Chapter 26

My brother was only happy to tag in. Once the spatula was clean, he went outside and played drums with it by thumping on her head while squeezing and pinching her nose while she kneeled at his feet. He stuck his fingers in her mouth. Misty didn’t really have a problem sucking our fingers, but let me tell you – it was almost as close to a BJ as you could get.

My dick elongated like one of those blow-up party favors you see at kid’s birthday’s parties almost immediately. Trent clipped the cheap dollar store leash we bought and walked her on all fours like a puppy into the kitchen. We decided to get started early in the garage.

Hope lamented that she’d have to eat dinner alone. “Maybe I can order you a pizza at Arnold’s Malt Shape, Babe?” I winked at her like a condescending asshole in an exaggerated imitation of Doug.

“Whatever you want, as long as it’s two plain cheese slices and you leave no tip, Babe,” James continued the imitation. He pointed at her with his finger like he was shooting a gun in a mock-patronizing manner.

It felt like we hadn’t been in the garage in ages. It was dark, musty, and smelled of gasoline. Everything was exactly the way we left it. Misty tended to hang out in the garage with the door up and smoke before this all began. She would sometimes invite over a few women she knew. She hadn’t been out in the garage since she became our pet. It was hard getting started.

I flicked on the lights, Trent cracked the garage door, and James turned on some fans. I began to tie and bind Misty up. The guys brought chips and bottles of water, and we began preparing for a fun weekend.

“Guys, we should probably do this for a little while and have dinner. I feel a little guilty about leaving your sister out,” Misty said as I stuffed a dildo in her mouth and forced it down her throat. I had attached the heavy-weighted nipple clamps to her labia. James and Trent were in the process of easing the jaws of heavy-duty mouse traps down on her tits without letting them snap so tightly they tore them off when the side door opened to the garage.

It was Hope. She was holding a bowl of freshly popped popcorn. We paused momentarily because we were surprised that she would want to join us. “What? I was out here last weekend. I am supposed to sit in the house by myself?” she offered us some of her popcorn and sat at the table with a slight grump on her face.

After a few minutes, my mother was securely bound and slightly swinging with her legs spread wide, a dildo hanging out of her pussy, and the anal beads in her butt.

“We need music,” Hope suggested. She was right. It was TOO quiet. We didn’t talk, and when we did, it sounded very technical, like “Hand me those pliers” or “Is this too tight? Good.”

She grabbed our Alexa device in the kitchen and asked it to play some “Nine Inch Nails.” I was never a fan of that kind of music. It was dark, gloomy, a little sensuous but slightly morbid. It was perfect to set the tone for a torture session.

It was good stuff for the occasion. I noticed my brothers and I were starting to move to the quirky, robotic beat. It was hypnotizing. The music was erotic, and it made me imagine my mother’s body slithering on the ground like a snake. It heightened the tension and made it feel less like three dorks twisting their mom’s titties in a garage, and more like a truly arousing “BDSM Session”.

Misty would murmur and whine when we did something particularly painful or uncomfortable to her. There was no part of her body we planned to leave off limits. I am not talking just the holes, either. I am talking IN her ass, IN her pussy, soles of her feet, nostrils, ear holes, back of her neck, back of her knees.

After we warmed her up with pinches, pokes, slaps, and clips hung from various body parts, we moved to applying cream to her entire body. We took some off-brand Ben-Gay Icy-Hot muscle cream and began rubbing a generous amount everywhere. Obviously, like most guys would, we started with tits, ass and pussy.

Misty was already feeling the stinging sensation and beginning to panic by the time we started spreading it down her thighs, on her back, all around her face and neck.

“Mmmmrrmmmmmmm, mmrrrrr!!!!!!” genuine terror started filling her eyes. I imagined her realizing she was covered with stinging bees or ants and being helpless to swat or run. She started to jerk and move but due to the laws of physics and motion she had almost no momentum because she had nothing to use for leverage. She could swing her own body, but it was futile. It did nothing to change the sensation.

We applied with our bare hands, and within minutes they stung and felt uncomfortable like a warming sensation with tiny pricks of ice. Imagine that from the top of your head to the soles of your feet enveloping your naked body while three boys laugh, and a teenage girl stews impatiently and eats popcorn as if she was watching a boring movie.

I almost felt bad for Misty. Her pussy was dripping like a leaky faucet, but the way she danced and jerked looked so humiliating and uncomfortable. Her stomach was spasming. She eventually spit the dildo out of her mouth and yelled.

“Go on and get it out, cunt! You’ve got an entire weekend to be played with and teased! This is just the warm-up exercises!”

When I moved to put the dildo back in her mouth, she didn’t resist. She held her mouth open and let it slide down. We applied thumbtacks to her tits in a pattern while writing nasty words on her body. We did it mostly in places you wouldn’t see if she was in public. It wasn’t particularly clever stuff. James wrote “I POO FROM HERE” on her ass and drew and arrow. I wrote “COCKS ALSO GO HERE” in the other cheek with an arrow.

Trent wrote “Slut” in big letters on her forehead.

“We want to be able to take her places,” I reminded him.

