Edmund And the Night Visitors (old story, FFF/M)

This is one of the first stories I ever read, and it really affected me, if you know what I mean. I searched for awhile before I found this. This was on a couple old websites. I looked in this forum and never saw it posted so I thought I'd share it with people who haven't been visiting tickling sites for over 10 years.

Edmund And the Night Visitors

by: ??? *


It was midnight at the large Carstairs manorhouse. Edmund Harper, late
of Massachusettes seminary, now private instructor to the three young
ladies of the manor, slept soundly in the little caretaker's cottage
behind the carriage-house. It had been, like so many before it, a very
trying day.


The three Carstairs daughters; Constance, Priscilla, and Camilla;
could have been very apt pupils, except for their--vivacity. Forever
having fun at the expense of the shy, bookish young man (at
twenty-three, he was only three years older than Constance, the
eldest), the three used all of the most cunning artifices to distract
and befuddle their inexperienced young teacher.


Sometimes a button might come undone, or a locket might go missing
down a bodice. Once Priscilla had sworn "some horrible insect" had
crawled up her skirts, forcing the young man to flee her frantic
efforts to "locate the pest".


As he'd run, he'd been followed by gales of laughter. So far, that had
been the worst. Now, with their father gone for the week, Edmund was
exiled to the caretaker's cottage, the elderly Mrs. Hodsworth keeping
watch on her charges' "purity". Edmund was glad of the stout old woman
between them. He felt much safer with his private dreams of the
Carstairs girls than with the girls themselves.


It was this security of mind which led to the soundness of his sleep.
With the young ladies safely locked away in the manor house, he had no
worries of "accidental intrusions" into his bathing, or of
sleepwalking young ladies wandering into his room. He slept soundly,
oblivious to all. And thensuddenly--he awoke! He wasn't sure just what
had caused him to start, but as soon as he awakened he knew he was not
alone. Eyes wide in fear, he remained silent, unmoving; his gaze fixed
upon a shadowy figure by the window. "Who--Who's there?" he croaked.


"Oh Mister Harper" the figure replied "it's only us!" A slim hand
reached out, turning up the wick of the oil lamp that smoldered on the
old rolltop desk. As the flame rose, the amber glow fell on Priscilla,
standing by the window; long blond hair unbound to cascade down past
the dark cloak she wore. She smiled impishly. He felt his throat
tightening. "Oh, God", He thought. " I have to get her out of here.
But I mustn't get up!" She mustn't know... Then it registered--"Us?"


"Well, Ed--Mister Harper" she corrected, dimpling, "It was Camilla.
The poor dear just couldn't sleep at all. She was ever so fascinated
by your lessons this afternoon. The thought of the entire world just
whirling through the heavens--I should say we were all
fascinated--truly we were--but we just couldn't seem to understand,
and poor Camilla just went over it and over it, do you see?"


"Camilla?" he said.


"And she couldn't come alone, of course. It just wouldn't be proper at
all, would it?"


So--so you...?" It was maddening attempting to talk to the girl with
his mind going in all directions. And his body also had ideas of its
own.


"Well, all of us, naturally. We all came!"


"All?"


Of course. Me, of course; and Camilla, of course; and Constance."


"Of course" He felt himself trembling, but couldn't stop. At last he
turned to the giggling he now heard behind him. Camilla was blushing,
her dark hair shading her face, deep blue eyes (he knew) downcast.
Beside her was Constance. As always, his breath caught. She faced him
squarely,an amused smile on her lips (oh, those lips...). Her green
eyes sparkled in the lamplight, and her long auburn hair caught and
held the amber glow.


"Mister Harper" she purred in the soft, sultry voice that tingled
along his nerves, "It is customary to rise in the prescence of
ladies."


If she only knew, he thought. "I--I am af-f-fraid that I'm not dr-not
properly dressed for company, Miss Carstairs. Perhaps if you were to
return in the morning, we might--um, continue then"


Oh, but we couldn't!" Priscilla burst out.


Indeed not," said Constance. "Our poor dear sister is in such a
befuddlement. Surely you wouldn't turn us out?"


Priscilla rushed forward, clasping his hand with both of her own. "Oh,
you mustn't! We shan't be but an instant--please!" As she moved, her
cloak fell open, revealing her slim body, and the very light
night-dress in which it was barely covered.


"I--I"


Please." Camilla said softly. "I truly shan't take much of your time.
It's only that I feel certain I'll be able to go right to sleep."


