Handgaglover

A Turn for the Worse

Part One

How was it possible for a mother to work the typical forty-hour per week schedule, with weekends off, and still find ways to ignore her son the rest of the time? I guess the fact that my father left her had left effects that lasted much longer than I initially thought. It was in late May, just a week after I finished eighth grade and six months after I turned thirteen years old, that my dad just one day left. He said that he was going to hang out with some buddies of his, as he so often did almost every night of the week, and never came back. The fact that he spent so much time with his friends and so little with my mother was, I think, the primary cause of the marital strain that gradually appeared around the time I was ten years old.

My mom eventually got tired of that lack of "quality time" and began verbalizing her complaints to me in the morning before I went to school as she was making breakfast for herself and over the phone to her female friends. Well, my dad didn't like that very much and started complaining about how nagging my mother had become. Bitter resentment hung over the house for a few years until that night that my father left and did not return. I'm not sure if he packed a suitcase or not for I remained in my room almost always due to the fact that my mom had become absorbed with self-pity, confusion, and bitterness. So, I didn't see him pack a bag, and I didn't ask my mother about it; nor did she tell me, either.

For the four years previous to my dad's leaving, my mom and I didn't talk much for she almost immediately became absorbed with herself when she wasn't at work. When I would try to talk to her, particularly when I was ten years old when problems were arising, I would be verbally shooed away with two or three-word answers to questions and then a command that I "let mommy be".

Mom would always use the excuse, "I have to think. Let mommy be so she can think."

After a couple years, I would shoot back with, "But, you're always thinking!"

It was at that point that a stern look would be flashed my way, hot with irritation, and an even-toned command for me to go to my room would follow. I learned my lesson after only a couple of such inquiries and mainly reserved myself to my room which wasn't so great. I mean, I had a television, some videogames, some movies, and my computer, but I still wanted to talk to my mom. I wanted to talk to my dad too, just because he's my dad, but he was never around.

In a way, the same was true of my mom since she was around physically but not mentally. Whenever she wasn't working, she would sit in front of the television and watch movies of all genres while surfing the internet. On one occasion, I peeked over her shoulder, without her knowledge, and saw that she was on an internet dating site. What confused me was that she was looking at profiles of women. What was up with that? I at first thought that she was checking on the profiles of her female friends, just to see how the whole internet-dating thing worked, but I soon learned otherwise.

I had never seen any of my mom's female friends for they never came over to the house. I didn't understand why, though, since there was ample space. The living room was spacious and was the first thing seen after entering the front door. It was carpeted in thick, tan carpet on top of which sat a catty-cornered entertainment center with an overstuffed, dark-red couch in front of it. Along the left wall ran a set of carpeted stairs to the second floor where there was a small closet on the right and the master bedroom and bath at the end of the hall. A guest room, then a full bathroom, and then my room were on the first floor just below the staircase while the kitchen was at the back of the living room. The house itself was situated in a developing community tucked away in a large cul-de-sac that had only bits of construction around it since ours was the only one completely intact in that area.

The cul-de-sac was surrounded by thick groves of broad-leaved trees that were only separated once by the one road that led in and out of the development. The point is that there would be no real noise restrictions other than being considerate of me. So, the guests could have stayed in the living room and I could have stayed in my room. But, my mom, I guess, saw fit to hang out with her friends outside of the house which is what she did over the weekends. This meant that for years I only saw her sometimes during the evening after school. It was a good thing that I learned how to pack my own lunches and do my own laundry at an early age for my mom did neither of those things after I was eleven years old.

Where my dad went, I have no idea still to this day. I asked my mom once, but she only looked at me with tired eyes and shrugged her shoulders before trudging off to her bedroom, leaving me to contemplate the loss of my dad by myself. However, I should have been used to doing things by myself at that point. I didn't much care for people at my school, so I hung out in my spare time by myself. Every weekend, my mom would give me forty dollars to entertain myself while she went out with her friends. I went to the movies by myself, I ordered pizza by myself, and I would walk around the section of town, near which I lived, by myself. Heck, it wasn't as if anyone was going to walk with me since I didn't have any friends, and both of my parents were single children.

The times that I looked forward to in those couple of years leading up to, and including, the year I turned fourteen years old, when my life began to further move downhill, was early Summer for that was the time that the fairs would come to town. There was a bluegrass festival that I was not able to attend for it was too expensive and served alcohol. The music was still cool to listen too while I walked around town. There was a barbecue festival that featured locally-renowned grill masters coming together to show off their latest creations. That one was always a treat because it meant that you could eat as much as you wanted for the ten-dollar entrance fee. I would usually do that one first, since it was on a Saturday, because I would still have thirty dollars to entertain me for the rest of the weekend.

The main thing I looked forward to, though, was the Renaissance fair since it had no entrance fee and lasted all summer long which meant that I could find easy entertainment every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. The first Summer I attended was mesmerizing: tents and booths of all shapes and sizes were littered everywhere on the vast stretch of fairgrounds that was situated on the western edge of town about three miles from where I lived. It was quite the distance, but my bike would take care of that in no time at all.

Besides, the journey was well worth it. I would usually only sample the food for mostly what was served were legs of meat that were very large and expensive when one only had forty dollars to play with. I would get lots of "apple ale", as they called it, which was meant for children. I know it was only apple cider, but it was served out of tapped barrels by big guys in olden-time outfits, so it always put me in the spirit of things.

The fair was great because I could escape the doldrums of my life for an afternoon and could take my mind off of things. There were small stages set here and there on which short, hilarious plays would take place. All of them, as I was told by a couple staff members, were based off of actual historical events that took place. Music was always heard and came from lute players, small groups playing orchestra music, and even people dressed up as monks singing what they called "chants". The monks would invite people to follow them around the fair in a straight line and sing along from chant books they handed out. It was a lot of fun! There were also horse rides one could pay for that allowed one to ride a great big Clydesdale around for a few minutes as it snorted and whinnied.

What always impressed me, though, were the elaborate jousting tournaments arranged each year. More Clydesdales were used in an oval-shaped arena that could hold about two-hundred spectators at once. People were always packing into that arena to see those guys in real armor bashing away at each other with wooden lances that, as I was informed by another staff member, were made out of softer wood so that they would shatter without causing injury.

What was really cool about it, other than the spectacle of the event itself, was the fact that one had the opportunity to act as the squire of the knights. I didn't partake in that honor, but I saw other kids my age do it. The knights would educate them, and anyone who cared to watch, and would teach them how to clean the dirt off of and polish the armor the knights wore and how to groom the horses the knights would ride. The participants even got to wear the basic dress of the squire as well which included a garment that looked like a long-sleeved dress of whatever color the knight's sigil was. It wasn't called a dress, but it still looked like it. The knight's sigil itself was embroidered onto the front while the wearer was also given a pair of matching tights and, if they wished, leather shoes which didn't look like they had any padding or support.

I thought the entire program was amazing and added a lot to the atmosphere of the fair. The reason I never was a squire for the knights of the Fair was that I kept on being denied a role due to my perceived age. While it was true I was a teen, the knights I talked to in previous years denied me a role because they thought that I was only ten years old. At first, I was annoyed, but upon my second denial, I understood the knights' reasoning. I was barely over four-and-a-half feet [1.35 m] tall, I was thin, and I still had the face of a boy that was younger than I. I had forgotten to get my hair cut lately, because I lost track and because my mother never kept an eye on it, so it hung down to the back of my neck and even a little past it. Because of my long blonde hair, my slightly freckled face, and my full, pink lips that were pulled over my severe over-bite, I didn't exactly look the part of a knight-to-be. So, I was forced to be content with watching from the sidelines as the knights and their squires did their thing.

During the Fair of the summer when I turned fourteen, curiosity overtook contentment one Friday afternoon, the first one of June, and I acquired an overwhelming desire to see the behind-the-scenes perspective of these knights. A brief thought involving me donning some leftover squire garb and slipping secretly into a demonstration did cross my mind, but I feared getting caught. I was not one who was known for his bravery.

Just before the jousting ring, set back some distance to the right of it, were the dressing rooms of the jousting participants. That set-back area consisted of several rows of burlap tents built in a hexagonal fashion in order to create a simple image of background authenticity. I had been standing in the small crowd gathered around a couple of knights who were showing a couple of approved squires how to polish armor. The knights, I noted, were the very same two that I spoke to in earlier summers about a potential position as a squire. That fact only made the curiosity in me increase.

"Fine," I thought, you don't want me to be a squire? I'll just have to make my own fun then since you wouldn't let me be in your crummy act."

That was only a fleeting moment of rebellion. I honestly loved the act of the knights and was simply motivated by curiosity. Throughout the demonstration, I kept looking over at all of the tents, wondering what they looked like from the inside. There were so many! I bet I could have at least a couple hours' worth of fun exploring them. If nothing else, I might have been able to stand in the shade for a bit to cool off. It was a little cooler earlier in the day around noon when I left for a walk before the fair, and I decided to wear a jean jacket over my white t-shirt, jeans, and black sneakers. By that time of the day, which was around three in the afternoon, I was quite warm.

Looking over at the tents for probably the eleventh time in five minutes, I just couldn't take it anymore. I had to look! I glanced at my plastic Spiderman wrist watch that I got from a cereal box as if I actually had somewhere to be on that fine warm evening. Since I was in the middle of the small crowd of thirty-ish people, I edged my way to the left until I was out. Then, I circled back to my right, behind the crowd, and made my way to the tents. I watched all of the turned backs of the spectators before braving a casual trek across the bit of open grass that occurred before the set of dressing tents, beyond which was the tall wooden barrier that encircled the fair. The barrier consisted of several dark-brown pikes with spiked tops woven together with crossed bits of thick rope.

The field of tents was quite expansive to a kid my size and seemed to stretch ten tents wide and five deep. I noticed a wooden sign at the fifth tent over and, looking quickly to each of my sides to ensure the coast was clear, went over to it. On the brown wooden planks, that matched the fair's barrier, were written two words in thick, white chalk letters: "Ladies" with an arrow pointing left, and "Gents" with an arrow pointing to the right. Hmmm 3;

Well, I had planned on exploring all of the tents anyway, so I figured I might as well go left to right. The thought that I would be exploring ladies' tents made me quite nervous because 3; well 3; they were ladies' tents. I bet that even the knights of the fair didn't know what the insides of those things looked like. I felt my throat become dry as my heart began to thud heavily in my chest. I walked on heavy feet to my left and entered the first row of tents.

"What are you doing?" I thought to myself. "This isn't you! You're not a troublemaker."

No, but I was just so darn curious that I just had to follow through with it. I became aware that I was slightly hunched over, as if crouching like a small animal would, as I moved into the first row of tents. Now, that was just silly. I straightened up and decided to just walk slowly and carefully so I at least did not appear to be a thief or something. I was just a curious onlooker and explorer.

The tents, I saw, had rectangular openings at the front of each. The doorways faced each other and were covered with things that varied from tent to tent. A couple entrances were covered by simple sheets of burlap while others were covered with thick blankets that featured decorative patterns. I soon found my curiosities being occupied by simply looking at all of the colorful blankets that were used as doors. Deep reds, purples, blues, and sea-greens stood out vibrantly against the plain off-white burlap that made up the actual tents. It felt as if I was lost in some gypsy camp like those the fair's preacher and naysayers were always going on about.

The second tent on my right held my attention for a moment. Its base color was a dark purple that had blue, gold, and turquoise swirls woven throughout it. Oh, it looked so soft! I approached the tent in a slow, cautious manner and reached my hand out to touch the wonderful blanket.

"Oh, Margaret, you look absolutely stunning in that gown!" came a sudden female voice from inside the tent.

Instantly, I froze with by breath caught in my throat. I couldn't think of anything to do except run, but my legs didn't seem to want to go anywhere.

"Oh! Your Highness, how wonderful of you to notice. Of course, the gown was your choice after all," came another, somewhat nasally female voice from the tent followed by dramatic laughter that sounded pompous. They must have been practicing for a play!

Exhaling slowly through an open mouth, I rediscovered control of my legs and began to slowly back away from the tent. I thought they were going to yell at me for sneaking around the place. It was such a relief to be walking down the first row of tents again that I almost leapt for joy.

Okay, well, I knew now that I couldn't go in that one. In fact, several of the tents in that first row had women inside. I heard singing from one tent, just a bit of humming one might do if one was getting dressed, and I heard more lines being rehearsed from another.

Finally, after leaning toward and putting my ear toward a solid black curtain, I found a tent that did not have anyone inside. It was the last tent on my left in the first row. I felt my heart thudding heavily as I cautiously crept into the empty tent. When my eyes adjusted to the dim light inside, I became a little disappointed, although I didn't know what I expected to find. A long metal rack on wheels was to my left and contained several gowns, dresses, and various outfits meant for the fair. On the floor was a simple, plain maroon rug upon which was set a dark, wooden makeup table with an oval mirror on the back and bits of beauty implements strewn about its surface. A small wooden stool, matching the color of the desk, was set before it along with a pair of black high-heels and a pair of running shoes. That was it.