“Yeah, she can go like that,” Trent shrugged and agreed that may be too much. It was still hot to look at, and the letters big red letters were already there. Misty grimaced, but the dildo was stuffed down her mouth, so that’s ALL she could do in response.

“We’ll talk about it and decide together, but obviously rule five is in play, and we used washable marker so it shouldn’t be a big deal, okay guys?” James smartly interjected. My mom genuinely seemed comforted by what he said and appeared to forget all about it.

We drew red pubes on Misty’s pussy around her lips – sort of realistic but like flames.

“Why would you make her shave her pubes and then DRAW pubes back on?” Hope asked sarcastically.

“RED pubes are hot,” Trent said.

“No, they aren’t,” Hope assured us sarcastically.

We spent about thirty minutes swatting her back and forth with the paddles and riding crops. We were thinking it might be fun to set her up like a giant tether ball and make a game out of it somehow.

We started to get hungry, so we untied Misty and brought her down safely. Then we removed the dildo gag. Our mom coughed and fell to her knees while gagging after the dildo was removed. “Why are we stopping, Sir?”

“Who are you asking?”

“All of you,” she replied. She took one knee and tried to recover a little from the intense hour and a half she spent hanging from the Cherry Picker.

“Master Trent? Master James, Master Michael?” Trent suggested we be addressed individually.

“I am not doing that. I am not your slave, Sir.”

My mother’s make-up had run down her face, and she was sweaty and exhausted but eager to continue with what we had started. She lovingly licked the dildo and anal beads that had recently been inside her. We didn’t tell her she needed to clean them, but we would have.

Trent grabbed her hair, pulled her forward. Misty started to stand. “Squat and crawl on two legs, Cunt! It’s time to make dinner! You don’t want to call me Master? What did you call Doug?”

“Just Sir, Just Sir,” she begged as we followed behind. Misty had to hobble forward while in a squatting position like a rabbit trying to propel herself with her knees bent and her ass almost dragging the ground. “You’re my pet, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Sir!”

“What kind of pet?”

“A dirty slutty pet, that likes being tied up and having things stuffed up my butt, Sir?”

I felt like Misty was attempting to appeal to Trent by mentioning he could pack her ass with something if he wanted. We had just removed the anal beads to give her butthole a break. He grabbed a small whisk broom in the kitchen and put some of the Ben-Gay on it from a fresh tube.

“No, please don’t,” Misty begged from the floor. She was now sort of crawling with one hand on the ground like a football player at the scrimmage line, looking over her shoulder at what Trent was doing. She didn’t stop him from ramming the tip of the broom handle into her gaping asshole as far as he could.

He stood her up and dressed Misty in that that “Don’t Bully Me, or I’ll Cum” shirt. He wrapped a dish towel around her waist and used duct tape to attach it to her thigh. “There, now get your heels on!”

He asked her to look in the mirror and tell him if she was street-legal.

“Not really, sir?”

“Good enough for the backyard? Everything covered?”

He asked if I really would order a pizza or two and took Misty by the scruff of her neck outside to march her around the backyard. “Come on pony-bitch! Let me see you high step! You can work up a little appetite. We were going to give you a little break, and you have the audacity to ask why we stopped? Bitch, we were tired of whipping your fat ass! Now, I am going to march you to the end of the yard. You’ll turn sharp left at the fence, march to the end, turn left again, and marcin circles until the pizza is here.”

“Yes, Sir! Sorry for talking back, Sir!” my mom could barely contain her giggles as she pretended to be sincerely obeying our absurd orders.

“Whinny like a pony-bitch, slut! I don’t want to hear you talking!” he popped her ass with the riding crop and Misty neighed and made the horse noises that seemed to amuse him so much. It was not as erotic as it was fascinating to watch my mother play along with our commands and submit to them. It felt empowering. Misty kept a bemused grin on her face but did exactly what we told her to do.

I didn’t want to actually PAY for pizza, but I had made the promise ... My sister wanted white pizza, because of course, she had to be different and not want any red sauce. I felt a little guilty, but I ordered it and said we’d pay when the pizza guy got there.

“You guys are going to run her like a HORSE around the backyard, and then make her come inside and pay for YOUR pizza?” Hope laughed at how greedy and selfish that truly sounded.

My only counter point was that Hope would be insisting on her own pizza because she can’t eat what everybody else does.

“Fine, I’ll eat red sauce,” she groaned and rolled her eyes as a concession.

“Really?”

“If Misty can eat pissy pancakes in the morning, I am not going to be a Prima donna and ask for anything special.”

“You are not like Madonna, you are more like Lady Gaga,” James observed. He clearly didn’t know the definition of prima donna.

“Prima donna just means a very temperamental person with an inflated view of their own talent or importance,” I explained.

“That sounds like Hope!” James laughed.

“I am not like either of those pop sellouts. I am more like Tori Amos or Chibi,” Hope name-dropped two singers we had never heard of. When I told her we had no idea who that was for reference she was made a pretentious sound with her mouth to indicate we were neanderthals without a proper appreciation for music.

I rolled my eyes right back at her.

“Chibi is in Birthday massacre. I’ll play some of their music when you tie up Misty again. You’ll probably like something popular of theirs like Blue.”