Wench for a Weekend - Chapter 3
by Pat Kole
Wench for a Weekend – Chapter 3 by Pat Kole
I got out, and watched him drive around a corner of the mall to park.  I sure hoped I wouldn't be there too long!
As soon as he turned the corner, someone came up to me.  “You haven’t seen the Main Street bus go by, have you?”
What was I going to do?  I couldn’t mumble through my panties!  I couldn’t even nod my head yes or no!  I fumbled out the pad, and went to the wall, and started writing. 
“No, I haven’t seen the Main Street bus, but I have only been here about 15 seconds.”
“Oh.  What happened to your neck?”
I realized that telling her that my Master locked it on me to humiliate me in public might not be QUITE what she wanted to hear.  I used the good faithful story – “I tripped over my cat while going down the stairs.  The doctors said that I tore some tendons and ligaments.  They gave me a choice – 2 weeks in full bed traction, or 4-6 weeks in this brace.  I chose the brace.”
“It must be very hard for you to go around without turning your head.  How long has it been?”  Just as she said that, I spotted a teen-aged guy hanging out by the doors.  He spotted me, and his eyes were transfixed on my over-sized boobs.  What could I do?  I kept writing, giving the teen an eyeful.  “It’s only been 2 days – I have at least 4 more weeks to go.  At least I can get up and walk around though!

I saw the teen nudge his friend and point in my direction.  I’m sure he said something to the effect of “Hey!  Check out the knockers on THAT one!  Now I had a foursome staring at me, making comments to each other. The conversation went on for another minute or two before the Main Street bus showed up.  The teens didn’t get on, and were by the door.  It was hot out here, and air conditioned inside.  I had to get by them. I minced my way up to them.  One of them approached, and started talking to me in a falsely extremely polite voice.  “Oh, excuse me miss?”  Following my master’s wishes, I stopped to write down a reply, thinking “If these kids knew that I was gagged with one of my own panties, I would just die!  I wrote out “Yes, can I help you?”
“I ah, couldn’t help but notice your brace.  Might I inquire as to what happened?”  I could tell he was being overly polite for a reason – buy time for him and his buddies to “check out my rack”.  I flipped to the same page as before, and let him read what I wrote.  Then one of his buddies had to read it.  Then the other two. 

The discussion continued, as slow as they could make it, until their bus also finally came.  I went indoors (finally!).  Master was sitting on a bench watching me, quite amused.  He asked for the notepad, and started reading it.
“I enjoyed watching you fidgeting out there.  I figure by now the two bulbs are getting larger inside of you.”  He continued reading what I wrote.  Oh my!  I didn’t notice myself fidgeting!  Was it that obvious?
“You told them both the same story?”  He handed the pad back for my reply.
I wrote down “Yes.  The story is easy to remember, and I know all of the details.”
“It stifles creativity, and limits your writing.  You will tell each group that asks a totally different story.  At some point today, you will tell someone that it was a sex accident.” 
It sank in.  I would have to tell someone today, while gagged with my own panties, that I broke my neck while having sex!  What have I gotten myself into?
Just then I gasped as I felt the dildo creep deeper inside of me.

Master smiled.  “That must have been the growing dildos.  I just like knowing that you’re the one making them grow, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it!  How does it feel, Wench?”
I wrote “They feel quite large, but I know that they will get unbearable by the time they are done!  How long will they stay in?”
“As long as my whim says they will.”
I grimaced, and we continued on.  He told me that I should lead.  I was never sure if he was 3 feet behind or 40 feet behind me.  I knew people were staring at me.  Some people stopped to ask me about my “injury”.  I made up different stories each time.  One was a car accident.  Another was recent neck surgery.  Yet another was a degenerative spinal disease. 

Finally, Master came up next to me, and said we should take a break on a bench in the mall.  I was grateful for knowing I had company.  He already had a big cup of 7-up.  I was glad for that too – after having panties in my mouth for so long, my mouth was getting so dry!  Although Master didn’t decrease the pressure on my neck brace, I found that I could still drink around the gag.
As we sat, I saw a bunch of teen-aged guys just hanging around the mall.  I wrote to Master “Why do guys like that just hang around?  Don’t they have somewhere better to go?”
He smiled.  “You’re going to go up there and talk to them.  As a matter of fact, they will be the ones to which you say your neck is due to a sex accident.  Go, wench.”

I dutifully went up to the four teens.  I wrote down “Excuse me.  Do you know when bus 64 comes by here?”
“Uh . . . no.  We got a ride.  What happened to your neck?”
I blushed as I wrote.  “I was trying to satisfy my boyfriend, and it worked better than I thought.”
I showed it to them, and they looked confused.  “You mean you two were having sex?”
“I went down on him, but when he came, he knocked me back, and I hit my neck on the dresser.”
When they read that, all of their eyes just popped out of their head.  “Oh my god!  Why didn’t you grab on to something?”
“I was handcuffed”
“Oh my god!  Your boyfriend handcuffed your hands, you sucked his cock, and when he came, he broke your neck?”

I would have hung my head if I could.  With the brace on, I had no such choice; it was held proudly up high.  I continued writing.  “Yes, but it was an accident.”
One of the guys said “Yow!  If something like that happened to me, I would have lied about it; said that it was a car accident or something!”  I smiled to myself; I was lying about it now, and I lied about it being a car accident before!  He continued.  “Why are you actually telling us this?”
I told the truth, half of the truth, and nothing but half of the truth.  “Because my boyfriend told me to.”
Just then a car beeped just outside of one of the doors.  One of the guys looked up.  “Oh damn!  Our ride is here!  You are one hot chick babe!”  Much to my relief, they went to hop in the car, and I returned to Master – mission accomplished.

