Comfort Eagle
Level of Cherry Feather
- Joined
- Apr 21, 2003
- Messages
- 10,258
- Points
- 48
Monica plopped down against the weather-worn rocking chair on her front porch. She took a deep sip of lukewarm decaf coffee and flexed her tired bare feet as she rocked back and forth, staring off into the setting October sun. She had been overwhelmed with anxiety over her teenage son Issac. After only two months of school, Issac's poor attendance and anti-social demeanor saw him dismissed from the local state college, back to his bedroom home in the basement of their modest home suburban home. The teens father long since gone, Monica had sent her son off to school in hopes of affording him a better lot in life than her own. The resulting stress of his failure to launch was compiled by the financial burden of his lone semester. She sighed heavily as she stared off into the orange sky, relaxing after quickly beginning dinner. Running her fingers through her shoulder-length dirty blonde hair, she continued nursing her java as she took a minute to compose herself, having been run ragged since waking up at the crack of dawn.
Issac sat frustrated in front of his computer screen, having just completed the 9th of 9 Overwatch “Arcade Mode” quick matches and opened the Loot Box rewarded to those who complete campaigns on a series of 3 matches. This weeks games were particularly important, as the annual Halloween mode was activated, featuring the addition of new festive character models. He watched as the game opened up the prize box, hoping to receive the newest skin for 'Mercy', his chosen waifu. His heart skipped a beat as the golden-coin flip indicating a rare skin jumped from the digital crate, and his bright smile turned into a bitter scowl as he realized his newest costume piece was a particularly unpopular one for the character 'Zarya', a character infamous for her sub-par waifu status. He angrily closed out of the game and sulked as he clicked off of the Jordan Peterson diatribe he religiously listened to as he gamed, and stood up air-punching at nothing in particular, enraged that his evening had been wasted with no sexy costume set for his preferred videogame character on this week. He grew angrier as he realized that, should his bad luck repeat itself next week, he may in fact go without the skin for an entire year until the next event. He composed himself in front of his computer monitor, and noticed that it was now nearing 6pm, the usual dinner time for him and his mother. Or it would be, had Issac not preferred to take his plate with him and eat alone in front of the computer.
The college drop-out trudged up the stairs and smelled the unmistakable aroma of frozen chicken tenders emanating from the kitchen. He walked over and opened the door, only to become aggravated upon realizing the tenders were by no means ready for consumption.
“MOOOOOOOOM!”, a familiar croak bellowed deep from inside the house as Monica jolted from her relaxed trance. Panicked, she rushed into the kitchen, fearing Issac had hurt himself.
“Why isn't dinner ready yet?!”, Issac angrily squealed as he stood indignant in from of the hot oven. “It's well passed 6, I'm fucking starving!”.
Annoyed that she had been frightened by such a trivial matter, Monica groaned and rolled her eyes at her son. A mother from a young age, Issac's father had abandoned the two when he was barely a month old, resulting in the the barely 20-year old Mom to dote on her self well into adulthood. It was only now, as her grown son, freshly flunked out of school stood in the kitchen disgruntled over his prolonged wait time for dinner, did she reflect on the mistakes she made rearing her boy. She thought now a good a time as any to attempt discipline.
“Issac I'm exhausted, I had to wake up at the ass crack of dawn to work early and I needed a nap before I started dinner. It won't take long, go play your fucking videogames and I'll call you when they're done...”, she barked at her none too impressed offspirng. He said nothing in response, turning and walking off into the hall as Monica slumped down into a kitchen chair, propping her feet into the chair opposite herself and closed her eyes, still exhausted from the work day.
Suddenly, she felt Issac claw at sole of her left foot. Flinching backwards, she watched as her loser son grabbed her ankle back towards the chair and tied it to the chair with the belt of a robe laying on the couch in the living room.
“Wait, why the fuck did you have that?!” Monica shouted, knowing full well Issac had not seen her kick her legs up before he had left the room to retrieve the belt in question. Issac said nothing as he waddled off into the living room again as Monica clawed at the tight knot he had made with the fuzzy rope.
