Chapter 6: The Great Unveiling

“NUH ... NUH ... NUUUUHHHHFF!!!”

Shawna continued to scream; the pair of panties that had been wadded up and stuffed in her mouth now seemed to be of little hindrance. With her legs now spread apart, the pretty Catholic mom could see the direction in which things were going; and her panic only grew as they continued to progress that way.

“Mom, hush” said Jason.

“You know Damon doesn’t like a complainer, so if you keep up your obnoxious bitching he’s only going to punish you more.”

With his left hand keeping a firm grip on his mom’s right ankle, Jason now stooped down, this time even lower. He crouched low enough so that he could get his right arm under Shawna’s left leg and, only then, did he again stand up. The brilliant valedictorian’s mind continually screamed at her to resist, to contract the muscles in that leg so that it wouldn’t bend at the hip but both her arms and her rib cage were still in agony from the beating she had received. She could only assume that, if she fought back, not only would her hip join her torso and arms in receiving a devastating pounding but she would also earn another punishment; something that would be even worse than everything that had come before. So Shawna did nothing but scream while she watched in horror; her upper body was still propped up on her elbows while her broken wrist stayed lifted, ever so slightly, off the seat. Her left leg now rose, long and feminine and muscular, into the air. It was the same color of alabaster as the rest of her body and it didn’t stop moving until it was completely vertical and resting on the shoulder of her son. As he stood up, Jason succeeded in not just spreading his modest mom’s legs, something no man had ever done before, since Shawna had always been the one to spread them when she made love to her husband, but now he spread them not just wide but also forward and back.

“GUHHHHH-HUHHHHHHHHHHH!”

She just couldn’t help herself. What was happening to her was an fate worse than death, a hell more terrible than anything the devil could have done, and the pretty Catholic mom just couldn’t be silent. She didn’t think of the consequences, only that she was now filling with a horrified humiliation worse than anything she ever could have imagined. Her son, her very own son, was now spreading her naked legs apart and he was getting to see, they were all getting to see and so she let out a mournful moan; one that let the whole world know just how badly she was suffering. It went on only for a second, maybe two and then the outer edge of Damon’s hand crashed into her windpipe; the action disrupting her air supply and making Shawna gag and splutter.

She was distracted and it was now that Damon made his move. The 14-year-old black boy inched himself closer until he was lying right beside the trembling and naked suburban white mom and then his right arm reached underneath her. That arm now moved into the space between her propped up body and the seat. It reached underneath Shawna and then grabbed ahold of the pretty Catholic mom’s one unbroken wrist. The wrist that arm was attached to was one of the only two things keeping her upright and, when the 14-year-old black boy painfully yanked that right arm behind her body, knocking it into her left and sending it flying, the two of them went crashing backwards so that they were both lying flat on the seat. With Damon’s right hand keeping her own right arm securely pinned behind her body, which now lay on top of it, and her left wrist still painfully broken, Damon’s left hand was now free to pursue other tasks and he made sure Shawna knew this by squeezing her throat tightly.

“The more you fight, the more bad things happen to you” said Damon.

His grip crushed her throat so forcefully that Shawna couldn’t do anything but lie there with her head lifted off the seat and, what she now saw, only demonstrated further the horror of her predicament. She was completely naked and lying flat on her back on the seat of a bus. One boy held her there in a way that left her completely incapable of defending herself while her own son had spread her legs apart. But perhaps the worst part of it was that at which the pretty Catholic mom now stared out. Everywhere her green eyes darted all she saw were black boys holding cell phones. In the shape of a horseshoe they stood around the laid flat bus seat and every single one of them now filmed her shameful nakedness as she was held there helpless, with no apparent effort, by a black male child so young as to still be in junior high school. In the center of her view, Jason now rose, lifting both his arm and her leg as he pushed it up into the air. The feminine appendage moved in a smooth arc until her elegant knee was almost touching her shoulder.

“You wanna hold that for me?” Jason now asked Damon.

The black boy didn’t answer, his only acknowledgement of the question was his release of Shawna’s throat and then hooking that hand into the space behind Shawna’s bent knee.

“Sure” Damon now said, “After all, I think you’re gonna need both hands free for ... you know ... other tasks.”

Both boys now broke out into laughter at Damon’s latest statement; the sound each of them made was a deep and heckling cackle. It was a sound that Shawna never would have thought her own son could make but then she was learning a lot about him today. As Damon kept her left knee pulled tight up against her shoulder, Jason now swung his left leg over her right. Shawna’s son then slid his body forward, moving his own body ever closer towards his mom’s quivering and defenseless pussy, as he straddled Shawna’s right leg without resting any of his weight on it.

“You got the clippers?” Damon now asked.

Jason shook his head indicating that he didn’t. A moment later, one of the other boys, Shawna now recognized him as the first one to claim she had torn her own clothes, stepped forward out of the horseshoe. He was short, rail-thin and dirty with comically oversized lips, nappy hair twisted into inch-long dreadlocks, a large, flat nose and wide staring eyes. Wordlessly, this boy now handed Jason a palm sized object. It was black with red stripes and, as Jason’s thumb flipped the switch on its front, a sound that was halfway between a crack and an electric pop immediately ripped through the air. It was a sound Shawna knew only too well. After all, she was the one who been cutting Jason’s hair for the past 14 years, and the pretty Catholic mom recognized it when electric clippers crackled to life.

