[Macrophilia] My Father and I Ch. 08

Jose took me in his hand and indicated to my father that we could have some dinner. I noticed that my father was a bit puzzled and deduced that that part of the session was not his idea (which meant that the cruel game earlier had been). But he immediately left for the kitchen and Jose followed him, with me in his huge fist. He told my father to eat unceremoniously, right there in the kitchen. He was so frank and folksy that all his suggestions seemed totally natural and inviting to follow without complaint.

My father prepared some sandwiches and they both sat down at the large kitchen table. Jose left me on it and they began to eat. They also began to drink a few glasses of wine that, as in previous days, Jose had brought. At first they ignored me, although my father looked at me from time to time, as if not knowing what to do with me. At Jose's express instruction, he had not prepared anything for me. I stood there on the table, shaking like a leaf, watching in fascination as those colossal mouths, whose teeth could effortlessly tear my body in two, devoured the food. At last, Jose spoke, curiously with his mouth full:

-Well, we are rude -he said in a mocking tone-. You'll have to eat something too, won't you? -he said, addressing me.

And at that moment he spat the chewed dough he had in his mouth onto the table. I felt a tremendous revulsion.

-Come on, insect -said Jose-. That's your food. Eat! If you don't finish it all, there will be consequences -he said intimidatingly when he saw that I didn't move.

I approached the filthy mass with infinite disgust, knelt down and put a piece in my mouth. I felt like I was going to vomit. However, I was too afraid to disobey, so, holding back tears, I continued to eat. The giants watched me with hilarity.

My father seemed to take pity and, cutting a piece of his sandwich with his fingers, placed it on the table inviting me to eat it. Jose immediately stopped him:

-You're not going to give it to him like that, so bland, are you? You have to spice it up a little....

And clearing his throat loudly, he let loose a huge slimy phlegm on the piece my father had prepared. Then he looked at it, clearly inviting him to do the same. I waited expectantly, although I no longer had much hope for it. Sure enough, my father also cleared his throat, even more than Jose, and filled the already wet piece with disgusting sputum. Jose looked at me and pointed at it, in clear order. I was forced to continue eating the filth (they repeated, of course, the process several times) while the giants laughed in amusement at my predicament.

At one point Jose again produced a tremendous spit and this time he threw it violently and directly at my body. I fell to the ground from the impact, with great laughter from that colossal guy, who immediately prepared another spit and threw it at me, knocking me back to the ground. My father immediately joined in the game and began to release tremendous viscous spittle on my body. They soon got tired, but my ignominy that night was not over yet....

Jose asked my father if he could think of anything they could add to the cocktail and noisily sniffled his snot, in a very rude way, but clearly intending to give him a hint. My father, of course, took the hint and, taking me in his hand, put me directly under his huge nose. I couldn't believe what I was seeing, terrified - was it my father who was doing this to me? To his credit, I noticed that he was somewhat tipsy. Once again I could only admire Jose's skill, who knew how to give the necessary amount of alcohol to disinhibit to a great extent, but without getting drunk, since - I guessed - he wanted to be sure that my father was well aware at all times of what he was doing.

My father plugged one of his nostrils, blew loudly and a thick mass of greenish snot fell on my tiny body. I felt myself die of disgust and indignity. My father repeated the operation with the other hole, and then Jose did exactly the same, at the end of which I collapsed on the table vomiting violently, hopelessly hurt and humiliated, while the giants laughed loudly.

But perhaps what hurt me the most was what came next...

-Look at him! -said Jose, this time very serious, without that casual tone he had used until then to say similar things -there, tiny, covered in the spits and snot of two men... Can you conceive of anything more undignified? And he's the one who has voluntarily put himself in this situation -it pained me so much how unfair it really was to say this- isn't it totally pathetic?

And this time my father was not silent, but, to my misfortune, he did not give at all the answer I would have wanted. Instead he looked at me, remained thoughtful for a moment and, throwing another gigantic spittle at me, blurted out with a gesture of disgust:

-You're right, it's pathetic! And really disgusting! -Those terrible words brought tears to my eyes.

When the session was over, Jose "suggested" to my father that I better not wash, that I should stay all night like this, with my Masters' fluids all over me. Naturally at this point I had no doubt that my father would comply. And so it was: when Jose left, he took me in his hand, no longer caring anything about the filth that covered me, and put me in the cage, leaving the room and turning off the lights. Of course it did not escape my notice that there was no comforting apology that night, nor a phrase of complicit encouragement. My father left without even saying a word to me. I burst into bitter tears.

To be continued...