Handicapped Hell: Chapter 01

Sep 10, 2018
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#1
The following story is sadistic fiction, and in no way depicts actual events. It contains descriptions of cruelty and torture against an unwilling vulnerable male victim. All characters are clearly depicted as being over the age of 18.

-

The funeral was finally over, and I was glad to be home. Carla, my 20 year old daughter, and I kicked our shoes off, poured a couple glasses of wine, and crashed on the sofa. Although I've 43, my body is still smoking hot, and Carla could easily pass for my clone.

Our tight strapless black dresses hugged every supple curve of our well toned bodies. Her legs were long and thin, just like mine, and the long slit in the lower half of our dresses allowed us to show off our black stocking clad legs during the service. Our long and jet black hair, framed our milky white faces highlighted with black lipstick and dark eye shadow.

I taught her how to use her beauty to manipulate men into making them her slave. I'd done the same thing to her father. I can't say I ever really loved him, but I thoroughly enjoyed teasing and torturing him, making him do exactly what I wanted while cruelly dangling the promise of reward just out of reach. Dressing in a black negligee and running my shiny black nails up and down his shaft, only to roll over and leave him blue balled and begging, was a favorite pastime.

I knew he was a wimp back in college. He was a scrawny little twerp, but good with computers. I knew he was going to be rich relatively quickly, so I cozied up to him. Sure enough, he invented some software protocol for is Google and made his first million before we'd even graduated.

Because he had a foot fetish, I made a point to wear sandals which showcased my tanned feet and perfectly pedicured toenails. Tight capri pants revealed just enough of my ankles to keep his juices flowing. Snug low cut Tees, which barely contained my ample breasts, completed the package, making him my slave. He even called me Mistress Meagan from time to time.

Carla and I were exhausted from pretending to be sad about her father's death. He had been a meal ticket and whipping boy, but the will and life insurance left us sitting pretty, so his death was no big loss. My only regret was that he had died instantly in the crash. I'd have preferred to have pictured him lingering in pain for a few hours, but it's an imperfect world.

"We can't put it off any longer mom," Carla finally said.

"I know," I sighed.

We tore ourselves from the sofa and made our way to her twin brother's bed room. He was lying on his hospital bed enjoying the sight of his superhero posters. While his sister had been born without a hitch, John got stuck on the way out of the birth canal. As a result, the brain cells controlling motor function had been killed. In other words he could wiggle and had full sensation, but couldn't control his body in any meaningful way.

Initially, I'd looked forward to having a boy and a girl. I could dote on the girl, and the boy would be there to do chores. When the brat had been born crippled, he proved useless as a work drone. His father loved him though, so I was outwardly kind to the shit while he grew up. His protector was gone now.

"What do we do with that thing?" I said, knowing he could hear us.

"What ever we went," Carla said with a shrug.

I leaned against the door frame and sipped my wine. "Have something in mind?"

"Well," she began. "It was Dad who spoiled him with comic books, movies, and all this other stuff. Let's do just the opposite. Instead of spoiling him, let's see how miserable we can make him."

John raised his head to say say something. I sauntered over to the bed, clasped my hand over his mouth, and forced his head back down. "Go on," I said with a smile.

"To begin with, all this crap would have to go. All of these books, posters, DVDs, action figures in the trash."

"The comic books will make good kindling," I chimed in. "And let's get rid of his stupid character T-shirts, I hate those."

"Mother, you silly, we don't have to let him keep ANY clothes. He's out of high school and no one is expecting to see him anywhere. He doesn't need clothes."

I laughed. "Right on, I like the way you think. We'll keep him naked and vulnerable." I waived my daughter over. "Here, hold his mouth shut.''

She held his mouth while I pulled my black silk stockings off. It had been a hot day, and the stockings were moist with sweat. As soon as they were off, I gave Carla a nod and she moved her hand allowing me to stuff the waist and ass part of the stockings into his mouth. He began to gag and cough, but I gave a few more shoves before wrapping the legs of the stockings around his head and tying gag in place.

"I think his mouth is too full," Carla said.

I sipped my wine. "That's his problem," I said with a smile.

We laughed as John grunted and and squirmed in protest.

Without my having to ask, my lovely daughter began to help me remove John's pajamas. "What should we feed him?" she asked me.

I shrugged. "I hadn't thought about it," I said. "It seems a shame to waste money on food for him three times a day."

"Mom, we don't have to feed him three times a day. Come to think of it, we don't have to feed him every day. A bowl of something every two or three days would be enough to keep him alive."

"Grits?" I said.

"Nah," Carla said. "Your grits taste way too good."

"They won't if I make them with water instead of milk and leave out the salt and cheese."

"Makes sense," my daughter agreed. "Especially if we serve them cold."

"That's a given. Even the best grits are hard to choke down when they're cold. His will be completely tasteless and disgusting. I considered just killing him and being done with it," I said.

"Oh no," my daughter said. "Keeping him alive and making him suffer will be much more fun."

