Lisa's Fat Saggy Tit Bags - Chapter 2 Lisa Visits Her Parents
I waited at the curb and watched in the mirror as Master stood in front of the
airport. I noticed Him eyeing a gorgeous, tall blonde in a leather miniskirt
and high heels, and became immediately jealous. That lasted for a few seconds
until some guy behind me honked his horn to get me to move. "Stupid slut" I
said to myself as I pulled into traffic. "He's your Master, and if He wants to
look at, talk to or even fuck another woman it's His right to do so. You're
just a stupid, fat cow that doesn't have any say in what He does."
I began the drive out of the airport, and onto the interstate that would take me
back to my parent's home. It was last Christmas, almost 6 months now since I
had last been home, shortly before Master came back into my life as my Master.
As I made the turn onto the interstate I began to think back on the chance email
that had brought the two of us back together, and made such a huge impact in
both our lives. Back when I was in college Master and I had met through some
mutual friends, although He was just John then. Even though He was eight years
older than I was, I found Him very interesting, funny, and very sexy, at least
to my 19 year old virgin eyes. He was the strong silent type, and I quickly
found myself attracted to Him. We began to date, and several weeks later He
took my cherry on a mattress laid on the floor of my roommate's bedroom. Not
the most romantic of places, but a wonderful night I will always remember. We
began to date regularly, and I spent many nights at His apartment as He taught
me so much about sex, although we never explored the realm of S&M in any way.
He has since explained that with so many mutual friends and no sign from me of a
submissive streak that He didn't want to chance ruining His reputation with me
blurting out to His friends that He was some kind of sadistic freak. If I had
only known how much I would have enjoyed submitting to Him, we wouldn't have had
so many wasted years.
Although the sex was great, and we got along in so many other ways, I was still
so young, and my college friends convinced me I shouldn't be stuck with some
"old guy" (gee, he was only 27),so I eventually broke off our relationship. I
guess they were the first to exploit my submissive streak, and that's something
that Master tucked away for later use. We stayed friends for a while, but then
He moved away for a new job, and I graduated and struck out to begin my own
career, and so we lost contact. There was only one of our original group of
shared friends that I stayed in touch with. She would send out mass emails with
jokes, and one day He noticed my address among the list of people she had sent
something to. He contacted me via email, with a simple "Hi", and we began to
correspond. That quickly grew to phone calls and casual dinners and some
weekend outings. In the years that we had been apart I hadn't dated anyone, and
any kind of attention from Him was very welcome. Master however, had been
married and was currently in the middle of getting a divorce. He did seem
interested in me, and there was lots of hugs and other non sexual contact but He
never tried to take me to bed. Part of me figured that it was because of the
divorce, and that He was a little gun shy. However, I have had a major
self-esteem problem my entire life because of the way I look, and a big part of
me figured that He didn't try anything because I was fat and ugly. Thinking
back to when we broke up, my mind came to the conclusion that the reason He
didn't try to fight my decision was for the same reason, He just wasn't
interested in a fat stinking cow like myself.
The first exit from the interstate was coming up, and I knew that I had orders
to follow, so I prepared to exit the highway. As I looked over to see if it was
clear to change lanes, I realized that while I was daydreaming about how Master
and I got together a number of cars had passed me, without me trying to make eye
contact with them followed by a smile and a wave. Damn, only 10 minutes since I
dropped Him off, and I was already going to have to report on failing to follow
His orders. I changed lanes, and then looked to the left as the car that had
been behind me passed me, and the young couple inside looked my way as they did.
They were clearly shocked by my appearance with my smudged makeup all over my
face, and were even more shocked when I gave them a big smile and wave. The
wife in the passenger seat smacked her husband as he nearly drove off the road
while looking at me. I laughed as I took the exit, thinking of the pain I would
be in if I had smacked Master on the arm like that.
