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A Small Circle of Friends, Chapter Seven (F/F Intense)

ttgore

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The saga continues. . .

:jester:

A SMALL CIRCLE OF FRIENDS


Chapter Seven: Heather and the Purple Feather​


Barbara Lorraine glanced impatiently at her watch. Heather was late. No surprise there, of course—Heather had absolutely NO sense of responsibility. For a fleeting moment, Barbara considered passing the little twerp’s file on to the State Police Drug Task Force. But so far, at least, Heather was the best—indeed the only—informant she’d been able to develop on campus. Esther Lawrence had potential, but it would take time and opportunity to develop that potential. For now, the curvaceous cutie would have to content herself with the ditzy Heather Watson.

Barbara picked up her coffee cup, too a sip, and grimaced. Still posing as a student, she was casually dressed in cutoffs and a snug black halter top that exposed plenty of leg and cleavage. The curvaceous cutie was attracting quite a number of lustful glances as she sat at her table in the Campus Coffee Shoppe, waiting for Heather to show up.

And finally, here came the silly but delicious blonde herself, flouncing toward Barbara’s table in tight shorts and a tighter blouse that left as little as possible to the imagination. No bra, of course—not that Barbara had any right to be critical on that count, since she wasn’t wearing one either. . .

“Well, it’s about time,” the curvaceous cutie snapped as Heather snuggled her cute behind into a chair. “You’re fifteen minutes late.”

“Sorry,” Heather giggled. “I forgot to put on my watch this morning.” She held up her left arm to show a bare wrist. “See?”

“Whatever,” Barbara muttered. “So what have you got for me?”

“Something WAY cool,” Heather replied. She glanced around to make sure that no one was listening. “I’ve got pictures.”

“Pictures?”

“Pictures of Dean Stanley.”

“Big wow,” Barbara yawned.

“Oh, I think you’ll be interested in THESE pictures,” Heather said. “Because Dean Stanley’s NAKED in them. On the couch in her office, it looks like.”

“Really?” The curvaceous cutie leaned across the table. “And when were these pictures taken?”

“Awhile ago, I think. Back when she was a professor of English. Around the time she got the boot for all that weird shit.” Heather smiled. “Actually, the pictures are kind of cute.”

“Are they? I’ll bet.” Barbara stared at the delicious blonde, trying to decide if the girl was quite the airhead she seemed to be. You could never be one hundred percent sure about people. Heather might actually be a calculating bitch with own agenda rather than a ditzy, clueless, big-breasted bimbo. But either way, Barbara reminded herself, she held a trump card in the form of Heather’s arrest report. If the delicious blonde tried anything funny, she’d soon find herself being fitted for an orange jumpsuit.

“Anyhow,” said Heather, “the pictures are just a TASTE of what I’ve got for you.”

“Do tell?” Barbara arched an eyebrow. “And what will it take to pry this information out of you? A spanking?”

Heather blushed at this rejoinder in a way that made the curvaceous cutie suspect that she might LIKE being spanked. It was an interesting idea, and Barbara filed it away for future reference.

“Just ask me nice,” Heather said.

“Fine,” Barbara replied. “Please.”

“That’s better,” the delicious blonde giggled. “Follow me.”

They exited the Campus Coffee Shoppe, and Heather led the way toward their destination, which turned out to be Theta House. Barbara gave her informant a narrow look. “You’re a Lambda,” she pointed out. “They won’t let you in here.”

“No problem.” Heather smiled and opened the door. “I have LOTS of friends on campus, and some of them are even Thetas. Come on, there’s no one home.”

Barbara followed the delicious blonde inside. “So where is everyone?” she inquired.

“Some kind of a chapter meeting at the Admin Building,” Heather said. “My friend tipped me off that the place would be empty all afternoon.”

“Uh-huh.” The curvaceous cutie glanced around. “So it’s a sorority house. Big wow.”

“Wait till you see what’s in the basement,” Heather giggled.

So saying, she led Barbara through several rooms to an unobtrusive door that, when opened, revealed a flight of stairs leading down.

“After you,” the curvaceous cutie said, stepping aside to let Heather go first.

Heather bounced down the stairs. Barbara followed more cautiously. The light was poor and the last thing she needed was to take a tumble.