"Agreed," I said. "You know, now that he's naked, leaving him with blankets and pillows seems silly."

We exchanged playful winks, then Carla snatched the pillow out from under her brother's head as I scooped up the blankets and sheets into my arms and put them in the hamper.

"What about the mattress?" Carla asked.

"The only thing under the mattress is the hard steel platform," I explained.

We read the sudden gleam in each other's eyes, and in unison grabbed the mattress and slid it out from under my helpless son. A combination of the cold metal bed and fear sent shivers through John's crippled body. Watching him quake sent ripples of pure pleasure through me. I felt my toes curl as I achieved orgasm right there on the spot.

"Do me a favor. In the chest at the foot of my bed there's a bundle of nylon rope I used to use on your father. Will you get it for me?"

"Sure," she said and skipped from the room.

While she was gone, I positioned John onto his back and pulled out his legs as straight as possible. She returned a moment later with rope.

"I get that we're going to tie him up," Carla said, "But when he already can't walk, what's the point?"

"You forget," I said. "When he doesn't take his prescription muscle relaxants he gets painful muscle spasms."

My daughter's eyes widened with understanding. "And we're not going to give him his medications any more."

"Right," I said. "When his muscles spasm and pull against the ropes, his spasms will be much more painful. You tie his wrists and I'll get his ankles."

Since it was a hospital bed, tall handles rose from each corner of the bed. I wrapped the first rope around his left ankle several times, then tied the other end tightly to the left handle of the foot board. Carla watched what I had done and did the same thing to his wrists, making sure his are were stretched out as straight as possible. Once all four limbs were stretched and securely tied, we stepped back to admire our handiwork. His resting place looked less like a bed and more like a medieval torture rack. We smile.

"Comfy?" I said in jest.

My poor son shook his head sadly and began to cry. The sight of his tears running down his cheeks into his ears renewed my feeling of orgasmic pleasure. After twenty years of pretending to love him, the release of sadistic cruelty was nothing short of euphoric.

"Now what?" Carla asked excitedly.

"I don't know about you, but I'm tired. I'm going to have something to eat, take a hot bath, and fall asleep watching TV. Don't worry, he's not going anywhere. We have all the time in the world to do whatever we want to your brother. "
 
Aug 12, 2005
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#2
Your story is really great. I love these very cruel Mistresses who do not hesitate to torture and food starve this poor boy vulgarable and d'Isabel for their pleasure. I love the contrast between the privileged and comfortable situation of these girls and the misery and suffering of this boy. Without mercy, in comfort and pleasure they add to histoire misfortune ... I look forward to the rest... Thanks toi very much
 
Likes: Madison1982
May 3, 2013
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#3
The following story is sadistic fiction, and in no way depicts actual events. It contains descriptions of cruelty and torture against an unwilling vulnerable male victim. All characters are clearly depicted as being over the age of 18.

-

The funeral was finally over, and I was glad to be home. Carla, my 20 year old daughter, and I kicked our shoes off, poured a couple glasses of wine, and crashed on the sofa. Although I've 43, my body is still smoking hot, and Carla could easily pass for my clone.

Our tight strapless black dresses hugged every supple curve of our well toned bodies. Her legs were long and thin, just like mine, and the long slit in the lower half of our dresses allowed us to show off our black stocking clad legs during the service. Our long and jet black hair, framed our milky white faces highlighted with black lipstick and dark eye shadow.

I taught her how to use her beauty to manipulate men into making them her slave. I'd done the same thing to her father. I can't say I ever really loved him, but I thoroughly enjoyed teasing and torturing him, making him do exactly what I wanted while cruelly dangling the promise of reward just out of reach. Dressing in a black negligee and running my shiny black nails up and down his shaft, only to roll over and leave him blue balled and begging, was a favorite pastime.

I knew he was a wimp back in college. He was a scrawny little twerp, but good with computers. I knew he was going to be rich relatively quickly, so I cozied up to him. Sure enough, he invented some software protocol for is Google and made his first million before we'd even graduated.

Because he had a foot fetish, I made a point to wear sandals which showcased my tanned feet and perfectly pedicured toenails. Tight capri pants revealed just enough of my ankles to keep his juices flowing. Snug low cut Tees, which barely contained my ample breasts, completed the package, making him my slave. He even called me Mistress Meagan from time to time.

Carla and I were exhausted from pretending to be sad about her father's death. He had been a meal ticket and whipping boy, but the will and life insurance left us sitting pretty, so his death was no big loss. My only regret was that he had died instantly in the crash. I'd have preferred to have pictured him lingering in pain for a few hours, but it's an imperfect world.

"We can't put it off any longer mom," Carla finally said.

"I know," I sighed.

We tore ourselves from the sofa and made our way to her twin brother's bed room. He was lying on his hospital bed enjoying the sight of his superhero posters. While his sister had been born without a hitch, John got stuck on the way out of the birth canal. As a result, the brain cells controlling motor function had been killed. In other words he could wiggle and had full sensation, but couldn't control his body in any meaningful way.