This exit took me to a fairly busy road, one of those built up areas on the edge
of town, with lots of fast food places, a couple of strip malls and some new car
dealerships. Master had ordered me to stop on the shoulder, but this road was
still too urban and didn't have shoulders. I pulled into the parking lot of a
strip mall and contemplated what I should do. Master had said to get off the
highway at every exit and pull onto the shoulder of the first main road. With
no shoulder I had two choices. I could get back on the highway and report that
there had been no shoulder, so I couldn't stop and complete my assigned tasks,
or I could perform my assigned tasks here in the parking lot, and report that
they had hadn't been completed as ordered because they were done in the parking
lot, not on the road. A catch-22 situation that I knew Master would relish.
Either way I couldn't perform the tasks as ordered, so I was due a punishment,
even though it wasn't my fault. Damn, punishment #2. Sighing, I decided that
even if I couldn't follow the exact order, I should at least follow the intent,
which was to have me humiliate myself, and cause my tits, "Damn, fat, saggy
tit-bags you stupid cow!" I had to remember to refer to my fat, saggy tit-bags
properly, so as I sat in the car in the parking lot I slid my hand under my
skirt and began to repeatedly pinch the flesh on my thighs. With each painful
pinch I repeated "Fat, saggy tit-bags," over and over out loud, almost yelling
it by the time I had about 20 small bruises on my thighs. I had used this
method before when I had problems learning something that Master insisted I
remember. I sat there and drilled into my head that I no longer had breasts, or
tits, or even udders, I just had fat, saggy tit-bags until Master told me
otherwise.
I stopped pinching and twisting the flesh on my thighs, and sat there for a
minute to catch my breath as I let the pain wash over me, both the pain I had
just caused myself, and the ache in my fat, saggy tit-bags from Master's earlier
punishment, and their continued torture by my tack bra. I knew that I would
remember fat, saggy tit-bags from now on, but I also knew that I was going to
have to report 2 more demerits to Master, thinking of them as tits, and
torturing my own thighs. I'm not supposed to punish myself, and although it was
a memory tool for me, I knew that Master would consider the bruises on my thighs
to be self-punishment. That was now a total of 4 punishments I had coming.
Master was right when he said that I wouldn't be able to follow all of his
orders while away from him for a week, I just didn't expect to have so much to
report so soon. It was going to be a long week.
I finally calmed down, and went back to considering what I should do. Clearly
Master intended to humiliate me, and punish my fat, saggy tit-bags by forcing
them to flop around inside the tack bra. Although he specifically ordered me to
do it on the side of the road, I reasoned that he would be much harsher with his
punishment if I didn't do my slut laps at all, rather than doing them in the
wrong place. I undid the seatbelt, opened the door and got out. I'm not sure
that I will ever get used to having to sit with my bare ass and exposed cunt
resting on the car seat, but I had become adept at swinging my legs out and
standing up quickly while smoothing my skirt back down my legs. Today Master
had thoughtfully provided me with a thong to reduce my exposure, although as
could be expected it was of the "tiny scrap of cloth with dental floss" variety,
which barely covered most of my cunt, and none of my ass. As much as things
like this humiliated me, I knew my cunt was dripping from all of the abuse that
I had already suffered today (did I mention I was a pain pig?), and that
humiliation like someone on the street or in the parking lot possibly getting a
glimpse of the miniscule thong covering my shaved cunt would only add to the
dripping swamp that my cunt had become. I walked to the back of the car, and
removed the small bag that my Master had packed for me earlier in the day, and
then got back in the drivers seat, being careful to ensure my skirt went back
around my waist as I sat down. Examining the contents of the bag there was my
makeup bag, the sandpaper bra and my low heels. Was it only 6 months ago when I
would have considered 2" heels to be outrageously high, and didn't own anything
near that? I have come a long way in such a short period of time. At the
bottom of the bag I found what I was looking for, my butt plug and dildo.
