Like Son, Like Father
Part Thirteen
Timothy had wanted to ask Wilbur Longwood many questions. But
Tim's struggle to stay awake was futile. The vicious whipping he had taken
at the gloved hands of Jennifer and the two other girls was by far the most
horrendous ordeal of his life. Until he had finished fucking Jennifer, he hadn't
realized just how totally drained and debilitated that whipping had left him.
The pain was both physical and spiritual. Tears gushed from between
Timothy's shut eyelids as he fell asleep thinking about how the girls had
laughed at him as he kicked and screamed and writhed in pain. His throat
was still so sore from screaming that he could barely swallow. But sleep
came almost instantly like a balm to sooth his brutalized body and psyche.
In the darkness of his cage, a dream came to Timothy. In his sleep,
Timothy mumbled
to himself, "I'm a human being."
In a woman's voice, his dream replied, "Maybe. But, if so, you're an
awfully homely
little human."
'Little' was the operative word. Suddenly, Timothy's dream materialized
before him.
He dreamt that he was still in a cage but no longer in the dungeon at
Chadwick
Manor. He was lying completely naked on wood shavings in what appeared to
be a
rodent cage on a pet store shelf. Slowly he became aware of males in other
cages.
Somehow Timothy knew that the male in an adjacent cage was Wilbur Longwood.
Wilbur
appeared nearly out of his head with fear.
Timothy asked, "Wilbur, where are we?"
"D-D-D-Don't you know?" stammered Wilbur incredulously. "We're on sale!
We're on
sale at Pets 'n' Playthings! W-W-We've got to escape, Tim! We've got
to escape
before we're sold!"
As Timothy glanced around, he realized that Pets 'n' Playthings was both a pet
store
and a tack shop. Along a shelf behind one counter, Timothy saw a display
of bridles
and saddles. Various switches, riding crops and bullwhips were displayed
behind
glass under the counter. Everything in the store seemed to be on a
gigantic scale.
Timothy noticed a ruler lying on the countertop in front of his cage. Each
inch on
the ruler looked just under a foot long. Timothy realized that, according
to that
measuring stick, he was only six or seven inches tall!
Suddenly the front door of the shop opened to the sound of chimes. Timothy
saw
Wilbur scurry to the back of his cage where he tried to bury himself in wood
shavings. Timothy's instincts told him that he should do the same, but he
was too
captivated by what was unfolding to follow Wilbur's example.
A platinum blonde woman in her early forties entered the store. The
magnificent
woman looked much the way that Timothy had visualized the woman that Wilbur had
told
him was seated across from him on the metro. She wore a silver white fur
over a
short black leather dress with a V-neckline that plunged to her waist. The
neckline
revealed the breathtaking cleavage between her breasts, which seemed almost
ready to
burst from the leather confining them. But unlike the actual woman on the
train,
the woman of Timothy's dream wore black knee-high fashion boots with stiletto
heels
instead of high-heeled pumps.
Two young ladies accompanied the woman. One of them was apparently her
daughter,
and the other seemed to be her daughter's friend. The one young lady wore
chocolate-brown leather pants, boots, and a brown leather jacket with matching
short
capeskin gloves while her friend wore jeans, a pale blue pullover, mid-arm
length
black kidskin gloves and gleaming black fashion boots. The three females
seemed to
be on a shopping spree.
A frail-looking old man appeared behind the counter and asked if he could help
them.
"Good morning, Mr. Fuddlewuss," said the platinum blonde. "We were on our
way to
Heatherby's to purchase a gown for Linda's graduation ball when I realized as we
were passing that I needed a new whip to use on my husband. You've never
met my
daughter, have you?"
"No, I've not yet had that pleasure, Mrs. Grayson," said old Fuddlewuss.
Linda presented her leather-gloved hand for Fuddlewuss to kiss. Noticeably
nervous
and flustered, Fuddlewuss raised her hand in its skintight brown glove.
Just as his
trembling lips were about to brush the softly gleaming leather with a kiss,
Linda
withdrew her gloved hand. She and her friend giggled girlishly.
Fuddlewuss accompanied Mrs. Grayson over to the counter where the whips were
displayed. Suddenly, a woman young enough to be Fuddlewuss's granddaughter
strolled
out of a back stockroom onto the sales floor. Her hair was pulled loosely
back in a
ponytail. She wore a white blouse, black leather pants and spike-heeled
boots. In
her right hand, she held a nasty-looking bullwhip.
