into the booth. I wasn't surprised to not hear any male voices, and I suspected that there might have been a scared, helpless boy among those three chatty women.
"Oh, yeah, thanks for telling me. I might not have let go of him in time," Angie said in a slightly hushed voice.
"Don't mention it. Us girls have gotta look out for each other," Miss Barb replied as she set a plate of white cake onto the table. She was right: the piece of cake was huge and could have easily fed four people, never mind three. After the cake came a small plate that contained a very large, fluffy-looking muffin that was about the size of what I imagined Angie's fist looked like.
"Wow, look at that, Jamie," Angie said as she took my face in the long, strong fingers of her big right hand. Squeezing my cheeks a little, she forced me to look at the big banana muffin sitting in front of us before continuing to taunt me. "That's all for you. Oh, it looks so tasty," she said. I looked up at her first before glancing at Miss Barb who was wearing a creepy, satisfied smile while watching me being dominated. I felt Angie plant a kiss somewhere on the top of my head before releasing my face. Miss Barb then turned to her right to address the needs of the women who had just sat in the booth to the left of ours. At the same time, Dita and my mother returned from the bathroom, and Angie made a move to get up.
"No, no, stay there, Angie. You don't have to get up. I'll get in on this side," my mother said as Dita slid into the booth at the opposite end. She scooted over until she was at her original position, just to the left of me, and my mother followed until she was just to Dita's left. Dita passed my mother her drink who then passed Angie's half-full glass of wine to her.
"Wow! Barb was right. Look at the size of that thing," Dita exclaimed before my mother and Angie burst out laughing. "No! I'm serious. That piece of cake is huge," Dita said after giggling along with her friends.
"I know. That was just too funny. Aren't you glad we only ordered one piece?" my mother asked her wicked friends.
"I certainly am. I'm full anyway," Angie said while taking one of three clean forks brought by Miss Barb. Each of the three women that were dominating me ate a forkful of cake and purred about how good it tasted. It certainly smelled good; the frosting had so much real vanilla in it that I could smell it from where I sat, still hugged by Angie's long, strong left arm.
"Mmh, oh my goodness," Angie said.
Dita said, "Yeah, that's really good."
"That's real vanilla in there, too. Holy shit," my mother said, nonchalantly cursing again. That curse caused Dita and Angie to giggle a bit even though I sincerely doubted that their vocabulary was curse-free given their feminist attitudes.
As Angie took another forkful of cake, I watched intently as she brought the bit of airy, golden treat to her full, red lips. It wasn't as if I enjoyed watching Angie eat; I simply longed for a taste of that cake. Considering what those women had put me through during that morning, especially my mother, I felt that I was owed at least that. Angie's supple, soft-looking lips wrapped around the fork and robbed me of a bite of cake that could have been mine. She must have seen a bit of icing left on the fork, for Angie then held it up and ran her long, wet, pink tongue along the surface of the fork's head.
I quickly looked away at that point, and fixed my gaze on the remaining portion of cake, because I began to feel the briefest stirrings in the panties that I had been forced to wear. Horrified, I stared blankly at the rest of the white cake and felt my small "thingy", as my mother referred to it, swell which caused the head to rub and press against the soft material of the panties. What in the world was going on? Why was I reacting this way? It couldn't have been random, as it sometimes seemed to be, because it happened just after I saw Angie lick her fork. So, what exactly caused my thingy to swell? It couldn't have been the fact that I was being dominated by three, crazy women; I absolutely hated that. It couldn't have been the fact that I was dolled up, because I hated that too. Oh, I didn't know; I was just so confused and worried about what was going to happen to me next.
It was a good thing that my legs were together so that my thingy couldn't be seen poking stiffly against the soft fabric of my panties. Even if they weren't, I doubted that anyone would notice considering my thingy was too small to make any noticeable tent in both the panties and the loose, billowy white skirt I had been forced to wear. I swallowed thickly while looking at my mother and then Dita, watching as they wordlessly enjoyed their cake for a few moments.
"You know, it's strange. I think I had this the first time I came here with…you know who," Dita said reminiscently before her tone became a little sour.
"Oh, Dita, don't think about things like that. You've got the rest of your life ahead of you, and think of how fun it'll be," my mother said while flashing a creepy smile and a wink at me. Dita smiled warmly and gave me an equally creepy look before forking another bit of cake from the remaining chunk.
"I know. It was just a thought. Angie, darling, you look like you're enjoying yourself over there," Dita said before wrapping her red lips around her forkful of cake.
"Hm hmm, I am," Angie purred, "This cake is unspeakably delicious." I looked up at her in time to see her wrap her full, red lips around her fork again and eat another bit of cake.
"It certainly is. And Jamie seems to enjoy watching you eat it," Dita said in a mischievous tone of voice.
"Oh, you noticed that too. I'm glad I wasn't the only one," my mother said in an equally mischievous tone of voice that caused me to sit bolt upright and lock my nervous eyes onto her cool, dominant ones.
"Is that so, Jamie?" Angie said while taking another forkful of cake. I looked back over at her, for I couldn't bear to meet either my mother's or Dita's dominant stares for too long, in time to see her bring the fork to her soft-looking lips. Looking straight at me with satisfied eyes, Angie slowly wrapped her lips around the fork of cake and pulled it meaningfully out of her mouth. "Do you like that?" she asked after swallowing the cake in her mouth. I didn't dare say anything, and I didn't nod my head either, because I really didn't like her eating the way she was. It was not something that a boy my age should have been subjected to.
"What about this?" Angie then asked before holding her fork vertically again and running her long, wet, pink tongue from the base to the tip of its head, thereby removing any traces of icing that might have been left on it. I was horrified to find that my little thingy jutted even more stiffly against my panties as I saw Angie's tongue again. What in the world was going on? Was it something that I wasn't fully conscious of?
"Hm hmm," Angie purred confidently through pursed, smiling slips, "It seems that you do." I could only stare up at her in helpless silence as I swallowed thickly again. "I wonder, though," she continued, putting her fork down so that the head lied on the cake plate, "Just how much you like it."
Before I could move or do anything to resist her actions, Angie moved her right hand down toward my crotch and forced her fingers between my legs. I gasped as I felt her press her fingers against my small, stiff thingy that she could clearly feel under the fabric of the blouse and panties. Because Dita held her fork in her left hand, her right hand was free. Upon hearing me gasp, she reached around my head and clapped her right hand over my mouth and squeezed super-tightly so that I couldn't make any more noise.
I instinctively pulled on the rope keeping my wrists together and felt it bite into my glove-covered skin as I tried to struggle. I felt Dita's thumb pressing down firmly over the bridge of my nose, which forced my poor nostrils to be forced into the upper portion of her palm, while her long, lean-toned fingers wrapped around my left cheek and exerted enough pressure onto my face to make it concave. She had such a tight, unkind grasp of my mouth that I could only make the most pathetic whimpering sounds as Angie molested me for a few seconds.
"Oh, you really like it, don't you?" Angie asked teasingly from somewhere to my right as she gave my small thingy a brief rub before pulling her hand out from between my legs. I tried to resist her efforts by clamping my thighs together, but it didn't matter. Angie had successfully forced her hand between my legs and violated me regardless of my futile struggles. I could hear her giggling evilly next to me while Dita kept a way-too-firm hold of my mouth and lower face for a few more moments in order to make sure that I didn't get the urge to make any noise. She used her grip of my mouth as leverage in order to force me to look up at her with forcefully-squinted, helpless eyes.
"Are you going to be quiet and behave now?" Dita said with a cruel, teasing smile touching her somewhat thin lips. I noticed a similar smile touching my mother's lips as she glared at me with a lusty warning that told me to obey any of her and her friends' commands. I tried to nod my head to show that I understood what was being commanded of me, but Dita had such a firm, smothering grasp of my mouth and lower face that my head was rendered immobile. She felt me trying to nod, and broadened her cruel smile. "I'm sorry, are you trying to nod your head?" she teased while managing to tighten her already-impossibly-tight grip of my mouth even more.
"Mh…m-mphh," I whimpered and realized how pathetic I sounded. I couldn't possibly have been heard by anyone farther than an inch away from my hopelessly oppressed mouth. Dita revealed her pearly-white teeth in an even broader, more evil grin as she relished the helpless state that I was in. "Yes? Is that a yes?" she continued to tease before Angie spoke up.
"Shit. Dita, there are people coming this way. Let her go for a minute," Angie warned as another chattering group of women headed in the direction of our booth and was probably making its way toward the empty booth directly toward the right of ours. Dita immediately released my mouth and moved her hand out of my general area before letting it rest on her right thigh.
"Damn it. I forgot how crowded this place can get at lunch time," Dita said while sitting up and taking another forkful of cake as if nothing had happened.
Angie was right about people coming our way. A group of three women, two middle-aged blondes and a redhead, were subtly herding a young brunette boy not much older than I was over to the booth directly to the right of ours. Breathing heavily in order to refill my starved lungs, I watched as the redhead hostess covering for Miss Barb directed the guests into the booth; the redhead and one blonde sat on the left while the other blond and the boy sat on the right. The boy, who I took to be a helpless captive given the way his eyes darted around nervously, was forced into the seat first before the other blonde, a smartly-dressed woman in a soft-blue business suit with short, black leather gloves, slid in after him. I could only imagine how often that poor boy had felt those gloved hands mercilessly clamped over his mouth.
After letting their eyes wander over the newly-arrived group for a few moments, my mother and her insane friends worked at the last bit of the large piece of cake. The only part of it left at that point was the back of the piece which was mostly icing. Still breathing a somewhat heavily, I watched as the three women that were dominating me devoured what was left of the cake. There was still some icing left on the plate, and Angie saw fit to use this fact to dominate me some more.
"I've noticed how much you've wanted a little taste of this," Angie said while picking up the plain, white plate in her big left hand. I noticed how her strong thumb and long fingers wrapped around the edge of the plate and felt a twinge of nervousness peak in my stomach upon seeing her broad palm fold and crinkle a bit. My gaze never left the icing-streaked plate which was brought to about where my mother and Dita had held their hands containing my sandwich. "So, that's what I'm going to give you…just a little taste. I want you to lick the plate for me; just once. That should be enough to give you an idea of what you will rarely, if ever, be tasting," Angie continued while continuing to hold be left shoulder with her big hand in order to ensure that I didn't try to scoot away from her.
As much as I wanted to taste the fragrant, vanilla icing, I really didn't want to be made to willingly participate in my own domination, as had happened with me eating my sandwich. I looked up at Angie and saw her full, red lips wearing a sly smile which broadened a little when I showed her my nervous, helpless eyes. "Hnh hnn," she giggled warmly, "I thought so. I didn't think you'd want to just lick the plate." She put the thick, hearty dinner dish down onto the table and said, "I knew that you'd want me to give you a taste in a more…personal manner." Well, I didn't mean for her specifically to give me any icing; and what did she mean by "personal" - as in, on her fork? I discovered that she meant something quite differently.
Reaching over with her right hand, Angie dragged the pad of her long index finger across the middle of the plate and gathered a small dollop of the paste-like icing onto it. Oh, no…I really didn't want to be forced to have any more of those dominant women's fingers in my mouth.
"And I'm more than happy to oblige. Open up," Angie said as she brought her long, slightly hooked right index finger over to my thin, red-painted lips. I could see out of the corner of my eye that my mother and Dita were watching intently. When Angie was dragging her finger across the plate of icing, it occurred to me that I could press my lips together and resist her efforts to feed me in her "personal manner". But, that thought quickly passed, for the consequences might be dire and would certainly be unhealthy. The point is, I was willingly going to part my lips, just so Angie could get that bit of domination over with, but she was not one to take any chances.
Releasing my left shoulder, Angie slid her large left hand under my chin and planted her palm directly behind it while wrapping her long fingers around my left cheek and hooking her thumb around the front of my chin so that the pad of it was right below my bottom lip. I felt hopelessly trapped in her grasp as my mouth was forcefully pulled open which allowed Angie's right index finger to effortlessly enter my mouth.
"Mhh…m-mph," I moaned instinctively in surprise as Angie forced her index finger past my lips until the icing-covered pad was on the center of my tongue. That finger felt much thicker than it looked and seemed to be stronger than I had imagined, for I could feel the toned nature of it with my tongue.
"That's it. Good girl. Now, suck," Angie said before moving her finger around in my mouth and forcing me to instinctively wrap my lips around it. I was going to simply lick the icing from the pad of her finger, but Angie remained in control of the situation and moved her finger back and forth in my mouth a few times, causing my lips to slide along the upper part of her finger from the base of her broad, clear nail to her second joint. She only violated my mouth with her finger for about a minute, but it was long enough. The feelings of humiliation and nervousness made that minute seem to stretch.
Pulling her finger from my mouth, Angie said, "There, is that better?" And, before I could even manage any sort of reply, she released her grip of my lower jaw and briefly slapped the pads of her long, strong fingers over my mouth in a curt, overly-firm silencing motion.
"M-mph," I squeaked in surprised pain caused my Angie's unkind abuse of my lips which were forced back against my teeth by her strong fingers.
"Oh, never mind. I forgot that little kitties can't speak," Angie teased which elicited laughs of genuine delight from my mother and Dita. While wiping her hand on a serviette in front of her (I think it was my mother's), Angie slid her fingers off of my mouth just in time for Miss Barb to see her doing it as she came strolling over to our table. I noticed that, as she came through the double-doors leading to the kitchen, she was briefly followed by a young brunette girl who seemed to be about the same age as the redhead covering the hostess station. The brunette walked in the direction of the hostess station, and I guessed that she was the hostess for the afternoon or something, for the redhead was soon walking around her section again taking people's orders.
"Well, how was it, ladies? Is that cake not the most delectable thing here?" Miss Barb asked cheerfully after she flashed me a mischievous look. Their giggles tapering off, the three dominant women plaguing my life agreed heartily and said that they would be having it again soon. Noticing the large, fluffy banana muffin still intact, Miss Barb said, "And what about Jamie? Is she not going to have her muffin, or what?"
My mother, after giving me a brief, wicked smile, said, "Well, Barb, I thought maybe you would like to feed her. You're off your shift now, right?"
Wearing a delighted, wicked smile herself, Miss Barb said, "Yeah, Jane just took over for me. And, yes, I would like to feed her, but not here." Looking around thoughtfully for a moment, she tried to gauge where would be a good place to "feed" me. Looking around the table worriedly, for I really didn't want another woman (especially one who seemed as sweet as Miss Barb and who I had known personally for some time) brought into that crazy situation that I was forced to be in.
"Oh, I know! The locker room might work," Miss Barb finally said after a moment's consideration.