Neither was too extreme, just a 3" plug and a 6" dildo, but both would ensure
that my cunt and ass were tender by the end of the 4 hour drive. Looking around
in the bag I couldn't see any lube. Maybe that was a good thing; because I
wasn't sure I was up for one of Master's lube choices, like Icy-Hot or cinnamon
oil. I took the butt plug first, and pushing aside my thong I plunged it into
my sopping wet cunt. I twisted it around and around, trying to sop up as much
cunt cream as possible. Master has a very strict rule about this. Pushing the
butt plug into my cunt once is considered lubing. Pulling it out and pushing it
in a second time without specific permission is fucking, and fucking without
permission is a punishable offence. I pulled the plug out of my cunt and
scooting down on the seat I moved aside the string from my thong and eased the
plug into my ass. It was tapered, so that the ring of my asshole could snap
shut around the base, ensuring that it wouldn't move in or out. Like I said, it
wasn't a big plug, but it left me feeling somewhat full anyway. Taking the
dildo next, I slowly pushed it up into my cunt, and then slid the thong back
into place, hoping that would help to hold it inside me. I loved being plugged
fore and aft, but I hated doing it without a belt or crotch strap of some kind
to ensure that the plastic invaders stayed in place. One time while on a
country walk I had dropped the dildo that Master had stuffed in my cunt, and he
forced me to carry it back to the car in my mouth.
"Okay, it's time," I said to myself as I got out of the car again, and began the
first of two slut laps around the car, using my model walk. This had to be one
of Master's favorite public humiliations for me, the model walk. You've all
seen how the models strut down the catwalk, swinging their hips as they place
one foot directly in front of the other. When they get to the end of the
runway, they sort of pivot on the toe of their shoe, twisting their upper body
around the point. Have you ever tried to walk like that for a long time? Try
it sometime and you'll find it's not easy. Once when we were shopping at a mall
Master made me walk like that the entire 3 hours we were there. It's extremely
difficult to do, and it sure gets you lots of attention. To do it right, you
have to do it in high heels, and Master always makes sure mine are extreme when
ordering me to model walk, which ensures that I get even more attention. The
heels change the shape of your legs, and you hold yourself very erect and stick
your fat, saggy tit-bags (good, I remembered that time) out for the entire world
to see. Of course, most models are a lot taller than my 5'2" and a lot skinnier
than my 150 pounds (to think I was 210 when Master and I got back together).
Most models also have tiny little tits too, (I don't have to call all tits fat,
saggy tit-bags do I? Of course not, just my own) so watch them walk, then
picture short, dumpy little me, with 6" heels and 38DD fat, saggy tit-bags doing
it. According to Master it's sexy as hell, but he finds almost anything that's
humiliating for me sexy. Of course, loving humiliation as much as I love pain
my cunt was absolutely dripping on the day of the mall trip, and it was pretty
wet now too.
I strutted to the left front corner of the car, and then pivoted 90 degrees to
the right to walk across the front of the car. As I did so, my fat, saggy
tit-bags continued to shake and bounce after my body had stopped turning,
causing them to scrape across the tacks embedded in the bra, making me groan
with pain. My fat, saggy tit-bags were going to be hamburger by the time I
finished my trip today. I completed the first, and then the second lap around
my car, and as I hoisted my skirt to slide my wet cunt across the seat I thought
that Master had come up with the perfect phrase to describe this task. Slut
laps were the right name, since I felt like the world's biggest slut while
parading around the car. I glanced around and noticed a few people looking my
way, and wondered what they thought of my performance.
I put my seatbelt back on, and made sure I pulled it tight, forcing a few of the
tacks deeper into my fat, saggy tit-bags. Before starting the car I checked my
face in the mirror again, only having gotten a quick look earlier when Master
told me to check. I looked awful. My tears from my earlier punishment session
back at the house had ruined my makeup. I had a great Alice Cooper look, with
raccoon eyes and longs streaks of mascara running down my face. I felt
immediately humiliated, and moments later felt my cunt twitch around the dildo
embedded inside it, and fresh cunt cream seep out to stain more of my thong.
God I was a slut. I took a deep breath, and realized that both me and the car
probably stunk like a whorehouse. How was I going to hide that from my parents?
Maybe they would be out when I got home, so that I could have a quick shower?
If not, they would think that I had been fucking up a storm on the drive down.
