Ste Letto
04-03-2003, 11:51 AM
This was kinda bouncing around in my skull.
Let me know what you think.
Giggling cruelly, Alison slowly circled the chair in which Joseph Waterson sat. The pretty teenage girl reached out her slender left hand and trailed the nails and knuckles across Joseph's unmoving cheek. Only his eyes offered any response, swivelling in their orbits to follow her around the room.
Joseph, 23, was the orphaned son of Marilyn and Anthony Waterson, owners of the Waterson chain of bookshops. Marilyn, Anthony and Joseph were involved in a car accident when Joseph was 18 years old. His parents were killed, but Joseph survived, although he was left paralysed and slightly brain damaged. On the insistence of his aunt Caroline he had come to live with her, and her daughters Alison and Amanda. Caroline's husband, Mike, had died in suspicious circumstances, so this meant Caroline and her daughters where the only family Joseph had.
It was a condition of Marilyn and Anthony's joint will that Joseph would inherit the family business and all attached monies, on, or after his 21st birthday; providing that he was still alive, of course, and mentally competent. It was on this last point that the poor boy's fate hung.
His aunt, had discovered that if Joseph was declared mentally incompetent, then she would inherit the family fortune. Under the terms of the will, 20 year old Joseph was assessed bi-monthly, by a court appointed psychiatrist. This psychiatrist, one 34 yr old lady by the name of Emma Kingston, had observed a gradual diminution of Joseph's cognitive functions, to a point where he was rapidly becoming borderline mentally competent. However, she also reported that being in the bosom of his family gave him the best chance of recovery, so she would not sanction moving Joseph to a private care institute.
Alison, looking beautiful in a country girl way, smiled down at Joseph. She was tall for her 21 years, with a powerful yet totally feminine figure. She had the well rounded, toned physique of a swimmer or decathlete. She carried herself with a proud, even haughty baring that turned men's heads. She had an arrogant self assurance that meant she could take her pick of men whenever she chose. She had long black hair, which she left to cascade about her face, neck and shoulders. She wore a gingham, short sleeved blouson, unbuttoned to show the tops of her unsupported breasts, tied underneath to show her washboard abdomen. She wore faded and ragged hemmed jeans shorts, of a style favoured by Daisy Duke, and she wore brown, patterned, cowboy boots with worn down heels and smooth soles
The confident beauty slapped Joseph's face lightly with the palm of her right hand, saying "Ooops, I sure didn't mean to hurt you none Joey," before laughing. Joseph was incapable of speech, and incapable of moving more than a fraction. His chair even preventing him from doing that. The chair in which he sat was his life support and his prison. His head was held stationary by a padded ring that was fastened around his forehead. Although this could turn his head left and right if necessary to exercise his neck muscles. This could be done manually, or on a programmable timescale.
A broad strap across his chest held him pinned in his seat. Two padded restraints were wrapped about his knees and two more about his ankles. His arms were restrained by straps around his elbows and wrists.
Alison stepped behind Joseph's chair and lifted her right foot up. She brought the shiny sole down on a pedal, worn shiny by years of use, and pressed down. The pedal activated the chair's hydraulics. Joseph was slowly, smoothly repositioned from a seated posture to a lying down position. Alison grinned to see him laying flat. She moved her foot to another pedal, and used it to raise Joseph's feet and lower his head, until the back of his head rest bumped the carpetted floor.
She put her hands on her hips and stared down, smiling wryly and shaking her head. "Excuse me a moment, would'ja Jo?" she asked coyly. Joseph could only lay there as she moved out of sight for a moment. It was less than a minute later when she returned with a chair. She popped the chair down so Joseph's head was right where a footrest might be. She sat in the chair, and crossed her legs, sighing loudly. "Why it sure is hot," she began, "hoooeee, is it ever. Yes indeedy!" She giggled. "My feet are sweating up a storm in these old boots." She extended her shapely legs out over Joseph's face and waggled her boots. "I think I'll just slip them off," she paused, "that is, if you don't mind!" Joseph could not answer her. "I'll take that as OK then" the torment said.