At Constance's urging, Camilla approached him, sitting on the other
side of the bed from her sister. Like her sister, she took his hand in
both her own. Also like her sister, her robe fell open to reveal a
filmy nightgown. Unlike her sister, her hair and eyes were very dark.
And her breasts were smaller,he noted; shocking himself with his train
of thought. "Well--What--what exactly was the--the concern, Miss
Carstairs?"


It was even more difficult to speak. Priscilla held tightly to his
right hand, Camilla to his left. Expectantly, they leaned towards him,
affording him a view farther down their nightgowns than any locket had
ever gone. As they leaned forward, His hands were pushed up against
the headboard as they steadied themselves on their arms, and the hands
that they still held.


On either side, his arms were trapped by the girls who, thankfully,
did not seem to notice his predicament. He was heady from their
nearness, and the scent of their perfume. He almost forgot why they
were there. He almost forgot his name. Recollecting himself, he tried,
in his best schoolmaster's voice, "Your...um...qu-question, Miss
Carstairs?"


"Camilla, dear," Constance broke in, "You look very warm, and your
cloak is damp from the rain" (What rain? he thought. Was it raining?)
Why don't you remove it? I'm certain we may trust Mister Harper's good
intentions toward us all, and you certainly mustn't overheat
yourself." She pulled the drawstring from Camilla's cloak, and the
heavy material fell from her shoulders.


The dark-haired girl blushed furiously--all over--and her instructor
couldn't help but gape at the large expanse of creamy skin that was
uncovered. He didn't know how long he stared, but at last he forced
his attention to Constance, now also seated on the bed. She fumbled
uncertainly at the cordsecuring her own cloak, green eyes all the
while boring into his own. He could think of nothing else but those
deep green eyes--they were mesmerising in their intensity. As she
slowly removed her cloak, (revealing a very, very low-cut nightgown)
he nearly moaned. Her body was a perfect work of art.


Her breasts, nearly exposed by the low-cut gown, seemed to strain at
the fabric which covered them. And nothing else covered them, he was
certain. For a very long time he remained transfixed. Then he
realized--he WAS transfixed! Priscilla and Camilla, he saw, had both
released his hands at some time. But he couldn't move!


"I'm flattered, Sir" Constance purred, "That you never even noticed.Am
I truly so distracting?" She leaned across him on the bed, still
smiling.


Priscilla giggled.


"What?" he began. But then he saw--Constance was lying across his
knees! He couldn't move his hands or his feet! "Oh Lord!", He thought,
"What are they going to do to me?"


Slowly, delicately, Constance drew the string from out of her cloak.
He saw that it was very long, and realized how his hands had been
tied. A glance to the side confirmed that his arms were lashed to the
headboard by two identical cords. As he watched, Priscilla took the
cord from Constance.He felt the single blanket flipped back to expose
his feet. Then he felt the cord going round and round his ankles...


"Ladies, please. I--I must protest this--OH!" He jumped at the light
touch of Priscilla's fingers on the bottoms of his feet. The girls
exchanged pleased glances. Shy, quiet Camilla was grinning wickedly.


Priscilla clapped her hands in delight. "Oh, Constance, You were
right! Oh, where shall we begin? Please let me start--please do!"
Constance arose.


Edmund was left helpless--spread-eagled on the bed, with the three
young ladies surrounding him. Priscilla was on his right, Camilla on
his left, and Constance--merciless Constance--was at his feet. And he
suddenly knew. "No! Ladies, please, I beg of you all--"


"Edmund," Constance said sweetly, "We aren't going to hurt you. Not in
the least. You are very, very dear to us. It's only that we must
preserve our virtue."


"Yes!" Priscilla agreed. "After all; three young, helpless girls-- why
you could do anything to us, couldn't you? Just anything at all, and
we'd be utterly helpless!" She giggled, spoiling the effect. "We only
felt that we should do something. To protect you, you know. From
temptation."


"And now that we have," Constance continued "dear Camilla can have her
mind set at ease, and we may all go back to--why Edmund! You're
perspiring! Camilla, dear, do remove those blankets."


"No!" he cried. "No, please! I'm fine, truly! I'm fine! If you could
just..." But it was too late.. His every protest studiously ignored,
Edmund felt the blanket slide slowly down and off.


"Oh, my!" chorused Priscilla and Camilla. Constance actually giggled.


Why Mister Harper!" she said, "I never would have suspected. Please
forgive us. We would never have dreamt that you sleep...Au Naturale.
And what wicked thoughts you must be thinking!" she added, her eyes
dancing over his body, stopping to rest midway. "Girls, I think it
best if we politely ignore the fact that poor Edmund is quite naked,
don't you? He is quite helpless, and I think we need not fear for our
safety just yet."