I used my cunt muscles to quickly push and pull a little on the dildo, and
realized that they wouldn't be far off base.
I started the car, and drove back onto the highway, making sure that I smiled
and waved at everyone that looked my way. As I drove I continued to think back
on how Master and I resumed our relationship. We had started corresponding by
email, and then began talking on the phone. We quickly realized that we lived
fairly close together, and arranged to meet for dinner. I was 31 by now, and on
a dead-end career path that was taking it's toll on me both mentally and
physically. As I said, I'm about 5'2" tall, but I had ballooned to 210 pounds.
Food was my best and sometimes only friend. I hadn't dated anyone since John
and I broke up, and my fingers and a vibrator were my only sexual partners. So
it was with a great deal of trepidation that I arrived at the restaurant where
we were to meet. Money was very tight, and my clothing budget was very limited
but I wore one of the nicer outfits I owned, a black mid-calf length skirt and
sweater combination that displayed a little of my massive cleavage. I hated the
way I looked, and it was about as daring as I got. I had put on some makeup,
and done my hair up, so I think I looked nice, but I was still fat and frumpy.
I was really looking forward to seeing John again. He had spoken about his
pending divorce, so I knew that he was unattached, and I must admit I was
secretly hoping that there would be some chance of us picking back up where we
left off. I entered the restaurant and the hostess informed me that "the
gentleman hasn't arrived yet," and invited me to have a seat in the bar. I
accepted, and slid onto a stool, ordering a martini that I hoped would give me
some strength and stop my hands from shaking. I was so nervous, probably
because I was so intent on this meeting going right. I sat there nursing my
drink for almost 45 minutes, my confidence slowly evaporating as each minute
passed from our scheduled meeting time. I was about to give up and head home,
thinking that John wasn't going to show up. Maybe this was payback for my
dumping him all those years ago? Whatever the reason he was a no show and I was
going to have to go home to my vibrator and dream about what might have been.
Suddenly I felt a presence beside me, and I looked up, and immediately felt
myself go weak. He was here! He looked the same but different. Less hair than
I remember, and what was left was starting to turn grey. His face was still
handsome though, and his body was in far better shape than I remember. John had
been a little overweight himself, but in the passing years he had obviously
begun to work out, and he was now hard and lean under the casual shirt and
slacks he was wearing. It had been so long since I felt so overwhelmed by
someone's presence, and I could actually feel my pussy get a little moist(yep,
back then it was only a pussy, not a rancid cunt like I have come to think of
it).
"How are you Lisa, I hope you weren't waiting long?"
The voice, so deep and rich, so sexy. I missed him so much.
"John, I'm fine, I wasn't waiting too long at all." Did I just say that? The
bastard was 45 minutes late, and I didn't think it was a problem. He hadn't
even said sorry for making me wait.
"Let's go grab our table; they have kept it for us." With that John turned and
walked back out to the hostess as I was left to scramble after him, grabbing my
coat and leaving some cash on the bar for the drink. I rushed up to where John
and the hostess were standing waiting for me, and we walked through and were
seated at a quite corner table. The waiter came over and asked us for our drink
orders, and John ordered martinis for both of us. I don't drink much any more,
and I had already finished one potent drink while waiting at the bar, so I
started to protest, "Actually, I'll just have water thanks."
"Nonsense, you'll join me in a drink so that we can have a toast to renewing old
relationships," and with that comment he dismissed the waiter. Had he actually
said that, 'renewing old relationships?' Maybe there was some chance after all.
Little did I realize that the decision on the course of our future was already
made. In divorcing his wife John had come to the conclusion that he was going
to explore his dominant side, and not make any compromises for the sake of
society. In order to do that, he needed a submissive, and our emails and phone
calls had convinced him that I might fill that role. Showing up late had been
intentional, a test to see if I would object. So had not apologizing for being
late, walking away from me at the bar while I struggled with my things, and
ordering drinks for us. I didn't object to any of these things, telling John
all he needed to know, that I was probably submissive, or at least without
sufficient self esteem that he could probably bend me to his will. Truth be
told it was probably a little of both.