“Through here,” Heather said.

The basement was divided into two rooms. The first one was basic basement: dim, dusty, boxes and assorted junk all over the place. But the second room, which they accessed through a door that was carefully concealed behind a stack of cardboard boxes, was something else again.

Barbara studied the arcane inscriptions that adorned the wood-paneled walls, the racks of riding crops, bamboo switches and wooden paddles, the assorted instruments of restraint, the row of hooded robes that hung from hooks on the far wall, and deduced that in this secluded room, generations of Theta pledges had undergone the ritual ordeals of admittance to the sacred sisterhood.

“How quaint,” she said. “But what has all of this got to do with Margaret Stanley?”

Heather perched herself on the edge of a padded table, crossed her long legs, and smiled. “Oh, it’s got LOTS to do with Margaret Stanley,” she said. “Margaret Stanley spent some time down here.”

“I thought Stanley’s a Lambda.”

“That’s right,” the delicious blonde nodded. “But Robbie Dixon and Darleen Perry were Thetas.”

“I know those names.” Barbara frowned. “Come on—give!”

And Heather gave. From her Theta friend she’d somehow learned the story of how the randy roomies, assisted by Coach Tanya Johnson—also a Theta—had spirited Margaret Stanley to this very room after the annual Lambda-Theta Grudge Party.

“They worked her over GOOD!” Heather giggled. “I’d have paid money to see it! My friend says they tickled the SHIT out of the silly cow, until she came her silly BRAINS out!”

The curvaceous cutie didn’t respond immediately. She was still frowning in concentration. Then she snapped her fingers. “Dixon and Perry—they were reported missing last year. I KNEW the names were familiar!”

“Bingo!” Heather ran a hand through her long blonde hair. “And that’s also who took the pictures I mentioned.”

“And they disappeared about the time that Margaret Stanley was reinstated.” The curvaceous cutie smiled. “Heather, this is VERY good. Now, where are the pictures?”

“In a safe place.”

“And who’s your friend? I’ll need to talk to her.”

“Oh, I couldn’t tell you that,” Heather protested. “I PROMISED I wouldn’t.”

“Heather,” the curvaceous cutie said in a low voice. “Heather, listen to me. I need those pictures. I need that name.” She took a step toward the table. “And I’m in no mood to be jerked AROUND!”

The delicious blonde quailed before this rhetorical assault. She scooted back on the table, lost her balance—and sprawled untidily onto her back!

In a flash, Barbara was at the end of the table. She grabbed Heather’s right ankle, strapped it down, and quickly repeated the procedure with the girl’s left ankle.

“Hey!” the delicious blonde yelled. “Cut that OUT!”

Barbara paid no attention to her prisoner’s feeble protests. She darted to the other end of the table, grabbed Heather’s wrists, jerked her arms back, and strapped them down. The delicious blonde was now helpless on her back with her legs spread and her arms pinned. Her large, firm breasts strained against her flimsy blouse as she struggled to slip her bonds.

Barbara, slightly breathless, stood by the side of the table. She had acted on instinct, but now that Heather was under control, the curvaceous cutie’s mind began operating at top speed. She needed this twerp’s cooperation, but she didn’t want to use the heavy artillery of the drug bust report. If Heather called her bluff, Barbara would lose her only informant. On the other hand, she wasn’t about to bargain with the delicious blonde. Heather would have to be taught that her only viable option was unconditional obedience.

The curvaceous cutie thought she knew how to administer that particular lesson.

She put a hand on Heather’s thigh and slid it down to her right foot. “I don’t think you need THIS,” she said, removing the delicious blonde’s shoe and tossing it to one side. “And you don’t need THIS one either,” she added, repeating the performance with Heather’s other shoe. She paused for a moment to admire her prisoner’s beautifully formed feet, shapely toes and pink-painted toenails.

“What are you DOING?!” the delicious blonde screamed.

“Oh, nothing,” Barbra answered with a sly smile. “But I was just kind of wondering something, Heather. Are you TICKLISH?”

“What? Ticklish?” The delicious blonde swallowed fearfully. “No! No, I’m NOT!”