"Well, what did you expect?" I thought to myself. "You might as well go to a different tent now because there's nothing of interest here. Besides, you're not one to cause mischief, so there's no point in just standing here looking silly." Feeling a little disappointed, I exited the tent just as cautiously as I entered it and made my way across the row whose tents were behind the ones I had just walked past.

Moving around the tent, heading to my right, I traveled through the four-foot wide space between the right side of the disappointing tent and the wall that encompassed the fair. I crept past the left side of the first tent of the next row, making sure that my jacket or clothing didn't brush against the rough surface of the fence.

Distracted by those efforts, I took a couple of less sneaky steps through the somewhat long grass between the left side of the tent and the fairground wall. The result was a set of two swooshing sounds that made me freeze instantly for I thought that whoever might be in the tent next to me would have surely heard that. My breath caught in my throat, I kept my ears perked for any sound of movement or even a voice from the tent I intended to enter next.

I'm not sure how much time passed, but after not hearing anything, I continued to creep carefully around the tent until I came upon its entrance. The doorway was covered by a heavy, old-looking brown piece of cloth with a few bits of hay stuck in the gnarled base of the blanket. The thing looked as if it had been in a barn for a few dozen years before being used as a door cover. I could still feel my heart beating solidly and steadily in my chest as I swallowed thickly.

Taking another quick glance to my left, down the row of tents stretching before me and at the small crowd of knight-watchers in the distance, I moved the heavy blanket to my left and stepped inside. I immediately looked to my right for there was a large wooden trunk with a slightly convex lid that reeked of cedar. It had an iron hook on the front that was meant for a heavy padlock. On top of the trunk were a white tank top, a pair of kapris-style jeans, and a pair of beat-up white running shoes. The trunk must have been used by the actress as a storage system and a sort of dressing table, for there was nothing else in the tent except for a narrow wooden rack. Maybe that was where an outfit was stored.

My gaze remaining toward my right side, I noticed that there was a very long, heavy-looking sword in a thick brown-leather sheathe propped against the inner wall of the tent. I was immediately enraptured with the sight of that amazing weapon. It looked just like something a knight of olden times would use! The handle was probably two feet [60 cm] long with a solid metal ball at the end of it that caught a little glimmer of sunlight coming in from the edge of the blanket that did not completely fall closed behind me. The sword itself was as tall as I was, and my mind began to form an image of just what sort of mighty person would wield such a thing. The smell of dank earth, warm cedar, and the sight of that sword transported me to another time - a time of knights, possibly dragons, damsels in distress 3;

I was so absorbed with the sights before me that I didn't notice a towering figure moving behind me, taking two heavy steps before roughly grabbing me. The first thing I felt was a thick-toned, powerful forearm across my belly button followed by some pain in my right arm as it was instantly pinned to my side.

Just as quickly, but infinitely more vicious, was the huge, enormous, gigantic, super-super-strong gloved hand that clamped TIGHT - even tighter than tight - over my mouth and lower face. Every part of me moved very quickly then for I was yanked backward and pulled against the body of whoever had grabbed me in such a rough, mean fashion. A short, barely-audible squeak emanated from me as I was grabbed, my face engulfed in a mask of warm leather, and pulled back into the darkness of the tent that was on the opposite side of the door.

I didn't try to scream and struggle immediately, much to my everlasting regret, because I think the shock of what was happening to me caused me to lose touch with reality for a moment. I was grabbed so roughly and so suddenly that, unable to figure out how to respond, since nothing like that had ever happened to me in the past, I froze.

The small squeak that escaped me was out of pure instinct and was the only sound to make its way past the insanely large gloved hand vice-clamped over my mouth and lower face, for it took me a few seconds for my brain to tell me to make noise and to try to call for help.

"Hnh, hnh, hnnn," I suddenly heard from somewhere above and behind me. It was a low, throaty, chuckle that dripped with malice and mischief.

"That laugh, zoomed a quick thought through my racing mind, sounded female." Was it a woman that was doing this to me? Was it a woman who had roughly grabbed me, body, mouth and face, and was keeping me in a hold so unkind that it hurt?

I think it was the act of hearing that laugh that sort of brought my mind back to a state of realization. I realized I was in great danger considering that whoever was doing this to me had a huge hand over my mouth which meant that she clearly did not want me calling for help.

So, what did I naturally do? I tried to scream. Not only that, I tried to scream with all of my might so that anyone, whether it be a passerby or whoever, would hear me and come to the rescue.

"Mmmphhh 3; mhmmphhh 3; mm," was all that I could manage because my breathing was quite limited due to the upper portion of the broad, leather-clad palm over my mouth that was pressed over the bridge of my nose which greatly reduced the amount of air that I could take in through my nostrils.

I almost winded myself by trying to scream for help and by tensing every part of my body in an effort to move, squirm, and escape the incredibly solid grasp keeping me still. Finding that I couldn't move an inch with my initial efforts to escape, I relaxed my muscles and tried desperately to catch my breath through the thin space of my narrowed nostrils.

Settling down only slightly, preparing myself for another bout of struggling and screaming for help, I became aware of just how hopelessly tight the gloved hand over my mouth and lower face was. My face and tender lips were really hurting at that point for the hold was so unbearably tight. Another thing that was distressing was the fact that I couldn't even move my lower jaw for the bottom portion of the hand over my mouth cradled my chin and ensured that my mouth remain closed. The leather-clad palm squashing my poor lips into a hopeless silence did an excellent job of keeping me quiet for the "screams" I tried to produce were effectively reduced to muffled moans that even I couldn't hear very well.

"Oh no," raced another thought through my head, "Who's doing this to me? Why is she doing this to me? And 3; no one even knows I'm gone from the house 3; "

"Well, what do I have here?" said my captress from somewhere a little closer to my left ear that was touched by the pads of the leather glove of the big right hand over my mouth. That low, smooth, evil voice was clearly female. My abductress had leaned over a little, stooping just enough so that she could look at my face, and hooked her strong, right wrist so that I would be forced to look up at her.

The problem was that my face was so tightly held that the pressure from the grip alone was enough to force my eyes to become squinted slits. Then, on top of that, my squinted eyes were further obscured by the hearty knuckle of the thick thumb of the hand holding my mouth and most of my face. I could barely make out an image of my captress' face from behind the gargantuan hand keeping me quiet and helpless. The cruel and very tall woman moved her thumb out a little and away from my forcefully squinted eyes that were becoming watery from tears of stress, frustration, and pain.

"Mmphhh 3; mmhh 3; mm," I tried to protest from behind the thick, gloved hand clamped painfully-tight over my mouth. My eyes clearing a little and coming into focus, I got a decent look at the face of the mean woman who had grabbed me. She was very, very tomboyish in the face for she had short, dyed-blond hair that was cut maybe three inches [7 cm] long and combed forward with a bit of gel. She had put on only a little makeup that consisted of red lipstick. Her skin was quite smooth-looking, with a decent complexion, except for the "laugh lines" at the corners of her eyes.

This bully of a woman was maybe in her early forties and was probably the tallest woman I had ever seen. With my head turned up and to my left, but with my body still being forcefully tucked into her, I noticed that her body felt solid and muscular beneath the outfit she was wearing. I couldn't tell at that point exactly what she was wearing, but I noticed that the gloves on her hands were long and ran up to her upper arm. Those gloves seemed to be made of brown leather, but, stitched onto the backs of them and running to the tips of the gloves' fingers, was fine chain mail.

"Was this woman part of a show here at the fair?" I thought to myself. That couldn't have been, unless she was new. I had never seen her here before, and I think I would have noticed her before considering her size and distinctly high-cheek-boned, slightly full-lipped face. Her eyes were dark and menacing as she glared down mischievously into my scared, squinted eyes. Looking up past the hearty leather bra she was wearing, which also had chain mail stitched onto it, all I could do was stare back in fear for I couldn't move and I certainly couldn't speak.

"Oh, now, just you shush," began the crazy, strong woman holding me in her unbearably restricting grasp, "You and I need to have a little talk about why it's wrong to be a sneaky little thief who goes snooping around invading other people's privacy."

That sounded reasonable enough, for I was indeed snooping where I should not have been. The problem was that the woman who captured me did not seem in any hurry to let me go. If she let me go, I would have been more than happy to endure her spiel if it meant me getting away without having some security person called. I squinted at my captress expectantly, as if she was about to let me go so that we could get on with whatever she wanted to say to me.

"Mphh 3; hmmhh," I muffled into her enormous, tight-gagging gloved hand before inhaling another brief, unsatisfactory amount of air that was completely overwhelmed by the smell of warm leather. A slight smile touched the strong woman's red-painted lips as she heard me attempt to respond.

"What? Do you want me to let you go?" asked the cruel female knight.

"Hmmphhh 3; mhmhh," I muffled again into her hand in an attempt to respond. It was, after all, the only way that I could for no effort was made on the part of my captress to allow me to speak.

"Hnh, hnn, I'll bet you do. Well, I'll let you go when I'm good and ready; but not quite ye-," continued the mean woman until she stopped suddenly and jerked her head up, as if she was aware of something. I heard footsteps, then, outside, and drawing nearer to, the dressing tent that I was being held in.

"Hey, Heather? You around?" came a slightly higher-pitched man's voice from about ten paces away. I could hear boots swishing through the grass as the person came closer to the tent.

Instantly, my captress straightened herself and pulled me firmly back against her solidly-strong torso while securing her grip of my torso to a suffocating level of tightness. To my horror, for I didn't think it could get any worse, the gigantic leather-clad hand over my mouth and lower face tightened even more to the point where my nose was completely cut off, thereby robbing me of breath. The thick thumb pressed over the upper bridge of my nose and robbed me of most of my sight.

A short squeak of a moan was caught in the back of my throat as I was quickly subdued in a more restricting, and much unkinder, embrace. I instinctively tensed every muscle of my body and tried to move my head so that I could get just a few slivers of air. To no avail I struggled and immediately refocused my efforts on moving my body. The crazy woman holding me held fast, her grips unwavering, even as I attempted to stomp on her feet. That too was useless since I discovered that she was wearing some sort of metal-plated boots. I tried to scream or make any sort of noise, but I couldn't, seeing as how one needs air to make noise. I wasn't allowed to have air in those fearful moments.

"Yeah, I'm in my tent!" Heather, I guess her name was, called back, "Don't come in here, though - I'm changing." I heard a bit of a nervous chuckle from the man approaching the tent as he stopped some five paces away.

"Aw, shit, well, I guess you wouldn't want me walkin' in on you like that. Although, with your body, all muscled up like a guy's, I guess it'd just be like bein' in a guy's locker room down at the gym," retorted the roughneck-sounding guy.

"Fuckin' asshole," Heather cursed under her breath. As I struggled for air, and gave her metal-covered left boot another wimpy stomp, I briefly thought that her curse was somewhat hypocritical given the way that she was holding me all gagged up and smothered the way she was. I think that the fear coursing through me in those moments was more effective than any lecture this strange, cruel woman would have been able to give.

"What do you want, Russ?" Heather said evenly while sharply exhaling.

"I was just givin' you your ten minute warning. Show's startin' soon," the man outside the tent responded.

"Good. It'll get me away from you for a while. Piss off, why don't you," Heather responded hotly. All I heard from the only person who could have helped me then was a chuckle followed by retreating footsteps. My heart sank as I stood there motionless, weary from my struggles and lack of air, with my head held back against Heather's torso. Small, high-pitched whimpers that could barely be heard within the stillness of the tent leaked out of my heavily-oppressed mouth as the footsteps faded and I was, once again, left alone with the horrible strong woman known as Heather.

"What a prick," Heather declared to either me or the silence of the tent. Just when I thought I couldn't stand being without air any longer, I was released. Well, I was not simply let go by my captress. The cruel woman let go of me before rudely shoving me forward so that I fell forward. I tried to catch myself on my hands, but that did not cushion my fall very much. My aching torso thudded into the thick grass while my aching face came to within about five inches [12 cm] of making contact with the large sword on the other side of the tent.

I heard a sharp, frustrated exhale from above and behind me before feeling large, gloved hands on my upper arms. Pinching my skin in the process, which only stressed me out more, Heather hauled me off of the ground to a standing position before forcefully whirling me around to face her. She bent so that her face was somewhat close to mine, wearing an angry expression. And, did I detect lust in those intense, cobalt eyes glaring at me? She firmly grabbed my face with her huge right hand, her thumb pressing against my right cheekbone and her forceful fingers going up past my left cheekbone. She squeezed, using an amount of pressure that was highly uncalled for, and forced my lips to purse from the force exerted onto my cheeks.

"Muhh-no! Pwease, don't 3; " I muttered in fear before Heather gave my face a curt shake.

"Shut up!" the cruel woman snapped. I breathed heavily through forcefully clenched teeth as I anxiously awaited what she was going to do to me next.