That night set the tone for the format of our new relationship. We continued to
talk and go out to dinner and movies, but it was always at the time and place
John chose. I would rearrange my work schedule any time he called and wanted to
do something. I didn't need to worry about my social schedule because I didn't
really have one. Whenever we went out John would order for me, decide what
movie we were going to see, basically make all the decisions for the two of us.
And I let him. I was thrilled with whatever attention he gave me. He was
always a gentleman, always paid for everything, opened doors for me, held out my
chair, it was wonderful. I felt like a princess. I guess somewhere in the back
of my mind a part of me wanted to protest. After all, I was a mature, liberated
woman, not a toy, or a 50's housewife waiting for her man in heels and pearls
with a hot dinner on the table, but whenever he showed up at my door to pick me
up, giving me a hug, and a kiss on the cheek I just melted and went wherever he
told me.
The only weird part was the sex, or lack thereof. John didn't make a single
move on me. He would touch me all the time, hugs, arm around my shoulder in the
theater, handholding, you name it. There were always kisses, forehead, cheek,
hands, just never any actual lip to lip contact, or any move of a sexual nature.
Excited Lisa said "he's just being a gentleman." Sympathetic Lisa said "he's
going through a rough divorce and needs time." Frustrated Lisa said "fuck me
already." Fat Lisa said "it's because you're a pig and a cow, he doesn't want
you." A lot of the time Fat Lisa won. Unknown to me John could read me like an
open book, and saw all these conflicting emotions, and continually shifted
tactics to keep me off guard.
It was the day that his divorce becoming final that things started to change.
John suggested a celebratory dinner, and came to my apartment to pick me up. He
had said we would go someplace special, and to dress up a little. I was wearing
a nice black pantsuit, I had my hair done up, and just slightly more makeup than
I would normally wear. I buzzed John up when he rang, and answered the door to
find him as handsome as always, in an expensive well fitting suit. He looked me
up and down, and sort of sniffed with disapproval. I was crushed. I felt
everything start to go black. "What's wrong, aren't I dressed properly?"
"No, no you're fine." Something about the way he said 'fine' told me that
everything wasn't fine.
"You didn't say where we were going. If this isn't appropriate I can change."
"It's just that I always think pants on women are okay if you're working in the
garden or something, but for going out to dinner you would look more feminine in
a skirt or dress."
That's all he wanted, a skirt or dress? I could do that. "No problem, give me
5 minutes and I'll change."
"You don't need to do that for me."
"Of course I do, I'll be right back."
I rushed off into my bedroom, stripping of the pants and top as soon as the door
was closed. I rifled through my closet until I found a dress that looked okay
on me and threw it on. I quickly checked my hair and makeup, and went rushing
out find John sitting on the couch. He looked up as I entered the living room.
"Is this better?" Please, please say it is.
He smiled, "Much better, now you look presentable."
Presentable? That was pretty weak. Not hot, not sexy, not beautiful, just
presentable. Fat Lisa was definitely winning tonight. Even so, we went out and
had a lovely time. After dinner we went dancing, and it felt wonderful as John
led me around the dance floor. As he held me in his arms I felt it couldn't get
any better. At the end of the evening we went back to my place, and I invited
John up for coffee.
"Sorry, but I have an early meeting tomorrow, so I'm going to have to pass.
Would you like to go out again tomorrow?"
YES, YES, YES, a thousand times YES. "I would like that very much. I always
like spending time with you."
And so I went up to my apartment and my trusty vibrator as I thought of the
wonderful evening we just had. Maybe soon I could replace my battery powered
friend with a real man. Little did I know that in the future I was going to
have both, sometimes together.
The yells and a horn from a car going the other way brought out of my daydream.
I had continued to pull off at every exit, and the local farmboys were letting
me know that they appreciated the slut laps I had just completed here at exit 5.