Oh ... oh my god. This ... this can’t be happening. Oh ... oh god. This ... this can’t be real. Can ... can my ... my own ... can my own son really be about to shave me? Down ... down there? Can ... can I really be here? Lying ... I ... I’m ... I’m lying completely naked in a room full of staring boys who are still in the eighth grade. I ... I’m being held down ... and ... and I’m about to watch as my very own son shaves ... shaves ... as my very own son shaves all the hair off ... off my vagina?

As if to confirm to his mom that her nightmarish thoughts were right, Jason now spoke; telling her in no uncertain terms that, yes, that was exactly what was about to happen

and that she needed to watch every second of what would be a celebration to them and an unspeakable atrocity for her.

“Mom, you need to watch every second of your very own son as he now shaves your pussy.”

When Shawna didn’t raise her head, Damon let go of her one unbroken arm, the one he had pulled painfully behind her. Shawna now pulled it free from beneath her back and then propped herself up on the elbow of both her arms, careful to keep her one broken wrist slightly off the cushion. The pretty Catholic mom now had the perfect vantage point from which to watch her ongoing and most humiliating defeat yet but Damon wasn’t done. The 14-year-old black boy gave her one

last warning; apparently still concerned that she might continue to fight.

“Remember,” he said.

“All this happening to you because you think you something you ain’t. I was gonna let you keep your panties. Let your son touch your pussy for a while and then be done with it. You where you is now because you don’t accept the fact that you ain’t here to serve no purpose other than to do what you told and give up yo’ pussy any time any boy tells you to What you think’s gonna happen if you try and fight back?”

Shawna knew the answer. If she tried to hit anyone with her one unbroken arm, that arm wasn’t going to stay unbroken for long. And, if by some miracle, that didn’t happen, then something worse probably would. What wasn’t going to happen was she wasn’t going to use that arm to free herself, get her clothes back and regain control of the situation. No, even in her panicked state, Shawna knew fighting back was only going to make things worse. She had a better chance with surrender. While fighting made Damon mad, humiliating her seemed to make him happy. Maybe, the pretty Catholic mom now thought desperately, if she did that enough, she would eventually be let go. One last entreaty now came out and Shawna hoped the way the words were spoken from behind the panties stuffed in her mouth would amuse them. It was just something that degraded her further and, in the insanity of the moment, she was ready to do anything, no matter how dehumanizing or embarrassing, to keep her son and those clippers away from her pure and decent, white and Catholic suburban mom’s pussy.

“Pweaf, I ... I’ll do anyfing you wah ... anyfing at awh. Just pwea ... not dif. Ehnee ... anyfwing but dif.”

Damon looked back at her, his face only a few inches from hers as he held onto her leg and lay next to her on the seat. Shawna was on her back while Damon lay on his side; his one arm seemingly ready to reach under her body and grab ahold of her unbroken right wrist at the first sign of resistance.

“You do good with this and we’ll see. Maybe we’ll take away a few of those punishments you got from not knowing your place.”

Shawna wasn’t quite sure what he was talking about. The whole day, and every horrifying event in it, was nothing but a confusing jumble of terror and panic and she honestly couldn’t remember one bout of defiance from another. In the end, she figured it didn’t matter. Shawna Lynn McDonnell, nice Catholic girl from blue collar Pennsylvania, suburban soccer mom and head of the local PTA, the girl who had been both homecoming and prom queen in her junior and senior year of high school and the woman who was crowned Mrs. Queen and Beauty Northeast while in college was going to get her pussy shaved. It was going to be filmed. It was going to happen in public. She would be forced to lie there with her legs spread, surrounded by a bunch of 14-year-old boys, 8^th graders who were not even out of junior high school yet; she would be forced to just lie there with her legs apart and just watch while everyone filmed her very own son shaving her pussy bald. In the end they had made up their minds. In the end, there was nothing she could do to stop it.

“OH GAWH PLEAWF!”

This scream, even muffled through the pair of her panties Damon had shoved in her mouth, was the loudest one so far. Even worse, when the black and red clippers descended towards her body, Shawna thought she recognized them. In Jason’s hand was a red Remington Pro Power Electric Hair Clipper and if the humming instrument he held wasn’t the exact same one she used to cut his hair, then it was coincidentally identical.

But why ... how ... who ... I ... how ... how could he have known? Why ... why would J-Jason have brought our ... our h-hair clippers with him ... tuh ... today of all days?

The pretty Catholic mom now tried to speak through the panties in her mouth but, if anyone understood what she was saying; they continued to ignore her. There was a moment of shock as the cool metal of the clipper’s head pressed into her skin and, after Shawna felt herself flinch as though she had been burned, she heard it. It was another familiar sound, one that she heard on a regular basis, one that she had heard every time she had cut Jason’s hair. It was that harsh electric slicing sound, that Bzzzzkkkkkdddddlllltt; the sound that was only made by rapidly moving metal blades as they cut human hair. Now, Damon didn’t have to threaten her in order to get her to watch.

The horrifying spectacle was both morbid and sickening but also something from which she could not look away. Despite the pain it caused her, Shawna now contracted the muscles in her stomach and lifted her head even further and what she saw down below, between her legs, made her heart both ache in mortifying despair. Where before, on the right side of her mound, there had been an inch-wide strip of dark brown hair, there was now only skin. What remained of the hair that had been there before was just the finest of stubble and, beneath that, simply pale white smoothness; skin that had been hidden beneath a sheaf of soft fur for almost 25 years. As Shawna now watched with a sense of unspeakable dread; her own son lifted the humming clippers and moved them to where her torso met her left leg.