"Now, since I have a show to do, I can't spend as much time with you or 'educate' you as much as I would like. So, I'm only going to ask this once, and then you're free to go. Did you plan to steal anything of mine while you were snooping around in here?" My eyes widened even more in fear, a thing which I didn't think possible.

"No, I swear, I was just l-looking! That's it, I swear. It won't happen again," I shakily replied, for I so desperately wanted to get out of there and be away from that awful woman.

"Good, that's what I wanted to hear," Heather said evenly. Bringing her face mere inches from my scared, quivering one, she finished by saying, "I don't ever want to see you back here again." She released my face, turned me in the direction of the door, and rudely shoved me into the heavy, musty blanket.

As grateful as I was to have my aching face released from its tight-gripping prison of leather, I didn't like the way that I was let go. Gasping in surprise, I felt as if I was going to lose my balance once that Heather woman shoved me. I flailed my arms and instinctively grabbed for the blanket over the tent's door, not thinking that it might not hold my weight. Even though I was quite thin and small for my age, the blanket couldn't take the strain and came down with me as I went sprawling to the ground. I heard something like snaps giving way above me, as if the blanket were held up by clothes pins, before feeling the breath being driven out of me by the packed earth onto which I landed.

On the ground, I opened my eyes to find that a portion of the blanket had come down over my head and had created a dark, warm space for my head and torso to be in when I recovered from the initial shock of landing on the hard ground. I didn't stay still when I landed, though. I scrambled to pull the musty, hay-scented blanket off of me before hurriedly getting to my feet. I could feel my hair becoming mussed in the process of pulling the blanket off of me, but I didn't care. I wanted to be away from that fair and safe in my room as soon as I could.

Eyes still wide with fear, I looked toward the tent to find the dominant Heather staring at me with her hands on her hips. The look of bemused disappointment in her eyes was conveyed as an intimidating anger due to the fact that she was dressed the way she was. Her thick-set, solid-looking waist was encased in brown leather short-shorts that stopped at the mid-thigh before continuing to her feet in the form of brown leather chaps with more of that fine chain mail stitched into the top. The boots she was wearing looked to be large cowgirl boots with metal plating, blackened with flame for effect, stitched on top. Those gargantuan, leather-clad hands of the dominant woman who held me as a painfully-silent captive were at her waist.

Wide-eyed and frantic, I hesitated and waited for Heather to make a move. Was she going to come for me? Could I get away if she tried to grab me again?

"Muh-nh-please 3; I'm s-sorry 3; I didn't m-mean too," I mumbled before stuttering a scared apology for taking the blanket down. I know that she shouldn't have been mad because it was her fault for pushing me, but I still didn't want anything bad to happen to me.

I started to back away and retreat slightly towards my right so that I might get a head start if Heather tried to chase me. My goal was to circle around her tent and head toward the back exit of the fairgrounds so that I could safely loop around to the front to get my bike. With her red lips angrily pursed, and a very intense look in her eyes, Heather actually turned in my direction, for I was close to the area between the tent and the fair's wall, and took a heavy step toward me. Instantly, I felt my stomach go cold, my nerves tighten, and my vision tunnel so that all I noticed was the terrifyingly strong amazon woman about to pursue me.

When I saw Heather's gloved hands move off of her waist and begin to mischievously flex, the thick fingers curling toward and away from the broad palms as if wanting to grab a poor little boy's mouth, I heard a loud set of trumpets blare from somewhere far away. At least, it seemed far away. Those trumpets came from only the arena just beyond the set of dressing tents. Heather stopped in her tracks, her head and shoulders straightening for they were set forward a little in preparation of pursuing me, and the fire in her cobalt eyes receded a little. Those trumpets blared just as I was about to turn and flee for my life, but, at that point, I froze. I was somewhat surprised to see the dominant amazon turn wordlessly back into her tent before exiting with her long sword. She didn't even look at me as she turned to her right and headed toward the arena while strapping the sword's sheath to her waist.

A second blast of the trumpets made me jump for I was still frozen in place waiting for the move that I thought would come. I gasped suddenly as I discovered that I had been holding my breath in expectation of terrible events. As I tried to catch my breath, and control a sob that I felt approaching, it dawned on me why I was safe: the knight events! Heather must have been participating in one of the them. Further, since there were only two blasts of trumpets, that must have meant that she was going to be in one of the sword-fighting matches.

That didn't matter, though; none of it did. All that mattered was that I was still frozen in place, shivering, with frayed nerves as a tear rolled down my left cheek. I went from feeling like a curious adventurer exploring unknown tents to a scared little boy who was all alone in the world. I just wanted to go home. Thankfully, my muscles must have pushed emotion aside and acted on their own for I found myself moving very quickly.

Breaking into a fast jog, I made my way along the back wall of the fair until I found the exit at the back which doubled as an employee entrance. The door was cheap, solid, and hollow with a simply knob on it which I wrenched and yanked open before barreling through to the outside world. Out of the corner of my left eye, I noticed two non-costumed employees having a smoke break just to the left of the door. I didn't even give them a glance. Instead, I simply turned right and broke into a full-out sprint, my hair feeling as if it was streaming behind me, and made my way for the fair's main entrance where the bike racks were.

By the time I was halfway around the outside of the fair's wall, I felt fire in my lungs and, by the time I reached the bike racks at the front of the fair, I was panting heavily and had to stop to catch my breath for a moment before unlocking my bike. I only partially tamed the burning sensation in my chest for my nerves told me to keep moving, to get on my bike, and to just get away. I made quick work of the bike lock and was soon pumping away at the pedals so that I could get home as quickly as possible.

My mind was a blur of racing thoughts involving what had just happened to me, what would happen to me, and what that Heather woman might do once she was done her match. Would she tell anyone about what I had done? Was she going to ask around and try to find out who I am so that she could find me herself? And 3; what would she do to me if she did get me? Would she hurt me again? Would she grab my mouth and not let go? It was pretty evident that she liked to use those huge hands of hers to keep me quiet. So, that seemed like a possibility. Could I escape her if she somehow found me?

"Not if she came in the middle of the night. You'd just be sleeping in your bed. What could you do? All she'd have to do is grab your mouth and take you away. You wouldn't be able to make a sound. Heck, you'd be easy prey." Oh stop! "Just stop," I told myself. I couldn't take much more of that, and yet the thoughts just kept rolling in like that.

I soon found myself turning onto the private road, sided only by trees, that led into the development-in-progress in which my house was the only one completed. I screeched to a halt in front of the garage door before quickly walking my bike to the left side of the house through the side door leading into the garage. I noticed my mother's black, four-door sedan was gone, but I reassured my aching heart that maybe she had only gone to the store.

I locked the side door, set my bike against the wall, and quickly made my way for the kitchen. Was there a note on the dining table? Sometimes my mom left a note with money for me telling me that she would be out late and to buy myself a pizza or something for dinner. As I made my way through the laundry alcove to the kitchen, I really hoped that was not the case. I just wanted a hug from her and to explain my situation. Maybe she would listen and would start being more personable toward me.

I felt my stomach sink further as I discovered a white notecard and two twenty-dollar bills next to it. I let out an audible sigh when I saw the note which caused disappointment to overwhelm me. At least my hands weren't shaking anymore, so I could read the note.

"Brandon, I'm going out tonight, and I might not be back until late tomorrow afternoon. There's some money for the weekend for you since I won't be home to cook." The note started out typically, but I was surprised to find one more sentence than usual. "Also," the note ended, "I finally rented out the guest room to a nice lady who will be moving in tomorrow around noon-ish, so make sure you be nice and help her with anything she needs. From, mom."

Oh, great! Not only did I have no one to talk to about the fact that I was abused and forcefully held today, but I had to also meet some stranger the next day who would be renting the room directly across from mine and sharing my bathroom. I crumpled the note in my fist and threw it in the trash can next to the washer in the laundry alcove. I went to the seat in front of which the note was placed and sat down heavily. Feeling hot tears beginning to leak from my eyes, I leaned forward and put my face in my folded arms. I'm not sure how long I sat there sobbing, but it wasn't more than a few minutes. I just had to get the stress out somehow, and that seemed to be the only way my body wanted to do it. I didn't care that my tears were leaving wet spots in my sleeve. I just wanted to feel okay again. The problem was that I was just so alone.

After those few minutes of stress-release, I sniffled and wiped the tears from my eyes before heading for my room. I tucked the bills into my wallet before putting it, my phone, and keys on my computer desk before changing my clothes. I put on a plain red t-shirt and soft, faded black pajama bottoms as per my usual relaxation outfit. I didn't feel like eating anything, but it was getting close to dinner time, and I knew that pizza might make me feel better. I ordered a large with extra cheese and pepperoni with a side of cinnamon breadsticks since sweet stuff always went well with pizza.

Oddly enough, I guess because of the movement of my face as I ate, I couldn't help but experience a phantom feeling of Heather's enormous, leather-gloved hand over my mouth and face. Every so often, throughout the time that I ate and watched television in the living room, I had a sensation in my face that felt as if I had that big hand over my mouth again. My face wouldn't hurt, but it would get tingly in some places to the point where I would have to move my face more so that the feeling would dissipate. That feeling persisted even after I flexed my mouth a few times in order to stretch my cheeks. For the remaining hours in the evening and night, until I went to bed, those phantom feelings reoccurred every so often regardless of whether I was on my computer or playing videogames. Whenever I got that feeling in my face, I felt my stomach become a little cold and my breath catch in my throat for even the slightest of those sensations reminded me of the stressful, unpleasant thing that I experienced earlier.

As I turned in for the night, crawling into my soft, cool comforter, I hoped that a good night's sleep would help me forget about my experience in captivity and would help me feel rested so that I could help the new person move in tomorrow. I remember wishing that my mom would have told me sooner about the live-in, but I knew that I couldn't expect clear communication with her. She was always so distracted by herself and her life.

Sleep came fairly easily, but it was restful only from about midnight to five-ish o'clock in the morning. It was about that time that I sensed that I was in my shadow-filled, gloomy room with only a slight amount of light coming in the window from behind my blinds. It was a dark-blue, eerie sort of moonlight that revealed only shadows. I was looking up at my ceiling from my bed, but something about my room was different. I felt within me the sense that my furniture was in the right place, but I smelled warm, musty straw. The smell was very strong and reminded me of an earlier time during the previous day when I was at the fair.

It was then that I noticed a large, looming figure move through my door. Instantly, my gut tightened and my breath caught in my throat for I knew exactly who it was. Huge hands hung from the broad-shouldered female figure whose fingers flexed toward and away from the palm over and over again as the figure slowly made its way from my door to the left side of my bed. The process should have taken only seconds, but time seems to move slowly in dreams. It was her! It was Heather, the awful, cruel, dominant warrior-woman from the fair who held me captive! It was her, and she came back to finish what she started - to kidnap me and take me away to her hideout with her big, strong hands keeping me quiet!

The dark, towering figure was now at my bedside "looking" down at me, and I could detect that musky scent of Heather's body odor brought about by the heat of the day and her leather outfit. The big right hand that was by the figure's waist, fingers still flexing, rose up to just below shoulder level before shooting straight toward my helpless face. That hand was coming straight for my mouth, and it was going to seal it shut, and there was nothing I could do, oh no, I wanted mommy, I wanted mommy, I wanted mommy-

And, just like that, the dream was over. Before the hand made contact with my mouth, I sat bold upright in my bed and looked around my room wildly to make sure my door was shut, as usual, and that there was no one there with me. I exhaled heavily as I discovered that all was as it should be at five-forty-two in the morning. I panted and felt my heart thudding heavily in my chest as it recovered from the stress of the nightmare. Sweat made my shirt cling to my torso, so I pulled it up and over my head before tossing it on the floor beside me. The fan I kept running in my room for background noise blew refreshing air onto me that coolly dried the sweat on my back while I remained sitting upright for several minutes until my heartbeat slowed.

I tried to keep my eyes open throughout that time because, when I closed them, at first, all I could see was Heather's face wearing that intense "I'm gonna get you" expression she showed me earlier. And then there was that darned phantom feeling again, stronger than ever since I experienced a visual reminder of what I experienced earlier. I lied back after about ten minutes and wondered if I would get any more sleep that night given what I had just gone through.

I guess I was more tired than I thought, for I opened my eyes at a few minutes before nine o'clock. I quickly got out of bed, an action which I immediately regretted for I was still groggy, and made my way into the bathroom that connected my room to the guest bedroom. I was feeling hurried because I wanted to do my morning routine, eat breakfast, and have at least a couple hours to myself before the bustling of the live-in's move began. The shower felt better than any I had taken before; the stress of the previous day washed itself down the drain never to be seen again. Breakfast was more delicious than any others: I had eggs, toast, the last slices of deli ham 3; Heck, I didn't care. It was a new day, a new good meal, and life was too short for anything else but making the most of every moment.