It was going to be a long afternoon. It was taking me about 2 minutes at each
exit by the time I got off the interstate, pulled over, completed my slut laps
and then got back on the highway. At this rate, with more than 30 exits still
to go, I was going to be late getting to my parents house. I decided I better
call home and let them know. It was my step-father Mike that answered. I asked
to speak to mom, but he said she was "tied up right now", and could he take a
message. I felt more cunt cream leak from me as I thought of my mom bound like
Master often tied me. "Nah, my mom's as straight laced as they come, that would
never happen."
"I got delayed leaving today Mike, so I'm probably not going to get there until
just after 6:30. I just wanted to let you know, because I know that mom will
worry if I'm late, and in case she had dinner planned."
"No problem Lisa, I'll let her know. You're right, she'll worry about you like
crazy. We're just going to BBQ some steaks tonight, so I'll wait for you to
arrive before lighting the grill. You're grandma is coming over too, so she can
keep Anne busy."
"Great Mike, I'll see you in a few hours."
I like Mike, he has been really good for my mom. She met him a few years after
dad died. Mom had become very withdrawn, and although she had been an extremely
beautiful woman (I take after my dad in the looks department), she had let
herself go. The she met Mike at the office where she worked, and the two of
them hit it off. Mom quickly lost weight, started dressing sexier like she had
when dad was alive, and came back out of her shell. The last time I saw them
was Christmas time, and mom looked great. Mike has always made me feel really
comfortable too, even though he had dropped some subtle hints about my weight,
mostly by pointing out how good mom looked. Still, he's pretty good as
step-father's go, except for one small thing. He's about the same age as Master
which is a little weird for me, seeing mom with someone 12 years younger than
herself.
Okay, here I go, back on the highway, smiling and waving like a silly bimbo at
every car I pass. Six months ago I would never have had the confidence to do
something like this. Strange isn't it, gaining confidence from my submission?
It hadn't started like that though I remembered, as my mind drifted back once
again to the events that had led to the current state of our relationship, where
I have become a completely nasty, filthy submissive cunt pig.
John had said he would call me the next day to arrange a time to meet for
dinner. I waited all day at work for a call from him that never came. I
checked my machine as soon as I got home and nothing. Should I call him? No,
he said he would call me, so I should just wait. John had realized early on
that keeping me waiting had been a good method of keeping me destabilized and
susceptible to his whims. I sat around my apartment and waited, hoping he would
call, and finally the phone rang about 7pm. John had left the office and was on
his way to pick me up He would be there in 20 minutes. "Oh, did I forget to
call you. Oh well, just be ready for when I get there, reservations are for 8
and it's a 45 minute drive to the restaurant so I don't want you to keep me
waiting."
Great, he had the time to call and make reservations, but not to let me know
when he was picking me up. 20 minutes wasn't much time, but I quickly jumped in
the shower, got out and fixed my hair and makeup and found a nice (for me) dress
to wear, a black sequined one that I had bought for a Christmas party once. I
was still a little damp from the shower and out of breath from running around
when I buzzed John up. I met him at the door with a cheery smile, and stood
back as he once again appraised me from head to toe as he had last night. I
hoped that tonight I would meet with his approval. Feminist Lisa raised her
head for a second to protest the idea of getting John to approve my outfit, but
Excited, Frustrated, and even Fat Lisa all turned on her and beat her senseless.
"You look lovely tonight Lisa. You really should wear dresses and skirts more
often, they make you look so pretty."
Pretty. Lovely. I was in heaven. He liked the way I looked....
"Of course you really should wear high heels when you dress like this, not those
ugly flats."
...except for my ugly shoes. Heels? He must be kidding. "Sorry, I'll be right
back. I wasn't going to wear these shoes tonight, I just slipped them on to
answer the door." I ran into my bedroom and started digging through the closet
looking for a pair of shoes that I hadn't worn in years. Pumps, with an inch
and a half heel. I hoped they would be high enough. I had only worn them once
or twice and I wasn't used to walking in them, but I stuffed them on my feet and
rushed back out to the living room.
"That's better, although all of the real women I know wear proper heels, not
little ones like that."