Looking doubtful, my mother asked, "That might be a little crowded, don't you think? I mean, I doubt that all the women in this place are as relaxed as you." I knew what my mother meant by that. She was worried that some coworker of Miss Barb's, who might not approve of my "education", would see me being fed by those four, dominant women.
"No, it won't. I'm the only one who leaves here at this time of day, and Jane, that brunette that was just behind me, is the only one who comes in now too. No one else'll come or go for a couple of hours yet. And, there's a back door that'll take you right outside. That way you ladies won't be seen leaving," Miss Barb replied with a sly wink that made my mistress' faces light up.
"Great! Let's get lunch paid for first," my mother said before Dita stopped her.
"No, no. This one's on me, ladies," Dita said as she pulled out a set of three twenty-dollar bills from her purse and handed them to Miss Barb. "And, keep the change," she continued as she gave her friend a very hefty tip.
"Oh, why thank you, darling. You come back and see me anytime," Miss Barb said as she picked up the plate containing the banana muffin. "Now, let's get this thing started. Your little pet looks hungry," she added while giving me another sly wink. It was quite something how audibly she said those words. The chatter in the restaurant was fairly loud, but I imagined that the people in the booth to the left of ours could have caught at least some of what she was saying. Since the group in that booth consisted only of women who I perceived to be as crazy as the women who were ruling over me, I doubted that much attention would have been paid to Miss Barb's dominant words considering such language would have been commonplace among those sorts of females.
My mother handed Angie her gloves who thanked her and slid them onto her big, strong hands before grasping my small, bound gloved hands with her left one.
"Oh, I was going to untie her so no one would see the rope," Dita said, but her tall, dominant friend was quick to reassure her.
"I'll just cover it with my hand. No one'll see. They'll just think that our little pet is well-mannered and keeps her hands behind her back," Angie said which, of course, satisfied Dita. Angie then took a hold of my upper right arm with her big, gloved right hand and pulled me out of the booth as she slid out. As I was forced to stand, my mother crowded in behind me while Dita moved to her left, thereby obscuring any views of me that potential onlookers might have had. I felt my mother's soft, strong right hand come to rest on the back of my neck as we walked so that she could clamp her hand over my mouth if I showed any signs of wanting to cry out for help.
Miss Barb led the way with the plate of muffin in her left hand and, surprisingly, directed her trio of friends with their helpless captive through the women's bathroom door. Pushing it open a crack, Miss Barb listened for any signs of people inside, and, finding none, ushered us through the door. Angie forced me through with her as she followed Miss Barb while my mother and Dita were hot on our heels.
"Why the hell are we in here?" my mother hissed which echoed a little in the tile and bare-walled room.
"Because there are actually two doors into the locker room. I don't know why, so don't ask," Miss Barb said simply, unafraid of the possibility that someone would hear these dominant women, while unlocking a door that looked similar to the one leading into the bathroom. That door differed because it had a knob with a keyhole.
"Oh, that's quite convenient, actually," I heard Dita say as Miss Barb who opened the door and held it for my mother who reached over my head with her left hand to make sure that Angie could force me past the threshold without hindrance. Once her friends and their victim were inside the locker room, Miss Barb closed and locked the door we came through so that no one in the bathroom would mistakenly open it.
"See? I told you it would be empty," Miss Barb said as she walked past us and led the way further into the locker room. The place was, indeed, empty of people, at least; there were plenty of lockers around. The door from the bathroom led into the middle of the fair-sized locker room which had off-white lockers, like the ones from school, around the three other walls. The wall that contained the bathroom door only had coat racks to the left and right of the door; wooden coat racks that were simply wooden and looked like something that might have been in a men's clothing store.
In the middle of the locker room, starting from my far left, was a long, low bench that was followed by another double-set of lockers whose backs faced each other. Another bench and set of double-lockers followed, and the last thing to occur before the right wall of lockers was another bench. It was to my right that I was rudely directed once Miss Barb led her dastardly trio of friends in that direction.
Although it may have looked as if Angie was just directing me when we were out on the restaurant's floor, it didn't feel that way. She had a very unkind grasp of my upper right arm which pinched my skin. She took her big, gloved left hand off of my much smaller, bound ones, for no one was in the locker room to see what those terrible women were doing to me. Oh, how tempting the urge was to holler my lungs out for help, but I could hear clanking noises and a lot of female voices carrying on from the kitchen. I knew that none of those people would be able to hear me or help me considering most of them were just as evil as the four women dominating me, and considering that, once I screamed, I would be immediately subdued and forced through the back door that led into the parking lot. That door was directly ahead of me until Miss Barb led us to the left and to the middle of the long bench that was closest to the right wall of the room.
Angie forced me along the left side of the bench until we reached its middle where Miss Barb sat. She turned me so that her back was to the far locker-covered wall of the room and had me face Miss Barb by keeping very firm holds of my upper arms with her big, strong, gloved hands. Dita followed us down the left side of the bench and stood near me so that, if anyone happened to round the corner, I would not be seen at first. My mother had followed us down the right side of the bench and stood behind and slightly to the left of Miss Barb with her arms folded confidently and a sly smile touching her red lips.
Miss Barb had placed the plate with my muffin on it onto her lap, and I watched nervously as her big-looking hands broke the treat in half. The apparently dominant woman was tall enough so that, even when she sat down, the top of her head was just above mine; a fact which contributed to the feelings of helplessness that I was experiencing. Wearing a mischievous smile, Miss Barb held up one half of the big, fluffy muffin in the somewhat thick fingers of her left that appeared to have been strengthened from years of work as a waitress. I looked at the treat in her fingers warily and tried to shift in Angie's unkind grasp of me.
"Be still," Angie said with a warning tone of voice as she shook me a little and tightened her grips of my arms.
"Aw, what's the matter? I thought you wanted to taste something nice," Miss Barb said teasingly as Angie forced me to inch closer to the dominant hostess until my waist was close to her hearty right knee. I had ceased my futile struggles and stood still while waiting for Miss Barb's next action.
I felt Angie's big, gloved right hand release my upper right arm and move to my lower jaw which she forcefully gripped and pulled downward. This was done easily and effectively by her, for her broad, glove-covered palm was planted under my chin while her long fingers wrapped around and hooked into the left edge of my low jaw at my left cheek. Her thumb curled over my chin which prevented me from trying to close my mouth.
Wearing a smile that made my stomach roll with waves of nervousness, Miss Barb brought the half of the muffin forward and began rudely stuffing it into my mouth. I could hear my mother and her two other friends giggling in delight and cheering Miss Barb on as she used the strong fingers of her right hand to push and cram the muffin past my lips. The goal, I supposed, was not to get every bit of the thing into my mouth, for the dominant hostess stuffed the muffin half into my mouth so rudely that crumbs fell from my face and onto the floor. That process did not exactly make the muffin half smaller.
I tried to instinctively move my head so that I could get away from what Miss Barb was doing to me, but Angie held me still while Miss Barb forced the fluffy, sweet treat past my lips until it seemed to fill my mouth completely. I focused on trying not to choke so that I wouldn't spit any of the muffin out; I didn't know if Angie's earlier warning about my sandwich was still in effect, but I certainly didn't want to risk disobeying it if it was. The muffin was severely sweet and tasted as if it was flavored with real bananas. That would have been pleasant, actually, if I was allowed to eat it under normal circumstances. Given my situation, I, instead, loathed the flavor and began to subconsciously associate the flavor of bananas with dominant women.
Cramming and pushing with her strong fingers, Miss Barb delighted in filling my mouth with the sweet treat and forcing as much of it into my mouth as possible. She spent what must have been a few minutes ensuring that none of the muffin wad was protruding from my mouth. I had to force a lot of the muffin into my cheeks since there was no way that I could have kept it all on my tongue; there was just too much. Just when I thought Miss Barb would stop pushing the muffin into my mouth, there would be more of the stuff forced onto my tongue and pushed back until I feared that I would choke. Angie continued to keep a firm grasp of my lower jaw and upper left arm, keeping me steady while giggling along with her friends as I was tortured. At least, I considered what was being done to me to be torture, and, seeing as how I was the victim, my judgments of the situation were the important ones.
"Hnh hnn, good girl… take it. Take it all in," Miss Barb said through an evil smile that I couldn't entirely see. The pressure Miss Barb was exerting with her fingers, combined with the size of the muffin wad, forced me to squint my eyes and face a bit. That said, I could tell what sort of expression the dominant hostess was wearing simply from the way that she spoke. Finally, Miss Barb stopped prodding on the fat wad of muffin stuffing my mouth and cheeks completely.
"Mhhh… m-mhh," I whimpered into the treat fully occupying my mouth as Angie used her grip on my lower jaw to force my mouth closed once Miss Barb took her fingers away. She then released my lower jaw and took another unkind grip of my upper right arm to keep me as still as possible while I worked on swallowing the banana muffin. The cruel women dominating me obviously loved seeing me in a helpless state with my mouth overly stuffed, for they continued to chuckle and flash me radiant, evil smiles while watching me struggle to eat the muffin in any way that I could.
The problem was that there was just so much muffin crammed into every crevice of my mouth which made it difficult for me to control the situation. I had to make my still-sore tongue work at moving each small bit of muffin that I chewed to a position that allowed it to be swallowed. Chewing was a real chore, and I could only do so carefully by separating my teeth a fraction of an inch; anything more than that would result in my lips separating and bits of the muffin falling out of my mouth.
"Oh, aren't you just adorable trying to eat all that muffin?" Miss Barb crooned while beaming a lusty stare into my helpless eyes. She had held the plate containing the other muffin half with her left hand and had leaned forward to put her right elbow on her right leg so that she could cradle her chin in her palm. The wicked smile of delight never left her lips and seemed to be accented by her somewhat full cheeks.
"I know! I just want to take her home and stuff all kinds of treats into her mouth. She just looks so cute like that," Dita said while giving me a similar wickedly-delighted look as she watched the slight movements of my jaw and flexing of my cheeks.
My tongue ached considerably and warned that if that sort of treatment continued, it would not be able to last much longer. It had to keep up, though; who knew what those crazy women would do to me if I suddenly gave up all efforts to eat the muffin. Thankfully, my aching tongue kept up with me remarkably well for the next five minutes or so that it took for me to work at the fluffy dough in my mouth. I was glad that it was something as airy as a muffin and not some dense biscuit or white bread; it made eating it a little easier.
As the minutes passed, I noticed Miss Barb's face change. Her eyes looked around a bit, and she seemed to be listening out for people that might come into the locker room out of the blue.
"You know, it sure is taking you a long time to eat that thing," Miss Barb said, and her words made me want to express the incredulity that I felt at hearing them. Sadly, my mouth was still about half-full with the banana muffin.
"It doesn't matter. You said we had two hours back here, so we should be fine," Dita said which made Miss Barb straighten to look at her.
"Yeah, we should have two hours, but I'm just worried that one of those younger girls might walk in here for some reason," Miss Barb replied.
"Why? There can't possibly be any girl around here that wouldn't enjoy seeing Jamie like this," Dita said back, obviously not wanting to leave.
"Well, there might be. Barb's right to worry. There's always a chance that some of the girls these days are honest," my mother said then, adding her two-cent's worth.
"They just haven't had the experience of men yet," Angie said from above my head. I listened silently while trying to swallow the rest of the muffin that I had been struggling with for several minutes.
"Yeah, you're right," Dita huffed, expressing anger not at her dear, dominant friends, but at the lingering honesty of some girls, "Let's get her out of here. It's such a nice day out anyway. We should spend some time outside."
"Yeah, I agree. Come on, Jamie. Hurry up and swallow already," my mother commanded, and the women looked at me with more expectancy in their eyes; they were still clearly delighted to see me struggling. My tongue was very tired at that point, and it was a real struggle to eat the last of the muffin.
"
Fear-laced anxiety filled me then as Miss Barb immediately took half of the piece of muffin into her mouth and swallowed after only three chewing motions of her jaw.
"Hnh hnn," my mother giggled then, "Oh, you're a cruel one, Barb."
"Yeah, that's why we love her," Dita said in hearty agreement.
"Nmhh," I whimpered nervously as I feverishly worked to move my jaw and tongue again. As Miss Barb was popping the last quarter of my muffin into her mouth, which was, to be fair, larger than mine, I swallowed the last of the treat in my mouth. Running my tongue all over my teeth and gums to make sure that not a crumb of muffin was still in my mouth, I watched as Miss Barb swallowed her part of the muffin after another four chewing motions.
"Alright, open that mouth, little lady," the cruel hostess said which prompted Angie to take another unkind grip of my lower jaw with her big, strong, gloved right hand and force my mouth open. Leaning forward, Miss Barb looked into my mouth, past my thin, red-painted lips, and wore a satisfied smile that was different than the disappointed one I expected her to wear.
"Hnh hn, that's what I thought. What a good little pet you're turning out to be," Miss Barb said as she stood up and looked around at her friends. "Well, ladies, lets get out of here," she said, and, at that, Angie saw fit to release my lower jaw.
Before I could find any relief from oppressive female hands, Angie then clamped her big, strong, gloved right hand
"Mphh… mhmphh," I whimpered helplessly into the tight-gagging gargantuan hand over my mouth as I was forced over to the door. Miss Barb opened it first and, before her friends followed her outside, looked around to make sure that no one was immediately by the door.
"Mmmphhh," I moaned again before Angie gave my head a curt shake by using her tight-gripping hand over my mouth as leverage.
"Shut up," Angie hissed as Miss Barb seemed to look at me with a satisfied, mischievous smile. I couldn't really tell; all that I saw were blurs of color, because the pressure being exerted by Angie's gloved hand caused my face to scrunch up and my eyes to squint. Also, I couldn't see much under her thumb that was pressed over my right eyebrow and touched my left.
"The coast is clear," Miss Barb announced and led the way into the parking lot.
"Wonderful! Let the fun continue," Dita said which my mother heartily agreed with. I was forced along lastly, kept hopelessly quiet by Angie's powerful, gloved hands, behind the other dominant women who had so recently brought in yet another acquaintance into the twisted game they were playing with me. All I could do was make the most pathetic, barely-audible mewls as I was escorted into the parking lot, into the bright sunshine, and toward the rest of the punishment-filled day. Who knew what could possibly happen to me next? That was what was so gosh darn scary about what my life had become.
Chapter 4
The late morning air had been warmed by the sun while I had been held captive inside Parham's. Although there was a light, cooling breeze wafting through the parking lot behind the restaurant, I was not refreshed in the slightest. Angie's oversize, gloved right hand clamped super-duper-tight over my mouth was covering my lower face from my chin to just under my eyes, so I was only able to detect the breeze on my forehead above Angie's right thumb which was pressed over my right eyebrow. It had not been that warm in Parham's, but I felt flushed and heated regardless. I didn't know if that was from the peaked sun, or if it was from all of the mistreatment I had been facing. It couldn't have been the sun, because I was only in it for a few minutes.
