spittingcobra
TMF Novice
- Joined
- Aug 9, 2010
- Messages
- 61
- Points
- 0
Tom Boeshe liked to be in control. He didn't trust the government because it had the power to tax him, to jail him, to get census information from him. He didn't like working for private industry either, but he bit his lip and worked for 20 years in the construction business while residing in a low rent trailer, living on a diet of beans and bread, saving nearly every cent he owned for his dream. And he didn't trust banks. He buried his cash in jars in the ground at night when he was sure no one could see him. Then one day his uncle who owned some oil wells died, and Tom inherited enough money to quit his job and buy his escape from society.
He bought a log cabin in Montana on 180 acres of land. The cabin rested on the top of a steep hill where he could observe federal agents approach from miles away, if it ever came to that. He had a wooden chest full of automatic weapons, shotguns, bows and arrows, and grenades in case the government attacked him. He usually left his 4-wheel drive parked a quarter mile from his cabin, and he kept it hidden in brush near the end of a winding, dirt, mountain road. The path from his vehicle to his cabin went through a forest of spruce laced with a maze of barbed wire of which only he could negotiate. He went to town a few times a year to stock up on sacks of beans, flour, salt, dried fruit, and canned vegetables--a diet he supplemented with trapped and hunted small and large game as well as goat's milk from the animals he raised. His home had no running water or electricity, but he did have two mentally handicapped sex slaves that he'd purchased.
Tom never trusted smart women. They could divorce him, take his money, report him to the government. Yet he desperately needed sex; he had a horny obsession. But a smart woman could figure out how to escape his refuge. So he bought two retarded gals from the mafia. They both were short, soft, and voluptuous--the way he liked his women. Their boobs were round and full; their butts were fleshy and jiggly and a little fatty from lack of exercise. They were in their late twenties and had no close relatives and had been in institutions most of their lives. They were so dumb they didn't even realize they'd been kidnapped. The mobster simply told them they'd been hired to work on a goat farm which was partially true--they did milk Tom's goats...and he paid them with a dollar everyday or if they preferred, a candy bar. Rita, the brunette, usually preferred the candy; Amy, the blonde, usually took the dollar. Tom was nice to them, and they liked living here better than the home, though they missed television.
Tom introduced them to the tickle game. He told them how fun it was, and he convinced them they would like it. They took turns getting tickled. First, he had Amy strip naked, and he held her down on the bear skin rug and tickled her. She laughed loud and hard and for a long time and she sounded like an idiotic maniac. This pleased Tom and made his penis hard. He fucked Amy, and she just innocently assumed it was part of the tickle game. The next day he did the same to Rita who was also extremely ticklish, and easy to make giggle. For weeks Tom took turns tickling and fucking Amy one day, and doing the same to Rita the next.
But one day, he went hunting for elk, trudging for miles over broken country up and down hills. He finally shot one with his bow and butchered as much as he could carry (200 pounds of dressed meat) and brought it back to the cabin--another hike that took almost two hours. Exhausted, he fell on his bed and went to sleep immediately. He awoke a couple of hours later between Rita and Amy who were both naked. At night they normally slept on cots next to a woodstove. They were supposed keep the fire burning on cold nights.
"What are you doing?" Tom asked.
"You didn't play the tickle game with me today. You forgot. It's my turn," Amy said.
"I'm too tired. Don't worry. You'll get it tomorrow."
"No. Me and Rita agree. From now on we tickle you."
Tom fell into a state of panic. This was mutiny, and he was in danger of losing control. But before he could act, Amy and Rita tickled him, their twenty fingers wiggling over Tom's body. Tom barked out surprised laughter. He grabbed Amy's hands. She grappled and shockingly struggled on top of him--he was too slow from fatigue to prevent it.
"I'll hold his hands. Keep tickling him, Rita," Amy said.
Amy sat on Tom's midsection and continued to wrestle his hands, while Rita sat on his legs and tickled the front of his hips--an unbearably ticklish spot. Tom tried to block Rita's tickling fingers with his hands, struggling to reach over Amy's thick thighs, but the angle was too difficult, and this freed up Amy's hands, and she attacked his ribs and underarms. Tom couldn't stop laughing, and he realized there was no one around for miles. He felt helpless and frustrated, caught in a trap of his own making. He feared his retarded slave girls would tickle him til he expired--they'd be too dumb to know when to stop. He felt out of control yet...he felt a joy he didn't understand. Inferior women had defeated him, they were humiliating him...but he was laughing and enjoying himself and his penis was erect. Rita rode his stick, while Tom wrestled Amy's hands again, holding them so she couldn't tickle him too. Amy seemed exasperated when Tom stopped laughing as the tickling ceased.
"Tickle him again, Rita. He won't let go my hands," Amy said.
Rita resumed tickling, moving her hand under her bouncing ass and tickling Tom's balls, while her wet pussy suctioned Tom's penis. This was too much. Tom laughed and weakened further. Amy was able to pin his hands down.
"You listen," Amy said, "from now on, if you try to tickle one of us, we'll team up against you. Understand?"
"mmmhmm," Tom answered.
"Understand?"
"Yeah, yeah. Tell Rita to stop. I surrender," he said as he orgasmed.
