Once they are through the entrance, the group is led through a long hallway, which Pat notices is just as extravagant as the exterior; the floors are solid marble, the walls decorated with numerous substantial portraits of preternaturally beautiful women, all dressed like queens of old, and the roof, covered with attractive patterns are gilded with what Pat suspects is gold.
Soon, they reach and enter a new room, vast in size, holding the entirety of the group with ease, who come to stand in the middle of the chamber, facing five large doors, each with a number in the middle, from one to five. Their escort, that beautiful priestess from outside, continues forward after the group has stopped, toward the middle set of doors, turning around once she has reached them. Despite Pat's attention being split between the feel of his mother's strong arms and soft chest and the room's interior that somehow puts the impressive hallway they had just passed through to shame in terms of sheer splendour, he doesn't miss the presence of four other priestesses. Each of them stands before one of the large sets of doors, dressed similarly to their guide, with only one variation; each of their masks is slightly different in design, but all feature that same expression of agonised pleasure.
Their guide once more takes the lead, voice pitched to be heard throughout the cavernous space. 'Mothers, on your invitation, each of you was assigned a number. Now, approach the door bearing the number given to you with your soon-to-be-son-sheath. We should have five groups, with five mothers and their sissy slaves in each. I trust I don't have to tell any of you not to dilly-dally?' The rhetorical question provokes much laughter from the mothers approaching their designated door.
Once their group is gathered, their priestess, incidentally the same as their guide, leads them through the doors, with such opening under their own power, splitting the number in half on them as they do. As they enter the room, it is almost like they are travelling back thousands of years. The chamber itself, Pat imagines, is what a bathhouse would have looked like during the height of the ancient Roman empire. However, this particular example would have, with the exception perhaps of those used by the Emperor, put all the others to shame; like the corridor and room before, it was magnificence made manifest. The bath, designed in the shape of a pentagon, was in the centre of the room, filled with a liquid that, Pat guessed, was milk; it was white and emitted the most delicious aroma. Surrounding the bath on all sides were evenly-spaced oak columns, each bearing beautiful carvings; these rested upon a floor of marble decorated with silver and gold.
The most arresting feature, however, was the walls, specifically what was on them. As soon as Pat noticed, he could feel the warm burn of his blush; so great was his embarrassment that it did not stop at his face but carried on down his neck until it reached his chest. The walls, similar to the silver decanter outside, were covered in graphic frescos detailing the lurid exploits of women with colossal phalluses; they were chasing young boys who wore some strange device attached to their significantly smaller penises. The images did not end there. On the contrary, there were many more, each more explicit than the last. Most showed what happened to the young boys when they were caught; invariably, they all ended with the women shoving those mammoth spears of flesh balls deep up those young boys' tight asses. How the women managed such was explicitly depicted: there were images of many sexual positions, some, where the male youths were bent in half under the women, feet on female shoulders, bouncing wildly, and in others, the women had draped themselves over their male lover, taking them from behind as they rested on arms and knees.
Pat's single-minded focus on the wall and its scenes of sexual debauchery was disrupted when he was suddenly deposited from his mother's arms back onto his feet. Attention no longer diverted, Pat noticed that each couple had taken a side of the pentagon-shaped bath.
View panning over the couples around them, Pat recognised the faces of his best friend, Joe, and his mother, Sam.
Wait!
Pat thought, stunned.
Does that mean it was Joe's Mom I heard moaning on the phone last week?
Pat's mother's voice pulled him from his thoughts while confirming his suspicions. 'It doesn't seem like last week, does it, Sam, when I told you this time would soon come?'
Scoffing, Sam replied. 'It felt far longer than a week, Julie. And,' here, her tone became frustrated. 'My situation wasn't helped by you phoning me up to tease me and get me all hot and bothered. Hell,' she exclaimed, grabbing her son by the throat with feigned forcefulness. 'I nearly made this little soon-to-be sissy my sheathe every time I got off the phone after talking to you.'
Sam's casual display of dominant possessiveness over Joe had a visceral effect on Pat, his penis becoming erect quicker than ever before. It didn't go unnoticed. 'Aw, looks like Pat's
tiny
friend is trying to say hello!' Sang Sam in an artificially high voice, pointing at his groin with her free hand, where there was now a slight bulge. 'Hello, little guy. Helloooo,' she cooed, making little waving motions with her free hand. 'Shucks, it looks like his little friend is too teeny to wave back.' As she said this, Sam wore an obviously fake look of disappointment, such poorly concealing her amusement.
