Thursday, September 29, 2011

Tabitha's Revenge: Chapter 8

Tabitha’s Revenge: Chapter 8 by Gloryboy based on the original story by Thorne

Ruth Richards smiled at her son.  She had not seen him for a week.  He was a quivering mass from what Rachel  had been doing to him during that week. 

“So, how have you been, Wretched?  Or am I answering my own question?” she smiled.

He glared, unable to speak.

“Aw, are you still mad at me?”

She grinned. 

“Okay, I know what I've done makes you mad but you deserved it.  I see Rachel has really been spanking your ass.  It’s hard for me to tell how well your ass is healing what with Rachel giving you those well-deserved spankings every day.   You have to remember, you exist to please us now.  The arrogant waste of space you once were is gone.”

He writhed what little he could and tried to speak though pathetic choking sounds were all he could make.  He simply could not believe she would be in on this and do this to him.

“I know Rachel constantly tells you that you are a useless non-entity,” Ruth said.  “But you have to remember she’s just giving you rightful payback for the things you did to her when you were younger.  Its about revenge for her.”

“Gack, gurgle, ggggrrrpphh” he tried to speak but, with two tubes and a gag, that was impossible.  Even those noises were barely audible and Ruth could cut them off any time she pleased by muting the outgoing sound from the plexiglass cage.  But he was furious.  The things he had done to her were nothing, less than nothing, compared to what she and the others were doing to him.  There simply was no comparison.  But he had no voice in the matter, literally.  So Ruth continued. 

“The truth is that you were a useless non-entity before we immobilized you.  Now you are an object and a toy, true, but not useless.  Finally, you’ve found your place.  Well, okay, we’ve found it for you and put you in your place.”

The former Dr. Richard Richards was red with anger, humiliation and frustration. 

“If you could talk, I’m sure you’d interrupt and contradict me, try to remind me that you are a real person with feelings.  Well, I know that, richiepoo.  Were I to let you talk, I might even feel it.  That’s why you are going to stay gagged and silent, my objectified boy.  You are an object, a toy and I don’t care to be reminded otherwise because I know the useless creature you’d turn back into before long if ever freed.”

 Even at fifty, she was firm and tanned, toned and with long, shapely legs, wide hips and full large but not too large breasts.  Her hair was blond unlike her daughter’s black hair.  It fell to her shoulders.  Yes she was fifty but was like a centerfold or a model at fifty.  Had she not been brilliant and become a judge, she could easily have had a modeling career.  He squirmed in frustration as his cock hardened in the pouch.  Hee writhed and broke into a sweat.  She walked over and looked at his quivering pouch. 

“Aw, is the sight of your gorgeous Mom getting you all worked up?  This must be so embarrassing and so frustrating.” 

Again, he struggled frantically.  To an outside observer, he was not doing anything but making intense faces and tensing his muscles.  He could barely move the slightest fraction of an inch.  But he was straining and fighting all he could.  He could not believe she was doing this to him nor could he believe how he was responding.  He had gone years without any form of sexual relief and his mother, even at fifty, had a great body.  But were it not for the years of forced denial, he told himself he would never have noticed. 

“Hmm, maybe I should call you Oedipus,” she teased.  “Poor boy, do you want to have sex with me?”

His cock cramped in agony, rock hard but scrunched tight into the pouch.  His balls burned like white hot fire. 

“Oh, don’t feel ashamed.  Subconsciously, many men feel that way and just can’t admit it to themselves.  But you can’t pretend, can you, poor richiepoo?  See?  You’re a better ‘man’ already.  You have to face truths other men can hide from and pretend are not real.”

“You are such a fun and satisfying toy.  But doesn’t it thrill you to know that you are also helping Tabitha in her psychological research?  Why, she may get the Nobel Prize and be credited as a psychologist as groundbreaking as Freud or Maslow thanks largely to your unwilling help.” 

She leaned close and kissed his nose. 

“Doesn’t that make you feel good?”

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