As soon as we were out of the back door of the restaurant, Angie forced me to turn right and follow my mother and her evil friends toward the rear corner of the building. If we turned right again, we would be walking in the direction of the sidewalk that would lead to the front entrance of the building. Dita's car was parked past the entrance in a diagonal space that was by the sidewalk, so I imagined that was where I would be forced to go. The area behind the restaurant, in which I was kept helpless and oh so very quiet, contained a narrow bit of shade that was quickly fading given the position of the sun. Yet, I still felt warm; I attributed it to all of the vicious abuse I was facing from those four women's dominant hands. I had not exactly had any break from those hands in several hours, and, considering how rapidly my life had changed, a break was what I desperately needed. I was under an absurd amount of stress, what with being dolled up and kept quiet by big, female hands.
I was scared, because my mother had turned into a nutcase who enjoyed abusing me with her hands and was becoming extremely unpredictable. All of those women, in fact, were very unpredictable. I had absolutely no idea what was going to happen to me. It was evident that these women were serious in regards to carrying out whatever plans they had for me, but I didn't know what those plans entailed aside from dinnertime. I knew that I was going to be forced to attend dinner with those awful women at the Stork Club, but what would happen to me before then, or after? I would probably be dolled up even more (the thought of which greatly disturbed me), but what else would happen? And what about Miss Barb? How big would her role in my "punishment" be? Would the seemingly-sweet hostess carry on in her friend's sick game, and, if so, what would she do to me?
Those thoughts were pushed away by another heated ache rolling through my face which was caused by Angie's overly-tight-gripping gloved hand. In particular, my poor, squashed lips and cheeks reminded me of the overwhelming strength contained within that gargantuan hand. Even my upper left arm was complaining from within the pinching grip of Angie's equally-gargantuan left hand. "Mphh… mhmphh," I whimpered in irritated pain into the overbearing hand clamped over my mouth before experiencing an intense, yet brief, squeezing of my lower face.
"Shut up!" Angie hissed and gave my head a curt shake while intensifying the pressure exerted by her gloved right hand, "Remember, little lady, you have to keep quiet while we walk to Miss Dita's car, and if you don't… well… let's just say you'll get well acquainted with the inside of her trunk." Angie's words turned the tight knot of nervousness in my stomach into a ball of ice.
"With a gag in your mouth, of course," Dita teased from over her left shoulder as we reached the rear corner of the building. While the evil ladies dominating me chuckled with mischievous delight, I realized that the only thing separating us from the sidewalk that was parallel to the street was a short alley which kept Parham's and a neighboring drugstore apart.
"Oh, also," my mother began before turning toward Angie and I, "Her hands should be untied. We wouldn't want anyone to get the wrong idea, now would we?" She briefly pursed her red lips so her words would have a teasing quality.
"Yeah, and she could hold my purse too! Wouldn't that be cute?" Dita said excitedly as Angie giggled in agreement. The cruel woman holding onto me forced me to turn around so that my mother could untie my hands.
"Jesus Christ, Dita. You sure know how to tie a knot," my mother complained as she picked at the tight knot biting into the glove-covered skin of my wrists. My mother had taken a hold of my bound hands with her left, in order to steady them while she worked, and it was at that point that I noticed how asleep my hands were feeling. I had instinctively tugged on the rope so much, especially when Angie violated me inside the restaurant, that it had grown tight enough to make my hands feel tingly.
"Hmphhh..m-mmphh," I whimpered again into Angie's unbelievably-tight-gripping gloved hand still clamped tighter-than-tight over my mouth and lower face.
"Shhh, sh, sh," my mother hushed me from behind as she loosened the knot keeping my wrists bound.
"God, she really is a cute little thing, isn't she?" I heard Miss Barb say to Dita behind me, and I marveled at how much of an impact her words had on me. Again, I felt my stomach grow cold, since I never expected to hear such language come from her.
Once my wrists were free, my mother handed the rope to Dita who slid it back into her purse while continuing to reply to Miss Barb's comment, saying how adorable I looked all dolled up the way that I was. I immediately brought my small, gloved hands together in front of me and rubbed them together so that they would feel normal again.
After being forced to turn around, so that I had to face all of the evil glares of those dominant women at once, Angie said, "Now, I'm going to let go of your mouth, so you just remember what'll happen to you if you try to make any noise." Blessed, much-deserved relief flooded the aching muscles and irritated skin of my lower face as Angie released my mouth and slid her big, gloved right hand down until it dangled near my chin. I wanted to breathe deeply and relish the feeling of cool air coming into my lungs, but I was so nervous that I could only take shallow, quivering breaths that were hardly satisfying. I watched as those dominant women standing around me directed lusty, confident gazes toward my thin, trembling, red-painted lips and my gloved hands which I was still wringing together.
Dita snapped her small, black purse closed and came toward me with it. "Here, try this on," she said with a cruel smile touching her lips as she grabbed my right hand, engulfing it within her much larger one, and forced it through the strap of the purse before sliding it up and over my shoulder. Angie temporarily removed her right hand from my shoulder so that Dita could slide the purse strap over my head, thereby ensuring the purse could not slip off of me. "Here, hold it in both of your hands," Dita said while holding the body of the purse above my bellybutton, "There! That's perfect!" As I took the purse in both of my small, gloved hands, Dita squealed in delight as she stood back with her evil friends to admire how I looked.
"Aw, isn't she precious? Just look at her," my mother exclaimed while Miss Barb and Angie gave similar comments and teasing jibes. It was humiliating… just, utterly humiliating. I could feel my face flushing again and imagined how red my cheeks must have been.
"Oh, and just look at how red her little face is," Angie said through her full, pursed lips while she was leaning over me so that she could see my face. She slid her big, gloved right hand up and around my neck until her palm was under my chin. She then squeezed my face and forced my lips to pucker together by firmly pressing her thumb into my right cheek and her long fingers into my left.
"That just means she's having a good time," Miss Barb said.
"And why shouldn't she? Out in this beautiful weather… getting some quality girl-time with her friends… " Dita commented, continuing to pile on the teasing quips. At least, I hoped she was teasing me; if she was serious, that would mean that she was far crazier than I had thought.
"Oh, look! Her cheeks are almost as red as her lips," my mother said while moving closer to me.
"Well, hell, let's all get a closer look," Miss Barb said as her and Dita crowded closer to me along with my mother. Bending over, my mother brought her face just inches from mine which Angie was forcing to remain slightly upturned.
"Red cheeks and pursed red lips… just what a good little kitty should have," my mother said while wearing a devious smile and boring into me with a lusty stare. I could only stare up at her with frightened eyes while grasping Dita's purse in my gloved hands. Leaning forward, my mother brought her face closer to mine and planted a kiss on my forcefully-puckered ones. I shuddered as I felt her silky, adult-woman lips wrap around mine, for it was a feeling that should not have been forced upon me. As she ended the kiss and pulled her face back, I smelled her warm breath which, given my situation, was extremely unpleasant. My mother's dominant friends watched wordlessly as she kept her face only inches away from mine. "Mm, such a good girl," she said in a low, sensuous voice that chilled me to my very core.
"Nuh… uwh-mphhh," I began, whimpering in disgusted nervousness, before my mother straightened herself and clapped her inverted left hand tight over my pursed mouth, sealing her palm over my protruding lips and mashing the upper edge of her hand into my nostrils.
"Oh, hush. I don't want to hear that mouth of yours; none of us do," my mother said with a mild scolding tone before removing her hand from my mouth. Angie released my face too and let some of the feeling return to the spots on my cheeks where she had planted her fingers.
"That said, she sounds awfully charming with a hand over her mouth," Miss Barb said and directed her own lusty gaze my way when I looked up at her.
"And she looks good, too," Angie said, giving my face a final, rude squeeze before letting go and putting her hand back on my shoulder, "Come on, let's get out of here so that we can play some more."
The idea, apparently, appealed to Miss Barb who said, "Yeah, and I still owe our pet a spanking with my shoe." She glared evilly at me while giving a lusty smile that told me that I was in serious trouble for some reason that was unknown to me. Maybe it was just because I was male -- that might have been the reason.
"Well, where should we go? Barb's been on her feet all morning, so maybe somewhere we can sit down," Dita asked which seemed to bring the dominant hostess out of a lust-filled trance.
"Huh? Oh, no, I've been on my feet for a lot longer. I'm fine," Miss Barb said, waving her big left hand nonchalantly to reinforce her point, "Although, sitting down wouldn't be the worst thing in the world… " Her friends knew that she had been lying and chuckled at her sheepish statement.
"Good! I was hoping you'd say that, because I want to make everyone drinks at my house. What do you think?" Dita said excitedly, and the other dominant women surrounding me caught some of that excitement.
"Oh, that sounds wonderful! I'll pay you back with some of my own alcohol. I promise," Angie said, but Dita was having none of that talk.
"Nonsense; I have more booze than I know what to do with… Oh what am I saying? I never have too much booze," Dita replied which made my captresses chuckle in delight. "But, if we're going anywhere," she continued, "We need keys."
"Yes, I suppose those are necessary. It would be quite the walk back to your place," my mother said as she and her friends' chuckles faded.
"Where are they, anyway? I haven't seen them since we left your car," Angie asked.
"They're in my purse. Jamie? Keys," Dita said before commanding me as if I was actually a house pet. As she verbalized her command, she reached out her big left hand and snapped her fingers. I looked over at her quickly, for I had been absorbed within a haze of incredulity that had been brought about by what was happening to me. "Come on, we don't have all day," Dita snapped as I swallowed thickly and looked down at the purse. I snapped open the flap and pushed the small bundle of rope aside so that I could get the keys. "Actually, I think we do," Dita said which, of course, delighted her friends and made them laugh in a satisfied, carefree manner. "Hnh hnn, good girl," was Dita's only reply as I placed the keys into her awaiting hand. Holding them up, she jiggled them playfully at her friends while smiling radiantly. "Let's go!" she said before turning and leading her pack of friends and their helpless captive down the short alley to the sidewalk.
How no one managed to come out of the restaurant while we were behind it was unknown to me; something like that never happened when one needed it to.
"Here, Barb, why don't you hold onto our pet for a little while," Angie said before forcing me to my left toward Miss Barb.
"Well, I'd be glad to," the cruel blonde said while taking an unkind grip of the back of my neck in order to ensure that I didn't go anywhere she didn't want me to. Miss Barb proceeded to lead me, subtly and forcefully, by her one-handed grip of my neck down the alley behind my mother and Dita while Angie walked to my right.
"What's the matter, Angie? You're hands getting tired already?" my mother teased.
"Ha! Aren't you a riot?" Angie returned while her friends giggled at the exchange. I faded out of the conversation then and, as we turned right at the sidewalk, became lost in the anxiety-filled world inside my mind. This mostly occurred because of the feeling of Miss Barb's big right hand; it felt really strong, for one thing. Years of carrying trays and plates of food must have strengthened her hands and made her fingers and palms somewhat full due to the toning exercises she experienced. The skin of her right palm felt soft and silky but, at the same time, a little… rough… as if working as a hostess and waitress toughened the skin of her hand as well as its overall composition. It was similar to how Angie's palm felt, actually. While the hands of my mother and Dita were those of housewives, they were still really-really strong. That said, the hands of Miss Barb and Angie were those of working women -- an image that I associated dominance with. There was a denser, heartier quality to those hands that made them extremely dangerous to someone like me… someone who was subjected to their silencing capabilities, for instance.
That was what Miss Barb's hand felt like -- a working woman's hand that had been shaped and weathered a little over the years even though she must have taken care of them. Her right hand, at least, felt as if she applied lotion to it, and she kept her nails applied with a clear coating of polish. As tough as the hands of working women were, both types of hands that I was experiencing that day were equally dangerous; believe me, my poor lips did not prefer either type. I wanted nothing more to do with them, but I had a feeling that I wouldn't ever be able to do anything about it ever again.
The walk back to the car seemed longer than it actually was given the overwhelming, weighty quality of the thoughts that plagued my mind. Those cruel women forcing me along with them kept chatting, joking, giggling, and teasing each other while walking down the left side of Parham's, rounding the corner by the entrance, and continuing to the space in which Dita's car was parked. Maybe they shot an insult my way every now and again; I wasn't sure, because I was mentally lost. What brought me out of my trance was Dita's tone which became a little brighter as we neared her car. I didn't think that such a thing was possible given the chipper way she had been carrying on during the short walk.
"Everyone set?" Dita asked while buckling her seat belt. The women dominating me gave their affirmatives before Dita thought she'd tease me a little more. "And what about our little pet? Is she ready?" she asked mischievously, looking at me through the rear-view mirror.
"Yep. She's sitting up straight and proper like a lady should," Angie said teasingly while giving my head a brief, curt shake for emphasis by using the grip of my lower jaw and neck as leverage.
"And," Miss Barb said, turning toward me a little so the front of her body was toward my right arm, "She's even quiet too." As she said this, she reached up with her big, strong right hand and grabbed my mouth in a super-tight hold while making sure to plant my lips directly in the middle of her broad, thick palm so that she could mash them together within it.
Horrified at having such a seemingly-sweet woman abuse me in such a fashion, I whimpered into her hand as I was hopelessly subdued once again. As I felt the warm aching sensation in my cheeks, which were being rudely pressed into by the edge of Miss Barb's palm under her thumb and her toned fingers, I began to reach up with my right hand to try to pry the vice made of female flesh off of me.
"Mph… hmphhh," I moaned in frustration as Miss Barb ensnared my small, gloved right hand with her left and pinned it down against the vinyl between my right thigh and her left one.
"Ah ahh, none of that, now," Miss Barb said in a patient, almost motherly tone, as if she was training a child in some normal way.
"Mmphhh… " was all I could manage, for the feeling of Miss Barb's huge hand over my mouth reminded of me of how hopeless my situation was. I was right about her hands, too; they were, indeed, the hands of a working woman. Miss Barb's palm was somewhat soft, but the skin felt thickened and toughened with work. Her fingers, too, felt as if they had been strengthened by years of work; they dug into my left cheek with a silencing fury that effectively secured her silencing grip of me. Even her thumb looked strong as it hooked over my small nose and forced my right nostril into the upper edge of her palm between her thumb and index finger. That forced me to smell the warm, work-laced, oatmeal-lotion-laced scent of her hand with every breath that I managed to take in through my left nostril which was dangerously close to the upper edge of her palm.