Crushed. He knows other women, real women. They wear high heels, and probably
always wear short skirts and he's probably fucking them, and that's why he's not
interested in Fat Lisa. The tears are starting to well up, and any second I'm
going to become a blubbering idiot. But once again I'm like a musical
instrument, and John's the maestro. He's all smiles and charming, taking my
hand and leading me out of my apartment and down to his car. His touch is
electric, and all of a sudden everything is right with the world.
We go to a nice restaurant and have a wonderful dinner. John must have picked
this place for the scenery, because there is an endless parade of skinny, young,
beautiful women going by. They are exquisitely made up, coiffed, wearing heels
and clothes that range from designer elegance to come-fuck-me slutty. John
helpfully points out each of the different looks and what he finds attractive
about them. Fat Lisa is scared, thinking she can never look like that.
Suddenly a new Lisa emerges, Desperate Lisa who thinks that she must do anything
to keep this man in her life. If it's mini skirts that will keep him
interested, she'll buy them tomorrow. If it's 4" heels that turn him on, she'll
start practicing to walk in them as soon as she can get her feet into a pair.
Anything he wants, just as long as she can be with him. Desperate Lisa wins.
She glances over at John, and he can tell by the look in her eyes that she is
going to be his. The submissive slut that he has craved all these years is
sitting across the table from him, waiting for him to mold her however he wants.
It was a long afternoon, but I finally pulled into the last rest stop before my
parent's town around 5:30. I was earlier than I had originally expected.
Traffic was light and I was able to make up some time between exits. Now I just
had a few more tasks to complete before heading home. I tried to remember
everything that I had to do here at the rest stop. I was to take my cosmetics
bag, my 2" heels, and my sandpaper bra with me into the washroom. I had to do
this without being able to hide them in a bag, and I had to do this in full
model walk, and I couldn't wash the awful makeup off my face until I got into
the bathroom. Piece of cake for a humiliation loving piggy like me.
I pulled the bra out of the bag, and folded it as small and discretely as
possible. Not easy when you have 38D fat, saggy tit-bags, and your Master
insisted on getting a bra that was too big. You see how small you can make a
full cup, 40DD bra that's been made stiff with sandpaper. I folded it up, and
then tried to hide as much of it between my body and the cosmetics bag as
possible. Grabbing my shoes I began the walk to the washroom. I think that
just about everyone in the parking lot noticed me as I strutted my way across in
my skyscraper heels and made my way inside the building. I quickly found the
washroom, and then ducked into the first empty stall I could find.
I set everything down on the back of the toilet, and carefully removed my top.
Leaning down I reached behind me to unfasten the tack bra, and slowly pulled it
off my fat, saggy tit-bags. I groaned a little as a few of the tacks that had
sunk deeper popped out of the skin. I reached behind me and hung the bra on the
back of the door. I carefully examined my fat, saggy tit-bags for any damage.
There was some bruising from the original beating Master had given me back at
the house, and lots of places where the tacks had broken the skin. Everywhere
else was red and raw from the effect of slinging my fat, saggy tit-bags around
in my bra all afternoon. The good news was that there didn't appear to be any
permanent damage. Now for the hard part. Reaching into my cosmetic bag I
removed a package of antiseptic wipes. With the broken skin from the tacks this
was going to sting like hell, but Master wouldn't want any infections, so I
began slowly caressing each fat, saggy tit-bag with a wipe, carefully cleaning
the entire surface. I groaned with the pain as the antiseptic entered the small
punctures, but I completed the task after a couple of minutes. Flushing the
wipes away, I suddenly remembered that I hadn't pissed in almost 7 hours now,
and the sound of the emptying toilet caused immediate pressure on my bladder.