Master read through what I had written, and his eyes kind of glazed over – he was clearly excited.  “And how did you feel, telling them that you were handcuffed and sucking me?” I could tell by the waver in his voice that he would really, really want that to happen, but alas, his penis was trapped in a plastic cage – it was not to be.  “I felt humiliated.  I felt . . . put in my place Master.”
“Good.  You performed well.  For the next trip, I think that we should allow you the ability to talk.”  He hooked up the bulb, and deflated the brace.  Although my head was still held high, at least I had the room to open my mouth.  I discretely took out the wadded up panty gag, and slid that into my purse.  I saw that there were other things in there, but dared not to look.
“You are going to go shoe shopping.  Go to 5 different stores, and get the highest heels that they have – with ankle straps.”
I picked up the pad to write, and then remembered – I can talk!  “You want me to get 5 pairs of heels?” 
“No, just the highest heels out of those 5 stores.  I’ll be with you, but you do the talking.”

We went to different stores.  Master had me try on at least two pair per store, and try to strut around for his amusement.  Not only am I not used to heels over 3”, but I couldn’t even look down to keep my balance.  I sure was teetering!  The shoes all had very pointy toes.  As all of my weight was sliding into the toes, they were aching from just the few yards of teetering.  Finally he decided on which ones I should get.  They had a towering 6 1/2” heel.  With my small feet, they really felt tall!  Two ankle straps went around each ankle, firmly holding them in.  He whispered to buy them, and wear them out of the store.
“I’ll take them.”
“Pack them up?”
I don’t know what made me say it.  Maybe it was the dread of teetering through the mall on these horribly sized heels, dressed like a sex object.  “Yes, I’ll just wear my old ones home, pack these up.”

Master calmly put his hand at the small of my back and turned the enema valve.  My eyes went wide as the water filled my bowels, making my belly protrude like I was getting pregnant – fast!  I hoped the gurgling wasn’t quite as audible to everyone else as it was to me.
“Are you OK?” asked the attendant.
“Um.  Yeah.  I guess I’m just hungry.  That’s all.” I replied.  In actuality, I felt more full now then I’ve ever felt!
“Yes, we will just have to go to the food court and get you something.”  Master was “kindly” rubbing my back, in actuality, forcing all of the water out of the bag into me! Master had me pay for the shoes, and we walked out.  I felt like I was waddling with the 2 quarts of water up my butt.
“Since you’re so hungry, I guess we need to go to the food court.”  I was glad the court was nearby.
Master ordered lunch, while I stood nearby.  I started feeling some cramps as my bowels fruitlessly tried to expel the enema.  Finally Master got his food and sat down.  I realized that standing all the time in the food court would be quite conspicuous, but the butt-plug and enema already felt huge!  I gingerly sat down.  Sitting down only made it worse.  The cramps only got worse.  “Master?  May I please expel the enema?”
“I don’t think you’re quite asking for the right thing.”
The cramping kept getting worse.  “OK, I’ll put the shoes on.  Then may I expel the enema?  I’m cramping up down there.”
He just kept eating.  “You can put the shoes on only after I give you permission.”

After a few minutes of worsening cramps, I was wobbling back and forth, like a sitting version of the pee-pee dance.  I was desperate.  “Master?  May I please wear my new shoes?  Please?  I really want them on.  I’m sure you’ll enjoy seeing me in them.  Please master?”
He gave me a key to the belt.  You can expel the enema, and take off the bag.  Since I don’t think you’ll be able to get the butt-plug back in at its present size, you’ll find a replacement in your purse.  As there isn’t any lubricant, you may find it easier to get a slab of butter from the place that sells those filled potatoes.  Oh, and specifically ask for un-salted butter, unless you’re feeling particularly ambitious.”
I hurried off.  I was glad that there was only one person in front of me in line, as I was wobbling quite a lot from the enormous discomfort down in my bowels.  I quickly got the sweet (un-salted) butter; I was not feeling particularly “ambitious”, I was feeling like I had to go to the bathroom bad!  I hurried off to the ladies room.

As soon as I unlocked the belt, I held onto the rubber panties.  The enema released with a “Whoosh”, expelling the plug from my butt with the force.  It seemed to turn my butt into a waterfall, making all sorts of splashing noises as they hit the toilet.  My bowels made rude noises like I’d never heard before.
After what seemed like a long time, it was finally all out.  I smeared the butter around the inside of my butt.  Butter – it was not KY that I was smearing, but butter.  The thought humiliated me.  I opened my purse.  I was quite relieved when I saw the modest size of the plug – my butt was already sore!  I smeared the rest of the butter on the plug, and slid it home.  I looked at the panties that I had taken off in disbelief.  That actually FIT inside of me?  Those things are enormous!  I was so glad that I was not expected to put it back in!  I put the belt and panties into the purse.
I put those dreaded shoes back on.  I have small feet – the 6” heels looked absolutely enormous next to them.  Walking would be a problem.  My toes felt crammed into the pointed toes, and all of my weight was pushing them harder.  I went out to face the in-evitable, and my Master. 
 

05.05.03