Unbeknownst to Monica, Issac had spent his sabbatical from education, employment, and training and made the acquaintance of a cadre of delightful perverts over the internet. Issac knew the local pervs spent big money on foot fetish content from Instagram models, and had thought to himself the best way to catfish the creep community into making some cash for himself. Being an idiot, he couldn't think of anything and the idea was soon forgotten, until he realized as his mother was screaming at him that he could likely accomplish the same with his unwitting mother.
“No really, were you gonna choke me or some shit?!”, the still confused and enraged Monica screamed at her son as he waddled back into the kitchen, carrying a fine tipped comb, a leather belt, and his phone.
“Shut up I'm trying to figure something out!”, the impudent Issac snapped at his mother as he fumbled about with his smartphone. Monica fumbled with her restraint as Issac turned and propped his phone against another chair opposite his mother, leaning it carefully so as to face the two of them.
“The hell are you doing no-” Monica questioned as she yanked at the tight knot holding her left ankle to the kitchen chair as Issac quickly yanked her right foot to the chair and fastened it to back with the leather belt, attempting to slap his hands away in vein as he went about securing her to the makeshift framing.
“You're gonna fall if you don't stop!”, Issac screamed at the now irate matriarch. Monica violently jerked back in her seat, gripping the sides of her chair as she sat resigned to the fact that she would have to tolerate whatever shenanigans her son had in store.
“I want my tendies!” Issac shouted almost at the top of his lungs, a childlike colloquialism referring to the frozen chicken strips readying in the oven. “You wasted my time, you're going to learn a lesson about wasting my time until the tendies are done!”
“You're getting this belt across your ass when I get out of here you little shit!”, Monica countered to her sons confusing gibberish.
“I need tendies, you need a punishment, and Anons need a show! You're going to pay for my waifu skins while we wait for my tendies!”, her loser son squealed with an increasingly baffling vocabulary.
“.. is... are you putting this on the internet you little fu-”, Monicas expletive cut short by a shockwave of sensation traveling up her feet as Issac gently scratched the balls of her feet underneath the toes. “uhuhuahHAHAHA WHAT THE SHIT?!”. She lunged forward to the chair locking her ankles in place in an attempt to stop her son from pawing away at her feet.
“Cut it out or you're gonna fall over!” Issac screamed. “I ran out of shit to tie your hands and I'm not wasting my time looking for anything, so you'd better not fall over while I work!”
Monica again sat back in her seat, gripping the sides of the chair as her idiot manchild continued clawing at the soles of her feet, sending jolts of electricity through her feet into her legs and stomach. She bite down tightly on her lip as she tried to stifle an undignified, guttural laugh, he eyes bulging out of her head in shock at the bizarre scenario she had found herself in after mere moments ago enjoying a crisp autumn sunset on her cozy porch. Issac pinched away at her feet for a few minutes before abruptly stopping, re positioning himself on the kitchen floor.
“Issac... Issac stop...” Monica pleaded as her son stared off into the screen of his phone, apparently attempting to arrange himself in a manner that resulted in the best view for his captivated audience.
“They get mad if they see a guy in the video too much, I'm trying to get your face in more. They pay more when they can see face.” Issac blurted to what seemed like nobody in particular. Monica recoiled at the revelation that her son was deliberately pandering to a crowd of anonymous gawkers. Issac continues staring off into his phone screen, reading what appeared to Monica to be microscopic gibberish as her deadboy boy picked up various suggestions and hints on how to humiliate her further. She made another attempt to reach across the chair holding her feet in place to smack him across the face, again missing and nearly sliding out of the chair. Issac responded by holding her improvised stockade in place with one arm as he went berserk on her right foot with his free hand, spidering his fingernails up the her soles before dragging them downward with a single stroke and repeating the process, up and down again and again as Monica squeezed the top of the chair holding her legs in place, eyes tightly shut and filling with tears as she flexed and clenched her toes is response to the overwhelming sensation. Sharp, laugh squeaks would break from her lips as she again tried to quell her tortured laughter so as to try and maintain some sense of dignity in the midst of the mortifying ordeal.