The only negative thing about the morning was the fact that I only had about twenty minutes of down time, after eating, before I heard the doorbell ring. Now, the note from my mom said the woman would be here around noon-ish, not eleven-fifteen which is when the doorbell rang. The sound of the doorbell was preceded by the idling, and switching off, of a deep-sounding, heavy vehicle outside. It didn't sound like a moving truck, but it sounded like a big pickup.

I was in my room when the doorbell rang, so I moved as quickly as I was willing to answer the door. That just wasn't quick enough for that woman who was moving in because the doorbell rang two more times in quick succession before my hand reached the knob. As was my nature, whenever I met someone knew, I let my eyes drop sheepishly so that I stared at the person's feet before moving my gaze up the body to the eyes. I think it was a natural instinct that allowed me to take in all of the person at once. Meeting the woman who was moving in was no different.

My eyes came to rest on large feet encased in white-and-powder-blue tennis shoes before moving up to toned, hearty calves that were well proportioned with the strong, tan thighs above them. I then noticed a waist that was contained within a tight pair of acid-wash denim short-shorts whose pockets bulged with keys and a phone. A tanned navel and a sculpted torso met my eyes next before recognition began to dawn within me, particularly after seeing the huge, super-strong-looking mitts resting confidently on the waist of that person. My eyes skipped the bosom, although the person's torso was hidden by a white bra under a white wife-beater shirt that was too short, and went straight to the face.

It was her! It was Heather! It was that horrible, cruel, dominant warrior-woman from the fair, and she was here to claim me and was here to take me away and was here to keep me quiet with her huge hands forever and I wanted my mommy where was mommy-

Heather looked down at me from my doorstep with a sly, satisfied smile touching her red-painted lips. She pulled down her sporty, black shades and gave me an eyeful of her cobalt gaze which pierced me to my very core. I could tell, as I stood there with my hand stonily gripping the brass-colored knob of the front door, my breath caught in my throat and my stomach doing curt flip-flops, that she was seeing right through me and knew exactly what I was feeling. I had even wagered that, even though we had not properly met, that that woman had me exactly where she wanted me.

"Well, hey there, little boy. I guess you are Brandon after all," said the gargantuan woman at my door. She knew my name! How did she know my name? A little voice in the back of my head reminded me that she probably contacted my mother at some point so that she could actually move in, and my mom must have told Heather about her son.

"Hea-Hea-Hea 3; -ther," was all I could manage at first. Heather's smile broadened evilly as she looked me up and down with hungry eyes. "A-and you're H-heather," I said after clearing my throat and finding my breath again. I also noticed my right hand, which gripped the knob of the front door, was growing quite sore from squeezing it so hard.

"Oh, how sweet that you remember my name too! Did your mom tell you that we're going to be neighbors?" Heather asked in her naturally low, smooth voice that would have sounded like honey under any other circumstances. I swallowed hard and felt a click in the back of my throat.

"I-I 3; I mean, sh-she did tell me, yeah. Um 3; " I managed to say. My eyes were still locked onto hers.

"Oh, good. I didn't want you to think that I was stalking you or anything like that," Heather replied. I simply stared at her thinking about how odd of a comment that was, especially since her expression of sly confidence didn't change as she said it.

"So 3; since we've finally met, would you mind showing me around? I'd kinda like to get moved in sometime today," Heather said, clearly wanting to get things going.

Unclenching my fingers from around the doorknob was a difficult task that took concentration to complete in a timely manner. I didn't take my eyes off of Heather's as she took her sunglasses off and tucked one of the arms into the top of her shirt. I stepped to my right and held the door for the imposing woman and attempted to be as courteous as possible.

"S-sure, c-come on in," I mumbled so that she wouldn't hear my stuttering. I was very nervous, and I knew that she knew I was too. "H-here's the living room. M-my mom usually watches TV out here in the evenings, but she watches it in her room too. I don't think she'd mind if you watched TV out here too," I said, feeling awkward showing a stranger my house.

"Okay," Heather said with amusement at my phrasing, "I have my own TV, so I won't be out here much." I showed her the kitchen next before taking her toward the room that was then hers, technically speaking. Before entering, I pointed up the set of carpeted stairs and told her that was where my mom's room was, in case she ever needed anything from my mom.

Then, I showed Heather her room: there was a queen-sized bed to the left with the white-painted, oak headboard under a window and the footboard close to a dark-stained bureau to the left of the door. The bureau had a mirror on top and was meant for styling hair or makeup. A small white table and decorative outdoor chair was past the bed at the far wall, to the right of which was the sliding glass door that was, up until that point, only opened once for the small concrete patio outside of it looked out into our side yard which would soon look out into the neighbor's side yard. At that point, it looked out onto an empty plot of land that, though owned, had not been worked on yet. To the left of the door leading into the bathroom was a spacious closet with folding doors that rolled open to the right and left.

"Wow! It's even more beautiful than I imagined. Ah! So airy and bright! What a nice place this is," Heather exclaimed showing what appeared to be actual delight. That was to my dismay for I was secretly hoping she wouldn't like the room and would decide to vacate the area.

"C-cool 3; Um, h-here's the bathroom," I said and opened the door that was just to the right of the entrance to the room. The bathroom was simple yet sizeable. A full-size tub, with a white curtain, was on the left, the white sink and metal-lined mirror was on the right, and the toilet was just beyond the sink by the door that led into my room.

"Ooh, nice bathroom. Don't worry; I'll try not to go to the bathroom too much. I don't want to keep you up at night," Heather said with a chuckle whose innocence told me that maybe things were going to be alright after all. Maybe all that crazy business was behind us.

"And I trust," Heather said bending over and extending her big, right hand toward my face, "That you'll be just as considerate with me." She took a gentle, yet firm, hold of my face within her strong hand, her thumb squeezing my right cheek while her fingers squeezed my left, forcing my lips to purse over my big front teeth. Instantly, I became afraid of not only Heather but what she was going to do to me. I swallowed thickly as I looked up into the wicked eyes of the smiling, dominant strong-woman holding my face.

"P-pwease don't touch me wike that," I said while moving my hands up to her big one holding my face. My left hand went to her toned fingers on my left cheek while my right hand went to her thick wrist. I felt the taught pads of her fingers growing warm from making contact with my cheeks.

"Why?" Heather replied simply.

Taken aback, for I didn't expect such a blatant, and rude, response, I said, "B-because I w-weally don't w-wike it."

Smirking smugly into my forcefully upturned face, Heather responded by saying thickly, "Well, you know what I don't like? I don't like naughty little boys who go sneaking around places they don't belong. That's what I don't like."

I let out a small whimper through my lips that were forced to purse more so to the point where they were almost touching, because Heather had squeezed my face even more tightly between her strong, tough fingers.

"I'm s-sorwy 3; pwease 3;" I mumbled in fear for I was afraid of what Heather would decide to do to me. She was clearly still upset about what I did earlier. And the woman was going to be living right next door to my room for who-knows-how long. Heather's smirk turned into a full smile that revealed hungry-looking, white teeth when she heard my attempted apologetic words.

"That's enough out of you, little boy," Heather said with a low, throaty voice as she released my face from her tight-gripping fingers. In one smooth, horribly quick motion, Heather moved her huge right hand up a little and then quickly forward as she clamped it TIGHT over my mouth and lower face. She then, in the same motion, spun me to my left and whirled me around before pulling me back against her. Her left hand grabbed my right arm, pinning it to my side and pinching the skin, while her solidly-toned arm barred my chest and left arm like a log being pinned across me.

That huge, gargantuan, super-duper-strong hand tightened like an overpowered steam press over my mouth and lower face which scared the living daylights out of me. That broad, smooth palm that was toughened by years of, apparently, working out, covered my face from the bottom of my chin to about halfway up my nose which caused panic to flare up within me because of the overwhelming size of the hand, sure, but also because of the fact that I couldn't breathe very well. I could only snuffle in a few wisps of air every few seconds which grew more precious the longer I went without a proper breath.

After the initial moment in which I was vigorously grabbed, I didn't do anything except assess my situation while feeling a cloud of panic wash over me. Then, I tried to take a decent breath and move my mouth, found that I could do neither, and instinctively produced a weak, snuffling mewl of helplessness which could barely be heard in the stillness of the bathroom. I tried to open my eyes and found that I could barely make them into squinting slits for the pressure and size of the super-big hand over my mouth was so great. I tried to move any part of my face, but found that I couldn't. I also tried to move my head, found that I couldn't, and then tried to squirm and found that I could barely do that either.

I was very securely pinned against the taut body of the mean woman holding me, and the only things I could actually move were my legs. Letting me attempt to struggle for only a few seconds, Heather watched over me with smug satisfaction before settling into a serious tone of voice.

"Alright, look, mister, I was trying to be civil with you, but I don't have to. I could have immediately started yelling at you as soon as I came in, but I didn't. Now, are you planning on behaving, so we can be friends, or at least live peacefully together?" Heather asked scoldingly. Again, I tried to move my head and torso in a futile attempt to struggle and get away from the crazy woman holding and scolding me.

"Mmphhh..hmphhh..nmphhh," I moaned in a snuffled, barely-audible manner again as I felt the helplessness wash over me from being trapped and shut up the way I was. That big, thick mitt of a female hand over my mouth and face was just so effective at keeping me quiet and was really bugging me because my face was already hurting by that point. The pressure on my cheeks, my poor squashed lips, my jaw, and my cheekbones was causing quite a bit of discomfort, so much so that I desperately wanted to be rid of that hateful hand. I tried to squirm again, but Heather pulled me against her more firmly and tightened her hellish grip over my mouth and face.

"Stop struggling. If you stop, I'll take that as a 'Yes, I'll be good for you, Heather. I won't be a little brat,'" Heather said in a slightly higher-pitched voice that was clearly meant to imitate me.

I slowed and ceased my futile struggles to get away and simply stood for a moment trying to breathe through my obscured nostrils. The scent of Heather's hand overwhelmed my nostrils and had warm, musty, earthy qualities to it. I was forced to look slightly up and over my left shoulder so that Heather could see my hopelessly handgagged face. I could just make out the details of her face through the watery, squinting slits of my eyes that must have displayed my fear and helplessness. Similar mousey sounds leaked from me then as to the time when I was handgagged and smothered in the tent when that redneck heckled Heather. The dominant musclewoman holding me smiled almost sweetly as she looked at my face while still holding onto me as she had been.

"Hnh hnn, that's what I thought. Now, are you going to be a good little boy and help me unpack my truck?" Heather said in a condescending manner that I didn't particularly care for. Then again, I didn't care for any part of the situation that I found myself in at that point in time.

"Hmm, silence. I'll take that as a 'yes'," said Heather then before releasing my arm and torso. I waited expectantly for her to remove her horribly-firm gripping hand from my mouth, but found that, after a couple of seconds of simply staring at me, that crazy woman had no such intention. Heather then began walking me toward the entrance of the bathroom with her big, super-strong hand still tight-clamped tighter than tight over my mouth and lower face. I stumbled forward a couple short steps as surprise overtook me momentarily.

"Mmphh..mhmphhh," I whimpered while trying to look up at the muscle-woman keeping me quiet.

"What?" Heather said, feigning innocence, while looking down at me.

"Mph 3; hmhphhh," came another muffled set of small whimpers from me while I pointed to the thick mitt over my mouth and face.

"No, you've said enough for now. I'll let you go once we're outside by my truck. Then you can have your cute little mouth back, but, for right now, it's mine. So, let's go," Heather said confidently as she began meaningfully walking out of the bathroom and into the room that was then hers.

I had never been lead anywhere with a big, strong female hand over my mouth like I was that fateful day, and, although this doesn't need to be said, the experience was quite unpleasant. It was utterly humiliating, for one thing, being led by the mouth, breathless and hopelessly quiet, through Heather's room, then to the front door, and then outside. Being led by the mouth outside came with its own set of weird, unpleasant feelings.

Despite the fact that we were in an empty, construction ridden circlet, I nevertheless felt that someone would see what was being done to me. Also, considering we were in an empty neighborhood, I was worried that, in fact, no one would see what was being done to me. I so desperately wanted to be rescued because the sooner that happened, the sooner that Heather would take her accursed hand off of my mouth and relieve my aching face. Well, I wasn't rescued, but Heather did remove her hand from my mouth once we were near her truck. That said, she took her sweet time leading me around the hearty red blur that was her truck and did not let go of me until we were standing at the tailgate. I say "blur" because it was the only way I could perceive the truck through my teary eye-slits.

"Now, I trust that you'll stay nice and quiet while you help me unload, right?" Heather said once she let go of my mouth and dropped the tailgate. I was breathing heavily while pawing at my eyes to rid myself of the tears that had accumulated there. I was more than a little incensed at being mistreated, but I figured that I would incur more wrath from the dominant muscle-woman if I began to immediately shoot-off at the mouth. As a few silent seconds passed, with Heather looking over her right shoulder at me as if expecting an answer, my reply was made evident. I didn't resign myself to her dominance; I simply didn't want to have my mouth grabbed again so soon.

