Lockdown! 22

Chapter 22

Paul shivered as a gust of wind blew in across the rooftop, causing his large, hooped earrings to jangle about the side of his head.

“It is getting a little cold, isn’t it?” Gwendoline commented from across the table. “Let’s see if I can get someone to put this heater on.” She added before raising her hand and turning towards the nearest waiter.

Paul scoffed and rolled his eyes, remembering the weather forecast he'd seen earlier. A cold northerly wind with a chance of ground frost during the night, the weather woman had reported. And here he was, sat on a rooftop wearing just a slutty little mini dress!

Crossing his arms across his body, Paul began rubbing his bare upper arms. It helped a little, but it also reminded him of how puny they’d become. All the muscle he’d once possessed had somehow just dissolved away, probably thanks to the vegan diet Veronica had him on. All that remained were two thin pipe cleaners, extending down to delicate-looking fingers adorned with bright red talons.

Pouting, he could hear Gwendoline chatting to their waiter across the table, but he wasn’t really listening. His attention was instead focussed on the two circular bumps, protruding out from the cups of his clingy red dress.

He’d been trying to ignore the growing mounds on his chest, but with each passing week requiring less and less padding to create a realistic-looking bosom, he couldn’t deny it anymore. He had boobs! Not the biggest pair in the world as he still requires a push-up bra to create the cleavage on display that evening, but still large enough to make their waiter glance down as he seated them earlier.

Brushing the end of his long blonde ponytail to one side, Paul hovered an acrylic-tipped finger over one of the little bullets, tenting out the top of his dress. Lowering it slowly, he gently touched his stiff sensitive nipple, causing a jolt of electricity to shoot through his slender body. Letting out a little squeak, he quickly pulled his hand away.

“Are you ok, miss? The waiter asked from across the table.

Batting his thick dark lashes, Paul smiled awkwardly, suddenly noticing how Gwendoline and the waiter were looking at him. “Oh, yes. I’m fine.” He squeaked. “I just thought I saw a bug in my food.”

“A bug!” the waiter hollered, his eyes widening. “I’m terribly sorry, miss. I'll fetch you another dish immediately!”

“No, no. It’s ok,” Paul cried, looking around nervously at all the nearby tables, who had turned to see what all the commotion was about. “I was mistaken. It was nothing, really!”

Stepping over, the waiter picked up his plate. “No, I insist.” He announced, taking the opportunity to get another eyeful of Paul’s modest cleavage. “Actually, she’s been nibbling on that for the last 30 minutes,” Gwendoline interjected. “Just take it away and bring us our mains, will you? I’m starving."

Confused, the waiter looked up into Paul’s dark Smokey lined eyes but seeing nothing but a blank expression on his plastic-looking face, he nodded his head and scuttled away with the plates.

Watching as his half-eaten plate of roasted stuffed mushrooms disappeared across the room, Paul felt a little disappointed to see the delicious dish go. Yes, he had been eating slowly, and yes, he did feel a little full. But after all the waist training and dieting, he just couldn’t eat as much as he used to.

Suddenly standing up, Gwendoline scooted her chair around to Paul's side of the table. “You don’t mind if I move around here?” She asked, not expecting an answer. “You’re hogging the heater, and I need to warm up too.”

“It’s fine,” Paul lied, feeling very uncomfortable as the pushy woman invaded his personal space.

“So, I had this client today and let me tell you, she’s a bit of a character,” Gwendoline announced, starting one of her stories. “She had this bag, and you wouldn’t believe the state of it. Why on earth she would carry such a thing around is beyond me…”

As she Rambled on, Paul zoned out. Now an expert at grunting and nodding at just the right time to make people think he was listening. He instead chose to watch as the flirty waiter returned to lay the table with a new set of plates and cutlery.

“And then aliens swept down and vaporised her into a pile of dust!” Gwendoline announced as Paul nodded his head and made a noise of acknowledgement.

“Paula!” Gwendoline growled, snapping him out of his stupor and causing a few heads to look over in their direction. “You didn’t hear a word of what I just said, did you?”

Startled, Paul jumped. Causing quite a racket as his pantyhosed knees slammed against the underside of the table, and his high-heeled feet scuttled across the tiled floor. “I was listening,” he blurted out. "I was just..."

“You weren’t!” Gwendoline shot back angrily. “Are you that much of an airhead or just ungrateful? I’ve brought you out for a fabulous meal in this fancy restaurant, and all you’ve done is sit there and pout. But fine, if you’re not interested in what I’ve got to say why don’t you talk. Go on! Tell me about something you’re interested in! Makeup perhaps or some other frivolous activity.”

Shaking his head from side to side in anger, Paul balled up his hands into fists, squeezing so hard, he almost snapped his acrylic nails clean off. “I’m not an airhead,” he snarled through gritted teeth. “Have you considered that perhaps I’m not listening because I don’t want to be here!” He added, eyeballing a very surprised-looking Gwendoline while curling his bloated lips into a sarcastic smile. “Or maybe it’s because you’re just the most boring, unlikeable person, I’ve ever met."

Leaning back, Paul watched as Gwendoline’s face turned beet red. Starting to shake, she then scanned around the silent restaurant, smiling at the other guests as she tried to mask her crippling embarrassment.

Most likely, feeling a little uncomfortable themselves, It didn’t take long for the other guests to return to their food and resume their conversations. And as soon as the last head turned away, Gwendoline reached out with her arm under the table, digging her nails firmly into the top of Paul’s thigh.

“Quiet! She declared through pursed lips after Paul let out a high pitch squeal. “I don’t want to hear another word from you, or I’ll grab that pathetic little thing tucked away in your panties and tear it off, right here in front of everyone. Nod if you understand me.”

Terrified, Paul's heavily made-up eyes darted around the room looking for help. But unfortunately for him, by this point, the rest of the restaurant had seemingly chosen to ignore their disruptive dinner companions. So, still wincing in pain, Paul submitted, furiously nodding with a panic-stricken look plastered across his painted face.

“Good,” Gwendoline whispered, pleased to see out of the corner of her eye that her naughty little minion had fallen back into line. “Have you forgotten our little arrangement, you little whore? I’m the one in charge here! If you ever speak to me like that again, you’ll be wishing for that jail cell you seem so desperate to avoid."

Satisfied and proud of her little speech, Gwendoline released her grip on Paul's leg and instead began to gently stroke his nylon-covered inner thigh.

“Good girl,” she announced, turning to look at the shellshocked shemale to her right as her hand slid under the hem of the sexy red dress she'd bought for him on their last shopping trip. “Now, where was I? Oh yes, that tatty old bag had absolutely no place in the company of such a tasteful outfit like that. I just had to...”

(See image 31)