As Joseph stared up, helpless, Alison bent her left leg round, grasped the heel area of her boot and began to waggle and wiggle and work it free. Slowly her slick foot inched free of the furnace of a boot. Finally it came away and Alison gave it a test sniff. "Lord almighty," she proclaimed, "that is a bad one." This last was said with no little intensity. She looked about for somewhere to drop the boot, then casually tossed it away. The boot flew through the air a little way, before coming down, heel first, on Joseph's groin. It impacted the tender area with a firm thud then fell to one side. "Oooohhh, sorry Joseph," said the laughing girl, hand over red painted lips in mock shock.
With no subtlety or pause she planted her wet sole on Joseph's upturned face with a thud, and crossed her right leg over. As she laboured to remove her right boot, Alison felt her bare left foot sliding about on Joseph's face, riding on a film of grease, sweat and slick dirt. "Don't mind my foot," she told him, "I've been out in the hot sun for a while." She waggled and worked at her right boot until that one too gave up its loving grip. She dropped that one on Joseph's chest, paining his ribs, before planting her right foot next to the left.
Now Joseph had two wet, hot, red, crinkly and highly acidic smelling feet on his face. Joseph was physically small, and Alison was physically big. Her feet covered his face completely, and her heels and toes hung over very slightly. He was swamped by her big, hot feet. They shuffled and slid about as the young beauty sighed. She ooohed and aaaahhed to show how nice it was soothing her feet on her obliging human footrest.
"Now Joseph," she said softly, "I'd be real grateful if you would lick my little old feet for me.Would ya, would ya do that?" Joseph knew from experience that he had to do this. In the past she had trampled him, stamping on his wasted legs and arms, his groin, his stomach and his chest until he did as she wished. The first time she had finally pinched his nose painfully shut with her toes until he surrendered.
The brain damaged boy put out his tongue and pushed it straight up, as he had learned to do. Alison smiled, "Thankyou Joseph, that's very gentlemanly of you," she announced. With that she moved her left foot off his face, and began dragging the crud laden sole of her right over his upraised tonguetip. The taste was appalling. He was tasting old and new sweat. He was tasting the traces of her battered, tattered, filth ridden and crumbling insole. He was tasting, and swallowing, bits of sock lint, from the socks she wore in bed night after night after night. He swallowed bits of dead skin, and toejam when she spread her toes and nimbly pressed them in and around his tongue. "Refresh" she would say occassionally, meaning he should pull his tongue in, swallow what was on it, rewet it with saliva, then stick it out again.
This went on and on. Soon her right foot was replaced by the left and the whole process began again. Her left had a little extra something. It had a thin layer of dust from the floor where it had just rested. Alison pressed her foot down hard, bending his tongue over. His tongue seemed to dry out more and more quickly until she was regularly rasping her sole against dry flesh, despite repeated commands to "Refresh."
When she was satisfied with this, Alison stood, walked over to her right boot, and picked it up. She collected the left, then returned to stand over Joseph's head. She pushed the chair out the way a little and squatted onto Joseph's face. Her tightly stretched denim shorts hurt his face. She wiggled to get comfy, trapping his nose against her sweaty asscrack and covering his mouth below her cunt. Joseph couldn't breathe. Calmly, coolly, casually, she slid her left foot back into its boot. Wiggling around, rocking from side to side, she slid her right foot into its boot too. Alarms sounded, monitors that read Joseph's blood gases, his respiration, his heart rate, all complained, Alison stayed in her seat until she was sure he had slipped into unconsciousness then stood. "There," she said sweetly, "a few more brain cells gone. Soon you'll be a total vegetable, and we'll be rich." She used the pedals on the chair to reposition him sitting, walked to the door, turned back and blew Joseph a kiss. "See ya handsome," she said, and her peels of laughter filled the house.