A slow smile spread over Heather's face as she took my silence positively. "Good; you're learning already," she said in a confident tone of voice which I did not much care for. It was highly unsettling. I knew that sneaking around her tent was wrong, but hadn't she done enough to me already?

Heather's truck was quite the monster: a deep red color and sitting three or four feet [>1 m] off of the ground, it looked like a fitting vehicle for such a big, dominant woman. The bed was somewhat short but was crammed with all sorts of stuff.

While I stood there in a sort of dumbfounded state, unsure of what I was to do, Heather began pulling her things across the downed tailgate and putting them on the driveway. Three rolling suitcases that were as tall as I was (but much wider) were hauled out of the bed first and were heavy enough to cause Heather to huff a little.

"I'll be taking these, babe. No offense, but I don't think you could even pull these let alone lift them," teased Heather. Great, I though, I'm facing physical and verbal abuse today.

"Here, you can take this. Turn around," Heather said as she pulled forward an over-stuffed black backpack which looked like a heartier version of what I might take to school. I put my arms back as the pack was slid onto my shoulders by large, strong hands whose touch made a shiver run down my spine.

That shiver was abated and replaced by feelings of imbalance as I struggled to keep myself from falling backward. The pack was so darned heavy that I could barely stand up straight. I had to bend forward at a dramatic angle in order to compensate for the backward pull of the pack. I heard a gleeful chuckle coming from the woman who was subjecting me to that humiliation as an overly packed leather duffle bag was thrust into my arms.

"Here, this should help balance you out," Heather said while still chuckling. The duffle was ridiculously heavy, and I had to let the pack pull me backward so that I could keep the bag off of the ground.

"That's enough for this load," Heather said as she slammed the tailgate closed and took one rolling suitcase in each hand. I could barely keep the bags in my hands and on my shoulders from making me lose my balance while standing still. I couldn't believe Heather expected me to do so while moving.

As Heather strolled up the driveway to the front door, I huffed and puffed behind her while swaying unsteadily on my legs. My arm muscles felt as if they were on fire, and my legs and back muscles screamed for relief after only a minute of trudging.

"How's it going back there?" Heather teased over her right shoulder. I remembered that she wanted me to be silent, but I couldn't help grunting and panting over the weight of my burden.

"Hnh, hnh; that's what I thought. Remember, you brought this on yourself," Heather continued as we neared the front door. I was too preoccupied with the weight of the luggage in my hands and on my back to glare at her from behind, which is what I felt like doing. Heather lifted her suitcases past the threshold of the front door with ease while I had to traverse it in two, careful, lurching steps.

"Make sure you keep that duffle bag up. If it drags on the ground, I'm gonna stuff you into it once it's empty," Heather said with a warning that I was pretty sure she was serious about fulfilling. I could feel sweat on my forehead dampening my bangs as I made my way precariously into Heather's room. Once she stood the suitcases on their ends by the bed, she dictated to me that she wanted both the duffle and the backpack on the bed.

"What?!" I screamed in my head. "Why in the world is she subjecting me to this humiliation? Is she still punishing me for yesterday?" The struggle with the duffle was awful. I had to tighten every muscle in my upper body to lift it the few inches required to get it onto the bed. Once I let it settle onto the bed, I remained bent over for a minute to catch my breath and keep myself balanced. I could feel Heather's amused eyes watching me from behind.

"You're taking an awfully long time, you know. Maybe a hand over your mouth would speed things up," Heather teased behind me which renewed me with a new sense of vigor. I immediately straightened, shrugged off the backpack, and swung it up and onto the bed.

"That's what I thought," Heather chuckled as I turned to face her with tired eyes, my body bent over with exhaustion.

"Come on, there's still more to get out there," said the dominant strong-woman as she passed me and left the room.

"Ugh," I moaned tiredly to myself as I hobbled out of the room and out of the house while stretching some muscles as I went.

As I passed the threshold of the front door to go outside, I was stretching my sore arms a little but stopped as I noticed that Heather was nowhere to be seen. She wasn't by her truck getting the other rolling suitcase, which is where I assumed she would be.

"Oh, now what?" I thought to myself before hearing what sounded like a heavy footstep in the grass behind me and to my right.

Before I could turn around, I was roughly seized by big, strong, warm female hands: the left one ensnared my mouth and much of my face while the right one clamped underneath my lower jaw and pushed upward, thereby forcing my mouth to remain closed in two ways at the same time. Immediately, my vision blurred, due to the enormous amount of pressure exerted onto my face, as my eyes were forced to squint and filled with tears. A surprised, barely-audible whimper gurgled breathlessly in the back of my throat which was made doubly-silent by the fact that the left hand was also pressing my poor nose into my face. My hands instinctively shot up to the horrible mask of tight-gripping female flesh over my mouth and face as I heard Heather's low, smooth voice in my right ear.

"Surprise, little boy," Heather cooed mischievously. I continued to struggle by pawing at the hands clamped over and under my mouth.

"Don't think I didn't hear that pathetic little moan in there. I thought I told you to keep quiet while we did this," Heather continued in an almost-scolding manner.

"Mmphhhhh 3; mhmphh," I tried to reply. I was frustrated and flustered from having my mouth so roughly mistreated, and was irked that I could only voice those frustrations in a way that sounded like a smothered mouse.

"Oh, so you do remember me telling you that. That's good because that means you won't make any more noise while you're helping me, right?" Heather said with a condescending tone.

"Hmphhh 3; mphht," I replied again in the only way that I could.

"Hnh hnn," Heather chuckled evilly before planting a warm kiss onto my sweaty forehead. She released my mouth and stood erect before striding confidently passed me on her way to her truck. "Such a good boy," she said as she passed.

Before following her, I looked to my right while gasping for breath and saw that she probably hid by the side of the house not too far from where the sliding door into her room was. I would have to remember that spot for she might see fit to jump out and grab me at future times.

I pawed at my face while walking to Heather's truck in order to relieve some of the aching and to wipe away the water that accumulated in my eyes. My face was very warm from being woman-handled, and the smell of Heather's hand remained in my nostrils as I was handed more stuff.

Lucky for me, there was not too much stuff left. I was forced to take a heavily-laden blue cooler while Heather carried a flat-screen monitor wrapped in a flannel shirt in one hand and the last rolling suitcase in the other. I had no idea what was in the cooler, but it was quite heavy. That said, I made sure to not make any sound other than breathing because I really didn't want to be handgagged again.

"You can put the cooler in the kitchen; by the fridge, if you don't mind," Heather said once I was inside the house. I huffed and hauled the thing over to the fridge while Heather put her stuff down. She strode out of the room and over to the fridge which I was standing by and opened it, trying to judge whether there was space in it. There wasn't too much inside; mostly stuff that I ate. My mother often ate out with friends or ate groceries that were stored at her friends' houses since she was always at those places.

"Well, there's plenty of room in here. I bought some groceries that you can help me bring in," Heather said while closing the fridge.

"Oh, can I?" I thought but didn't dare say out loud. The groceries took a little while to bring in for there were several bags loaded with just meat and chicken. Others were loaded with vegetables, bread, and various toiletries. I guess Heather needed a lot of protein to keep her muscles toned. After the last bit of groceries was piled onto the kitchen table, Heather locked her truck while I leaned on the kitchen table. I was beat and felt as if I could use a nap. I could at least use another shower.

"Well, thanks for your help, Brandon. I couldn't have done it without you," Heather said, but I couldn't tell if she was teasing me or not.

"Yeah, whatever," I thought while continuing to pant.

"D-do you want help putting away the food?" I asked; the first words I said in well over an hour.

Shuffling through some of the food bags, Heather politely said, "No thanks; I got it. You've helped me enough for one day."

"For one day? What else does she have planned?" I thought to myself.

It was just then that I heard a familiar-sounding car pull in front of the house at the end of the short driveway. It wasn't my mother's car; that meant she must have been unable to drive home last night. I had heard this car before and knew it was one of her friend's cars.

I heard an exchange of female voices before hearing my mother's dress shoes clop to the front door. She stumbled into the living room with her left hand on her head which told me that she had one of her headaches she got after a night of being out. She did indeed have black flats on and a simple black dress that barely came down to the middle of her thighs. It was strapless and the top portion of her dress had been pulled askew causing more cleavage of her right breast to be revealed than her left. Her hair was also disheveled and hung on the right side of her head. This was not a sight I wanted to see after the evening and morning that I had experienced.

My mom saw me first and greeted me with this, "Brandon? Did Heather get here yet?" Then, when she saw Heather behind me, she brightened a little. "Heather, how are you? Glad you could, uh, make it," my mother said a little distantly while still holding her head. She stuck out her right hand and Heather, taking it to be a handshake, took it.

"Hi, you must be Lisa; nice to meet you. Thanks for letting Brandon help me unload my stuff. He's a great kid," Heather said while still holding my mother's right hand. This was not completely by choice for my mother put on a weak smile, seeming as if she was still a little drunk, and turned over Heather's hand before awkwardly kissing the back of it.

A dazed smile still on her face, my mother said, "Hey, whatever makes your life easier. I'll, uh, talk to you later. I feel like hammered shit, and, uh, I need a shower 3; maybe a nap."

Releasing Heather's hand, and turning to walk out of the kitchen, my mother said, "Oh, Brandon, honey, I'm going out again tonight and I might be out a couple of days 3; I don't know yet." That was just fantastic. She was going to be leaving me alone with Heather for an even longer time. "It's just that, there's sort of a bit of a trip planned that might last a few days. Anyway," my mother continued while reaching into her dress between her breasts and pulling out a wad of six twenty-dollar bills, "I think this should hold you over for three or four days." She pushed the bills into my chest and, as I incredulously took them, she patted me on the head a couple times before shuffling into the living room.

Now, I had planned on telling my mother at least something about what Heather had done to me last night and this morning. The way my mother acted left me in a bit of disbelief, and caused me to forget what I was going to say. As my mother put her foot on the first step to go upstairs, I turned to call after her to get her attention.

"No, mom, wai-mmphhhh 3; mhmphh," I started before being rudely cut off by Heather who reached around me from behind and clamped her big right hand TIGHT over my mouth. My mother mumbled some sort of reply as she continued to climb the stairs to her room without a care in the world.

"Mmmphhh 3; hmphh," I tried to moan while feeling frustration within me being replaced by a sense of helplessness at being kept quiet by Heather. I tried to shake my head and do away with the gargantuan hand over my mouth, but Heather held fast in what might have been deemed by her to be a gentle manner. For me, that handgag was very tight and rendered me orally defenseless.

"Now-now, Brandon, let your mom get herself back together, okay? Just go play for a while. I'll cook dinner later, but, in the meantime, don't be making any noise. It looks like your mom has a headache, so it's best if you don't disturb her," Heather said with a hint of a teasing tone that I really didn't like. I could feel the frustration welling up within me again.

I struggled once more in Heather's one-handed grasp of me, and she let me go easily. I bound out of the kitchen and through the front door with the intent on walking or running somewhere; anywhere would be good. I just had to get out for a while. Things were becoming a little stressful for me, and I knew that I could do absolutely nothing about it. Reasoning with my mother was out of the question, and any attempt I made with Heather to get her out of the house would end very poorly for me.

"Dinner's at six," Heather called after me as I shut the front door behind me, as if she knew that I would return later. Of course I would; I had to. Food that I had bought was still at the house, and I couldn't afford a hotel and food for three days on six twenty-dollar bills. Besides, even if my mother was in the house with Heather and I, Heather could still mistreat me given the fact that my mother, apparently, liked Heather romantically.

As I tried to push the memory of my mother's lips on Heather's hand out of my mind, I checked my phone and saw that it was almost one in the afternoon. Cramming my phone back into the pocket of my jeans, I pushed onward and made my way out of the cul-de-sac. Where could I go? The Fair was a possibility, but Heather might decide to come after me for some reason, and I thought that the Fair would be the first place she would check. Another thought occurred to me in regards to Heather and the Fair. If she had to work today, how could she be at my place to cook dinner by six? Did she take the day off? I didn't know and tried not to think about it.

I wanted something sweet and something to take my mind off of my home life. A soda and a comic book might help. At least the weather was nice for my walk to the comic book store on the main street of the town I lived in. I got a soda from the machine outside but didn't buy any of the comics; I just browsed. Sadly, it just didn't do a good enough job of distracting me from thoughts of Heather. I struggled for two hours to lose myself in comic books, but I kept thinking of Heather's mischievous grin, her strong body, and her huge hands clamped over my mouth.

As I left the comic book store, I could still feel the phantom sensation of her left hand over my mouth after she grabbed me from the side of the house. Not to mention the fact that my nose and cheeks still ached (mildly so) from being abused. I hunched my shoulders and brooded for a while, walking around town for another hour, until I thought that Heather might leave me alone if I was at the house for the rest of the day since she had a lot of unpacking to do. I took my time going home and breathed in deeply which refreshed me a little. Sometimes being in the house with my mother was too much for me; the mood was stifling.