“GIMME GIMME CHICKEN TENDIES!” Issac screeched up at his increasingly delirious mother. Monica tried to catch her breath between bouts of choking laughter to try to reason with her creepy progeny.
“ISSAC! ISSAC LISTEN TO MEEEHEHEHE...” Monica plead as her son changed tactics, lightly tugging at each toe in a 'This Little Piggy' fashion as she tried to pull herself together.
“Tendies tendies, get them now!”, he bellowed as his mother sucked down gasp after gasp of air. Monica was granted reprieve as the intense tickling suddenly stopped, she dropped her head backwards and took several deep breathes as she watched Isaac through squinted, tear-filled eyes. She watched her idiot manboy pick himself off the ground, wipe his hands with a dishcloth on the kitchen table and march over to the oven, opening the door to inspect his oven baked treats.
“NOT EVEN CLOSE TO READY!”, the socially stunted buffoon screamed from across the room as he smacked the over door closed and marched towards his phone. Alarmed at what else her idiot child would do to her in his newly enraged mood, Monica plead with her son for mery.
“Sweetheart... Issac listen to me... it'll be ready in no time... Issac look at me... my legs are going numb... let me up please...” she begged as her baby boy waddled over to his phone, paying no mind to his mothers pathetic wailing. Issac glanced at the comments on the stream, a mixture of horny creeps and vicious troll comments blended together in the chatbox as he looked over to the 'Donations' window. His torture show had netted almost forty dollars so far! A substantial amount that could surely pay for his Overwatch waifu skins by now. But there seemed to be no need to stop at the moment, as Issac read the comments box to find that the crowd was becoming enamored with his mothers pitiful pleading for the humiliation to stop, and Anon after Anon offering bigger and bigger donations as incentive to prolong the cringeworthy spectacle. Taking a hint from another anonymous viewer, Issac wobbled into the living room and grabbed a bottle of Miracle Hand Repair lotion from the coffee table. He squirted a copious amount of the lotion into his hand and began coating his mothers feet with the minty-scented substance. Incredibly creeped out but not in cackle-filled agony at the moment, Monica relaxed a bit, assuming her so would now merely be content to pandering to the crowd of ghoulish spectators with a more traditional, if still incredibly disturbing, foot fetish show. She allowed herself another breather as she again closed her eyes and laid her head backwards, still enormously uncomfortable but hoping to disassociate herself from her ordeal until her son had felt he made his point. Her respite barely lasts five seconds, as she is again jolted to attention by the bellowing complaints of her horrible son again screaming up at her from her feet.
“ Will my tendies be on time from now on?!” Issac shouted at her. Assuming this was a sign he would end the misery, Monica rambled off a series of barely convincing agreements. Expecting to be freed, she watched as Issac grabbed the comb he had brought in from the living room and drummed it against her lotion-coated toes.
“I want one thousand good boy points”, Issac demanded. 'Good Boy Points' were a merit based currency system conceived by Monica when Issac was a young boy as a means of getting the boy to behave himself, exchanging the imaginary currency for toys and desert treats as a reward for household chores and good behavior. Baffled that her fully grown son fully expected this system to still be in place into his adulthood, she nonetheless agreed to award him his desired amount of pretend points in exchange for her release. Rather than untying her feet, however, she watched as he grabbed the big toe of her left foot with one hand and plopped the comb between her second and big toes and stared her in the face with his dead eyes, like dairy cow eyes, showing little emotion or sympathy for his humiliated mother.
“Issac... Issac enough... stop this, ple-” she begged as she watched her son begin to saw the insides of her toes lightly with the comb. Her legs tensed and tickling sensations unlike anything she had ever felt before once again shot up from her feet into her thighs. Exhausted from her previous attempts at containing her laughter, the shock from the sensation combined with her lack of willpower resulted in a howling stream of desperate belly laughter. She flung herself sideways and laid her head onto the kitchen table, face in her folded arms as her son sawed away between her toes. Slamming her hands against the table, she could make out her sons rambling in between her own humiliating cries of misery unable to do anything besides lay back and take her medicine.