Initially, I'd looked forward to having a boy and a girl. I could dote on the girl, and the boy would be there to do chores. When the brat had been born crippled, he proved useless as a work drone. His father loved him though, so I was outwardly kind to the shit while he grew up. His protector was gone now.

"What do we do with that thing?" I said, knowing he could hear us.

"What ever we went," Carla said with a shrug.

I leaned against the door frame and sipped my wine. "Have something in mind?"

"Well," she began. "It was Dad who spoiled him with comic books, movies, and all this other stuff. Let's do just the opposite. Instead of spoiling him, let's see how miserable we can make him."

John raised his head to say say something. I sauntered over to the bed, clasped my hand over his mouth, and forced his head back down. "Go on," I said with a smile.

"To begin with, all this crap would have to go. All of these books, posters, DVDs, action figures in the trash."

"The comic books will make good kindling," I chimed in. "And let's get rid of his stupid character T-shirts, I hate those."

"Mother, you silly, we don't have to let him keep ANY clothes. He's out of high school and no one is expecting to see him anywhere. He doesn't need clothes."

I laughed. "Right on, I like the way you think. We'll keep him naked and vulnerable." I waived my daughter over. "Here, hold his mouth shut.''

She held his mouth while I pulled my black silk stockings off. It had been a hot day, and the stockings were moist with sweat. As soon as they were off, I gave Carla a nod and she moved her hand allowing me to stuff the waist and ass part of the stockings into his mouth. He began to gag and cough, but I gave a few more shoves before wrapping the legs of the stockings around his head and tying gag in place.

"I think his mouth is too full," Carla said.

I sipped my wine. "That's his problem," I said with a smile.

We laughed as John grunted and and squirmed in protest.

Without my having to ask, my lovely daughter began to help me remove John's pajamas. "What should we feed him?" she asked me.

I shrugged. "I hadn't thought about it," I said. "It seems a shame to waste money on food for him three times a day."

"Mom, we don't have to feed him three times a day. Come to think of it, we don't have to feed him every day. A bowl of something every two or three days would be enough to keep him alive."

"Grits?" I said.

"Nah," Carla said. "Your grits taste way too good."

"They won't if I make them with water instead of milk and leave out the salt and cheese."

"Makes sense," my daughter agreed. "Especially if we serve them cold."

"That's a given. Even the best grits are hard to choke down when they're cold. His will be completely tasteless and disgusting. I considered just killing him and being done with it," I said.

"Oh no," my daughter said. "Keeping him alive and making him suffer will be much more fun."

"Agreed," I said. "You know, now that he's naked, leaving him with blankets and pillows seems silly."

We exchanged playful winks, then Carla snatched the pillow out from under her brother's head as I scooped up the blankets and sheets into my arms and put them in the hamper.

"What about the mattress?" Carla asked.

"The only thing under the mattress is the hard steel platform," I explained.

We read the sudden gleam in each other's eyes, and in unison grabbed the mattress and slid it out from under my helpless son. A combination of the cold metal bed and fear sent shivers through John's crippled body. Watching him quake sent ripples of pure pleasure through me. I felt my toes curl as I achieved orgasm right there on the spot.

"Do me a favor. In the chest at the foot of my bed there's a bundle of nylon rope I used to use on your father. Will you get it for me?"

"Sure," she said and skipped from the room.

While she was gone, I positioned John onto his back and pulled out his legs as straight as possible. She returned a moment later with rope.

"I get that we're going to tie him up," Carla said, "But when he already can't walk, what's the point?"

"You forget," I said. "When he doesn't take his prescription muscle relaxants he gets painful muscle spasms."

My daughter's eyes widened with understanding. "And we're not going to give him his medications any more."

"Right," I said. "When his muscles spasm and pull against the ropes, his spasms will be much more painful. You tie his wrists and I'll get his ankles."

Since it was a hospital bed, tall handles rose from each corner of the bed. I wrapped the first rope around his left ankle several times, then tied the other end tightly to the left handle of the foot board. Carla watched what I had done and did the same thing to his wrists, making sure his are were stretched out as straight as possible. Once all four limbs were stretched and securely tied, we stepped back to admire our handiwork. His resting place looked less like a bed and more like a medieval torture rack. We smile.

"Comfy?" I said in jest.

My poor son shook his head sadly and began to cry. The sight of his tears running down his cheeks into his ears renewed my feeling of orgasmic pleasure. After twenty years of pretending to love him, the release of sadistic cruelty was nothing short of euphoric.

"Now what?" Carla asked excitedly.

"I don't know about you, but I'm tired. I'm going to have something to eat, take a hot bath, and fall asleep watching TV. Don't worry, he's not going anywhere. We have all the time in the world to do whatever we want to your brother. "
nice!!
but...it would be far better and exciting to feed him their pee and poo!!
 
Likes: Madison1982