"Okay, now we're set. Let's get out of here," Dita said as she backed the car out of the diagonal space. Forced to look straight ahead by the big, dominant, female hands immobilizing me, I saw my mother turn around in her seat so that she could get a good look at my face. She wore one of the most wicked smiles that I had ever seen as she gazed lustily into my nervous eyes.
"Mmphhh..hmphh," I moaned into Miss Barb's tight-gagging right hand and instinctively tried to struggle within her and Angie's grasps as my mother's disturbing gaze fell upon me.
"Shh, sh, sh, stop struggling. Sit still and be quiet," Miss Barb scolded and squeezed my right hand and my mouth a little more tightly as a way to reinforce her command. I felt my lips being mashed together even more tightly and more pressure being exerted onto my poor, aching cheeks. The smile touching my crazed mother's red lips broadened upon seeing my attempted struggles; I could tell that she thoroughly enjoyed seeing me in the state that I was in.
"What's the matter, Jamie? Don't you like having Miss Barb's hand over your cute little mouth?" my mother teased as I continued to give her a helpless gaze.
"Mmphhh… nmhh," was the only reply that I could manage to make. Even though I could barely hear the noises that I made, my mother, apparently, detected them.
"Aw, poor widdle kitty. But you look so good with her hand over your mouth," my mother purred through slightly pursed lips upon hearing my strained reply. We reached a stoplight then, and I thought that my mouth would be released, as it had been earlier with my mother. Sadly, Dita's car was the first one at the light, so there was no one ahead of us that was at risk of turning around and seeing what was being done to me. My mother must have seen the brief look of hope that passed through my eyes as I looked around for any cars that might have been near us. There were plenty of people on the sidewalk to our right -- most of whom were women with their kids or ignorant men who were only concerned with things in their immediate environments -- but no one was close enough to see my female-hand-covered mouth and lower face.
"Hnh hnn," my mother giggled wickedly, revealing her white, shark-like teeth, "Poor thing. All those people out there, and you can't call out to any of them." Dita turned right at the stop light, and I briefly looked out of the windshield at a middle-aged man in an outfit that made him look like a reporter. He was staring above the car at the crosswalk sign, but I moaned at him anyway, whimpering helplessly like a frightened kitten into Miss Barb's big, strong hand clamped very tightly over my mouth. The evil women who were dominating me laughed at my helpless plight as they heard me wishfully cry for help.
"Oh, hush. No one's going to come for you, so you might as well not even try calling for help. You do sound awfully cute when you do, though," Miss Barb said which, of course, her friends agreed with. I looked up into the rear-view mirror in order to see if the man had seen me at all. I only saw him walking across the street before turning left and in the opposite direction of Dita's car.
Speaking of Dita, she saw me looking into the rear-view mirror and flashed a bright, lusty gaze my way. Smirking, she asked, "You like looking at me, don't you Jamie?" My eyes briefly widened in surprise, and I quickly brought my gaze down so that I was looking through the windshield. "It's okay. Don't be embarrassed. You'll be seeing plenty of me soon enough," Dita continued as my eyes dropped.
"Mm, you'll be seeing plenty of all of us," my mother said, her voice dripping with mischievous ardor.
"Hmphh… mhmhh," I moaned in a pathetic attempt to protest what those crazy women were saying.
"Hmh hm, does that thought excite you?" Angie said from above and to the left of my immobilized head. I strained my eyes to look over at her but found that I couldn't; I could only see her out of the corner of my eye and feel her gloved hands unkindly gripping me.
"Mmmhhh… m-mphh," came more barely-audible moans from my heavily-oppressed mouth.
"No? Not even a little?" Angie continued as she slid her big, gloved left hand down my left arm and took a hold of my smaller one. Taking a firm hold of my wrist, she guided my gloved left hand to her right thigh which was covered by the material of her house dress.
"Mphh..mphhh," I moaned nervously as I felt my hand touching a grown woman in a place that it shouldn't. My hand was about half way between her knee and her… other place. Angie felt me trying to resist her movements of my hand and kept a firm grip of my wrist in order to make sure that I couldn't pull away.
"Hey, don't be starting the party without us. We want to play just as badly as you do, so just be patient," my mother said as Dita turned onto the street on which her and my crazy mother lived. Looking up at her, for she had been watching where she was making me touch her, Angie moved my left hand back to where it was and pinned it against the vinyl seat.
"I wasn't, I promise. I know it'll be more fun if we all play at once," Angie said as she smushed my hand between her much larger one and the seat of the car.
"Well, that's true, but Marion's just jealous at seeing her lover touching another woman. I know how she is," Miss Barb couldn't resist adding, teasing her friend in a good-natured way. The other women in the car giggled and acknowledged the sharp-witted poking of my mother by her blonde friend. I thought that she would get mad, given the rapidly changing nature of her dispositions that day, but she took it very lightly as if she enjoyed the joke. Raising her eyebrows, my mother opened her mouth in a silent scoffing expression before laughing along with her dominant friends. She was having a swell time; all of those evil women were having swell times ruling over me.
Dita soon pulled into her driveway, and, as the car stopped, I felt my stomach roll with nervousness and dread as the time had arrived for more abuse to be heaped upon me. And, yet, even though the nature of that abuse was unknown to me, I could still feel my small thingy jutting out stiffly against the fabric of the panties that I had been forced to wear. It had to have simply been a reaction to the abuse I was getting; what I mean is, my blood had been pumping quickly through my veins and caused me to become flush when I was humiliated in public. Maybe some of that blood collected… down there… in my private place. I mentally latched onto that bit of reasoning, because the opposite just wasn't true. I was not reacting to the warm, work-toughened palm mashing my thin lips together or the smells of the two women holding me immobile with their big, strong hands.
"Well, here we are," Dita said, switching off her car.
"Ugh, finally," Angie teased as she opened her door to get out. Giggling a little, Miss Barb released my mouth and, in one swift motion, opened her door and pulled me across the seat by my right hand until I was at the seat's edge. Then, she yanked me out while switching her grip of my wrist from her left hand to her right so that, as she drew me to her side, she could reach around my head and roughly grab my mouth. My mother shut her door and then Miss Barb's before taking an unkind, pinching grip of my upper and lower left arm with her cruel hands, squeezing tightly so that I couldn't go anywhere.
"Mmphhh… mhmphh," I whimpered helplessly into Miss Barb's extra-strong left hand clamped over my mouth as I began to feel the familiar aches of my facial muscles return.
"Shut up. I swear, you don't want to know what'll happen to you if any of the neighbors hear that mouth of yours," my mother hissed which made Miss Barb laugh a little. I heard my mother return the laugh with one of her own, and I wondered what that exchange meant. Were there neighbors on my block that I could have alerted? Given how oddly all the women I had seen that day were behaving, as if they all had the same condition, I didn't think that I would have been able to get any help from our neighbors. Almost all of the people who lived near and around my mother and I were women.
My mother and her dominant hostess friend just about hauled me up the driveway and through Dita's front door which she held open for us after Angie entered her house. I assumed that all of the women dominating me that day had been in Dita's house before, for none of them commented on her living room, as women, from my experience, were wont to do. The living room sure was nice, though, and sort of similar to my mother's; except for the preponderance of blues, whites, and lavenders. A soft-blue, well-padded chair was just to the right of the door, turned away from it, and had a small, round, white table next to it that had a lamp on top; on the other side of the table was the first chair's twin, only it was turned slightly in the opposite direction.
Behind the chairs and table were two big windows that allowed sunlight to stream across the room to the large, overstuffed couch that looked like a grander version of the chairs. At the far end of the couch (the west end) was a mahogany Rolly desk that was catty-cornered with a typewriter on top and various pencils and papers around it. To the right of the desk, past the chair in front of it, was a television with long rabbit ears and a tall, skinny, glass vase that contained long stems with small, lavender-colored flowers on them. After that was a white, wooden bookshelf that, surprisingly, contained more books than nick-nacks and reminded me how few books my mother had. To the left of the door, along the wall which led to a door (that went to who-knows-where), the entrance to a hall, and, finally, the kitchen, was Dita's personal bar. Mounted on a sturdy, rectangular, white table, it included at least one bottle of every hard liquor I had ever heard mentioned by my mother. Around the bottles were glasses of several sorts and sizes along with a few framed photographs of Bettie Paige, Audrey Hepburn, and Marilyn Monroe. On another small, white table to the right of the bar was a record player with a thick stack of vinyls in the open space of the legs. Dita was clearly sassy, independent women who liked her drink, her music, and her stars.
"Make yourselves comfortable, ladies, and I'll make us some drinks," Dita said once Miss Barb and my mother forced me into her living room. Angie had already taken a seat in the blue chair closest to the bookshelf and was waiting for her friends to join in on the relaxation.
"Do you want any help?" my mother asked her dark-haired friend, but she politely declined.
"You and Barb keep Jamie quiet. Um, Barb, do you want some things to gag her with while you spank her?" Dita said before offering Miss Barb gag implements.
"Uh, just a scarf. I'm just gonna bend her over my knee and handgag her. Can I use that rope of yours to tie her wrists?" Miss Barb asked.
"Of course. It's in the purse. Here, hold on a sec," Dita replied as she came over to the area just in front of the left-hand blue chair which was where my mother and Miss Barb were holding me still and quiet. Miss Barb's hand, I noticed, had grown quite warm from holding my mouth, and that warmth caused her scent to become more prominent. I watched through my right eye, for most of my left was covered by Miss Barb's left thumb, as Dita came over to me and put her keys back in her purse before unsnapping one end of her purse strap. This allowed her to slide her purse off of me without requiring Miss Barb to remove her cruel hands from me.
"Here, I'll tie her wrists together; that way Barb doesn't have to let her go," my mother said as she released my arm and took the rope from Dita.
"Mmphh… mph," I whimpered nervously into Miss Barb's tight-gagging left hand and fidgeted a little as fear seemed to grip my stomach.
"Be still, little girl. Be still and be quiet," Miss Barb commanded into my right ear after bending a little so that her mouth would be closer to me. My mother made quick work of binding my wrists behind my back after crossing them; the knot she made felt similar to the one Dita had used on me earlier and caused the rope to bite into my glove-covered skin.
"There we go. She shouldn't be giving you any trouble while you give her that spanking she deserves," my mother said while venomously spitting her last few words at me as she walked toward the bar. Just what the heck did she mean by "deserves"? What had I done that day to possibly warrant a spanking from an older, stronger, dominant woman?
Dita had gone down the hall in order to get a scarf for Miss Barb and returned as my mother was nearing the bar. "Here, Barb, I'll put the scarf here," she said as she set the scarf down on the left end of her couch, "Now, what would you ladies like to drink? I've got stuff to make mojitos, martinis, and, practically, everything else."
"Oo, I'll have a martini, please; dry, if you don't mind," my mother said while fondling one of Dita's fancy glasses.
"Good choice. That's what I'm having," Dita said happily, "Angie? How about you?"
"Mm, I'd love one of your sea-breezes. But, a little lighter on the vodka. I'm still feeling that wine, and I'd rather not get drunk at the moment. I want to be at least a little sober while playing with Jamie," Angie said to which her friends nodded in agreement.
"And I'll have a Tom Collins, please… not light on the booze," Miss Barb said.
"Alright, a Tom Collins it is," Dita said, "Marion, I may need your help after all." And, with that, my mother and the dominant Dita set about preparing everyone's refreshments. I noticed, but was not surprised by the fact, that my needs were not considered; I didn't desire to have any more alcohol, but a glass of water would have been nice.
Miss Barb hooked her strong, left wrist and used her unbearable grip of my mouth as leverage as a means of forcing me to look up at her. "Now, how about we get that cute little ass of yours nice and red, huh? That should let you know who's in charge around here," she said while glaring into my scared, helpless, slightly squinched eyes and piercing me to the core with her cold gaze.
"Mmphh… nmphh," came trembling whimpers from my hopelessly-oppressed mouth as Miss Barb flashed me a wicked smile upon seeing me look up at her. She then released my mouth and forced me over to her spot on the couch that Dita had indirectly claimed for her. After draping the scarf over the arm of the couch, Miss Barb sat down and put her legs together before pulling me over them by gripping my arms and yanking me forward. I gasped as my stomach hit her knees but was quickly silenced by her big, warm left hand which quickly and roughly grabbed my mouth. Silenced and subdued, I instinctively pulled on the rope around my wrists and produced a barely-audible moan of defeat as I felt the rope bite into my skin even more tightly than before.
"Have her look over here for a sec," I heard Angie say from somewhere to my right. I couldn't really see her, except as a blur from the corner of my eye, because Miss Barb's hellish grip of my mouth kept my head up and forced me to face forward in the direction of the television set. Miss Barb giggled evilly as she used her grip over my mouth as leverage again and turned my head slightly to my right so that Angie could see my hand-covered mouth and lower face.
"Mphh… mhmph," I moaned nervously as I watched the super-tall captress move her big, gloved right hand to her right breast and massage it lightly while her left hand moved to her lower stomach and began stroking just above her… private place. With a devious smile touching her full, red lips, she gazed intensely at me and swallowed thickly.
When she heard my slight moans, Angie shushed me, "Shhh; if you keep moaning like that, I'll get all wet and make a mess. And, it'll be your fault." What in the world was she talking about? What sort of "mess" did she mean, and how would it be my fault?
Those thoughts didn't linger for very long, for I was suddenly aware of a horrible sensation: my small thingy was very stiff. It must have been from hearing Angie speak in that tone of voice… or something… I didn't know. All I knew is that my hard, throbbing, little thing was full and restricted by my body and Miss Barb's right leg. The next thing that happened was even worse; my stiff thingy twitched because of the pressure it was feeling from being trapped the way it was… as if it needed some sort of release. I immediately heard Miss Barb gasp before feeling her big, strong right hand come crashing down onto my butt. Smack! She spanked me really hard, and her hand was big enough so that I felt the impact on both of my pantie- and skirt-covered cheeks.
"Mmphhh… mhmphh," I moaned in startled pain as fiery bolts of irritated pain streaked through me.
"You bad little girl!" Miss Barb scolded, almost in mock anger, from somewhere above me after striking my butt with her hand, "You bad <Smack!>, bad <Smack!> girl." I whimpered and sobbed in pain into Miss Barb's huge left hand clamped super-tight over my mouth as she emphasized her words with two more painful spanks of my butt. What made the strikes so painful was the fact that she hit my cheeks in the same place that her first strike landed, thereby increasing the pain of each strike that followed. "That's very naughty of you," Miss Barb said hotly before Angie broke in.