"Fuddlewuss," she said in an exasperated tone, "what are you doing out here?
You're
supposed to be processing that newly arrived order of riding boots! Or do
you
expect me to do your work for you?"
"N-N-No, Ms. Tydings," stammered old Fuddlewuss. "I j-just heard customers
and
thought I could be of assistance."
Suddenly Fuddlewuss stopped speaking. He noticed that the young Ms.
Tydings had
pulled a pair of short black leather gloves from the back pocket of her pants
and
was starting to work them onto her hands and fingers. Fuddlewuss's lips
began to
quiver. With her softly gleaming gloves smoothed on to her satisfaction,
Ms.
Tydings strolled slowly and seductively over to old Fuddlewuss who had dropped
to
his knees. He looked up at Ms. Tydings imploringly. Ms. Tydings
placed her gloved
hand under old Fuddlewuss's chin and tilted his head back. Like a tent
pole, an
erection rapidly began to push out the front of Fuddlewuss's wool trousers.
"You're not supposed to do what you think, Fuddlewuss. You're supposed to
do what I
want. You understand, don't you?" asked Ms. Tydings in a gentle,
compassionate
tone. "You know I don't want to whip you, but now I have to."
Ms. Tydings cracked her leather-gloved palm against Fuddlewuss's cheek.
Then she
slapped his other cheek with her other gloved hand. The old man's glasses
flew
across the room and shattered against a display case. Ms. Tydings then
stepped back
and uncoiled her whip. To limber her arm, she cracked her whip twice on
the floor
at Fuddlewuss's knees. The old man winced and blubbered something about
being
sorry. His erection continued to lift the front of his baggy trousers,
which became
tautly stretched at the crotch. Mrs. Grayson then walked over to Ms.
Tydings and
whispered something in her ear.
"Yes, of course, Mrs. Grayson," replied Ms. Tydings. "Be our guest.
Customers are
always free to sample and try out merchandise before a purchase."
Mrs. Grayson took off her silver white fur and hung it on a corner coat rack.
Timothy gasped. Up to this point, Mrs. Grayson had kept her hands buried
in the
deep pockets of her fur. But now Timothy and Wilbur saw that those hands
were
gloved in luxurious black kidskin opera gloves that caressed her arms to a point
midway between her elbows and shoulders. Mrs. Grayson unbuttoned the wrist
of the
glove sheathing her whip hand. Her gloves fit very snuggly, and Timothy
correctly
surmised that she wanted a little more freedom of motion to flick her wrist. From
the whips on display, she selected a gleaming black bullwhip with a scarlet red
handle. Timothy's eyes were glued to the view as Mrs. Grayson wrapped her
gloved
fingers in their gleaming sheaths of black kid around the handle of the whip.
The
softly gleaming black leather sheathing her hand contrasted beautifully with
Mrs.
Grayson's alabaster skin where her glove was open at the wrist. Three
black pearl
buttons dangled like tiny pendants along the wrist opening. Wilbur and
many of the
other caged men were busy stroking themselves.
With a circular wrist motion, Mrs. Grayson indicated that she wanted old
Fuddlewuss
on his hands and knees with his ass toward her. Fuddlewuss's gray wool
business
trousers covered his scrawny butt like loose drapery. To muffle old
Fuddlewuss's
screams and keep him from moving about, Ms. Tydings leaned down and placed one
gloved hand over his mouth while her other gloved hand held the back of his
head.
Fuddlewuss appeared to be in a state of total panic.
Mrs. Grayson swung the whip in a circle overhead several times before actually
lashing out. She relished how the whistle of a bullwhip slicing the air
produced
terror in males. She also relished how her glove softly caressed her hand
down
between each of her fingers as she gripped the whip. The blissfully snug
sensation
of unspeakably soft kidskin between her fingers gave her an indescribable
feeling of
power.
As Mrs. Grayson lashed his ass with the whip, old Fuddlewuss's muffled moans
sounded
like those of a wounded cow. At one point, Fuddlewuss bucked so much that
Ms.
Tydings had to punch him in the face and slap him several times to quiet him
down.