And from then on, Rita and Amy dominated Tom, turning him into their slave, because his fear of losing control became his obsessive desire. They tickle torture him every afternoon on the bear skin rug. They've forced him to buy an electrical generator and a satellite tv system, and now he's the one who sleeps on the cot and keeps the woodstove burning at night.
He bought a log cabin in Montana on 180 acres of land. The cabin rested on the top of a steep hill where he could observe federal agents approach from miles away, if it ever came to that. He had a wooden chest full of automatic weapons, shotguns, bows and arrows, and grenades in case the government attacked him. He usually left his 4-wheel drive parked a quarter mile from his cabin, and he kept it hidden in brush near the end of a winding, dirt, mountain road. The path from his vehicle to his cabin went through a forest of spruce laced with a maze of barbed wire of which only he could negotiate. He went to town a few times a year to stock up on sacks of beans, flour, salt, dried fruit, and canned vegetables--a diet he supplemented with trapped and hunted small and large game as well as goat's milk from the animals he raised. His home had no running water or electricity, but he did have two mentally handicapped sex slaves that he'd purchased.
Tom never trusted smart women. They could divorce him, take his money, report him to the government. Yet he desperately needed sex; he had a horny obsession. But a smart woman could figure out how to escape his refuge. So he bought two retarded gals from the mafia. They both were short, soft, and voluptuous--the way he liked his women. Their boobs were round and full; their butts were fleshy and jiggly and a little fatty from lack of exercise. They were in their late twenties and had no close relatives and had been in institutions most of their lives. They were so dumb they didn't even realize they'd been kidnapped. The mobster simply told them they'd been hired to work on a goat farm which was partially true--they did milk Tom's goats...and he paid them with a dollar everyday or if they preferred, a candy bar. Rita, the brunette, usually preferred the candy; Amy, the blonde, usually took the dollar. Tom was nice to them, and they liked living here better than the home, though they missed television.
Tom introduced them to the tickle game. He told them how fun it was, and he convinced them they would like it. They took turns getting tickled. First, he had Amy strip naked, and he held her down on the bear skin rug and tickled her. She laughed loud and hard and for a long time and she sounded like an idiotic maniac. This pleased Tom and made his penis hard. He fucked Amy, and she just innocently assumed it was part of the tickle game. The next day he did the same to Rita who was also extremely ticklish, and easy to make giggle. For weeks Tom took turns tickling and fucking Amy one day, and doing the same to Rita the next.
But one day, he went hunting for elk, trudging for miles over broken country up and down hills. He finally shot one with his bow and butchered as much as he could carry (200 pounds of dressed meat) and brought it back to the cabin--another hike that took almost two hours. Exhausted, he fell on his bed and went to sleep immediately. He awoke a couple of hours later between Rita and Amy who were both naked. At night they normally slept on cots next to a woodstove. They were supposed keep the fire burning on cold nights.
"What are you doing?" Tom asked.
"You didn't play the tickle game with me today. You forgot. It's my turn," Amy said.
"I'm too tired. Don't worry. You'll get it tomorrow."
"No. Me and Rita agree. From now on we tickle you."
Tom fell into a state of panic. This was mutiny, and he was in danger of losing control. But before he could act, Amy and Rita tickled him, their twenty fingers wiggling over Tom's body. Tom barked out surprised laughter. He grabbed Amy's hands. She grappled and shockingly struggled on top of him--he was too slow from fatigue to prevent it.
"I'll hold his hands. Keep tickling him, Rita," Amy said.
Amy sat on Tom's midsection and continued to wrestle his hands, while Rita sat on his legs and tickled the front of his hips--an unbearably ticklish spot. Tom tried to block Rita's tickling fingers with his hands, struggling to reach over Amy's thick thighs, but the angle was too difficult, and this freed up Amy's hands, and she attacked his ribs and underarms. Tom couldn't stop laughing, and he realized there was no one around for miles. He felt helpless and frustrated, caught in a trap of his own making. He feared his retarded slave girls would tickle him til he expired--they'd be too dumb to know when to stop. He felt out of control yet...he felt a joy he didn't understand. Inferior women had defeated him, they were humiliating him...but he was laughing and enjoying himself and his penis was erect. Rita rode his stick, while Tom wrestled Amy's hands again, holding them so she couldn't tickle him too. Amy seemed exasperated when Tom stopped laughing as the tickling ceased.
"Tickle him again, Rita. He won't let go my hands," Amy said.
Rita resumed tickling, moving her hand under her bouncing ass and tickling Tom's balls, while her wet pussy suctioned Tom's penis. This was too much. Tom laughed and weakened further. Amy was able to pin his hands down.
"You listen," Amy said, "from now on, if you try to tickle one of us, we'll team up against you. Understand?"
"mmmhmm," Tom answered.
"Understand?"
"Yeah, yeah. Tell Rita to stop. I surrender," he said as he orgasmed.
And from then on, Rita and Amy dominated Tom, turning him into their slave, because his fear of losing control became his obsessive desire. They tickle torture him every afternoon on the bear skin rug. They've forced him to buy an electrical generator and a satellite tv system, and now he's the one who sleeps on the cot and keeps the woodstove burning at night.
have a nice day