"What? What is it?" Angie asked with a slightly amused tone of voice, "Did she try to bite your hand?" I couldn't see her face, for Miss Barb had forced me to look in the direction of the television when she felt my thingy flex against her leg. And how could Angie have thought that I tried to bite Miss Barb's hand? The thing was so big and engulfed my mouth and lower face so completely that I couldn't even part my lips let alone bite anything.
"What the hell is going on out here?" my mother said then, appearing in the threshold that lead to the kitchen. She, too, had a slightly-amused tone of voice but mainly sounded as if she was generally concerned; that concern, however, was not for my well being.
"Our little slave thought it would be alright to have an erection. I can feel it pressing into my leg," Miss Barb said incredulously as if I had committed the greatest of offenses. Believe me, I didn't feel good about the situation in the least, and I knew that it was wrong to put my thingy anywhere near a woman, especially given my age. But, it was both her and my mother's fault that I was in that situation.
"And without even asking for our permission," my mother said in a scolding tone as she walked around me before standing in front of my head. Bending over, so that her face was inches from mine, my mother pointed her red-nailed, right index finger at my fear-filled eyes, "Let this be a lesson, you little whore. Don't you ever think about getting hard without permission. We decide when you can be hard; not you, understand? It's a good thing Barb has you in this position, because you need a lot more punishment than I thought." With that, my mother stood up straight and glared down her nose at me while putting her big, dangerous hands on her hips.
"Mmphhh… mhmphh… nmmphh," came barley-audible moans from my oppressed mouth as those heavy words caused incredulity to flare up within me. What the heck did she mean by "ask for permission"? How could I possibly have done that since there always seemed to be a female hand clamped over my mouth. Upon hearing my pathetic moans, my mother pulled her red-painted lips into a smug smile before turning to head back to help make drinks again.
"Wow… ugh," sighed Angie before clearing her throat, "I didn't think she'd like her punishment already." Her voice seemed to be a little lower, as if it was made heartier by her lascivious desires.
"I told you she would," my mother said matter-of-factly as she walked around me again. I also heard the clinking of glasses behind me as Dita set four of them onto her bar.
"My goodness, what's all this fuss about out here?" Dita asked playfully as she turned to see my mother walking toward her to continue helping with the drinks.
"Our little slave had the audacity to have an erection without asking us first," Miss Barb grumbled as she reached down to pull off her right shoe -- a white flat with a very hard bottom.
"Oh, and without our permission… Jamie, you naughty little girl. Maybe a good spanking will straighten you out," Dita gasped as Miss Barb put her right shoe on the floor and pulled my skirt up so that my pantie-covered butt was exposed.
"You know, Jamie," Miss Barb said, and I produced another heavily-muffled whimper of dread into her warm, left hand clamped over my mouth as I felt her hook the fingers of her right hand into the band of my panties, "I was going to simply spank you over your skirt, but the fact that you let your little clit get hard without our permission calls for something more drastic."
"Mphh… nmphhh… m-hmphh," I whimpered into Miss Barb's tight-gagging left hand as she drew my panties down to my ankles and exposed my naked butt to the dominant women around me.
"Oo, look at that little clit… all hard and just begging for release," Dita said teasingly which made my mother giggle. I heard the clinking of glasses again over my muffled moans of attempted protest which meant that the two women were finishing up preparing the drinks.
"Mhm; like you said, Dita, maybe a good spanking is just the remedy this girl needs," Miss Barb said while taking her shoe in her right hand again.
"Mhmphh… mmph," came a couple of quivering moans from my mashed-up mouth as I felt the cold underside of that shoe on my already-sore cheeks. Miss Barb moved the smooth surface over my sensitive skin in a few short, gentle stroking motions as a way of teasing me and further asserting her dominance over me. I couldn't believe what was happening; it was utterly ridiculous hearing Miss Barb talk the way she was and seeing her act in such a disturbingly unorthodox manner.
And then, as if I was living in a nightmare, that shoe was brought down hard onto my tender, right cheek, and a sharp tap was heard as the two surfaces collided.
"Mmphhh… mhmmhh," I squeaked in surprise into Miss Barb's big, strong, warm left hand clamped tighter-than-tight over my mouth as fiery, stinging pain shot through me as a result of my poor butt being abused.
"Hnh hnn," Miss Barb giggled while holding me quiet and helpless over her lap and rubbing the bottom of her shoe over my right butt cheek which had, no doubt, been reddened by the blow. "That was just the beginning, little lady," she said in a low, dominant voice before bringing three more quick, stinging slaps down onto my butt. Smack! Smack! Smack!
"Mmhmmphhh… .mmphhh… mhmmmhhhh… m-hmm-hmmphhh," I screamed and sobbed into the tight-gripping hand over my mouth as my senses were overtaken by skin-reddening pain. Miss Barb, I supposed, thought that both of my cheeks needed attention from her shoe, for she alternated her strikes between the left and right sides of my butt. Adding to the humiliating quality of my situation, I felt stress-induced tears well-up in my squinched eyes and leak down the sides of my face. Also, my small thingy continued to remain rock-hard and throbbed warmly between my waist and Miss Barb's thigh. I really hoped that she wouldn't notice (because she would punish me more), but she probably would anyway.
"You keep quiet over there, Jamie. You wouldn't want to alert any of the neighbors now, would you?" I heard my mother say from somewhere to my right before hearing the clinking of ice cubes against a glass. I imagined that my mother had handed Angie her drink before chiding me with a scolding tone of voice. Even though I was sure that her words were meant to be threatening, her evil friends chuckled at the remark, as if they knew that there wasn't any possible way that I could alert anybody with Miss Barb's hearty left hand tightly squeezing my mouth.
Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!
The sounds of four more strikes on my poor backside snapped through the air as Miss Barb continued to punish me with her shoe. I squealed and tried to move my head around in order to free my mouth and face from Miss Barb's cursed left hand, but there was no use in trying. I couldn't even open my jaw, let alone move my head at all; the only thing I succeeded in doing was burying my squashed lips more firmly into the oppressive, thick palm over my mouth.
"Yeah, Jamie. We wouldn't want anyone knowing what we're doing to you," Miss Barb said before I heard and felt three more quick, firm spanks. Smack! Smack! Smack!
"Mmmphhh… mmmhhh… mmphh… m-hmmhh," came a few barely-audible squawks and sobs from my heavily-oppressed mouth as fiery pain, which, at that point, was stronger than ever, shot through me again and again. Both of my cheeks felt very sore and warm from the reddened irritation caused by the shoe hitting them. Tears were flowing freely from my eyes then, and some of them were caused by simple frustration from being able to do nothing about my situation. Every time I tried to pull at the rope keeping my hands bound behind my back, the rope just seemed to get tighter and dug into my glove-covered wrists with a biting fury. It was also a little difficult to breathe -- obviously, the big, female hand tight-clamped over my mouth and lower face didn't help anything, but, also, my stomach couldn't expand properly because of the fact that I was lying on top of Miss Barb's hearty thighs.
"Oo, look at that cute little ass getting nice and red. What a pretty color that is," Dita said from somewhere behind me.
"Yeah, I wonder if we can get her ass to match her lips," my mother wondered from somewhere behind me and to my right, as if she took a seat in the chair opposite from Angie.
"Well, that might be hard to do since Barb won't take her hand off of her mouth. Hell, I forgot what her mouth even looks like. That's not a bad thing, necessarily…" Angie teased before taking a sip of her drink while listening to her friends chuckle.
"I remember what her mouth looks like and, trust me, her ass isn't even close to being that color. Not yet, anyway," my mother said coldly which caused a twinge of fear to peck at the nervous knot in my stomach.
"Mmphh… mhmphh," I moaned as I felt Miss Barb rubbing the now-warm sole of her shoe over my reddened butt cheeks.
"No, and, besides, her little clit is still hard, so maybe a few more spankings will make her think twice about letting it stay that way," the cruel hostess said as she raised the shoe to spank me again.
"Mphh..mphh," I whimpered nervously into her warm, slightly damp hand as I braced myself for the next set of strikes.
"Wait, Barb, why don't'cha try something more affective? Hang on a sec," Dita said before I heard her shoes clop across her kitchen floor. I heard something that sounded like wooden utensils being moved around and wondered what devious instrument of torture she was getting.
Miss Barb slid her shoe back on while saying, "I wonder what she has in mind."
"Hnh hnn, I think I know. I was thinking about something similar during lunch," Angie said as Dita came back into the living room.
"Here, Barb, try this," Dita said before handing Miss Barb one of the wooden implements. "Here, I brought some for all of us," she continued while, apparently, giving other things to Angie and my mother.
"Oo, can I have the spatula? Let Marion have the other spoon," Angie said, and that seemed to be alright with my mother, for I didn't hear any protests.
"Mphh..mmhh," I whimpered into Miss Barb's tight-gagging hand as I felt fear waft through my stomach upon realizing that I was going to be spanked with wooden spoons and spatulas. Oh..I really, really didn't want that to happen; I didn't know how much more I could take from those cruel women.
"Well, don't these just look like a barrel of fun?" Miss Barb exclaimed while examining the wooden implement in her hand, "But, I don't think this positioning is going to work. Why don't I just hold her and you three can spank her? She's gotten enough from me for now." The ladies seemed to agree, and Miss Barb put down whatever wooden thing she had gotten onto the arm of the couch before forcing me to stand. She reached up with her right hand and grabbed the back of my head, to ensure that I didn't go anywhere, while she stood up and then released my mouth for a moment. My mouth found little reprieve, for Miss Barb inverted her left hand and clamped it much-too-unkindly over my sore lips and passionately gripped my aching cheeks.
Hooking her thick thumb tightly under my chin, Miss Barb smiled down at me lustfully while giving my head a brief, curt shake in order to show me who was boss. "Here, let me get a swig of my drink first," she said, taking her right hand off of the back of my head and holding it out to Dita who gave her her drink. She only took her eyes off of my scared, helpless, squinted ones long enough to gulp down about three-quarters of the contents of her perspiring glass and thank her cruel friend for giving it to her. She didn't wipe her hand on her dress or anything, and I produced a heavily-muffled gasp as I felt her cold palm and fingers touch the back of my head again.
"Oh, I know! You're just so excited, aren't you?" Miss Barb teased while giving my mouth an extra-extra-firm squeeze whose effects I felt immediately. Her cruel fingers dug into my left cheek and put so much pressure on it that the skin caved in under the pads of those fingers while some of it bulged over the top of it. The evil woman holding me also pushed up a little with her left hand which meant that my small nostrils butted up against the edge of her palm.
"Mphh..m-mphh," I grunted into Miss Barb's tight-gripping hand which caused my face to scrunch up from the pressure exerted by it; I desperately wanted relief from that hand since I was extremely uncomfortable within its grasp. Thin, shallow breaths could be heard rasping against the edge of Miss Barb's hand as I fought to fill my lungs with the perfume-scented air of Dita's living room.
As bad as my situation was, it was about to get worse; after the wicked Miss Barb decided to tighten her hellish grip over my mouth, I heard my mother verbally usher in another bout of punishment. "And we don't need this at the moment," the evil woman said as she hooked the last three fingers of her right hand into the waistband of my skirt and yanked it down to my ankles.
"Mmphh… m-hmhh… nmphhh," I gasped and whimpered into the warm, hearty hand tight-clamped over my mouth and lower face as I felt my bare backside being exposed once again. When I had been forced to stand, the panties that I had been forced to wear had fallen down to my shoed feet which meant that my stiff, little thingy stuck straight out. But, at least the skirt had covered up my private place and had been loose enough to prevent any tenting. Now that it was around my ankles, my small, three-inch thingy jutted out and felt as if it was throbbing warmly. My face was already quite flush from being mistreated by cruel, female hands, but I sensed that more rosiness was making its way across my face due to the humiliation. I instinctively pulled against the biting rope keeping my gloved hands behind my back as my situation was made more embarrassing.
"Aw, look at that cute little ass… all nice and rosy," I heard Dita say somewhere behind me as I felt the head of a wooden spoon on my sore, tingling right butt cheek. The grainy texture was rubbed over my extra-sensitive skin for a moment, and, to my horror, I felt my small thingy throb and silently beg for release.
"Go ahead, Marion. Give her a good whack or two," Angie said, and I realized that my mother was the one holding the spoon on my butt. It only seemed natural, given her earlier statements at the park about how I was her new love interest, that she was the one who started the official spanking. Then, without a word, my mother brought down a very firm strike onto my tender, right cheek -- Smack!
"Mmmphhh… mph…m-hmphh," I gasped and sobbed into Miss Barb's big, strong left hand clamped over my mouth as the most intense, stinging, fiery pain that I had ever felt in my life shot through me. The head of the spoon made contact with the very middle of my tender cheek where much of the meat was and where most of Miss Barb's strikes had landed.
But, things were far from over -- Smack! My mother smoothly and purposefully moved to her left a little and spanked my left butt cheek really hard with her wooden spoon only seconds after her first strike.
"Mmphh… m-hmphh… mmhhh," came another surprised gasp and a few heavily-muffled sobs of despair into Miss Barb's warm, thick palm pressed over my lips. As I sobbed, I heard the sound of a swallow and a satisfied chuckle from my mother after she enjoyed her drink.
"Go ahead, Dita. Give her a whack, and then, after Angie goes, we'll rotate," my mother said before taking another sip of her drink.
"Mphh… m-hm-hmmphhh," I sobbed again into Miss Barb's tight-gagging hand as my squinted eyes brimmed with hot tears that spilled out of the corners and left salts tracks in the same places as my earlier ones.
"Okay, that sounds good," I heard Dita say from directly behind me before feeling another grainy, wooden spoon head on my tender skin which was more sore, and I imagined redder, than ever before.
"Mhmphh… nmphh," I whimpered while moving my legs a bit in a sort of frustrated, nervous dance which only succeeded in getting my head shaken firmly and curtly by the cruel woman holding it.
"Be still," Miss Barb hissed while using her grip of my head and mouth as leverage to shake my head, and I whimpered again in desperation before more pain rocked my world.
"Yeah, Jamie. Stay still. The more you wiggle around, the worse it'll be for you," Dita said before cruelly smacking my super-tender right butt cheek with her wooden spoon.
Smack! "Mmmphh… mphh… mphh..mmmhh," I sobbed and produced quivering, high-pitched whimpers of protest into Miss Barb's extra-tight-gripping left hand still keeping me quiet. Dita's strike was worse than my mother's because she hooked her strike upward slightly and made the head of the spoon collide with the underside of my butt cheek. The fiery, stinging pain was quite intense and made me jump a little as I was struck in a place that only my mother had struck me earlier; but, that was over my pants and was nothing compared to Dita's strike.