“Promise me the Good Boy Points! I need GBP for my nuggie sauce!!” squawked the famished basement dweller from the floor up at his mother, not entire sure if she could even make him out of the sound of her own cry-filled laughter. Attempting to coax more begging from the hysterical head of the household, he would taunt her into articulating the terms and conditions of her surrender to the delight of his streaming audience.
Issac sat frustrated in front of his computer screen, having just completed the 9th of 9 Overwatch “Arcade Mode” quick matches and opened the Loot Box rewarded to those who complete campaigns on a series of 3 matches. This weeks games were particularly important, as the annual Halloween mode was activated, featuring the addition of new festive character models. He watched as the game opened up the prize box, hoping to receive the newest skin for 'Mercy', his chosen waifu. His heart skipped a beat as the golden-coin flip indicating a rare skin jumped from the digital crate, and his bright smile turned into a bitter scowl as he realized his newest costume piece was a particularly unpopular one for the character 'Zarya', a character infamous for her sub-par waifu status. He angrily closed out of the game and sulked as he clicked off of the Jordan Peterson diatribe he religiously listened to as he gamed, and stood up air-punching at nothing in particular, enraged that his evening had been wasted with no sexy costume set for his preferred videogame character on this week. He grew angrier as he realized that, should his bad luck repeat itself next week, he may in fact go without the skin for an entire year until the next event. He composed himself in front of his computer monitor, and noticed that it was now nearing 6pm, the usual dinner time for him and his mother. Or it would be, had Issac not preferred to take his plate with him and eat alone in front of the computer.
The college drop-out trudged up the stairs and smelled the unmistakable aroma of frozen chicken tenders emanating from the kitchen. He walked over and opened the door, only to become aggravated upon realizing the tenders were by no means ready for consumption.
“MOOOOOOOOM!”, a familiar croak bellowed deep from inside the house as Monica jolted from her relaxed trance. Panicked, she rushed into the kitchen, fearing Issac had hurt himself.
“Why isn't dinner ready yet?!”, Issac angrily squealed as he stood indignant in from of the hot oven. “It's well passed 6, I'm fucking starving!”.
Annoyed that she had been frightened by such a trivial matter, Monica groaned and rolled her eyes at her son. A mother from a young age, Issac's father had abandoned the two when he was barely a month old, resulting in the the barely 20-year old Mom to dote on her self well into adulthood. It was only now, as her grown son, freshly flunked out of school stood in the kitchen disgruntled over his prolonged wait time for dinner, did she reflect on the mistakes she made rearing her boy. She thought now a good a time as any to attempt discipline.
“Issac I'm exhausted, I had to wake up at the ass crack of dawn to work early and I needed a nap before I started dinner. It won't take long, go play your fucking videogames and I'll call you when they're done...”, she barked at her none too impressed offspirng. He said nothing in response, turning and walking off into the hall as Monica slumped down into a kitchen chair, propping her feet into the chair opposite herself and closed her eyes, still exhausted from the work day.
Suddenly, she felt Issac claw at sole of her left foot. Flinching backwards, she watched as her loser son grabbed her ankle back towards the chair and tied it to the chair with the belt of a robe laying on the couch in the living room.
“Wait, why the fuck did you have that?!” Monica shouted, knowing full well Issac had not seen her kick her legs up before he had left the room to retrieve the belt in question. Issac said nothing as he waddled off into the living room again as Monica clawed at the tight knot he had made with the fuzzy rope.
Unbeknownst to Monica, Issac had spent his sabbatical from education, employment, and training and made the acquaintance of a cadre of delightful perverts over the internet. Issac knew the local pervs spent big money on foot fetish content from Instagram models, and had thought to himself the best way to catfish the creep community into making some cash for himself. Being an idiot, he couldn't think of anything and the idea was soon forgotten, until he realized as his mother was screaming at him that he could likely accomplish the same with his unwitting mother.