I arrived home a little after four in the afternoon to find the food put away and Heather's door closed. I could hear shuffling and unpacking sounds behind the door and sighed in relief as I made my way to my room. With about two hours until dinner, I surfed the internet and tried to lose myself in various pictures and video clips I watched, but that accursed phantom feeling of Heather's gigantic hand over my mouth and lower face kept returning to me.

What was the deal with handgagging anyway? Why did Heather seem to enjoy it so much? I decided to research the handgag "syndrome" or "fetish" once the previous search turned up nothing. I found a site that was part educational and blatantly part appealing to handgag fetishists. There were two categories of pages, one explaining the male-dominant aspect and the other, the female-dominant aspect. As tomboyish as Heather was, she was clearly a dominant female. Those pages explained that various women liked handgagging the opposite sex in various degrees. Heather was one of those women who really liked to handgag boys, apparently, so I devoted most of my research time to the third subcategory: "Women handgagging boys". The other two categories replaced "boys" with "young men" and, finally, "men".

I did not know that the female-dominant handgag world could be that detailed. Those pages were meant to visually display various reasons why women might want to handgag boys. Such reasons included hostage situations, kidnappings, bullying, roughhousing, fooling around, or for genuine pleasure. Each situation label had several pictures that were both studio-produced and taken from various cinematic films. Several of the pictures contained women with super-extra-large hands, like Heather had, which covered the poor boys' faces from chins to noses. I felt so bad for some of the boys, but I remembered that these pictures were produced in the studio and, probably, with the boys' consents. Probably 3; Either way, those pictures fascinated and disturbed me for they made me aware of the prevalence of the handgag fetish in dominant females. Heather was a dominant female with a handgag fetish. She was, therefore, a dangerous woman for me to be around.

Half-past five came around more quickly than I had anticipated. I had been so engrossed in that handgag information site that at least forty-five minutes flew by without me noticing. Smelling burgers, and reminding myself that I hadn't eaten much that day, I left my computer and went out to the kitchen to see what was going on. Heather had to have been doing the cooking for my mother never did. I wasn't sure if she even knew how to cook.

Through the small window above the sink, I could see the back of Heather's head which meant that she was standing where we kept our propane grill in the back yard. The sliding glass door leading out onto the patio was ajar, and I noticed my mother lying in a reclining chair out in the yard catching some last-minute sun-rays. Since the back of her chair was to the house, I thought, maybe, if I talked to her about some of the things Heather had done to me, her lips moving in response might be seen by Heather but her words would not be heard. I didn't care if Heather saw me talking to my mom, but I did care if she heard what we were talking about.

I pushed the sliding door open enough to let myself out and noticed that, once outside, I was standing directly to the left of Heather at the grill. A spatula lay by her large right hand, on a shelf, and her left hand was on her hip. Both hands were encased in black grilling gloves that consisted of a soft, black, strong fabric (like a work glove) with thin, raised grey rubber ridges rippling throughout the surface of the palms and fingers that were meant to provide grip. Heather was watching my mother for a moment before I stepped out.

"Hey, kiddo," the mean muscle-woman said as I closed the sliding glass door behind me.

"H-hey," I said somewhat sheepishly; not because I was ashamed of bursting out of the house, but because I didn't want to look like I was up to something.

"What've you been up to?" Heather asked nonchalantly, "You were gone for an awfully long time." I thought she was catching on to me, but then realized that she probably didn't suspect anything.

"Oh, just stuff. I read some comic books and came home about an hour and a half ago. I was just gonna say 'hi' to mom," I said, not much liking how the last line came out of me.

"No, don't do that; she's relaxing," Heather said while furrowing her brow a little.

"Look, I just need to ask her something. It'll be quick, I promise. Hey, mo-mphhh 3; mph," I said and started to call out to my mom with the intention of walking over to her.

Heather was having none of that, apparently, and stepped forward to grab my mouth with her big, gloved right hand. After initially grabbing me, she hooked her strong, right wrist, which spun me to my left, and pulled me back against her taught body.

"No, shhht! Be quiet," hissed Heather as she shoved open the sliding glass door with her left hand and forced me inside the house. Pulling me into her again, forcing me to see a blurry form of my mother outside that did not even stir once she heard my voice (if she heard it at all), Heather pushed the door closed with her gloved left hand. Once inside, the surprise of being handgagged had faded somewhat, and I noticed how much my face hurt from being mistreated. The rubber ridges on the grilling glove hurt because they dug into and pulled on my skin which irritated me. The thick, soft material of the glove, coupled with the unnerving strength of the dominant hand wearing it, made for one of the most effective silencing tools I had ever experienced.

The smell of smoke filled my nostrils from the glove butting up against and over my nose as I reached up to pull and paw at the powerful hand gripping my mouth. With her left hand, Heather forced my thin, smaller hands down and gripped my right arm so that I was completely trapped within her grasp.

"Mhmphhh..nmphh," I whimpered into the painfully-tight-gripping gloved hand over my mouth as I was rendered helpless once again by that dominant muscle-woman.

"No, shh shh shhhh. There is no need for you to annoy your mom like that before she goes out for a nice night. If someone did that to me, I would certainly be upset. Wouldn't you?" Heather scolded me in an almost playful manner.

"Mmmphhh 3; mph," I whimpered again before Heather gave my head a curt shake, using her grip of my mouth as leverage, which hurt because it caused the rubber ridges of her glove to pull at and irritate my skin. That only frustrated me more and caused tears to well-up in my squinted eyes.

"Yes, I know you would," Heather said as if she was talking to a little kid, "Now, your mom and I are gonna eat outside and have a nice, peaceful conversation before she goes out. You are going to stay in here and eat. Understand?"

I tried to glare at Heather with my teary slits of eyes, but I'm sure the sight looked absolutely pathetic. I felt the gloved hand gripping my mouth move my head up and down in a nodding motion which caused me to feel utterly helpless.

"Good. When you're done, you can put your dishes in the sink. I'll do them later," Heather said before pulling out the chair at the end of the dining table that was closest to the sliding glass door. Releasing my mouth, she pointed to the chair and said, "Sit." Those were her only words, and she proceeded to take plates and silverware out to the grill, leaving me a fork and knife at my place at the table. I breathed heavily and massaged my tender face, wiping away any tears in the process. I wanted to get some feeling back into my cheeks and my sore lips that had been squashed within the confines of Heather's gloved palm.

Heather soon came back through the sliding glass door and placed my plate in front of me. I discovered she had grilled some potatoes and vegetable skewers as well for those things accompanied the burger.

"There you go. Don't forget to eat your vegetables," Heather said as she placed the plate in front of me. "And," she continued while taking my face in her big, gloved left hand, her thumb gripping my left cheek and her fingers gripping my right, "You make sure you behave when you're done. I don't want you coming outside and hollering for your mom again and making a bunch of noise. Okay?"

I wanted to look confident and rebellious, but I could only manage to look up at the dominant she-hulk looming over me with wide, innocent, nervous eyes which fell when my face was released. Feeling defeated, I nodded my head as I realized that my plan had just been shot down.

"Good," Heather said before kissing the top of my head and going back outside again.

I ate slowly and rubbed the spot on the top of my head where Heather kissed me while feeling a little depression sinking in. I didn't like Heather kissing me; it just didn't feel right. I don't know why I dwelt on Heather's kiss, for it certainly was not the biggest issue. What was the biggest issue was the fact that there was a dominant muscle-woman who enjoyed handgagging me and humiliating me. I remembered how Heather looked at me while watching me struggle with her luggage. Sure, there was amusement in her eyes, but it seemed as if there was genuine pleasure there as well. It seemed as if she thoroughly enjoyed humiliating me and shutting me up if I tried to protest.

On the bright side, with a little ketchup, the meal Heather cooked was great and really filled me up. That said, the fact that she could cook did not give her an excuse to treat me the way she did. I supposed that she could have called the cops when she discovered me sneaking around her tent, but that was no reason to hold my crime over my head for a longer amount of time than was necessary.

Apparently, I took longer to finish my dinner than both my mom and Heather, for both came through the sliding glass door as I was eating the last of my potato. While staring blankly into space and chewing thoughtfully, I saw a blur go by my vision and realized it was my mom. She was wearing a sea-green colored bikini that showed off too much of her body as far as I was concerned. I watched as she moved toward and opened the front door before simply watching the evening sun.

"Your friends should be here soon, right?" Heather called to her from the kitchen. She had been sliding on thick, yellow rubber dish gloves, the kind with textured palm- and finger-pads, and had been running hot water for the dishes. Of course my mom wouldn't help; she was too concerned with her night out.

"Yup 3; Oh, as if on cue!" my mom exclaimed as a familiar-sounding engine came to and idled outside of the house.

"Come on, girl. Get your ass out here," called a screechy female voice from the car. I had heard that voice calling to my mom many times before, but I had never seen the voice's owner.

"Yeah, come on. We wanna get a head start," called another, less-screechy voice which I had also heard before.

"I gotta change first. Help me pick out an outfit. Come on in," my mom called as her friends piled out of the car. Oh great, I thought, just what I wanted to hear - screechy voices. At least they wouldn't be in the house for long.

With my dinner finished, I sat back in my chair and, curious, watched my mom's partying hooligan friends stride up the driveway to the front door, heels clopping and chatter being exchanged.

"Well, don't you bitches look good? Come on upstairs; hurry," my mom said excitedly before one of her friends stopped her.

"Not until we've had a drink! You look like you could use one too," one of her friends exclaimed.

Turning and leading her pack to the kitchen, my mom exclaimed, "Hell yeah, I could!"

"You got any glasses?" said a thick-set redhead (who was originally a brunet) carrying a box of wine in one fake-nailed hand. Completely ignoring me, the redhead, my mom, and two unnatural blondes swarmed around a cabinet containing my mom's wine and drink glasses.

"Ladies, this is Heather," said my mom after the ladies had their wine glasses filled. Heather turned the faucet off and leaned back on the counter's edge, her wet gloves damp with warm water.

"Hey ladies, how're y'all doing?" Heather asked coolly while eyeing the women, including my mom, up and down. My mom's friends all looked like lesbians and were wearing various combinations of matching black fishnet and fake velvet that was either composed into some sort of dress or blouse with a skirt. I thought they looked trashy; not to mention that they reeked of perfume.

"Heather, this is Marie," said my mom while pointing to the redhead, "This is Donna," while pointing to the blonde who had a bob-cut, "And Anne," while pointing the other, long-haired blonde. The women all greeted Heather with sexy lusting in their voices. It was clear that they were attracted to her.

"Say, uh," began the blonde with the bob-cut, "Why don't you come out with us tonight and have a bit of fun? You could hang out before we all leave tomorrow for our road trip!!!" She exclaimed this last bit in a sing-song voice that caused her friends, including my mom, to whoop and holler for a moment in ditzy excitement.

"Aw, that sounds good, but I gotta lot of unpacking to do and I'd rather stay here. It's been a long day, ya know 3; moving and all," Heather said politely and confidently. My mom's friends pushed a little, trying to get Heather to come with them, but, after filling everyone's glasses a second time, my mom stuck up for her new-found friend and, apparently, love. Surprisingly, her friends didn't push after that.

"Come on, ladies, let's get that outfit picked out so we can get this thing on the road," my mom said and led the way out of the kitchen with her friends crowding close behind.

I had a thought while my mom was defending Heather. If I could somehow slip beside my mom's crowd as they left the kitchen, maybe I could corner my mom in the bedroom and expose Heather to her and her friends. Heather might not see me if she turned to keep doing the dishes. I might just be able to slip by unnoticed. I didn't think about my revelation not having any effect; I just wanted to tell my mom.

Heather did immediately turn around to continue working on the dishes when my mom told her troop to help her pick out an outfit. Let's see, four women, I thought, so I could slip in on the right side and then follow from behind once I get to the stairs. I didn't even think Heather remembered that I was still at the table; the other women in the kitchen certainly didn't.

The group of women began to move out of the kitchen while chattering loudly and excitedly. That was good, because Heather might not hear the chair move as I got out of it. In one motion, I slid the chair back and slipped around the corner of the dining table without looking at Heather or pausing to see what she was doing. The group of women was already past the kitchen's threshold, but that was okay. I could run up behind them and follow them through the living room.

I had taken one step past the corner of the dining table when Heather roughly grabbed me from behind. She clamped her huge, warm, wet rubber-gloved hand tight over my mouth while her left hand gripped my right arm just above my elbow. Her thick left arm barred my chest and trapped me within an immobilizing embrace while her gloved right hand engulfed my mouth and lower face in a warm, wet embrace. Heather immediately turned me so that, if any of the women happened to look back, they wouldn't be able to see me, for Heather's back would have obscured any view of what she was doing to me.