In Mrs. Grayson's expert gloved hand, the bullwhip sliced through old
Fuddlewuss's
wool trousers like a razor blade through butter. The lashing of her whip
left
Fuddlewuss's cotton briefs hanging in tatters. Before long, the elderly
gentleman's
raw, bleeding ass was completely exposed.
"Oh, fuck-a-duck!" said Ms. Tydings to Fuddlewuss. "Can't you be still for
even a
moment? Such a baby! You'd think we were killing you or something!"
Tears cascaded down Fuddlewuss's cheeks like water over Niagara Falls.
With Ms.
Tydings leather-gloved hand over his mouth, he could barely breath.
Suddenly
Fuddlewuss went totally limp and rolled belly-up.
"What happened?" asked Mrs. Grayson.
"He's fine," said Ms. Tydings. "He just passed out."
Linda jumped up and down, clapping her gloved hands. "Look!" she said,
pointing a
gloved finger at Fuddlewuss's boner. "One part of him hasn't passed out!"
"Linda!" said Mrs. Grayson. "That isn't polite! I'm shocked at you,
young lady!
Please excuse my daughter, Ms. Tydings."
"Oh, that's perfectly okay," said Ms. Tydings with an understanding smile.
"You
know, when I was their age, I was into wearing gloves just to make boys feel
small
and worthless and into smoking and a whole bunch of other stuff."
Mrs. Grayson couldn't help but think that Ms. Tydings couldn't have been her
daughter's age more than a year or two ago at most. Looking at Linda, Mrs.
Grayson
realized that her daughter was now a young woman. Linda could not be
shielded from
the ways of the world much longer.
Nevertheless Mrs. Grayson said, "Linda, don't let me catch you teasing young men
or
smoking!"
Smoothing her gloves down between her fingers, Linda replied, "Oh, Mother.
I
promise you won't! I mean I promise I won't! I mean I don't! I
don't do those
things!"
Before Mrs. Grayson could respond, she heard Linda's friend, Marcy, call out
from
the other side of the store, "EEP! What are these things?"
Marcy had opened one of the cages, reached in and pulled out Wilbur Longwood,
whom
she held squirming in her black leather-gloved hand. With their heels
clicking, the
other ladies strolled over.
"Those are the little teensy-tykes," said Ms. Tydings. "Every month, we
receive a
shipment of about a hundred new teensy-tykes. They're a good draw.
Even selling
them for as little as $19.99 apiece, we still turn a nice profit on them."
"Where do they come from?" asked Marcy as she tickled Wilbur with a
leather-gloved
fingertip.
"They're cloned with cells from ordinary males," said Ms. Tydings. "But
their DNA
is spliced with segments of mouse DNA to make and keep them so tiny.
Perhaps that's
why they also tend to be a little high-strung."
Timothy saw Linda walking toward him. She flipped open the door at the top
of his
cage, reached in and pulled him out. Wrapped around his naked little body,
Linda's
leather-sheathed fingers felt buttery-soft and blissfully warm. The scent
of her
glove, laced with perfume, was intoxicating. Timothy also thought that he
detected
a faint odour of tobacco from the index and middle fingers of Linda's glove.
Linda held Timothy up to her face. "Don't be frightened, little man," she
said.
"I'm not going to hurt you." Then to her mother she said, "Oh, Mom!
Can Marcy and
I get these two? They're adorable!"
Brushing her gloved fingertip against the tip of Timothy's penis, Linda tickled
him
into a fully erect state.
Mrs. Grayson said, "I don't know, girls. Those little things can be so
messy. But
I suppose it's okay if you agree to take care of them."
They don't require much upkeep," said Ms. Tydings. "And they're pretty
tough except
for one thing. You can't whip them without seriously injuring them;
they're just
too tiny for that."
"Well," said Mrs. Grayson. "I think we're all set. We'll take the
two teensy-tykes
along with the bullwhip."
"You'll love using that new whip," said Ms. Tydings. "At $499.95, it's our
most
expensive whip, but it's worth every penny."
"It's my husband's money, anyway," said Mrs. Grayson. "What's he going to
spend it
on? And besides, I'm worth it!"
Linda said, "Ms. Tydings, you run a lovely business here. I really admire
the way
you manage the store."
For a moment, Ms. Tydings appeared puzzled. Then she said, "Oh, no, no, my
dear.
You're mistaken. Mr. Fuddlewuss owns the business. I'm a part-time
sales
assistant."
Click here for Part Fourteen