“Are you SURE?” the curvaceous cutie asked. “Not even on your FEET?”

“You leave my feet ALONE!” Heather cried in a panic. For the truth was that she had UNBEARABLY ticklish feet. Just the THOUGHT of having them touched and stroked made her cringe all OVER. . .

“Leave your feet alone?” Barbara nodded. “Sure, Heather, sure, that’s no problem at all as long as you tell me where I can find those pictures. Oh, and of course I’ll also want the name of your blabbermouth friend. So start talking.”

“I will NOT!” Heather screamed. “Help! HELP! Somebody HELP me PLEASE!”

“You may as well save your breath,” Barbara suggested. “No one can hear you, remember? They’re gone for the afternoon.”

“I don’t CARE! I’ll NEVER tell and you can’t MAKE me!”

“Now THAT sounds like a CHALLENGE,” Barbara replied. And with no more ado the curvaceous cutie attacked the delicate soles of Heather’s pretty feet!

“EEEEEEYAAAAAA-HAA-HAA-AAAH-HAAA-HAAA-HAAA!!!” the delicious blonde shrieked as intense tickling sensations shot up the backs of her legs. She squirmed and wiggled in a frantic attempt to slip her bonds. Buttons popped on her blouse, exposing a generous expanse of bosom. “GAAAAAA-HAAA-AAAH-HAAA-AAAH-HAAA-HAAA-AAAH-HAAA!!!”

“So who’s your FRIEND, Heather?” the curvaceous cutie asked. “And where are those PICTURES, hmmm?” Her sharp nails stroked Heather’s sensitive arches with fiendish precision. “Tell me and maybe I’ll stop tickling your FEET. . .”

“OH-NO!!! OH-HO!!! OH-HO-HO-OH- HO-HO-HO!!!” the delicious blonde bellowed. Her pretty face was already pink and contorted with hilarious anguish. “PLEEE-HEEE-EEEE-HEEE-EEEE-HEEE-HEEE-HEEESE!!!”

“Tell me what I want to know and I’ll STOP,” Barbara promised. But deep in her heart, the curvaceous cutie harbored the hope that poor Heather would prove to be stubborn. If it took a couple of hours to tickle the truth out of her, well, there were worse ways of whiling away the afternoon. “Tickle, tickle, TICKLE!” Barbara sang teasingly.

As for Heather, she was a prey to conflicting emotions. Back in the coffee shop, the delicious blonde had experienced a thrill of desire when Barbara mentioned spanking. Heather found herself wondering what that might actually be like. Now here she was, strapped down, half out of her clothes, laughing herself SILLY and feeling hornier by the NANOSECOND. Heather knew that eventually, she would indeed break down and tell all. But she was determined to hold out against this exquisitely unbearable, horribly delightful tickle torture for as long as humanly possible. . .

Barbara gave her prisoner’s feet a thorough going-over, even probing for the tender places between Heather’s wiggling toes. After the first few minutes of shrieking hysteria, she realized that the delicious blonde wasn’t going to crack any time soon. That was fine with Barbara. If she had to redouble her efforts to tickle the truth out of Heather, so much the better. . .

“BWAAAA-HAAA-HAAA-AAAH-HAAA-HAAA!!!” the delicious blonde screeched. She popped another button on her blouse. “HAAA-HAAA!!! AAAH-HAAA!!! AAAH-HAAA-HAAA-HAAA!!! HAAA!!! HAAA!!! HAAA!!!”

“Oh, you poor BABY!” Barbara exclaimed. “You’re squirming your way out of your CLOTHES!”

It was true. Heather’s struggles had also popped the button of her shorts and opened the zipper. The curvaceous cutie could see that beneath her shorts, Heather was wearing sheer silk panties in a deep blue shade. She experienced a momentary vision of ripping those panties off to tickle the delicious blonde in the most sensitive spot of all—but business before pleasure, she reminded herself firmly. There would be plenty of time to play later—and Barbara suspected that her informant would prove to be a willing playmate.

Just then the last button popped on Heather’s blouse and it fell open to expose her heaving breasts. Barbara noted with more than passing interest that the delicious blonde’s nipples were stiff with arousal. Maybe it was time to give poor Heather’s feet a break, and move on to some other area of her anatomy, the curvaceous cutie told herself. She looked around the room and saw, placed negligently on a shelf, a large purple feather! It was just the thing for what she had in mind. . .