"See? I told you. Maybe you'll start to behave now," Dita said condescendingly as she moved to her left a little and brought another solid, heavy-handed strike onto the lower curve of my ultra-tender left butt cheek.
Smack! "Mmmmphhh… mhm-hmmphhh… mphh… mph..mhmmphh," came a barely-audible squeal and several, pathetic sobs from my hand-oppressed mouth as I jumped a little and reacted to the awful pain that pervaded me with lightning-quick speed before fading to an irritated throb.
Speaking of throbbing, my face was also aching considerably from being held so darn tightly by the abusive Miss Barb. I could even feel my teeth aching from having my poor lips pushed and mashed into them by her thick, work-toughened palm pressed over my mouth. What was also throbbing, but in a different sort of pain, was my rock-hard little member still jutting out stiffly in front of me. It was throbbing so much and felt so full that I thought it might burst with… something; I didn't quite know what. But, the fact that it was still hard, even after all of the pain that I was experiencing, sickened my stomach with worries about how the evil women that were dominating me would interpret it.
"Mphh… nmphh… m-hmmphh," I whimpered nervously a produced a couple more pained sobs of dread into Miss Barb's left hand clamped over my mouth as I felt Angie touch my poor, probably very red right butt cheek with her wooden spatula.
"Mm, you know what the nice thing is about a spatula? It can cover a lot of area with each strike. For instance," she said as she stood directly behind me and let the tip of the spatula move to the edge of my right cheek, near the place where it met my leg, "If I hit here, she'll feel it all the way across her cute little cheek." The head of the spatula did, indeed, extend just past the middle of the cheek which caused a shudder of despair to course through me.
Smack! "Mmmmphhh… m-hmphh… h-mmph… mmhh," I sobbed into the hand over my mouth as warm pain pervaded my body and caused the skin of my right butt cheek to become practically numb for a moment due to the force of the strike. It was absolutely awful; the spatula hit my poor cheek and caused pain to resonate from the edge of it to just past its middle, like Angie said it would.
"See? That's why I chose the spatula," Angie said matter-of-factly as she moved to her left and briefly rubbed the extra-extra-tender skin of my left cheek. Smack! Another terrible strike was brought down onto it, and I felt a similar-sized area being struck and enflamed with pain as my right cheek.
"Mmmmphhh… mmphh… nm-hmmphhh," I moaned and sobbed while feeling more tears flow freely from the corners of my eyes to land on Miss Barb's fingers.
"Well, it's a good thing you chose it, then. You obviously know how to properly wield it," my mother said which brought out a good-natured agreement from Dita as well.
"Well, thank you, darling. Now why don't you show us again how well you can wield your paddle?" Angie said to my mother which elicited a delighted, affirmative reply.
"Hold on, ladies. I think you might want to see this first," Miss Barb said suddenly before nodding downward a little, as if she was indicating my small, rock-hard thingy. I couldn't believe it was still full given the fact that my butt still radiated warmly with stinging pain.
"Huh? What is it?" my mother began before coming around into my field of vision and looking directly at my thingy. Since my eyes were still forced to be tear-streaked slits, I could only hear what those cruel women were saying and was unable to make out any facial expressions; the tones of their voices were enough to tell me what those women were thinking and feeling.
"Oh my," my mother said in a low, slightly-amused tone of voice, "What do we have here? Have a look at this." Angie and Dita were motioned over, and my blurred vision was occupied by two more large dark spots of color after the other wooden torture instruments were set on one of the arm chairs. I knew that the women came over to look at me because traces of their perfumes wafted into my nostrils as they drew near.
I heard a laugh from Angie while Dita said, "Hnh hnn. What we have here is a slave that really likes being punished." And, just like that, one of my worst fears had come true: again, the evil women that were dominating me had misread my bodily response to the punishment they were exacting upon me. Or, maybe it's you who's misreading those responses, came a most disturbing thought from some recess of my mind. No… no, that was most certainly not it, for I despised the stinging, aching, and irritating pain that was coursing through my body. And, for that matter, what did Miss Barb see, anyway? Was she just looking at my hard thingy, or was something else happening?
"Mphh..m-hmphh… hmphh," I whimpered helplessly as my sobs tapered off, and I tried to question what those awful women were seeing.
"Hmm," my mother purred through, no doubt, smiling lips, "Hear that, ladies? Our little kitty wants to taste herself." This brought out delighted purrs of approval from my mother's friends and questioning "mmph" sounds from my hopelessly oppressed mouth. My mother put her wooden spoon on the couch cushion behind her and took her drink in her right hand so that her left was free. Miss Barb, meanwhile, released my mouth and slid her left hand to the back of my head to hold it so that she could grab my face and rudely squeeze my aching cheeks with her other hand.
"Ughh… nnuhh," I whimpered nervously as my sore, red-painted lips pursed and my lower jaw was pulled downward so that my mouth was slightly open. I was finally able to open my eyes, but I didn't much care for the lust-filled, confident looks that I was being given by the women abusing me.
Miss Barb's face came into focus just in time for me to see a look of surprised charm touch her gleaming eyes. "Wow! Dita, your makeup is still perfectly in place; and after all her crying and everything. That's just incredible," she exclaimed as she saw my mostly uncovered face.
"Hnh hnn, aww, Barb, that's very sweet of you. I'm pretty proud of that formula myself," Dita returned warmly. I had been thinking about how crazy those women were before my thoughts were rudely cut off by my mother who teased me in a lascivious voice.
"It is incredible," she said agreeing with her friends, "Now, how about we let our little pet taste her juices?" I suddenly gasped as I felt a silky fingertip pass over the small head of my thingy and gather some sort of fluid that had leaked out of it. What could that have been? And why did my thing respond to my mother's touch the way it did, throbbing intensely and practically begging for more attention?
"Nuh..ohh," I whimpered shallowly as my mother brought her left index finger up to my thin, pursed lips. I noticed that the pad of that finger was glossy and shone with some sort of clear, slimy-looking liquid. Gosh, had that come out of me when my mother touched my thing?
"Sh sh shh, it's okay," my mother cooed in a hushed voice as she slid her finger into my mouth until my lips were wrapped around her second knuckle.
"Mphh… mhmphh," I moaned in disgust and winced as the pad of her finger glided across my tongue and left whatever it was coated with on my taste buds. The cruel women around me laughed with mischievous glee as they observed my reaction. The taste of "myself" was gross -- it was kind of bitter, a little sour, a little salty, and musty; not at all the sort of thing that I desired to have enter my mouth. My mother moved her finger forward and back, gliding the pad of her finger over my tongue, a few times until she felt satisfied that there was no more of that stuff on it.
"Hnh hnn, there. Did that taste good?" my mother said teasingly as she pulled her finger past my lips. Before I had a chance to reply, Miss Barb grabbed my mouth with her big, strong right hand and plastered her palm over my thin lips. She, once again, gripped my aching cheeks with her thumb, which dug into my right cheekbone, and her splayed, hearty fingers which dug into the meat of my left one.
"Mmphhh… m-hmmphh," I sniveled into Miss Barb's tight-gripping hand as the woman around me laughed again at my helpless plight.
"Mhm hmm," Dita giggled, "You should give her some more."
Angie, apparently, thought that was a good idea. "Yeah," she said, "You could use her panties. She doesn't need to wear any with that skirt. It isn't even see-through."
Gulping down the last of her drink, my mother agreed with her friends and set her empty glass down on the bar before coming back over to and kneeling in front of me. She grabbed one of my ankles at a time and lifted my feet up so that she could slide the panties off of me. Standing, she held the panties in her left hand and smiled wickedly at me before moving them forward until they were touching my small member.
"Mmphh… mph… nmphh," I gasped a little and moaned helplessly into Miss Barb's big, right hand as the soft material of the panties stimulated my thingy which throbbed more than ever. I heard a few giggles come from the women around me, but they were a little different than before. They had a quality that seemed lustier and, frankly, more evil than the laughter they had produced earlier.
My mother then began to use the long, toned-lean fingers of her left hand to rub the panties along the shaft and over the ultra-sensitive head of my small thingy, thereby making it tingle with sensations of wanting. She especially paid attention to the area just under the head and made circling motions with her fingertips there in order to stimulate me. I couldn't help but produce the most pathetic-sounding moans into the thick hand plastered over my small mouth as my mother violated me with the panties she had forced me to wear.
"Oh, look at her. She already wants to cum," Angie said after taking a sip of her drink; it sounded like the last, for I heard heavy ice-clinking sounds as her glass came down from her mouth. I assumed that "cum" meant that nasty stuff that my mother had forced me to lick off of her finger… but I couldn't really hold that thought in my head for long, because the sensations I was feeling seemed to make me all cloudy inside. For a moment, I even forgot that Miss Barb had her strong, hearty hand clamped tighter than a vise over my mouth. I was quickly reminded of that, however, when the cruel woman gave my head a curt shake while bringing her mouth closer to my right ear.
"No!" Miss Barb hissed coldly, "You're not going to cum yet. You aren't going to cum until we give you permission." She emphasized the last of her words with another mean shake of my head which further irritated the sweat-dampened skin of my tender face.
"That's right, little lady. I'll tell you when to cum," my mother said as she paid more attention to the sensitive spot under the small head of my thingy.
"Mphh… m-hmphhh… nmph," I groaned into the hand keeping me quiet as I felt the sensations within me become stronger with each passing second. Was that what those awful women meant? Did those peaking sensations mean that I was going to "cum" soon?
Still rubbing the panties on my member (over my shaft at that point), my mother leaned forward a little and said, "No. I don't care if you want to cum yet. You'll keep it in you until I say otherwise."
"Mmmmphhhh… .m-hmphh….mmhhh," I moaned pleadingly into Miss Barb's tight-gagging hand squeezing my face. I couldn't believe how I was acting; I was practically begging for my mother to allow me some sort of release even though I hated what she did to me. I just wanted it to end, and I knew that it would if those wicked women would only let me cum. I breathed heavily and felt sweat beading along the upper edge of my forehead as my mother slowed her stroking motions and focused on teasing the underside of my member's head again.
"Hnh hnn, look how flushed her face is," Miss Barb commented which prompted Dita to tease me as well.
"Aw, she just wants to cum so badly," Dita said through slightly pursed lips before taking a swallow of her drink. Miss Barb's right hand had grown quite warm and, as I mentioned, slightly damp with sweat that seemed to create an air-tight seal over my poor mouth and prevented me from making any noise.
"Hmm, I don't know," my mother said as if considering whether she was going to end that session of torture or not, "What do you think, Jamie? Should I let my little kitty cum on our first date?" She slid the panties off of my small, pulsating thingy and just looked at my scared, helpless eyes for a moment. Enjoying herself immensely, my mother flashed me a deep, lusty gaze as I struggled to compose myself.
"M-ghmmphhh… .mmphh… m-hmphh," I grunted as I swallowed hard and fought to fill my lungs with partially-obscured nostrils that were blocked by the edge of Miss Barb's cruel hand. My little thingy felt as if it was more swollen than at any other point in time and seemed to beg for release.My mother's evil friends giggled mischievously as the dominant woman slid the panties back onto my member and began teasing the area under my head with slow, circular strokes.
"Oh, you're a cruel one, Marion," Dita teased to which my mother replied with mock incredulity.
"What? I'm going to let her cum. Just, not quite yet," my mother said teasingly.
"Mmmphhh… mhmphh… ghmphh," I moaned pleadingly and groaned again as my small thing began to feel as if it was radiating with heat.
"Well," my mother said with mock reluctance, "I guess it's been long enough. Come on, it's okay. Cum for me. You can do it." Breathing heavily, I felt those sensations within me coming to a penultimate point after only a few more seconds of my mother's incessant teasing. Then, it was if I had bursted -- legs quivering, I felt more of that warm, sticky stuff shoot out of my small thingy as my mother slowed her stroking motions even more and milked every last drop out of me. While my mother's friends laughed wickedly in approval, teasing me with a remark or two about me being a "good little pet", I groaned and whimpered into Miss Barb's big right hand which was squeezing my mouth and lower face more tightly than ever before. She had pressed her palm back into my mouth with extra force as I came so that I wouldn't be able to make any noise whatsoever. Indeed, only barely-audible grunting noises emanated from my heavily-oppressed mouth as the sensations within me reached a climax. The problem was that my abused lips had been cruelly pressed back into my teeth which caused both to ache considerably.
"Hmm, good girl. Come on, give me all of it. I want every last drop," my mother said as my knees stopped quivering.
"Mphh… mhmphh," I whimpered in pain as I tried to move my head so that Miss Barb would stop hurting my mouth with her big right hand.
"Oh, what? Is that too tight, little girl?" the evil blone teased cruelly. See? She knew that she was putting too much pressure on my mouth and face, but she did it anyway.
Moving the panties off of my small thing, my mother looked me square in my squinted eyes which were that way because of the pressure Miss Barb was exerting onto my face. "Well, if she wants her mouth free so badly, she'll have to do something for us, now won't she? Here, Barb, open her mouth, will ya?" my mother said.
Miss Barb started to sigh in disappointment before she perked up excitedly. "Ah, I know what you have in mind," she said to my mother and produced an evil little laugh. She removed her hand from my mouth and slid it down my face until she was in a position to hook her thumb and fingertips into my jaw. Pulling downward, the cruel woman forced my sore lips apart while squeezing my cheeks.
"Nmphh… nmaahh… uh-mmphhhh….m-hmphh," I moaned as Miss Barb slid her hand off of my mouth and yanked my lips apart; I began to moan more through an open mouth before my mother proceeded to cram the panties she was holding past my throbbing lips. To my horror, the cum-soaked crotch of those panties was forced to the center of my tongue, and I produced a couple of disgusted whines as more of the sour, tangy, salty flavors of the nasty stuff that came out of me overwhelmed my taste buds. Wincing and whining, I tried to keep my sanity as my mother used the first two fingers of her left hand to stuff the rest of the panty material into my mouth. I could tell that it wouldn't completely fill my mouth, but it would come close.
"There you go. Suck on those for a little while," my mother said while laughing a bit. I breathed heavily and looked around with wide, nervous eyes at the cruel women crowded around me as my mouth was still being forced open.
I noticed Dita lean forward a bit so that she could look into my agape, panty-filled mouth. "Hmm, I think that could use a little more stuffing, don't you?" the dominant woman asked my mother.
"You know, I was thinking the same thing," my mother replied and, to my horror, slid her hands up her dress and bent a little so that she could slide her own panties off. Stepping out of them, my mother then brought the white, lace, adult-woman panties to my face and showed me the crotch which had a large damp spot on it.
