Pat's Pounding Ch. 02

Once they are through the entrance, the group is led through a long hallway, which Pat notices is just as extravagant as the exterior; the floors are solid marble, the walls decorated with numerous substantial portraits of preternaturally beautiful women, all dressed like queens of old, and the roof, covered with attractive patterns are gilded with what Pat suspects is gold.

Soon, they reach and enter a new room, vast in size, holding the entirety of the group with ease, who come to stand in the middle of the chamber, facing five large doors, each with a number in the middle, from one to five. Their escort, that beautiful priestess from outside, continues forward after the group has stopped, toward the middle set of doors, turning around once she has reached them. Despite Pat's attention being split between the feel of his mother's strong arms and soft chest and the room's interior that somehow puts the impressive hallway they had just passed through to shame in terms of sheer splendour, he doesn't miss the presence of four other priestesses. Each of them stands before one of the large sets of doors, dressed similarly to their guide, with only one variation; each of their masks is slightly different in design, but all feature that same expression of agonised pleasure.

Their guide once more takes the lead, voice pitched to be heard throughout the cavernous space. 'Mothers, on your invitation, each of you was assigned a number. Now, approach the door bearing the number given to you with your soon-to-be-son-sheath. We should have five groups, with five mothers and their sissy slaves in each. I trust I don't have to tell any of you not to dilly-dally?' The rhetorical question provokes much laughter from the mothers approaching their designated door.

Once their group is gathered, their priestess, incidentally the same as their guide, leads them through the doors, with such opening under their own power, splitting the number in half on them as they do. As they enter the room, it is almost like they are travelling back thousands of years. The chamber itself, Pat imagines, is what a bathhouse would have looked like during the height of the ancient Roman empire. However, this particular example would have, with the exception perhaps of those used by the Emperor, put all the others to shame; like the corridor and room before, it was magnificence made manifest. The bath, designed in the shape of a pentagon, was in the centre of the room, filled with a liquid that, Pat guessed, was milk; it was white and emitted the most delicious aroma. Surrounding the bath on all sides were evenly-spaced oak columns, each bearing beautiful carvings; these rested upon a floor of marble decorated with silver and gold.

The most arresting feature, however, was the walls, specifically what was on them. As soon as Pat noticed, he could feel the warm burn of his blush; so great was his embarrassment that it did not stop at his face but carried on down his neck until it reached his chest. The walls, similar to the silver decanter outside, were covered in graphic frescos detailing the lurid exploits of women with colossal phalluses; they were chasing young boys who wore some strange device attached to their significantly smaller penises. The images did not end there. On the contrary, there were many more, each more explicit than the last. Most showed what happened to the young boys when they were caught; invariably, they all ended with the women shoving those mammoth spears of flesh balls deep up those young boys' tight asses. How the women managed such was explicitly depicted: there were images of many sexual positions, some, where the male youths were bent in half under the women, feet on female shoulders, bouncing wildly, and in others, the women had draped themselves over their male lover, taking them from behind as they rested on arms and knees.

Pat's single-minded focus on the wall and its scenes of sexual debauchery was disrupted when he was suddenly deposited from his mother's arms back onto his feet. Attention no longer diverted, Pat noticed that each couple had taken a side of the pentagon-shaped bath.

View panning over the couples around them, Pat recognised the faces of his best friend, Joe, and his mother, Sam. Wait! Pat thought, stunned. Does that mean it was Joe's Mom I heard moaning on the phone last week? Pat's mother's voice pulled him from his thoughts while confirming his suspicions. 'It doesn't seem like last week, does it, Sam, when I told you this time would soon come?'

Scoffing, Sam replied. 'It felt far longer than a week, Julie. And,' here, her tone became frustrated. 'My situation wasn't helped by you phoning me up to tease me and get me all hot and bothered. Hell,' she exclaimed, grabbing her son by the throat with feigned forcefulness. 'I nearly made this little soon-to-be sissy my sheathe every time I got off the phone after talking to you.'

Sam's casual display of dominant possessiveness over Joe had a visceral effect on Pat, his penis becoming erect quicker than ever before. It didn't go unnoticed. 'Aw, looks like Pat's tiny friend is trying to say hello!' Sang Sam in an artificially high voice, pointing at his groin with her free hand, where there was now a slight bulge. 'Hello, little guy. Helloooo,' she cooed, making little waving motions with her free hand. 'Shucks, it looks like his little friend is too teeny to wave back.' As she said this, Sam wore an obviously fake look of disappointment, such poorly concealing her amusement.