“No really, were you gonna choke me or some shit?!”, the still confused and enraged Monica screamed at her son as he waddled back into the kitchen, carrying a fine tipped comb, a leather belt, and his phone.
“Shut up I'm trying to figure something out!”, the impudent Issac snapped at his mother as he fumbled about with his smartphone. Monica fumbled with her restraint as Issac turned and propped his phone against another chair opposite his mother, leaning it carefully so as to face the two of them.
“The hell are you doing no-” Monica questioned as she yanked at the tight knot holding her left ankle to the kitchen chair as Issac quickly yanked her right foot to the chair and fastened it to back with the leather belt, attempting to slap his hands away in vein as he went about securing her to the makeshift framing.
“You're gonna fall if you don't stop!”, Issac screamed at the now irate matriarch. Monica violently jerked back in her seat, gripping the sides of her chair as she sat resigned to the fact that she would have to tolerate whatever shenanigans her son had in store.
“I want my tendies!” Issac shouted almost at the top of his lungs, a childlike colloquialism referring to the frozen chicken strips readying in the oven. “You wasted my time, you're going to learn a lesson about wasting my time until the tendies are done!”
“You're getting this belt across your ass when I get out of here you little shit!”, Monica countered to her sons confusing gibberish.
“I need tendies, you need a punishment, and Anons need a show! You're going to pay for my waifu skins while we wait for my tendies!”, her loser son squealed with an increasingly baffling vocabulary.
“.. is... are you putting this on the internet you little fu-”, Monicas expletive cut short by a shockwave of sensation traveling up her feet as Issac gently scratched the balls of her feet underneath the toes. “uhuhuahHAHAHA WHAT THE SHIT?!”. She lunged forward to the chair locking her ankles in place in an attempt to stop her son from pawing away at her feet.
“Cut it out or you're gonna fall over!” Issac screamed. “I ran out of shit to tie your hands and I'm not wasting my time looking for anything, so you'd better not fall over while I work!”
Monica again sat back in her seat, gripping the sides of the chair as her idiot manchild continued clawing at the soles of her feet, sending jolts of electricity through her feet into her legs and stomach. She bite down tightly on her lip as she tried to stifle an undignified, guttural laugh, he eyes bulging out of her head in shock at the bizarre scenario she had found herself in after mere moments ago enjoying a crisp autumn sunset on her cozy porch. Issac pinched away at her feet for a few minutes before abruptly stopping, re positioning himself on the kitchen floor.
“Issac... Issac stop...” Monica pleaded as her son stared off into the screen of his phone, apparently attempting to arrange himself in a manner that resulted in the best view for his captivated audience.
“They get mad if they see a guy in the video too much, I'm trying to get your face in more. They pay more when they can see face.” Issac blurted to what seemed like nobody in particular. Monica recoiled at the revelation that her son was deliberately pandering to a crowd of anonymous gawkers. Issac continues staring off into his phone screen, reading what appeared to Monica to be microscopic gibberish as her deadboy boy picked up various suggestions and hints on how to humiliate her further. She made another attempt to reach across the chair holding her feet in place to smack him across the face, again missing and nearly sliding out of the chair. Issac responded by holding her improvised stockade in place with one arm as he went berserk on her right foot with his free hand, spidering his fingernails up the her soles before dragging them downward with a single stroke and repeating the process, up and down again and again as Monica squeezed the top of the chair holding her legs in place, eyes tightly shut and filling with tears as she flexed and clenched her toes is response to the overwhelming sensation. Sharp, laugh squeaks would break from her lips as she again tried to quell her tortured laughter so as to try and maintain some sense of dignity in the midst of the mortifying ordeal.
“GIMME GIMME CHICKEN TENDIES!” Issac screeched up at his increasingly delirious mother. Monica tried to catch her breath between bouts of choking laughter to try to reason with her creepy progeny.
“ISSAC! ISSAC LISTEN TO MEEEHEHEHE...” Monica plead as her son changed tactics, lightly tugging at each toe in a 'This Little Piggy' fashion as she tried to pull herself together.
