My Wife and the Pest Control Man Revised Edited
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Paralyzed free porn video
Paralyzed
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters
She turns off the television. Bitch.
"Your daughter and her fiance are here to see you, Mr Rixon."
God, no. And why does she have to talk to me like this, that Nurse Kelly.
She even says the words "Mr Rixon" as if I am a small child, not a full
grown man lying inert and useless on this bed.
And now I must go through it all again. My nightmare. The loss of my
son.
"Hello Daddy, how are we feeling today?"
There "she" is. Big green eyes surrounded by darkened lashes, bouncy long
blond curls, painted lips, the short dress showing off the buxom body ...
there is the creature that used to be my son. Kissing me on the forehead.
I can smell the perfume and see right down the cleavage between my son's
large breasts.
I want to scream. But only a gurgle appears.
"I'm sorry that we haven't come to see you for a few weeks, but I have
only just recovered from that little procedure I told you about." She
wiped the dribble of my attempted scream from the corner of my mouth. "It
was more substantial than I thought, but everything is good now. Mark and
I can now be married."
There he is. Coming into view to take her hand. The author of my pain.
Mark Jermyn. Dr Mark Jermyn. Neuro-chemical engineer was how he
described himself. Monster is a better description.
"If only you could get well and take me down the aisle." The woman who
was my son had a tear in her eye. I felt a sudden sadness and I detected
a tear in my eye as well. Perhaps because I could not doubt "her"
feelings towards me. My son had never respected me, but now this person
both respected me and loved me, even though I was hard to love. It was
the one improvement in my life - being loved.
But against that I had lost all hope for the future of my family and my
company. My only child, the son who would carry my name and could have
taken over my company was now no more. I knew that already because in her
excitement "she" could not spare me the details. He had already
surrendered his testicles months ago, and "that little procedure" was the
final operation. The operation that had been planned by Jermyn. It was
he who had engineered the brainwashing of my son, the end of my line and
my current fate, paralyzed and unable to move or communicate.
"She" spotted the tear and shed a few more: "Oh Daddy, I know you can hear
and understand. I know you want to be there for me." Then she turned to
him and said: "Mark. Do you think that the hospital could release him for
the ceremony? Maybe we could put him in a chair or something? Do you
think we could? It would mean so much to me, Darling."
"Why don't you find Doctor Phelps and ask him?" the monster speaks. "I
can have a chat to your father while you do."
This is what I hate the most. Being alone with him. If only he would
just kill me, but he has the opposite intention. Death will have no pain
compared to living like this.
"Heeello Daddy." His whispered greeting is a threat. A threat of more
torture to follows: "Surgery all done. Because your son had such a large
schlong there was plenty of material to work with. They were able to make
the prettiest little vagina. Made just for me."
Bastard. Bastard. Bastard. I can move nothing. I just need a little
strength. Just enough to loop the plastic feeding line around his neck
and throttle him. But I can't even move a finger.
"We got the all clear for sex on Tuesday afternoon. Guess how much sex we
had had since then. Go on. Guess. I will count the blinks. No? Not
blinking? Well I will tell you: 14. I have fucked your son 14 times in
about 4 days. She can't get enough of me. She is full of my seed and
just wants more."
Another tear now. Frustration. Anger. No - rage. Rage without
expression. Shit, shit, shit.
"We have not done anal since then. Just as well. It was getting a little
messy with her needing a butt plug to keep her little back pussy closed.
The front pussy is so much cleaner. Pink and moist. To be honest I like
the missionary position. She is just so pretty, especially when she is
orgasming. Those blonde curls shaking about. Pretty little squeaks now.
No male grunts escaping since the voice box work."
He is checking my chart. You know what my situation is, you prick.
Paralysed. By you. Somehow.
"No blow jobs since the op" he continues. "I am sure I can still count on
those. She has an idea that my cum tastes like strawberries. Now I
wonder where that idea came from?"
From you, fuck you. You and your damned drug XRS455. Experimental
Receptiveness to Suggestion version 455. The drug that I tried to steal
from you, just like I stole the other ones. If this is your justice then
it is way out of proportion. My wrong of you could never deserve the
wrong that you have done me.
"No, I like fucking my wife to be. She is so pretty, I just love looking
at her face when I bring her to climax. Oh yes, Daddy. She orgasms at
least twice every time. She is a sex machine. She squeals like a
piglet."
I can gurgle. I can gurgle and dribble. Make him clean up the mess.
"Oh. Look at the monitor. Blood pressure going up a little. But you'll
never be able to set the alarm off. You are just so relaxed. But I'll
tell you something to cheer you up. Something that might surprise you.
So just relax a little."