"Oh, Marion, I know how you feel. I'm leaking like a sieve down there," Angie said from behind me, but I didn't pay much attention, for I was trying to cope with the flavors in my mouth and the gross smells coming from my mother's panties. Why were they damp? It didn't smell like pee; it smelled mustier, warmer, and not as salty. In fact, it smelled sweet in a way… sweet and a little salty.
"Mhh… mmhhh," I whimpered nervously as my mother held her panties before my face and enjoyed the emotion that I was displaying with my eyes. Then, she brought them forward, crotch first, and shoved them into my mouth until she couldn't anymore.
"Mmmphhh… mphh… m-hmphh," I moaned and sobbed as my mother used the first two fingers of her right hand to poke and prod the material quickly into my mouth. I felt the panties she forced me to wear move toward the back of my tongue and into the rear portions of my bulged cheeks. The rest of the space in my mouth was occupied by my mother's underwear whose smells pervaded my nostrils while the material was forced past my lips.
"Mphh… ahmphh… c-fh..c-fh… m-hmmphhh," came pathetic moans and a couple of coughing sounds from my overstuffed mouth as I tried to adjust to the amount of fabric occupying it, soaking up all of my saliva, and pinning my tongue down.
"Oo, Dita, get the scarf," Angie said excitedly from behind me as she watched my mother stuffing the last of her thick panties into my mouth.
"Oh, right. I almost forgot," the dominant Dita said as she hurried around my mother to retrieve the scarf. She moved behind me then and, as my mother ceased poking at the material stuffing my mouth, reached over my head so that she could pull the middle of the scarf over my poor lips.
"Mmphh… m-hmphh," I whimpered and produced a horribly-muffled sob as feelings of hopelessness filled me. When that scarf was pulled over my mouth and tied off in a strict double-knot on the back of my head, I felt utter helplessness wash over me and tighten the knot of nervousness in my stomach. Once the scarf was secured, Miss Barb released her hold of the back of my neck and spun me around before pulling me back toward her right side so that everyone could see me. Bound, efficiently gagged, and naked from the waist down, I looked up with scared, nervous eyes at the cruel women standing around me as they grinned evilly at me and giggled with delight.
"Oh, yes! That's just perfect," Dita said as she clasped her big, lean hands together in front of her chest. My mother and Miss Barb were grinning broadly like sharks as they observed my gagged mouth and flushed face, and Angie was struggling to stay composed. She was staring at me intensely with breathless fascination and swallowed hard as she took-in the sight before her. Miss Barb kept a hold of my shoulders in order to ensure that I didn't go anywhere, which was a good thing, because I really wanted to struggle at that point. The gag was very uncomfortable, since it forced me mouth to stay open, and I shook my head and worked my lower jaw to try and be rid of it. I was terrified to find out that I couldn't move my lower jaw at all, because of the amount of panty material filling every crevice of my mouth, and shaking my head didn't do anything but warrant a harsh command from my mother who told me to stay still. I looked up at her and produced an almost-silent whimper while taking in a nervous breath through my nostrils that were partially obscured by the material of the scarf. The cotton band of fabric was quite wide and covered my lower face from the underside of my nose to the underside of my chin. It was tied so tightly over my mouth that I could barely make a sound, and I felt my upper cheeks bulging from the pressure of the gag. I instinctively pulled on the rope around my glove-covered wrists and winced as I felt it bite irritatingly into my skin again.
"Angie?" my mother began with a slight giggle as she looked at Angie, "You alright over there?" She obviously knew what her wicked friend was experiencing.
"Uhh…
"Oh, please, you're practically drooling over there," my mother returned which made Dita and Miss Barb giggle a little.
"I am. At least, one part of me is," Angie said heavily in a low, smooth voice, "Like I said, I'm leakin' like a sieve."
"Well, I was hoping to save that sort of thing for later and get some more training in, so try and pull yourself together," my mother said which seemed to make Angie stand up straighter and compose herself; she also took her gaze off of me for the first time in several minutes.
"Alright, but you have to at least put her skirt back on. I won't last long if I have to see her like she is now," Angie said.
"Oh, I agree," Dita said matter-of-factly before Miss Barb voiced a brief complaint about how much of a shame it was that my private places had to be covered.
Retrieving the skirt and kneeling in front of me, my mother said, "Yeah, but we'll see much more of her after dinner. Wouldn't it be nicer for us if we waited? I mean, think how much more fun we'll have if we tease ourselves, and our pet, for a few hours before we play." The cruel women still standing around me like a pack of hungry she-wolves agreed with my mother's logic.
"Yeah, hell," Dita said with a giggle, "We'll be like Angie is now by the time the evening rolls around." With the skirt properly secured about my waist once again, my mother stood and stared down her nose at me.
"So, uh, what other training did you have in mind, dear?" Miss Barb asked my mother.
Without taking her eyes off of me, my crazy mother said, "Heels. She has to be trained how to wear heels like a proper lady."
"Oo, good idea. Give her a taste of her own medicine," Angie said, and I glanced over at her with wide, nervous eyes so that I could give her a questioning look. To what "medicine" was she referring? Did it have something to do with me being male?
"What? You don't know what she means?" my mother asked condescendingly which made me direct my confused gaze to her again.
"Nmphh… mmhh," I whimpered into my horrible gag as I briefly shook my head.
"God, all you men are the same," my mother scoffed, "You want us women to wear heels and show off our legs in the most uncomfortable way imaginable while you and your filthy kind get to wear actual shoes that let you walk naturally. Well, guess what? You get to experience that yourself. Maybe it'll teach you to think twice before expecting women to wear those God-awful things."
"Mphh..mph….m-hmh," I whimpered nervously as my mother spat her sermon at me while her wicked friends looked on. My mother's eyes were filled with cold fire for a moment before Dita spoke up which seemed to bring her back into reality.
"Mhm, that's right. I'll get those heels I ordered. What color do you want?" Dita asked my mother which made me "mmph" questioningly. She ordered heels for me? And in various colors? That was simply unbelievable; my mother must have been busier than I thought the day after my father came back, what with having packages overnighted and stuff by her evil friends.
Spreading her lips into a shark-like grin before looking at her dark-haired friend, my mother said, "Mm, I hadn't thought about that. Considering what she's wearing, let's go with the white ones."
"White heels, got it. Oh, and feel free to take your shoes off, ladies. You don't have to keep them on on my account," Dita said while heading out of the living room and down the hall to, presumably, her bedroom.
"Ugh, what a fantastic idea," Miss Barb sighed before sitting down on the couch and sliding off her shoes. Angie and my mother followed suit and put their shoes by the front door which revealed the ladies' toned feet.
"Oh, that's so much better," Angie said as she wiggled her long toes in the plush carpet of Dita's living room.
Dita returned not a moment later with more than just heels in her hand; she came padding down the hall in her bare feet holding a somewhat small pair of white heels that looked like a lesser, whiter version of my mother's shoes. She also held a bundle of white rope that appeared to be thick, white cord. "One pair of heels," Dita said as she handed the shoes to my mother, "And I thought that we could tie her up a little more securely now that we're in private." My nervous eyes locked onto the shoes in my mother's big, strong hands as Dita began to unfurl the bundle of rope.
"Good idea. You tie her up and I'll put the shoes on her," my mother said before her other evil friends came over to us.
"And we'll help too. I'll hold onto her right arm. Barb, you want to take her left?" Angie said.
"Of course. We can't have her trying to get away, can we?" Miss Barb replied.
My mother had already knelt in front of me and was flashing me another one of her shark-like grins. "No..no we can't," she said in a low, dominant-sounding voice before setting the shoes on the floor in front of me. Those cruel women made quick work of further humiliating and punishing me. The flats that I had been forced to wear were slid off of my feet, one at a time, before the white heels replaced them. They were the most uncomfortable things that I had ever worn in my life. I immediately felt aches running up and down the bottoms of my feet, from the soles to the heels, and sharp pain overwhelmed my small, sock-covered toes which were forced to jam together at the tips of the shoes even though they were rounded and semi-circular. Maintaining my balance was quite the chore due to the high heels which felt as if they were at least three inches long.
"Woah, careful," my mother said as she took a hold of the sides of my torso and smiled evilly at me, "See? Not so nice, are they? Now, imagine wearing them for years and years."
"Mphh… mwmph," I moaned nervously as I felt the pain in my feet and my upset balance. Not only was there the experience of the shoes to deal with, but the fact that my wrists and arms were being secured more harshly and effectively than before. My wrists had been untied, and Angie and Miss Barb had taken firm, pinching grips of my arms so that Dita could expertly bind me again. The glove-covered surfaces of my wrists were forced to touch as my hands were brought together so that Dita could wrap rope around them individually, at first, before wrapping and tying more rope around both of them. Using separate pieces of rope, she repeated a similar procedure above and below my elbows which forced my arms to be together and my shoulders to arch back. I whimpered helplessly into the gag fully occupying my mouth as the rope dug into my skin and immobilized my hands and arms.
"Okay, that should do it," Dita said before standing up behind me and moving around so that she could get a view of my profile.
"Oh, my, she looks absolutely fantastic like that," Miss Barb said as she looked me up and down, eyeing my heels and the new way in which I was tied up.
"Mmmphhh… mphh..hmphhh," came a series of quivering, barely-audible moans from my heavily-gagged mouth as my mother removed her hands from my sides. I felt myself sway a little, and my ankles shook a bit as I tried to get used to standing in those heels on the plush carpet.
"Oh, what's the matter, my pet? Is it hard to stand in those things?" my mother teased which made me moan nervously and nod my head a bit. That elicited delighted laughter from the cruel women dominating me and snide remarks about how cute and helpless I was.
"Hell, this is nothing, Jamie. You haven't even walked in those things yet, and you're already balking about standing in them," Angie chided as my mother stood up straight and eyed me up and down.
"Well, that's why we're here -- to help spur her along so she can learn to walk in her new, favorite shoes," my mother said and reached behind her to retrieve a wooden spoon from the armchair.
"Oo, I see where this is going. Very nice," Dita said approvingly as she retrieved another wooden spoon. Miss Barb and Angie equipped themselves, and I noticed the tall, dominant woman chose her spatula again. What in the world was going on -- more spanking? If so, I really hoped not considering the fact that my butt still felt quite tender.
"Mphh… nmph… mphh," I whimpered nervously into the tight gag in and around my mouth as those cruel women looked at me mischievously and menacingly as they brandished their instruments of torture. What a long afternoon it was turning out to be.
"Shut up and listen," my mother commanded, at which time I ceased mewling like a frightened kitten, "You're going to learn to walk in those things whether you like it or not, and you're going to start right now by walking around the room. Make sure you keep your back straight and your chest out, and try to look like you're enjoying yourself. If you don't, you'll get a nice, hard smack on that cute little ass of yours." I looked at the crazy woman that I barely recognized anymore and took in the words that she said. I wasn't going to even begin to think about how to look like I was enjoying myself; that just wasn't possible. Keeping my chest out wouldn't be hard considering my shoulders were pulled back by the bonds immobilizing my arms. That said, keeping my back straight would be a chore, because I instinctively wanted to bend a little due to the fact that, if I straightened up, I couldn't breathe as easily.
"Come on, you can do it. Walk over to Angie and circle around to the couch so that you can walk back to me," my mother said with an irked tone of voice.
"Mphh… mmmhh," came more nervous moans from my pathetic form as I took a tentative step forward with my right foot. I felt my ankle wobble as I put weight on that foot and winced as the pain in the sole of that foot intensified from the pressure being put on it. After all, I could hardly put weight on my heels, for I would surely fall over. "Mphh… hmphhh… m-hmmphh," I whimpered quiveringly and breathed heavily through my nostrils as I looked up helplessly at my mother.
"Oh, for crying out loud," my mother huffed and walked around until she was behind me, "Will you get a fucking move on?"
Smack! "Mmmphhh… m-hmmphh… nmmhh," I squealed in surprised pain into my tight gag as my mother struck my tender, right butt cheek with her wooden spoon. Even though my skirt covered me down there, I still felt intense, fiery pain shoot through me. I quickly took a step forward with my left foot and followed it with another step of my right. Feeling my ankles wobble unsteadily, I fought to keep myself composed and upright while sobbing nervously into my gag.
"Ooo, that got her moving, didn't it?" Angie giggled as Miss Barb laughed heartily. Dita was already getting deeper into her role as one of my "trainers" and only wore a small, evil-looking smile on her red lips. I was nearing her and dreaded the fact that I actually had to make a turn as I passed her so that I could walk in the direction of Angie before turning around near the television set.
"Ah ah, keep that back straight, damn it," Dita hissed before wielding her wooden spoon in her left hand and striking my tender left butt cheek with it. Smack!
"Mmmmphhh… m-hmphh… m-hmmhhh," I squealed again and sobbed heartily into the tight gag that reduced every sound I tried to make to barely-audible "mmphs". Hot, stressed tears began to well-up in my eyes as I took a quivering step past the dominant Dita and headed in Angie's direction. I slowed my pace a little so that I could concentrate on keeping my back straight but immediately felt the consequences of doing so. My lungs felt as if pressure had been put on them and, also, the scarf tightened around my lips as I straightened my head -- both of those things made breathing more of a chore.
"Ngmphh… mmphh… m-hmphh," I gulped and choked back a sob as I made my way toward Angie who was beaming down at me with a broad grin. She giggled a little as she saw the way that my ankles wobbled unsteadily with every tentative step that I took.
"Hnh hnn, good girl," that tall, cruel Angie said in a low, condescending voice, "That's it. Come on."
"Mmphh… mhh… mphhh," I moaned while breathing heavily in anticipation of something horrible happening to me as I neared Angie. Nothing happened, though, which made me really nervous as I passed her, making my way past the television she was standing in front of. I looked back at her as I took my first unsteady step past her towering frame and noticed that she was still wearing that awful grin on her face. As soon as I turned my head again to look forward, I heard Angie move behind me, and, before I knew it, my world was overwhelmed by pain. She took a step to her left and, wielding her wooden spatula in her big, gloved, right hand, smacked me hard on my extra-tender, very-sore right butt cheek.
"Mmmmphhh… m-hm-hmmphhh… mmphh," I screamed into my overtight gag as fiery, stinging pain shot through my entire right cheek which seemed to make my entire body wince. Angie spanked me as I was raising my right, heeled foot to take another step forward, and, since my foot was in mid-air, I curled my right leg in response to the pain of the strike. I also bent my torso and instinctively bent my left leg as well, for that's how great the pain was and how much I was surprised. As a result, my left foot wobbled too much to the left, and I crumpled to the floor while sobbing into my gag. "Mmmmphhh… .m-hm-hmphh," came stifled, muffled sobs from my pathetic form as I curled myself up in response to the pain. Not only was the pain awful, but I was also really frustrated; why the heck was all that happening to me? It wasn't fair at all…
"Oh, I don't think so, little lady," Angie said and dropped her paddle onto the carpeted floor by the television set. She grabbed my bound, upper arms and hauled me to an unstable standing position so that she could pull me back into her. "I'm adding a new rule to our game: If you fall, you're going to be smothered," Angie said, bending down a little so that she could bring her mouth closer to my left ear.