“Tendies tendies, get them now!”, he bellowed as his mother sucked down gasp after gasp of air. Monica was granted reprieve as the intense tickling suddenly stopped, she dropped her head backwards and took several deep breathes as she watched Isaac through squinted, tear-filled eyes. She watched her idiot manboy pick himself off the ground, wipe his hands with a dishcloth on the kitchen table and march over to the oven, opening the door to inspect his oven baked treats.
“NOT EVEN CLOSE TO READY!”, the socially stunted buffoon screamed from across the room as he smacked the over door closed and marched towards his phone. Alarmed at what else her idiot child would do to her in his newly enraged mood, Monica plead with her son for mery.
“Sweetheart... Issac listen to me... it'll be ready in no time... Issac look at me... my legs are going numb... let me up please...” she begged as her baby boy waddled over to his phone, paying no mind to his mothers pathetic wailing. Issac glanced at the comments on the stream, a mixture of horny creeps and vicious troll comments blended together in the chatbox as he looked over to the 'Donations' window. His torture show had netted almost forty dollars so far! A substantial amount that could surely pay for his Overwatch waifu skins by now. But there seemed to be no need to stop at the moment, as Issac read the comments box to find that the crowd was becoming enamored with his mothers pitiful pleading for the humiliation to stop, and Anon after Anon offering bigger and bigger donations as incentive to prolong the cringeworthy spectacle. Taking a hint from another anonymous viewer, Issac wobbled into the living room and grabbed a bottle of Miracle Hand Repair lotion from the coffee table. He squirted a copious amount of the lotion into his hand and began coating his mothers feet with the minty-scented substance. Incredibly creeped out but not in cackle-filled agony at the moment, Monica relaxed a bit, assuming her so would now merely be content to pandering to the crowd of ghoulish spectators with a more traditional, if still incredibly disturbing, foot fetish show. She allowed herself another breather as she again closed her eyes and laid her head backwards, still enormously uncomfortable but hoping to disassociate herself from her ordeal until her son had felt he made his point. Her respite barely lasts five seconds, as she is again jolted to attention by the bellowing complaints of her horrible son again screaming up at her from her feet.
“ Will my tendies be on time from now on?!” Issac shouted at her. Assuming this was a sign he would end the misery, Monica rambled off a series of barely convincing agreements. Expecting to be freed, she watched as Issac grabbed the comb he had brought in from the living room and drummed it against her lotion-coated toes.
“I want one thousand good boy points”, Issac demanded. 'Good Boy Points' were a merit based currency system conceived by Monica when Issac was a young boy as a means of getting the boy to behave himself, exchanging the imaginary currency for toys and desert treats as a reward for household chores and good behavior. Baffled that her fully grown son fully expected this system to still be in place into his adulthood, she nonetheless agreed to award him his desired amount of pretend points in exchange for her release. Rather than untying her feet, however, she watched as he grabbed the big toe of her left foot with one hand and plopped the comb between her second and big toes and stared her in the face with his dead eyes, like dairy cow eyes, showing little emotion or sympathy for his humiliated mother.
“Issac... Issac enough... stop this, ple-” she begged as she watched her son begin to saw the insides of her toes lightly with the comb. Her legs tensed and tickling sensations unlike anything she had ever felt before once again shot up from her feet into her thighs. Exhausted from her previous attempts at containing her laughter, the shock from the sensation combined with her lack of willpower resulted in a howling stream of desperate belly laughter. She flung herself sideways and laid her head onto the kitchen table, face in her folded arms as her son sawed away between her toes. Slamming her hands against the table, she could make out her sons rambling in between her own humiliating cries of misery unable to do anything besides lay back and take her medicine.
“Promise me the Good Boy Points! I need GBP for my nuggie sauce!!” squawked the famished basement dweller from the floor up at his mother, not entire sure if she could even make him out of the sound of her own cry-filled laughter. Attempting to coax more begging from the hysterical head of the household, he would taunt her into articulating the terms and conditions of her surrender to the delight of his streaming audience.