Tabitha's Revenge: Chapter 9

Tabitha’s Revenge: Chapter 9 by Gloryboy based on the original story by Thorne

Dr. Wretched Richards felt more wretched than ever.  Not only had he been reduced to a hairless, opinionless, silent, immobilized object and become more horny and frustrated than any man had ever been, but Tabitha was well on her way to becoming one of the most famous psychological practitioners in history because of him. 

“That’s right, my precious son,” Ruth taunted, “Tabitha will be remembered in the same breath with Freud and Jung.  But don’t worry, my sweet richiepoo.  You’ll be remembered too, in the same breath with Sybil and other patients through whom psychologists and psychiatrists made their great discoveries.” 

He was beyond furious.  Tabitha had taken everything from him, including his dignity, his identity, his very personality and his mother had helped her every step of the way.  Ruth just smiled and said, “Well, enough of these deliciously cheerful thoughts.  I knew this was going to happen.  Here I’m supposed to be doing my aerobics and, instead, I’m talking away to you.  It’s all your fault.  I should have known you’d draw me into a long conversation with those articulate sounds of yours.”

“Gffff!  Mmph!  Gack!  Garg!” he moaned furiously. 

She was totally mocking him and his condition.  She smiled in satisfaction and pushed a button. 

“Sorry, honey,” she smirked.  “But I just have to get my exercises done.  I just hit the ‘mute’ button so mumble all you want.  I won’t hear any of it.  But you’ll be able to hear me.”

He could do nothing but watch helplessly as Ruth did her aerobics.  Finally, she smiled and said, “Shower time.”

She was gone for only a few minutes.  When she returned, she was wet and dried off in front of him.  She sensuously combed her wet, long, blond hair.  She looked at her hot, sweaty, miserable and desperately horny son and smiled. 

“I know this is pretty mild compared to what Tabitha and some of the others, even Rachel, do to you.  But, after all, I’m your mother.  I can’t be as blatantly sexual as they have the liberty of being.”

Again, she was totally mocking him.  He hated her, his own mother.  He hated them all.  He knew his opinion was meaningless though.  He was a silent object. 

“Oh, before I leave, I need to give you something you deserve.”

She picked up a paddle that was on a table along with a container of salt and a bowl of water.

“The paddle, you’ll notice, has little tacks in it,” she delighted in showing him. 

She hauled off and smacked his bare, smooth ass with the paddle.  A muffled wale came from his tubed mouth.  She went from cheek to cheek, tanning every inch of his ass as he cried, blubbered and begged.  Finally, she set the paddle down and picked up the salt.  She put generous amounts on her hands and started rubbing them into his tortured ass.  His cheeks convulsed with a life of their own.  He writhed and whimpered, his ass spasmed.  She walked in front of him.

“You see,” she explained, “now I dip the paddle into the water, getting the tacks all wet.  Then I put the salt on the tacks and it adheres because they are wet.  At least some of the salt will be driven in when I spank your sorry butt.  I should have done this long ago but at least no one else can deny that your Mom can still give you the ultimate spanking.”

He could not help but continue crying and begging as he suffered the burning, biting pain of a thousand fiery pinpricks in his ass.  And, of course, the inescapable conditioning was kicking in.

“Pain = desire = frustration.  Mom= = pain= desire= frustration = no- I’m a man- a need to cum, need to cum, I’m do- do- wretch.  Mom= pain= = desire= frustration = Mom =”

“No need to thank me,” she smiled and petted his head.  “Your reaction is all the thanks I need.”

He knew it would never end but at least it could not get any-  he caught himself.  It always did and always would get worse.