Having had enough of her friend's taunting of her son, Pat's mother intervened. 'Shush, Sam. Let his little guy enjoy himself; you and I know soon he'll never be hard again once I've had my way with him.' Strangely, the priestess interrupting the humiliating interaction left a bitter taste of disappointment in Pat's mouth. Even through the potion-induced tranquillity, Pat could feel worry gnaw at him. What the hell is wrong with me? How could I enjoy being humiliated like that?

Standing behind them, the priestess spoke, 'Ladies, undress your sissy and send him into the bath. Quickly, now! The matriarch will not be amused if she has to wait for our group to return before the breaking begins.' At that, the mothers started to strip their compliant sons, starting at the top and working their way down. However, Sam, before much progress could be made, volunteered her own suggestion for what they should be doing. 'Ladies, why don't we have ourselves a little competition?' Seeing interest and curiosity on the faces of the other women present, she continued with a smile. 'Why don't we see which of these sissies has the littlest clitty and the hungriest hole?'

Seeing nothing but positive expressions on the faces of the other mothers, Sam turns to the priestess, who, despite having her face covered, still manages to convey extreme exasperation. 'Do we have time?' she asks, her tone respectful; the contrast between the said tone of voice and how she mocked him sends a pulse of humiliated arousal to Pat's virgin ring, causing it to twitch. When did I become such a deviant? 'Be quick!' the priestess instructs, flicking her hand, still holding the collar, as if dismissing responsibility for the situation away from herself.

Now, with permission for their lude game, the mothers look at each other to see how they will proceed. 'How are we doing this then?' One asks, her hands Pat notices belatedly, pulling her son's ass cheeks apart and letting them go repeatedly. 'Well...,' Sam clears her throat, comfortable once more being the leader. 'On the count of three, we'll pull down our sissy's underwear. And for the hungriest hole... hmmm...,' she ponders briefly, a smile soon gracing her beautiful features. 'I know! We'll turn them around, spread their cheeks and press our thumbs into their boi-pussy, and whoever's ring is the tightest wins!'

'Sounds good,' the same mother states. 'Who's counting?' she asks, hands moving to either side of her son, gripping his underwear in each hand. Seeing this, the other mothers mimic her, getting ready.

'I will,' interjects the priestess. 'It's my job to keep this show on the road anyway... Not that you horny sluts make it easy,' she japes, her voice thick with amusement. 'Ready, then?'

'One.'

As the count begins, Pat thanks every deity that might be listening that he listened to his mother and drank that potion. Otherwise, he's sure he would have keeled over in embarrassment long before. Being a virgin and hoping that this weekend will involve some sexual activity, judging by the direction things are going, Pat prays again to those faceless gods. Please, please, please, don't let this potion wear off! Without it, I'll die of embarrassment!

'Two.'

'THREE!'

On the priestess's count, each mother yanks her son's underwear down, revealing their nakedness. Not knowing where to look, Pat focuses with all his might ahead of him on the bath and its contents. However, immediately, despite his single-minded determination, he notices how the attention shifts to him. He quickly finds out why, courtesy of his mother. 'HA! Look at that, bitches! My little sissy has the smallest clitty here. Hell! It's probably the smallest I've ever seen!'

Despite, or perhaps even because of the humiliation Pat admitted to himself, his erection was more turgid than ever before. Triumphant in victory, Pat's mother retook the now familiar position of pressing herself flush against his back. Ignoring the dirty and jealous looks from the other mothers, Pat's mother whispered to him, biting his ear. 'You're probably pretty confused, aren't you, Pat? What woman wants her lover to have a small penis?' Wait, lover? Why would she want to fuck her son? What- 'Well, the women here, including me... we're special in a way you'll be seeing and feeling pretty soon,' she continued, unaware of his internal shock, hand slowly tracing down from his chest to his throbbing excitement, her nails marking his skin. 'You see, as we... take our pleasure from elsewhere, we don't need your clitty, so the smaller it is, the easier it is to remind a boy of his place... especially when we compare it to bigger things.'

At this point, Pat was struggling to focus on what his mother was saying; the combination of the attention from the others and his mother's soft hand skirting the base of his shaft left Pat's mind numb with pleasure. 'So, don't worry about your... small... pathetic... meagre... excuse of a penis, as you won't use it much anyway.' With each adjective she sensually whispered into his ear, she slapped each of his tiny testicles, finishing with a sharp flick with her finger to the head of his penis. Despite the cruelty of his mother's words, Pat knew he had never felt such potent, consuming arousal. Both of them are pulled from their little world by the loud encouragement from the ever-excitable Sam. 'Go, girl! Put that little sissy in his place! Don't let him forget how inadequate he is as a man.'