“Take a break, Heather,” she said to her gasping, trembling prisoner. “But not a long one, because I’ll be right back.”

Barbara crossed the room, grabbed the feather, and returned to the table. She grinned and held up the tickle tool so that her prisoner could see it. “Now what should I do with THIS?” the curvaceous cutie cooed as Heather’s eyes widened with terror. “Where would you like me to tickle you with this FEATHER, hmmm?”

Barbara pulled Heather’s blouse up her arms, exposing the girl’s torso. The delicious blonde gritted her teeth as the feather hovered over her defenseless breasts and belly. She was conscious of a hot, overpowering desire to have her bare boobs stroked, even though she knew it would drive her right out of her fucking SKULL—!

Perhaps the curvaceous cutie sensed something of this unspoken desire, for at that moment she swooped in with the purple feather and began to tickle Heather’s rigid nipples!

“EEEEEEEE-HEEE-HEEE-EEEEEEEE-HEEE-HEEE-HEEE!!!” the delicious blonde squealed. EEEEEE!!! EEEEEE!!! EEEEEE-HEEE-HIIIIEEEE-HEEE-HEEE!!!”

“Oh, are your poor tits all TICKLISH?” Barbara chuckled. “Am I making your insides feel all LOOSE and SQUIRMY?”

As a matter of fact, that was EXACTLY how Heather was beginning to feel. As the feather caressed her jiggling breasts, it kindled a sweet, smoldering sensation low in her belly. The delicious blonde wiggled her hips. She longed to be stripped of the shorts and panties that imprisoned her loins. She longed to be tickled down there—tickled and TICKLED until she was raving mad with LAUGHTER and orgasmic PLEASURE—!

“Ah!” Barbara sighed. “I see what you want, my poor baby. . .”

She released Heather’s ankles long enough to slide shorts and panties down the delicious blonde’s legs, then redid the straps. Except for the blouse tangled around her bound arms, Heather was now naked. She arched her back, inviting the ravishing torment she craved. But Barbara shook her head.

“First tell me what I want to KNOW,” the curvaceous cutie demanded. “Then maybe I’ll torture you some more.” To underline her demand, she drew the feather down Heather’s belly to her bikini line.

“Lucy!” the delicious blond cried. “Her name’s Lucy!”

“Lucy what?” Barbara demanded. She allowed the feather to tease the crisp curls that framed Heather’s pouting cleft.

“Lucy MONROE!”

“Very good.” The curvaceous cutie shifted the feather to Heather’s belly button. “And the pictures?”

“In my GYM locker!” Heather sobbed.

“That’s a good girl,” Barbara whispered. She stripped off her own blouse and clambered onto the table to kneel bare-breasted between the delicious blonde’s trembling legs. “And now you’re going to tell me all about this Lucy Monroe, aren’t you, heather?”

The curvaceous cutie leaned forward and applied the feather once more to Heather’s super-stiff nipples. With her free hand, she stroked her prisoner’s firm thigh.

The delicious blonde’s body convulsed and she howled with hilarious delight. But she refused to say more until Barbara began petting her curl-covered mound—and from that point on Heather simply couldn’t say ENOUGH about her dear friend Lucy Monroe. . .
 
While I haven't read the first six chapters, and don't normally make a habit of coming in so late to an epic like this, that was fantastic! Great work.
 
Great stuff, ttgore. I've loved your writing for a long time, and this no exception. Thanks for posting it!

One minor criticism. "Curvaceous cutie" is a kinda fun term the first time you see it. By the 5th or 6th usage it's getting a little stale. In this story you used it 23 times...

But apart from little nitpicking, this was good stuff. Barbara seems like a real toughie. Why do I get the feeling she's going to get some of the tickling she's been dishing out? :)
 
Twenty-three times?! Now that's a glaring and obvious case of overkill. I'll have to revise that number downward for the next appearance of the curvaceous cu—ahem, Barbara Lorraine, in ASSF.

This just proves that for great literature to thrive, it requires a body of criticism.
 
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