Damn, I wasn't allowed to remove the dildo until after I got back to the car,
and I certainly couldn't piss with it in. Maybe I could come back in after I
removed and cleaned the plugs. Back to the spirit of the order again. Master
had said to remove the plugs only after I got back to the car. He hadn't said
anything about coming back in to use the bathroom, so although it wouldn't be a
technical violation of the order, I had to assume that he wanted me to wait
until I got to my parents before taking a piss, increasing the potential for
humiliation if I couldn't hold it in, as had happened before. 'Looks like I'm
going to hold it'
Next step is to put the sandpaper bra on. It's big too, and my fat, saggy
tit-bags flop around inside it as I stand up after putting it on. Fortunately I
got to wipe them off after the tack bra, and I won't have too much more walking
to do today, so I should be able to stand this part of the punishment. Sitting
down on the toilet, I slowly ease my feet out of the punishing 6" heels that I
have been wearing all afternoon. I groan as I flex my feet, trying to get my
arch to straighten back out after being forced into it's exaggerated position
for so long. After a few minutes I manage to slip my 2" heels on, and stand up.
Gathering up my few belongings I make my way out to the sink area. After
carefully cleaning off all traces of my original smeared makeup I carefully
reapply a lesser amount. It was still obvious that I was wearing lots, but I
certainly no longer looked like I could be bought for twenty bucks.
Finally I gathered up all my stuff and walked back to the car. Model walk
doesn't have the same impact in lower heels, and with my makeup fixed I didn't
get nearly as many looks as when I had walked in. One more task to complete.
Sitting in the seat I slid forward and carefully fished around until I caught
the base of the butt plug. I gave it a hard tug, and freed it from my asshole.
I had parked at the end of the lot, so no one could see me as I brought the plug
up to my lips and dutifully gave it a thorough cleaning with my lips and tongue.
One of Master's very strict rules. Any foreign object placed in my cunt or ass
must be scrubbed clean in my mouth.
Once the butt plug was all clean and shiny with my salvia, I dropped it in my
bag beside the tack bra and heels. I then pushed my thong out of the way and
extracted the dildo from my sopping wet cunt, cleaning it the same way. I had
brought some hand towels with me from the restroom and used those to mop up the
swampy mess from my cunt. I got out of the car and dropped the stinking towels
in the garbage, and carefully packed my small bag away in my larger suitcase. I
wouldn't want mom finding any of this, it would be too embarrassing to explain.
It hadn't taken as long at the rest stop as I expected, so it was only a few
minutes after 6 when I opened the gates with the pass code and rolled up the
driveway of my parent's house. The house had originally belonged to my
grandparents, my mom's parents, and they had farmed the land around it. By the
time grandpa died he had sold off all except the house and the surrounding 10
acres. When dad and mom got married they moved into the house, and grandma
moved into one of the new houses on the subdivision built on the farmland. That
meant the farmhouse stayed in the family, and grandma could come and visit
anytime she wanted being so close by. It had been great growing up, because
grandma was always around.
Being early wouldn't be bad, because everyone would be happy to see me. I had
changed dramatically over the last 6 months with Master's help, and I was very
anxious for mom and Mike to see the new thinner, happier, sexier me. Getting
out of the car I walked around the back of the house, thinking they might be on
the patio, and got the biggest shock of my life. There was a large pole, like a
telephone pole at one corner of the patio. It had held one end of the washing
line up ever since I was a kid. Today it wasn't the washing that was strung up
though. From the top of the pole a rope ran down, ending in cuffs strapped
around the wrists of two women. The rope had been pulled tight, so both women
were bent at the waist and forced up on their toes. The two women were facing
each other, and were involved in a very erotic kiss. Both were naked other than
their wrist cuffs, and I could see evidence (because I was so familiar with it
myself), of a recent whipping on the bodies of both women. I noticed all of
this in a split second, before my mind also registered the third person. It was
Mike! He was standing at the back of one of the women, obviously fucking her up
the ass. There was a willow switch in one hand, and that was what was creating
the marks on their bodies.
Mike must have noticed the movement as I came around the corner of the house
because he looked up and muttered, "Oh shit," as he quickly stepped backwards
from the woman he was fucking, his cock bouncing as it pulled out. Both women
continued the kiss for a second before breaking it off and starting to look
around. The one getting ass fucked was the first to turn my way. "Grandma?"
The other quickly looked over "Mom?"
To Be Continued