'Ahem,' the sound of the priestess clearing her throat, recapturing their collective attention, expresses her significant exasperation. Again, despite everything, Pat still marvels at her ability to, with such simplicity, convey emotion despite her mask. 'Have all you sluts somehow forgotten? I was clear: if you don't want to suffer the matriarch's disappointment, we must stay on time. Either hurry this game up or end it.' At her urging, the mother directly across from them, one of those most jealous of Pat's insignificant manhood, without waiting for the others, twists her son about, bends him over and, covering his hands with hers, spreads his ass cheeks. 'Watch this, sisters,' she demands. The familial address, dripping with scorn, sounds like more of an insult than the crude address of the priestess.

Everyone, Pat included, watched as she spat on her son's tight ring before, without fanfare, attempting to push her thumb into him. Immediately, he let out a low groan. Wincing, Pat guessed such was more an expression of discomfort than pleasure. Sure enough, his suspicions were soon proven correct by the nameless youth. 'Please, Mom, go slow-,' he begged before he was interrupted by his mother spanking his ass. 'Shush, Daniel! Bare with it, relax that little ring and let mommy into your slutty little hole.' After more than a minute and much straining from both the duo, Daniel's mother successfully forced her thumb into his tight ass. 'HA!' she crowed her victory before giving a delighted laugh. Despite her success, she didn't waste any time before going beyond the criteria of their small competition; she had to show these sluts who had the best sissy slave. 'Now let's see... where is it...?' As she spoke, she corked-screwed her thumb around inside him, looking for something. Watching on wide-eyed, Pat had no clue what she hoped to find in such a place.

The brief silence, formed after she started her search, was soon shattered by Daniel, letting out a whorish, feminine moan, his legs shaking so much he struggled to stand. 'YES! Found it! See that bitches?' she asked, with a smile equal parts proud and smug. 'That's.' SMACK! 'A prime.' SMACK! 'Quality.' SMACK! 'Boi.' SMACK! 'Pussy!' SMACK! Each word was accompanied by quick, sharp slaps to her son's rapidly reddening ass. 'Jealous much, sluts?' she taunted, roughly pulling her glistening fingers from her son's twitching hole and letting him fall onto the floor on his knees at her feet. Almost absentmindedly, she patted his hair as her son clung to her leg, and glared at the other mothers, silently daring them to try and compete.

Daniel's mother's decision to up the ante of the competition changed its nature; no longer were the mothers interested in proving their soon-to-be-sheath's tightness, but now they wanted to show off their sissy's anal sensitivity. One by one, the other mothers thumbed their sissy's boi-cunts, desperate to show off how their slave was the most sensitive and thus the best, as such a feature contributed to an easier breaking. However, despite their best efforts, none came close to the leg-shaking performance put on by Daniel. At least, that was the case until Pat, hole twitching and clitty painfully erect, was taken in hand by his mother.

She positioned him with gentle forcefulness; she had him stand stiff-legged, feet wide apart and bent at the waist, hands touching the floor, leaving him open to the intense perusal of their attentive audience. He knew they could see everything: his hot hole and dangling penis, so small his little marbles nearly hid it despite being erect. The fact that she didn't ask his permission, instead treating him like her property, had him subtly grinding his ass in the air, limited as he was by his unfamiliar position. When his most private place was revealed, the room was filled with lude exclamations from the watching mothers upon seeing his ring pulse and contract with delight.

'Fuck! What an ass!'

'Goddess! I'd love to break that boi-pussy.'

'I'd love to feel that ring twitch on the base of my womanhood!'

Waiting till the noise had died, his mother, with a proud smile, rubbed small circles on his ass cheeks. Eventually, when the priestess had managed to return silence to the room, his mother, so slowly, he wasn't sure who she was torturing more, him or their ravenous onlookers, bent down and let a long string of saliva fall from her mouth directly onto the opening of his ass.

Rubbing her spit in and around his boi-cunt, she briefly looked back to the crowd with the same agonising slowness, focusing on her main competitor, Daniel's mother.

'Jealous much, slut?' she mocked before pushing her thumb into her son's hot, clutching depths...