I am very shy.

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Copyright © 2008, Michael M Wayman

It was Saturday morning and Cuthbert was pumping me full of tender loving care. Cuthbert is very good at this, very good indeed.

It is true that I am small and shy, very shy. Sometimes I sit in my room and see no one for days. I am very shy. Sometimes even too shy to see Cuthbert, even on Saturday mornings.

Someone has suggested that I am a man, this is news to me. And also that I play the tuba. I once saw a tuba, I mean it was big, I don't think that I could lift one up. No, I don't play the tuba and Cuthbert knows who I am, or he thinks he does.

It was Saturday morning, as I said; I noticed that Cuthbert was cut and bruised all over. This was not good. I mean, how can Cuthbert do his best when he is not OK? But no, Cuthbert said that he was OK, it was just Miss Davis and Miss Jones having fun with him.

Fun? I asked, you call that fun! Oh yes, he really enjoyed it, or so he said, it was just what they did before that. Oh yes?

Miss Davis and Miss Jones came back home at three in the morning, kicked the front door in, threw up in the kitchen, emptied the refrigerator, removed Cuthbert from Wilma, carried Cuthbert to the cellar, and had their fun with him. Cuthbert enjoyed that, or so he said.

Some fun! And what did they do before they got home? I asked.

Oh, they had drunk two or three bars dry, pulled out a row of street lamps, pushed the street lamps into a few hamburger joints, fire-bombed the police station, broken into the local prison and beaten up everyone they could find.

Oh, they did have fun! Didn't they?

Oh yes! The police are afraid of Miss Davis and Miss Jones. The army has been called in; they or rather the air force plan to drop bombs on them. Cuthbert did not think that that would work. There is nothing that can be done.

I told Cuthbert that I would think about it.

I spent a whole week in thought. Next Saturday morning I told Cuthbert my plan.

Oh, Josephine! You are so brave! Do you really want to do that? You can't do it alone. You must talk to Angela.

Cuthbert was so right and so good and gave me even more tlc.

That evening Miss Davis and Miss Jones dressed for the Saturday night kill, three hours for the complete battle underwear and war paint. One hour to install the heavy metal armour and two hours to adjust it. Miss Davis adjusted Miss Jones and Miss Jones adjusted Miss Davis. Oh, they did like doing that.

I got myself ready, that took 30 seconds. I waited until they had marched out of the front door.

There they were, their armoured underwear glinting in the moonlight, there was no street lighting any more. They looked awesome, in steel, in their battle colours, ready for the kill, but first a drink or twenty-three.

They heard a noise behind them, it was me. They turned, they looked more than awesome, you could see their steel-tipped underwear, the razor blades in their hair, the fierce colour in their faces, the boots, the brass on the back of their hands – there was no chance.

Miss Davis wore red and blue, Miss Jones yellow and green; there was evil pouring out of their faces.

I stood there, wearing nothing more than a ribbon round my waist, and two ribbons round my neck, that's all. There was no chance, it was clear who would win. It was an uneven fight. Two battle warriors against naked me. No contest!

I walked up to Miss Davis, wrapped my arms round her and kissed her. I could feel the sharp edges on her reinforced underwear. She resisted, she tried to look at Miss Jones and ask for help. I pushed my tongue to the back of her throat. I had complete control over Miss Davis. Miss Jones just stared at me.

I held Miss Davis tight for five minutes. I released her heavy-duty bra and it fell to the ground with a clang. I unbolted the other bras. I removed the brass spikes from her neck, elbows, knuckles and knees. I unlaced her steel-capped boots and removed them. I released the neck strap and her wig hit the floor. I undid the twenty straps, cables and bindings holding up her stockings. The corsets were unzipped, unbolted, unclipped... The other steel plates fell to the ground. Finally she was as unclothed as I was.

I took the two ribbons, red and blue from my neck and tied them round her waist. I led her back into the house.

Angela came out of the house wearing three ribbons, two, yellow and green, around the neck. There was work to be done.

I took Miss Davis to my room, removed her make-up, combed her hair and pumped her full of tlc for 48 hours. It was necessary.

Miss Davis and Miss Jones never leave the house, they never wear underwear, they never wear clothes, just a ribbon round the waist. Miss Davis adjusts Miss Jones's ribbon and Miss Jones adjusts Miss Davis's ribbon, every five minutes. Oh, they do like doing that. They are gentle old ladies. They are happy.

Angela runs our home for battered girls and women.

Wilma looks pretty.

Honey-Bunch and Mrs G do all the repairs and work round the house.

Mrs Happy does the ironing.

Angela defends the house; she sometimes wears the underwear.

I married Cuthbert, I always knew that I would, Cuthbert expected it too.

Cuthbert has his harem.

We are all very happy.

This is the last of the Cuthbert stories.