Trapped within Heather's embrace, obscured by her body, and turned so that I was facing the sink, I made the most pathetic whimpering noises behind the gigantic, wet rubber-gloved hand clamped steam-press-tight over my mouth and lower face. I could feel incredulity flooding me, for the last things I saw before my eyes became squinted slits were the backs of my mom and her friends who couldn't possibly have heard my whimpers over their cackling and chattering. My other plan had just been shot down.

"And, just where do you think you're going, little boy?" Heather cooed mischievously into my left ear which was partially obscured by her thick, strong, rubber-covered fingers.

"Mphmphhh 3; hmphhh," I moaned breathlessly which could not have been heard in a silent room let alone over the sound of the faucet running. My face was really aching at that point because of the amount of pressure Heather was exerting onto it and because the scaly texture of the glove was irritating my skin. The gloves, however, were extremely effective at keeping me quiet even though they hurt me.

"What? Were you going to try to bother your mom and her friends again? Maybe with some story about how I grabbed your mouth today?" Heather asked with a slight scolding tone. I tried to shift under Heather's trapping embrace, but she held fast and kept me shut up and still.

"Nmmphh 3; mph..mph," came a few more nervous whimpers from behind Heather's tight-gripping gloved hand squashing my lips into silent oblivion.

"No? That wasn't your plan? Well, I find that difficult to believe," Heather continued. I was pretty sure that my mom and her friends were upstairs at that point because I could not directly hear their chatter. That meant that I was alone with Heather on this level of the house.

"Look," Heather said as she turned to her left and began forcing me past the dining table to the kitchen's threshold, "You deserved every bit of punishment that you received today."

I was extremely uncomfortable in Heather's grip; especially my face. My skin was irritated, my muscles were aching from being squeezed, and my poor lips were really feeling a lot of pain from being mistreated. My nose as well was hurting from being pressed back against my face, and I was quite scared from not being able to breathe well. Each minute breath I could take was overwhelmed with the scent of warm dish soap and rubber. Short, nervous whimpers escaped me as Heather dragged me past the threshold of the kitchen and toward my bedroom door.

"So, before you go blabbing about whatever I did to you, just remember that it was you who committed a crime, not me. I have my side of the story, and you have yours, but who do you think people will believe?" Heather said as she dragged me into my room and toward my computer chair. I was really uncomfortable and scared at that time. I desperately wanted to breathe properly, move properly, and not have my mouth engulfed within Heather's gigantic rubber-gloved hand.

"Okay? Are you understanding me?" Heather said as she forced me to a stop in front of my computer chair.

"Mph 3; hmmph," came the only breath-ridden response I could manage at that point. What she was saying did make sense, and who knows what she would do to me once she found out that I told on her; that would be after, of course, I was fined for snooping. She did, after all, live in my house and would have had the ability to punish me for telling on her.

"Good, I'm glad, because I'd really like to live peacefully together. So, don't go screaming your lungs out about how I handgag you," Heather said as she removed her left hand and arm from my chest and spun my computer chair toward me. "Now," she said as she used her right hand still unbearably gripping my mouth and lower face as leverage and pushed me into the chair, "Why don't you sit here and play on your computer, or whatever it is that you do, so that I can finish the dishes."

Heather had released my mouth when she pushed me, and I slumped back into the chair. I immediately put my hands up to my face and massaged my sore skin and lips. I was frustrated, because she was right, and tired of being punished for yesterday's crime. Looking up at Heather with anxious eyes, I pawed at the wetness on my face, which resulted from the glove and my own tears, and gulped in several greedy breaths while Heather watched me for a moment to see if I was going to say anything (maybe of a defiant nature). Breathing heavily, I glanced at my computer screen, because it lit up from some movement of Heather's or mine which bumped the mouse a little. What I saw caused my eyes to widen and my stomach to feel cold: I had left the screen up containing the website explaining the female-dominant handgag fetish!

Turning to leave, Heather caught a glimpse of the light coming from my computer screen and directed her eyes toward it. She stopped short of making a full turn toward the door and looked surprised before briefly directing a wicked gaze my way that told me my cover was blown.

The reason I froze was because I knew how it made me look. I had been fretting over and hating Heather's punishment of me, but the fact that I had that site on my screen made it look as if I actually liked that sort of thing. Just the opposite, in fact; being handgagged by Heather was one of the worst experiences of my life. The sensations of helplessness and anxiety were just very unpleasant, and I did not enjoy feeling them. All of that didn't matter one bit if Heather read that situation the wrong way.

"Oh, well what do we have here?" Heather said with a sly, cruel smile touching her red lips. With her enormous gloved hands on her hips, she bent so that her face was closer to the computer screen.

I had zoomed in on a particular picture to get a sense of what the artist was trying communicate, and Heather wanted to see it. It contained a tall, muscular, tattooed amazon woman dressed in only a hearty brown-leather bra, a matching leather thong, and knee-high moccasin boots. She had short-cut black hair and lips and skin of similar tones as Heather's. Having just completed some sort of conflict, the amazon warrior gripped an upward-pointing spear in her hearty left hand, and her huge, super-strong-looking right hand was clamped very tightly over a poor brown-haired slave-boy's mouth and lower face.

The details of the stress lines caused by the hand gripping the poor boy's face were horrifyingly incredible, and I was studying the picture because of, also, my pity for the boy. He was dressed only in a loin cloth and sandals, and his arms had been cruelly bound behind his back. I couldn't see the details of the bind, but I noticed his arms were bent at the crooks of the arms and meeting, and rope was wrapped around his chest a few times. His eyes were squinted slits just like mine became every time I was handgagged by Heather. The amazon mistress holding him was looking down at her captive with her lips pursed confidently. She knew she had him right where she wanted him, and it was his helplessness that made the piece so terrifying to me.

Heather, I think, was fascinated by the picture for far different reasons considering she probably identified with the amazon warrior. She mumbled the name of the website containing the picture under her breath so that, I guessed, she could remember it later.

"Hm. This is interesting," Heather said while straightening herself and directing her gaze down at me. I felt as if I was shrinking under the weight of the lusty mischief coming from those eyes. "I thought you didn't like it when I grabbed your mouth and held you. You've put up such a fuss, and I see the way you look at me when I release you - all that fear and frustration in your eyes," she continued, her words filling me with dread for she was interpreting the situation exactly the way that I feared she would.

"P-please, i-it's not what it l-looks like," I began meekly, but Heather waved away my words with a motion of her gloved right hand.

"Ah ah ahh, I'm not done yet," the dominant muscle-woman continued. "So, you act as if you're scared and angry when I grab your mouth and hold you, but you secretly like it. You're acting that way as part of the game. You want to be handgagged, don't you?" she went on as if a lightbulb was illuminating in her head.

I shook my head vigorously, "No, y-you've got it all wrong, I-," I tried to say, but Heather overrode me with her own words.

"No, I don't think I've got it wrong at all. Shit, I'll bet you were even looking to be handgagged, weren't you? That's why you snuck into my tent. You could have gone into the men's tents and annoyed one of them by snooping around, but you didn't. You chose to go into the women's tents hoping for one of them to catch you and capture you with a hand over your mouth. Maybe you were even hoping to be tied up and gagged," Heather said coming down off of a crescendo of revelation.

I had a brief worry of my mother hearing this from upstairs, but her and her friends were still chattering away and making all kinds of noise. Not to mention the floor upstairs was pretty thick, so she wouldn't have heard Heather if her friends weren't there.

"N-no, I'm serious! That wasn't why I was looking at this. I was trying to figure out why you were doing this to me. I'm not the one who likes that," I said trying to defend myself. I stood up from my chair as I protested Heather's allegations with my bottom lip trembling slightly due to the nervousness flooding my body.

"Why I do this to you? I told you already. I handgag you because you snooped around my tent yesterday trying to steal my shit. And 3; I do it for the same reasons that you receive it: I like handgagging you," Heather said with a bit of a mischievous smile, "And I'm glad that you like being handgagged because that means it's more fun for the both of us." I couldn't believe what I was hearing. She was taking things a lot more out of turn than I ever thought she would.

It was then that my mom and her rowdy troop of tipsy friends came thumping down the stairs with the intention of going out for another night of partying. Heather turned her head slightly to her right as she heard the commotion about to exit the house.

"No, you've gotta believe me. Please! You've got it all wrong," I responded quickly and, deciding to throw caution to the wind, tried to call out to my mom.

"Mo-mphhh." I started to call out, but Heather's giant, damp, rubber-gloved hands shot forward to ensnare my face. Her left hand snatched the back of my head while her inverted right hand clamped TIGHT over my mouth. My lower face was covered from my chin to just under my eyes in a horrible, wet, rubbery embrace that robbed me of speech and most of my breath. The cry to my mom subsided in a barely-audible gurgle in the back of my throat as my hands shot up to instinctively begin pulling at the unbelievably big, strong gloved hand clamped over my mouth.

Heather held me tightly and kept me quiet while my mom and friends, without pausing, went gallivanting out of the house, shutting the front door behind them and sealing my fate. The dominant muscle-woman's face turned back to me and wore an expression of satisfaction and mischief.

"No, I don't think I have it wrong," Heather said as I whimpered a few times into her tight-gagging right hand whose seemingly-endless back I futilely pawed at. "I just think you're denying that I'm right because I caught you," she continued. I was very nervous then because I had absolutely no idea what this amazon woman was planning on doing with me.

Looking at me thoughtfully for a minute, as I struggled within the wet, rubbery hand encasing my mouth and lower face, Heather finally said, "But, I think we'll talk more about this in the morning. I want to finish cleaning up the kitchen and unpacking. So you stay here and hang out for the rest of the evening. If you want something from the kitchen, wait until I'm done cleaning." She had pushed me back into my computer chair before her last sentence, and I had to sit with a scrunched-up, puckered, severely-handgagged face for a few seconds while Heather finished speaking.

The relief my face felt when Heather released me was indescribably pleasant. I was dying for her to take her gloved hands off of my mouth and face. I was also gripped with nervousness, frustration, and disbelief at how my life had taken such a weird turn. All I could do was wonder and fret about what would happen to me during the next day. I knew that Heather wanted to "talk", but what exactly did she mean by that?

After releasing my face, Heather turned and left me in my room before returning to the kitchen to finish the dishes (where the faucet was still running). Nervousness gripped my stomach in an unrelenting hold as thoughts of my fate at the hands of Heather raced through my mind. The thing that caused the greatest amount of nervousness to pervade me was the conviction that the dominant muscle-woman would no doubt continue to grab my mouth with her gargantuan hands.

The problem was that I had absolutely no idea when that would happen. Would she be evident about her approach, or would she play a game of cat-and-mouse? Either way, I really didn't want to be handgagged by her anymore. I swallowed thickly while petting my tender lips and cheeks while the warm smell of Heather's rubber-gloved hands remained in my nostrils. Gosh, the texture on those gloves really hurt, I thought to myself as I moved out of my computer chair to go to the bathroom. Whenever I got nervous, I just had to go to the bathroom.

Once I was done, I immediately exited the handgag "research" site on my computer, for I had just about enough handgagging experience to last me a lifetime; I was certain, however, that more abuse was to follow. I also made sure my door was latched shut, and I would have locked it if that was possible.

It was a fair amount of time before I heard the kitchen faucet turn off and Heather pad past my door to her room. I breathed a sigh of relief once I heard Heather's bedroom door close, because I thought she intended to barge her way into my room and abuse me some more with her hands. Once the door closed, I went out to the kitchen to get one of my sodas from the fridge, for that was all that I needed for the rest of the night until bedtime.

As I did earlier in the day, I played videogames and watched videos and a movie on my computer so that I could try to do away with the memory of Heather's hands. That darned phantom feeling resurfaced throughout the night while I was watching stuff, and I swore that I could sense Heather's inverted, rubber-gloved right hand over my mouth. I would reach up to paw at my lips and massage my face, for that seemed to be the only thing that would reassure me that no such hand was over my mouth. I used the massaging to ground myself in reality, but the problem was that reality was where the handgag terrors resided.

Thinking that I wouldn't be able to fall asleep very easily, I planned on going to bed at one or two o'clock in the morning. Surprisingly, around eleven-thirty, my eyes were really struggling to stay open, so I decided to call it a night. While brushing my teeth, I heard music softly streaming through the closed bathroom door leading into Heather's room. That was good, because it meant that she was done torturing me for the night and would not do anything until the morning. I desperately needed sleep and trudged back into my room before, essentially, collapsing onto my bed.

I slept solidly for four-and-a-half hours, but I awoke with a severe case of cottonmouth around three o'clock in the morning. I lied in bed for a few minutes trying to fall back to sleep, but the dryness of my mouth persisted. Groaning under my breath, I shrugged off my comforter (the only blanket on my bed) and willed myself out of the best bed in the world. Dressed in only a pair of white briefs, which is what I chose to wear on that warm, summer night, I opened the door to my room while rubbing my eyes so that they would adjust themselves to the darkness of the house more quickly.