Let me know what you think.
Giggling cruelly, Alison slowly circled the chair in which Joseph Waterson sat. The pretty teenage girl reached out her slender left hand and trailed the nails and knuckles across Joseph's unmoving cheek. Only his eyes offered any response, swivelling in their orbits to follow her around the room.
Joseph, 23, was the orphaned son of Marilyn and Anthony Waterson, owners of the Waterson chain of bookshops. Marilyn, Anthony and Joseph were involved in a car accident when Joseph was 18 years old. His parents were killed, but Joseph survived, although he was left paralysed and slightly brain damaged. On the insistence of his aunt Caroline he had come to live with her, and her daughters Alison and Amanda. Caroline's husband, Mike, had died in suspicious circumstances, so this meant Caroline and her daughters where the only family Joseph had.
It was a condition of Marilyn and Anthony's joint will that Joseph would inherit the family business and all attached monies, on, or after his 21st birthday; providing that he was still alive, of course, and mentally competent. It was on this last point that the poor boy's fate hung.
His aunt, had discovered that if Joseph was declared mentally incompetent, then she would inherit the family fortune. Under the terms of the will, 20 year old Joseph was assessed bi-monthly, by a court appointed psychiatrist. This psychiatrist, one 34 yr old lady by the name of Emma Kingston, had observed a gradual diminution of Joseph's cognitive functions, to a point where he was rapidly becoming borderline mentally competent. However, she also reported that being in the bosom of his family gave him the best chance of recovery, so she would not sanction moving Joseph to a private care institute.
Alison, looking beautiful in a country girl way, smiled down at Joseph. She was tall for her 21 years, with a powerful yet totally feminine figure. She had the well rounded, toned physique of a swimmer or decathlete. She carried herself with a proud, even haughty baring that turned men's heads. She had an arrogant self assurance that meant she could take her pick of men whenever she chose. She had long black hair, which she left to cascade about her face, neck and shoulders. She wore a gingham, short sleeved blouson, unbuttoned to show the tops of her unsupported breasts, tied underneath to show her washboard abdomen. She wore faded and ragged hemmed jeans shorts, of a style favoured by Daisy Duke, and she wore brown, patterned, cowboy boots with worn down heels and smooth soles
The confident beauty slapped Joseph's face lightly with the palm of her right hand, saying "Ooops, I sure didn't mean to hurt you none Joey," before laughing. Joseph was incapable of speech, and incapable of moving more than a fraction. His chair even preventing him from doing that. The chair in which he sat was his life support and his prison. His head was held stationary by a padded ring that was fastened around his forehead. Although this could turn his head left and right if necessary to exercise his neck muscles. This could be done manually, or on a programmable timescale.
A broad strap across his chest held him pinned in his seat. Two padded restraints were wrapped about his knees and two more about his ankles. His arms were restrained by straps around his elbows and wrists.
Alison stepped behind Joseph's chair and lifted her right foot up. She brought the shiny sole down on a pedal, worn shiny by years of use, and pressed down. The pedal activated the chair's hydraulics. Joseph was slowly, smoothly repositioned from a seated posture to a lying down position. Alison grinned to see him laying flat. She moved her foot to another pedal, and used it to raise Joseph's feet and lower his head, until the back of his head rest bumped the carpetted floor.
She put her hands on her hips and stared down, smiling wryly and shaking her head. "Excuse me a moment, would'ja Jo?" she asked coyly. Joseph could only lay there as she moved out of sight for a moment. It was less than a minute later when she returned with a chair. She popped the chair down so Joseph's head was right where a footrest might be. She sat in the chair, and crossed her legs, sighing loudly. "Why it sure is hot," she began, "hoooeee, is it ever. Yes indeedy!" She giggled. "My feet are sweating up a storm in these old boots." She extended her shapely legs out over Joseph's face and waggled her boots. "I think I'll just slip them off," she paused, "that is, if you don't mind!" Joseph could not answer her. "I'll take that as OK then" the torment said.