Bastard. Bastard. Bastard.
"Well, as you know, that this started by being between you and me. You
son was just collateral damage in the war between us, as it were. But I
have a confession to make. I am going to stop teasing you, because the
unthinkable has happened. I have fallen in love. I did not think it
would happen, but I have fallen in love with your daughter."
I do not want to hear this. It makes it worse that he appears to be
speaking the truth.
"Dad," he says, but this time it does not sound facetious. "I need to
explain." He sits where he can look at my eyes, the only means of
communication that I have. I can move them right and left, or roll them
up to disapprove. But I need to be careful not to blink too much. If I
do that my eyes freeze open until somebody closes them. I worked out he
has done this to prevent communication. The man is devilishly clever.
He begins: "I had always timed the end of her dosage for after the
surgery. I thought that after a week or so there would be a realisation
and an emotional showdown. She would look at her body and say: 'What
happened to me', but by then it would be too late. But as the day of
snapping her out of this grew closer I found that I dreaded it. I didn't
want to lose her."
He is looking at me intently. He is speaking the truth. He is not
deliberately tormenting me. It is only the fact that he is alive, and I
am like this, that is my torment at this moment.
"So, when the drugs wore off and she was back from the hospital she was
still the same. I was caring for her and she was loving me. She told me
that she was truly happy for the first time in her life. I removed the
suggestion. I really did. I used the release words and she just looked
at me oddly. But she did not care about what she had become. In fact,
the opposite. She told me that she loved me. Honestly, that thought is
not my doing. Not anymore. She really loves me. Dad, I want to call you
that, and I want to tell you that she is happy."
Release me. If you can release her, then you can release me. Remove
whatever is chaining me to this bed. You can have it all. Just set me
free. But you cannot hear me make this offer. You have denied me the
power to speak so you cannot hear me if I apologize for my wrongdoing and
promise you everything that you want. I might even consider keeping such
a promise, if you free me.
"And I'm happy too. I love her. You know, she asked me to help her with
dilation. I am not sure if you know what that is. The artificial vagina
needs to be stretched with a dildo-type thing. She winced at first, and I
did to. It was as if I was feeling her pain. I think that is what love
is. I feel what she feels."
If you could feel a knife in my hand deep in your guts, then I would feel
happy. The thought of you reaming out the place where my son's genitals
once lay, is disgusting.
"I said to her: 'if I have persuaded you to go down this path and you hate
me for it, I need to know'. And she didn't say a word. She just kissed
me. It was the sweetest kiss I have ever had. Better than the first kiss
from the first girl. And when it broke, that kiss, I looked into her
pretty face and I knew that she loved me, and that I loved her. This may
all sound stupidly romantic, but it is real."
His hand is on my limp and useless arm.
"Please give her a chance. She loves you too. More than your son ever
did. She will be a better daughter to you that he ever could be a son.
And I will be your son in law. I will love her and provide for her, and
we are planning children with a surrogate. With eggs from your family.
You can be a grandfather."
It is true that, except for her recent period of convalescence, she came
to see me weekly, even more often than that, this new 'daughter' of mine.
My son might have come once. He would have seen that I was useless to him
and he never would have come back. That much is true.
"Honestly, she is the nicest person that I have ever known. And I now
know it is not my doing. Maybe it was always there, but this is who she
is. She is kind and gentle, and so feminine. I like that. But she is
also clever and spirited, and I like that too. Give her a chance. Can
you do that?"
So, he is saying to me that my son is now free of suggestion effected by
this drug, and she still wants to be a woman and his wife. Could it be
true? Now here she is. Back in the room, smiling at me that pretty
girlish smile.
He speaks to her: "Sweetheart, I was just saying to Dad about how we have
talked things through about the sex change, and I think he needs to hear
it from you."
"Oh Daddy," she is about to gush. "You have to believe that I am so happy
to be a woman. I am not sure where it came from, but I know that I have
made the right choice. The right choices, in fact. I am a woman and I am
marrying the right man."
My son's female arms are around him. They are now standing and kissing
passionately. Her hand in his hair, with the engagement ring glistening.
She breaks away tenderly, lingering close to him for a moment, and then
she says to me: "Daddy, we can take you to the wedding in a wheelchair.
You can be there to share the day with us. It will be great. Mark's
mother has agreed to escort you."
I can see her excitement. She really is very pretty. This is no longer
my son, so I need to accept the pronoun. She. As she bends over to kiss
me on the forehead again before leaving, a perfumed curl of her blonde
hair brushes my face. He loving eyes look at me.
I just wish that I could smile at her. But I am paralyzed.
The End
© Maryanne Peters 2018
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