I made my way through the thick blackness of the living room and into the kitchen while breathing deeply and pushing my hair back out of my eyes. The tap water I downed from a big glass was very refreshing. Satisfied, I could feel the want for sleep returning, so I made my way back toward my room, groping blindly in the dark for the wall by my door. It was when I crossed the threshold of the kitchen that I noticed a strange thing: something that smelled like female deodorant. It wasn't like anything that my mother wore (she wore lots of perfume), but it was exactly how Heather smelled! Alarm bells beginning to chime softly in my head, I thought, Oh God, what does this mean? Was it a lingering scent from earlier, or was she here in the da- 3;

My thoughts were abruptly cut off when I was rudely and roughly grabbed from behind by a big, strong, dominant muscle-woman. A huge, powerful, gloved right hand clamped TIGHT over my mouth, engulfing my lower face from my chin to just under my eyes in, what felt like, a smothering, silencing satin mask.

"Gmmnnphh 3; mph," came a gargled squeak from my hopelessly-oppressed mouth as I was grabbed. Before I could even think of reaching up to pull at the satin-gloved hand over my mouth, I found that my arms were pinned to my sides by a satin-covered, toned left hand and arm. I was quickly and firmly pulled back against a firmly-toned, muscular body covered by a thin sheaf of what felt like silk (or fake silk), and I had the impression that Heather (for it was unmistakably her) was wearing a robe. I could feel a bow-tied silk belt on my bare back as the dominant she-hulk pulled me against her, trapping me within an unforgiving embrace. The alarm bells in my head peaked in a fear-induced crescendo as every muscle in my thin body tensed up in an attempt to resist my capture.

"Mmphhh 3; hmhmphhh," I whimpered helplessly into the super-tightly gripping, satin-covered hand clamped tighter-than-tight over my mouth as I felt my physical struggles being effortlessly resisted by Heather's strong will and embrace. She had grabbed my mouth so roughly that, even though she had satin gloves on, my face immediately hurt; my poor nose was pressed back into my face, rendering me quite breathless, while the broad, satiny palm squashed my thin lips into a hopeless state of silence. Heather's toned thumb mashed down firmly over most of my eyebrows while her long, strong fingers wrapped super-extra snugly around my left cheek to touch my ear. I felt my face scrunch up from the pressure being exerted onto it and noted that my eyes were forced to squint to nothing more than slits; any ounce of adjustment to the darkness of the house was then gone. I could feel tears of surprised stress and fear-laced pain filling my forcefully-squinted eyes as I madly attempted to struggle within Heather's infuriatingly-tight grasp.

"Ah ah ahh, settle down. Shhhh," cooed Heather in a low, dominant voice from somewhere above and behind my head which I was still trying to move. Her grip of my mouth and lower face was so strong that I couldn't move my head any which way no matter how hard I tried.

"Stop struggling, you little brat! This is for your own good," Heather snapped as she tightened her unrelenting grips of my mouth and body. I ceased my struggles, for I was suddenly aware that I was being almost completely robbed of breath. Fear filled me as the dominant she-hulk hooked her strong right wrist and pulled my head up and back a little in the process. I could only see the faintest outline of Heather's head even though there was a faint glow coming through the blinds from the outside light.

"Mphh..mphh..mmh," I whimpered nervously as I tried to make out any detail of Heather's face, but I just couldn't. My eyes were too squinted and tear-filled to make any visual sense out of the outline of Heather's head. Warm, satin-laced air leaked in minute amounts into and out of my poor, squished nostrils as I felt Heather bend down a little so her face was close to mine. I could feel a growing need to struggle again, for I desperately needed to breathe.

"Now, listen!" Heather hissed at me in the darkness of the living room, "I could tell from the way you acted this evening that you still don't respect me the way that you should." What the heck was she talking about? Was she referring to my crime again, or something else? It wasn't as if I spoke out of turn; I barely spoke at all.

"Mphhh 3; hmmphhh," came a couple of breath-ridden, barely-audible whimpers from my heavily-oppressed, aching mouth as Heather paused for a moment.

"Shh! See? You can't even let me finish a thought," Heather replied to my pathetically-quiet moans, "What I mean is that I don't think you respect me enough to behave properly around me. I want to make sure you don't go snooping around my room, of course, but this is about more than that - it's about respect. I think if you learn to respect me, then you'll behave. Now, I think I went pretty easy on you today - with the punishment, I mean - but that's going to change. You obviously don't know who's in charge around here yet, but you will. I can promise you that."

What?! She expected to gain my respect by doing the very thing that lost that respect in the first place? I was sure that snooping around her tent lost me her respect, but that was not the way to make me pay for it.

"In fact, I'm going to start educating you right now by tying you up for the night. I think you were a little too comfortable in your room, anyhow," Heather said matter-of-factly, meaning to punish me whether I wanted to be or not. I tried to widen my eyes in fear and dread, but the pressure being exerted onto my mouth and lower face was just too much.

"Mmphh 3; nmphhh," I whimpered helplessly into Heather's tight-gripping, satin-gloved hand over my mouth as she turned to her right a little and began to drag me in a backward manner toward her room.

"That's right, moan all you want, little boy. It doesn't matter. Soon, I'll have you gagged so tightly that you won't be able to make even the slightest of sounds," Heather said confidently as I tried to struggle and squirm within her suffocating grasp.

"Nmphhh 3; mhm-hm-hmmphhh," I sobbed into her gargantuan, gloved hand clamped tighter than a steel trap over my mouth. Amazingly, if not horribly, Heather tightened her grip of my mouth and lower face even more to the point where I was completely smothered. No air at all passed around her satin-gloved hand which caused the most intense fear that I had ever felt to pervade my body. I felt Heather's grip of my right arm tighten and the toned, satin-covered muscles barred across my upper stomach press into me more firmly as I struggled with all of my might to escape her awful grasp.

Heather, however, held onto her helpless captive seemingly without effort. I was feeling very lightheaded as I was dragged past the threshold of the door leading into Heather's room and could feel what little vision I had becoming cloudy. Was that what it felt like before passing out? I didn't know; nor did I pass out.

Removing her oppressing left hand and arm from my thin, shirtless body, Heather flipped on the light switch just to the left of the door on the inside of the room, and my teary-eyed, greying vision was filled with soft, yellow light coming from a lamp on the right side of the bed.

"Mphh 3; nmphh," I moaned weakly into Heather's ultra-big, gloved right hand still gripping my mouth and lower face in a smotheringly-tight hold before I was released. The dominant muscle-woman didn't just let go of me; she removed her hand from my mouth before shoving me toward the bed which caused my stomach to hit the left edge of the comforter-covered mattress. Moaning weakly again, I felt Heather grasp the sides of my torso and easily toss me onto her bed. She moved quickly then, and with purpose, as she came over to the right side of the bed with white rope in her hands and pulled my weak, thin, inadequately-clothed body over to her. I had absolutely no idea where she got that rope; maybe it was on the bed before I was forced into her room.

It didn't matter; all that mattered was that I could breathe! Fresh air rushed into my lungs as I felt my hands being seized by Heather's gargantuan, satin-covered ones. My wrists were soon crossed and expertly bound before being forced back to somewhere above my head. I felt wood on my fingers and realized that my hands were being bound to the headboard of the bed. What made things worse was the winding of more rope around my elbows, individually at first, before they were drawn together as much as possible before being tied off. At that point, I couldn't move my arms at all.

With the greyness fading from my eyes, I tried to put up a bit of a struggle, but it was no use. I was still in desperate need of air and continued to greedily suck in as much as I could. Besides, once my hands were bound to the headboard, I found that I couldn't move much of my upper body at all. Before I knew it, Heather had forced my feet together and wound rope snugly around my ankles before tying them to the footboard of the bed. She wasn't done, and the level of stress-induced fear within me was increasing. She wound rope first above, and then below, my knees and tied each bit of rope separately so that my legs were forced together in two places.

"Now, to keep you nice and quiet for the night," Heather said with a dominant tone of voice that caused the knot of nervousness in my stomach to tighten considerably. I really, really, really didn't want to be kept there like that, with or without a gag, but a gag would make the night far worse. How would I ever fall back to sleep?

Still out of breath, I tried to struggle in my bonds but found that I could barely move. The only thing that I could do was wiggle my torso a little which obviously didn't help matters. Still at my left side, Heather reached down to the floor where, I guessed, she had placed some things to gag me with. She brought a large sock into my line of sight, and I could tell that she had worn it that day because it was withered, greyed, and looked as if it was still damp with sweat.

With a cruel smile touching her lips (which were devoid of lipstick then), Heather said, "Open wide, little boy." I shook my head curtly and vigorously in an attempt to wordlessly protest what was being done to me. Heather quickly and roughly grabbed my face with her big, gloved left hand and pulled downward with her strong fingers. With my mouth forced open, Heather proceeded to unkindly cram her sweaty sock into my mouth. I detected the sour, salty smell first, and, then, once it passed my lips, I tasted those qualities as well.

"Mmmphhh 3; nmhmphhh," I moaned helplessly into the sweaty material of the sock as Heather stuffed it into my mouth until it felt as if every crevice was occupied. I could feel my cheeks bulging tightly, for the one sock was big enough to fill my small mouth to the point where I thought I might choke if Heather continued to prod it. No such thing happened, since she didn't mean for me to choke; she only meant for me to stay quiet and helpless.

With her one worn sock stuffing my mouth completely, Heather brought up a thick, white, cotton-like scarf from the floor toward my mouth with her gloved right hand while using her left to push on the sock which was sticking up slightly past my lips. She proceeded to tie the scarf very tightly over my mouth and lifted my head a little so she could tie a stony triple-knot at the back of my head. I had never had a scarf tied around my mouth before, and the experience was very unpleasant. Aside from the obvious aspects of the situation, I especially didn't like the way my hair was pinned against the sides of my head by the strictly-tied scarf.

Heather wasn't finished then, either. "And, for the last part," Heather said mischievously, clearly enjoying what she was doing to me. I watched with wide, helpless eyes as she brought up both of her huge, gloved hands which were moving toward my face.

"Nmmphh..m-mphh 3; mmhhh," came barely-audible moans of fear from my gagged mouth as I saw what the dominant muscle-woman meant to do. She was holding her other used, sweaty sock, turned inside-out, against the middle of another white scarf which looked like the one that had been tied around my mouth. Heather pressed the sock down firmly onto my face so that my poor, mistreated nose was directly in the middle of the part of the sock that had made contact with the bottom of Heather's foot. The part of the sock that ran up the ankle and calf had been folded behind that portion so that an even application of the sweatiest part of the sock could be made. Heather proceeded to tie the scarf super-tightly (but not too tightly) over my nose and around my head before securing another triple-knot above that of the scarf keeping the sock in my mouth.

Immediately, I could feel the effect of Heather's addition to my gag. I could still breathe, but I had a lot of difficulty doing so. Every ounce of air that I managed to take in through my nostrils was nauseatingly overwhelmed by the pungent odors of Heather's used sock engulfing my nose. My stomach rolling with feelings of disgust, I also noticed that the pressure of the gag caused my eyes to squint and caused me an obscene amount of discomfort. Again, how in the world was I supposed to get to sleep?

"And that, my dear, is how you're going to stay every night from now on - tied to my bed with a nice, big gag in your mouth. What do you think? I bet that really excites you, doesn't it, you naughty little boy?" Heather asked teasingly as she bent over me so that she could stare directly into my watery, scared eyes.

"Gmphh 3; mmphhh," came a couple of weak moans from me that were so quiet that they might as well have been whispers. It was alarming how quiet Heather's gag kept me; I think it had something to do with the application of the sock and scarf tied over my nose. The gag in my mouth was bad enough, but the sock seemed to silence me even more.

The pathetic sounds I managed to make made Heather's lips spread into a shark-like grin as she watched me react to the feeling of the gag and my bonds which were already irritating my skin from how tight they were. I tried desperately to struggle, but I stopped after a few seconds because I realized how vital it was for me to keep my breathing rate down so that I didn't become light-headed again. Sadly, it was not as if I was going anywhere, so I thought that I might as well not struggle which would only hurt me.

"Ah ah ahh, I wouldn't do that if I were you. You need to stay still and keep quiet while I get some sleep. You should try to as well," Heather said straightening before striding slowly and confidently to the door of her room, "We still have to have our talk tomorrow about what you were looking at on your computer this afternoon. I might just decide to punish you for it too, so you'll need all the sleep that you can get." She closed the door before clicking off the light and bathing the room in darkness.

"Mphh..hmmphhh," I whimpered helplessly in the darkness as I heard Heather sliding off her satin gloves and setting them on top of her bureau before getting under the covers of her bed. Supporting herself on her left elbow, she leaned over and planted a hearty kiss directly onto my gagged mouth.

"Goodnight, my pet," the cruel muscle-woman whispered before rolling over onto her right side and leaving me to experience every unpleasant aspect of my present situation (bound, gagged, and practically smothered by sweaty socks) and my future which was to be filled with handgagging punishment. What a turn for the worse my life had taken.

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