As Joseph stared up, helpless, Alison bent her left leg round, grasped the heel area of her boot and began to waggle and wiggle and work it free. Slowly her slick foot inched free of the furnace of a boot. Finally it came away and Alison gave it a test sniff. "Lord almighty," she proclaimed, "that is a bad one." This last was said with no little intensity. She looked about for somewhere to drop the boot, then casually tossed it away. The boot flew through the air a little way, before coming down, heel first, on Joseph's groin. It impacted the tender area with a firm thud then fell to one side. "Oooohhh, sorry Joseph," said the laughing girl, hand over red painted lips in mock shock.
With no subtlety or pause she planted her wet sole on Joseph's upturned face with a thud, and crossed her right leg over. As she laboured to remove her right boot, Alison felt her bare left foot sliding about on Joseph's face, riding on a film of grease, sweat and slick dirt. "Don't mind my foot," she told him, "I've been out in the hot sun for a while." She waggled and worked at her right boot until that one too gave up its loving grip. She dropped that one on Joseph's chest, paining his ribs, before planting her right foot next to the left.
Now Joseph had two wet, hot, red, crinkly and highly acidic smelling feet on his face. Joseph was physically small, and Alison was physically big. Her feet covered his face completely, and her heels and toes hung over very slightly. He was swamped by her big, hot feet. They shuffled and slid about as the young beauty sighed. She ooohed and aaaahhed to show how nice it was soothing her feet on her obliging human footrest.
"Now Joseph," she said softly, "I'd be real grateful if you would lick my little old feet for me.Would ya, would ya do that?" Joseph knew from experience that he had to do this. In the past she had trampled him, stamping on his wasted legs and arms, his groin, his stomach and his chest until he did as she wished. The first time she had finally pinched his nose painfully shut with her toes until he surrendered.
The brain damaged boy put out his tongue and pushed it straight up, as he had learned to do. Alison smiled, "Thankyou Joseph, that's very gentlemanly of you," she announced. With that she moved her left foot off his face, and began dragging the crud laden sole of her right over his upraised tonguetip. The taste was appalling. He was tasting old and new sweat. He was tasting the traces of her battered, tattered, filth ridden and crumbling insole. He was tasting, and swallowing, bits of sock lint, from the socks she wore in bed night after night after night. He swallowed bits of dead skin, and toejam when she spread her toes and nimbly pressed them in and around his tongue. "Refresh" she would say occassionally, meaning he should pull his tongue in, swallow what was on it, rewet it with saliva, then stick it out again.
This went on and on. Soon her right foot was replaced by the left and the whole process began again. Her left had a little extra something. It had a thin layer of dust from the floor where it had just rested. Alison pressed her foot down hard, bending his tongue over. His tongue seemed to dry out more and more quickly until she was regularly rasping her sole against dry flesh, despite repeated commands to "Refresh."
When she was satisfied with this, Alison stood, walked over to her right boot, and picked it up. She collected the left, then returned to stand over Joseph's head. She pushed the chair out the way a little and squatted onto Joseph's face. Her tightly stretched denim shorts hurt his face. She wiggled to get comfy, trapping his nose against her sweaty asscrack and covering his mouth below her cunt. Joseph couldn't breathe. Calmly, coolly, casually, she slid her left foot back into its boot. Wiggling around, rocking from side to side, she slid her right foot into its boot too. Alarms sounded, monitors that read Joseph's blood gases, his respiration, his heart rate, all complained, Alison stayed in her seat until she was sure he had slipped into unconsciousness then stood. "There," she said sweetly, "a few more brain cells gone. Soon you'll be a total vegetable, and we'll be rich." She used the pedals on the chair to reposition him sitting, walked to the door, turned back and blew Joseph a kiss. "See ya handsome," she said, and her peels of laughter filled the house.