"Mphh… nm-hmphh… mgh-phh… ph," I whimpered sobbingly before Angie brought her big, gloved right hand around my head and roughly grabbed my hopelessly-gagged mouth, cutting off my sobs and ensnaring my poor nose within its folds. Her intention was to smother me more than handgag and smother me, so she took a pinching hold of my small nose between her thumb and index finger while her broad palm clamped over my scarf-covered lips and her other long fingers wrapped around my left cheek. I immediately started to struggle when I felt my nose being closed off, but Angie was quick to respond by releasing my bound arms completely and putting her large, left hand under my lower jaw so that she could immobilize my head.
Well, you'd think that the cruel woman had just performed a miracle or something, because her equally-cruel friends cheered on approvingly, giggling in delight and making snide remarks about how great Angie's new "rule" was and how it was about time that I was properly smothered.
"Maybe that'll teach you a lesson," came a cold remark from Miss Barb while Dita and my mother voiced similar jeers. I couldn't see the faces of those women, for my teary eyes were forced to squint from the pressure being exerted onto my face by Angie's much-too-tightly-gripping hand. I was glad given the fact that it was bad enough just hearing the remarks of those women. The feelings of frustration and humiliation increased in intensity upon knowing that the evil women that were dominating me were just pleased as peaches about how Angie was treating me.
And then, Angie released my nose and stepped away from me completely, standing next to the television set again and picking up her wooden spatula. "Mmhhhhh… hmmphhh… mmphh," I gasped through my sore nostrils and felt a smidgen of relief as perfume- and alcohol-scented air rushed into my starved lungs. The smothering session must have lasted less than a minute, but it was the longest interval of time that I had ever experienced; it was odd how time seemed to slow down when one was deprived of air. I stood there for a second and gasped for air, but I saw little reprieve from those horrible women.
"Come on! Keep moving. You aren't even close to being done yet," Angie said from behind me, and I felt her large, bare, right foot connect with the middle of my butt as she playfully, yet firmly, kicked me as a form of motivation.
"Mmphh," I squeaked into my gag and took a lurching step forward in order to steady myself. I produced a few more pathetic, sobbing moans and felt fresh tears slide down my upper cheeks as I continued to walk around the path that those women had dictated. Turning left at the desk with the typewriter on it, I looked at Miss Barb with scared, tear-filled eyes as I made my way to her. Like Angie, she was smiling down at me and brandishing her wooden spoon confidently in her hearty hands.
"I thought I told you to keep your back straight," came another jeering command from Dita off to my left across the room.
"Yeah, what do you think you are? Some whore who can just walk however she wants to?" my mother followed with a jeer of her own.
"Mphh… m-hmphh… nmph," I whimpered and sobbed as I fought to keep my back straight and my chest out. Nearing Miss Barb, I, once again, marveled at how much of a chore breathing was due to the pressure on my lungs from my aching, bound arms, my partially-clogged nostrils, and the gag over my mouth.
"Hnh hnn, that's right," Miss Barb said as I started to pass her, "How dare you try to disobey your mistresses like that." I looked at her over my right shoulder as I took a tentative step past her and winced expectantly as I saw her upper right arm move. She brought the wooden spoon in her right hand back toward her left and whacked my sensitive, left butt cheek as I passed her.
"Mmmmphhh… m-hmmphh… mmph," I shrieked into my tight gag as more fiery, stinging pain shot through my body. I instinctively pulled against the rope immobilizing my arms and wrists and felt the rope bite into my skin when I did; that only frustrated me more and made me want to cry out for help. I was in desperate need of rescuing from those horrible women.
Tears flowing out of my eyes to be absorbed by the scarf over my mouth, I trudged along on shaky, unsteady legs and did my best to turn left again so that I could head back toward my mother. "Mph..nmph… m-hmphh," I sobbed as I approached my mother's smiling form; it was a smile that a mother would wear after punishing her child under normal circumstances.
"See?" my mother said as she held out her left hand to me, "That wasn't so bad, was it? Stand here for a minute. It's okay." I looked at her for a moment, not trusting her word in the least, but stood still by her left side so that she wouldn't become unnecessarily angry with me. She put her big, soft, left hand on the back of my neck as I stood up straight as best as I could. I fought to keep my ankles from wobbling, because, again, my mother might get angry. "So, what do you think of your new footwear?" the crazy, evil woman asked me. I looked up at her with wide, tear-streaked eyes as a few more, heavily-muffled sobs hitched out of me.
"H-mphh… m-hm-hmmphhh… mph," I whimpered and marvelled at how much I sounded like a scared, little girl.
"Oh, so you don't like them? Really?" my mother continued patronizingly and gave me a look that just screamed "crazy".
"Nm-hmphh… mphh… mhh," I sobbed pleadingly into my gag and shook my head so that I could respond the only way that I could.
My mother tossed her wooden spoon onto the armchair behind her and reached up with her right hand to grab my gagged face. Squeezing my cheeks, she brought her face inches from mine and said, "Well, that's just a fucking shame, isn't it? I've got news for you, my little pet. You're going to wear those heels anytime you're in public, and you're going to like it," she practically growled into my face.
"Mmphh… mph… mph," I whimpered nervously as that cruel woman assaulted me with more bad news. I winced a little as I felt the scarf tighten around my lips a little more as a result of my face being squeezed. I also winced because of the pain that I felt from my mother's red-nailed fingertips digging into the scarf-covered skin of my cheeks. I was so scared for a moment that, if I had to pee, I would ahve wet myself.
"Now," she continued as she released my face and straightened herself again, placing her big, right hand on her hip and continuing to look down at me with an arrogant sense of confident ownership, "You're still a little too unsteady in those heels for my taste, so you're going to do a few more laps for us."
"Mmphh… nmhmph… mmphh," I blubbered pleadingly into my gag as dread filled my helpless form.
"Shut up," my mother commanded and slapped me on the back of the head before replacing her left hand on the back of my neck, "Don't interrupt me when I'm speaking." I sobbed in surprise at the stinging force of the blow which rocked my head forward a little and caused me to shudder as a way of dealing with the pain. "As I was saying, I am thinking about being nice and giving you a choice. You can either start your next lap, or, you can have a two-minute break," my mother said. I felt a twinge of hope within me at the thought of any reprieve from the "punishment" those awful women were exerting. "But, during that break, you'll be smothered off and on until it's time for your next lap to start," my mother continued, adding a clincher that I was not surprised to hear.
"Mmphhh… m-hmphh… mphh," I whimpered as I tried to calm myself a little while deciding on my fate. Did I continue with my "laps" and experience more spankings on my butt which was more sensitive than ever at that point? Or, did I take a "break" and experience more of that awful hand-smothering that those women seemed to be so fond of?
"Come on, decide already. If you want to start your next lap, then go. If not, kneel down and prepare for a good smothering," my mother said with a slightly irked tone of voice that told me that I had better decide quickly. If I took a break, that meant that I wouldn't get through the laps as quickly, and that particular bout of punishment would have been prolonged. If I didn't take a break, I would have to face the next bout of punishment sooner, which might have been worse for me. Well, my situation was pretty intolerable then, and I wanted to get it over with as soon as possible. Choosing to start my next "lap" past those cruel women, I looked ahead at Dita's face and then at the floor as stepped forward with my left foot.
"Ha! I knew she wouldn't want a break," Angie said from behind the woman I was walking toward.
I produced a shaky, nervous whimper as I stepped forward with my right, heeled foot and wondered why my mother had not chided me in some way. That was because the wicked woman was planning something else. As soon as I was about to take a second step, my mother reached around my head and quickly clamped her big, soft right hand tight over my mouth and yanked me backward.
"Mmphh… mph-ghmphh," came a surprised moan from my oppressed mouth as my back connected with my mother's body. I was going to whimper some more, because her grip of my heavily-gagged mouth was tight enough to cause my face to ache, but I didn't have the chance. When my body met hers, my mother mashed her thumb down over the bridge of my nose and forced my nostrils into the upper edge of her palm. Fearing that my sanity would be lost from all of that mistreatment, I desperately tried to struggle within my mother's grasp. Sadly, I found that I couldn't, for my mother had taken a firm hold of my bound arms with her other hand. It was awful; just absolutely awful. I couldn't move my head at all due to the fierceness with which my mother was holding my mouth. She dug her fingers into my left cheek and mashed my separated lips into my teeth. I also felt the scarf material keeping the used panties in my mouth being pressed more tightly over my lips as it became trapped between them and my mother's palm.
"Ah ah ahh," my mother began as she pulled me swiftly and firmly back into her, pinning the back of my head against her lower chest, "Not so fast, little lady. I've changed my mind. I think you do need a nice, healthy smother-break after all." "Mphh… phhh… ghmph," came a few gargled, barely-audible whimpers from me as I tried to express how desperately I needed air.
"Oo, good idea. Come on, Jamie, stop struggling. It'll be good for you," Miss Barb said while coming toward me. My mother's other evil friends were gathering around as well.
"We can each take turns. I want to smother her next," Dita said as she moved closer to me, as if she just couldn't wait to get her hands on me again.
"Hey, why do you get to smother her next?" Angie asked teasingly.
"Because you already smothered her. You and Barb both did. You two just couldn't wait to get your hands on him, could you?" Dita shot back but in a friendly, chiding manner.
"You know us all too well," Miss Barb said, "Fine, you can go next. If Marion ever lets her go, that is."
"Mph… mphh," I whimpered helplessly as I felt the fire in my lungs burning more passionately than ever before. It had been several, treacherous seconds since I had been able to breathe, and it was high time that my mother let me go.
"Oh, alright, fine. It wouldn't be much fun if she passed out anyway," my wicked mother said before releasing my mouth and nose. Glorious air rushed into my nostrils as I greedily gasped for air while almost choking on the fat wad of panty material in my mouth.
"Mmmphhh… m-hmphh… mmhh," I whined into my thick, tight gag as I tried to struggle within my mother's grasp. I was utterly stressed at that point, and I desperately wanted to be free of big, female hands. I would have struggled more successfully had my ankles not been wobbling from the horrid shoes that I had been forced to wear. Also, my mother was gripping my arms far too tightly for me to make any progress.
"Oh, there we go. Perfect. Keep her head right there," Dita said then as she saw that my head was rendered immobile.
"Mmphh… mph… nm-hmphh," I whimpered helplessly as I saw Dita raise her large, pale, inverted left hand and bring it toward my face. Wearing a cruel smile on her red lips, Dita moved her hand forward until it was about three inches from my gagged mouth. Then, she shot her hand forward and clamped her hand squarely over my lower face so that her palm covered it from the bottom of my chin to the tip of my nose. "Mphh… mph… ghmphh," I whimpered in pain as I felt my poor nose being pressed into my face and squeezed shut within the silky, warm folds of the upper portion of Dita's palm. Dita also hooked her thumb under my chin and pressed her long fingers firmly into my left cheek in order to ensure that her smothering hold of me was as effective as possible.
"Hnh hnn, what a good look for you, my dear," Dita said as my mother removed her hand from my lower jaw so that Dita could hook her thumb under my chin.
"Mm, I agree. A nice, big hand over that pathetic, gagged mouth. What could be better?" my mother said approvingly from above me somewhere. I imagined that she was looking down at me, but it didn't matter. I was very much preoccupied with Dita's huge-seeming hand over my scarf-covered mouth and lower face. The fact that the upper portion of her palm was pressed over my nose meant that I had to inhale the warm, perfume-laced scent of that hand if I managed to get one of my nostrils open. With her other hand on her hip, Dita watched my squinted, teary eyes as I attempted to cope with the feeling of being smothered by her.
"Come on, Dita, let go already. I want a turn with her. I'm practically drooling over here," Angie said and wrung her gargantuan, gloved hands in front of her as if she was warming them up for a smother session.
"You've handgagged her quite a bit today, so you just be patient over there," Dita replied before giving my gagged mouth and lower face an extra-extra-firm squeeze.
"Oh, but I can barely stand still," Angie whined playfully to her friend who gave her a calm, confident look while keeping her hand plastered over my mouth and lower face.
"Okay, then go get a chair from my kitchen table and bring it in here so we can tie Jamie to it while we smother her. Then she really won't be able to go anywhere," Dita said and released my face so that I could finally breathe.
"Mmmphhhh… hmmmhh," I gasped gratefully and inhaled as much air as I possibly could so that my starved lungs could be refilled. "Mmphhh… m-hm-hmphhh… m-hmphh," came pitiful, barely-audible sobs from my gagged mouth as I felt stressed irritation pervade my body. My mother, however, held onto my bound, aching arms very tightly so that I couldn't go anywhere. Every time I flexed my arms and tried to struggle, I felt the rope dig into my arms and cause mild, burning pain to shoot through me as my aching muscles reminded me of the position that they had been in. Even my jaw was aching from being forced down by the thick wad of gross, used panties. The nasty taste of my cum still lingered on my tongue as my cruel mistresses playfully bantered back and forth.
"I'll get a chair, but we should probably keep it in the kitchen so that no one walking by your windows will see what we're doing," Angie said while briefly glancing at my helpless form.
"Good idea. I'll get some more rope, if you have it," Miss Barb said.
"Of course I have more. It's in the bedroom on the bed. I got some out earlier this morning, actually," Dita replied before looking at my mother. "What do you think?" she then asked my mother.
"Sounds good to me," said my mother, and I could tell that she was smiling broadly. "Let's get this naughty little girl strapped down," she continued which seemed to be some sort of a signal. Miss Barb then left our little circle and went to Dita's bedroom to fetch more rope, and Angie went to the kitchen and pulled a chair away from the dining table. The sound of the feet scraping across the kitchen floor as the chair was turned to face the threshold filled me with the utmost dread. Dita moved toward the kitchen then, and my mother clamped her big, right hand over my gagged mouth before forcing me along behind Dita. Whimpering and sobbing helplessly, I felt a tight knot of fear blossom in my stomach and turn into a thousand butterflies as I was forced toward the kitchen. What time was it? How much more punishment had I endured at that point? It didn't matter, for I knew within me that much, much more was to come.
Did you enjoy this story?
Give it a thumbs up!
Click the icon.