Edmund groaned. Priscilla was beside herself, giggling uncontrollably.
She leaned back in the small desk chair she'd taken, propping her feet
up on the bed. Mere inches from his face, her bare feet wiggled, one
toe lightly stroking his ear. Camilla, blushing furiously, was
nonetheless looking verypleased indeed. Constance actually
looked...well...hungry.


"Camilla, dear" she said absently, "what was your question for poor
dear Edmund?"


yes. Well, Mister--Edmund" she corrected herself, dimpling, "I
was thinking about your mister...mister..."
"Copernicus!" Priscilla chimed in. "The Copernican Theory. I remember
thinking it had something to do with copper."


Edmund couldn't think."What game was this?"


"Yes." Camilla breathed. "Well, according to Mister Copernicus, the
earth circles the sun. Only, it doesn't quite go in a circle? If the
sun were, say..."


"Here." Constance suggested, laying a finger on his left nipple.


He jumped at the feather-light touch, but the girls seemed intent on
their question.


Yes! And then the earth would go about it like thisss..." Camillla
began circling his nipple with one forefinger, trailing it
elliptically up to his neck. He squirmed, trying not to giggle. Around
went her finger, down under his arm. He jumped, snorting, seeing the
cruelty of their scheme. Her finger passed along his ribs, all three
girls watching him struggle not to give in to the laughter bubbling
up. If he did, he was lost, he knew. When her finger reached the side
of his stomach, he burst out with a spurt of laughter. The finger
continued, back up his stomach, along his ribs, and back to his neck.
Nearly insane with relief, he braced for the "question"


Now,said, grinning evilly. If the earth were, say...here."
She poked lightly at the side of his stomach. He giggled
involuntarily. They knew where he was most ticklish! "...Then the moon
goes...around it" He jumped! "like....thiss!" She began to circle her
finger along his sides,giggling as he bucked and squirmed.


"No! No-ho-ho-ho-ho-ple-hee-hee-heeheeeeese!
Pleasesto-ha-ha-ha-ha-hahahahahahap!!"


It was infectious. Soon all three girls were laughing, eyes twinkling
merrily.


"Stop! Stohahahahahahhahhp! pleeheheheeeeese! please hahahahahahaha!"


Eventually, she did. In wide-eyed surprise, she gazed at him, trying
not to giggle.


"Why Camilla" Constance cooed. "It appears our poor Edmund is
ticklish!"


That isn't all he is!" Priscilla laughed.


"Oh, my." Camilla breathed. her soft, slender fingers reached out to
lightly stroke his erect penis.


"Oh! Oooohhhh!" he moaned. He began to buck, to thrash wildly, but he
remained helpless as a baby before the three beautiful girls.


Priscilla also reached out...


"I don't know what we should do now, "Constance said, grinning. "I
truly fear for our safety should we release him in that state."


"Constance, please--Oh! Co--aahhh! Camilla, don't DON'T! Ahhhhhhh!
PriscillAAAHHHH! Mercy!" He wriggled helplessly under their strok
fingers. Constance, seated at the end of the bed, began to play idly
with his toes. He giggled, the stroking of his penis combining with
the tickling of his toes into a new sensation that drove him insane!
He laughed/gasped at their idletorture, unable to beg forrelease. And
not quite willing, either. Undaunted, they continued their
conversation without him.


Constance, what shall we do?" Priscilla cried, one toe swirling
around under his arm. He laughed helplessly, unable to move away from
it, his erection almost painful in its intensity.


"Perhaps..." Camilla ventured (idly tracing baroque patterns on his
ribs)


"Yes, dear?" Constance looked up from her examination of his toes. Her
own were now probing along his inner thigh, causing him to laugh and
cry helpessly, as he wiggled, jerked, and squirmed under their
ministrations--all to no avail.


"Perhaps," (curlicue, swirl) "if he were very tired..."


"Exhausted!" Priscilla agreed, rooting through the rolltop desk.


"I think you're right, Camilla" Constance paused to think, one toe
poised just below his scrotum. She wiggled it idly, sending him into
fresh convulsions.


God, please sta-ha-ha-haaaaap!"


"Yes," Constance affirmed. "for our own safety, we must not release
him until he is quite exhausted!" They all seemed pleased with that.
They paused, expectantly; fingers and toes held inches from his
helpless, naked body. He gasped for breath.


How" he managed, "how exhausted", he asked fearfully.


"I suppose" Constance giggled, "that we must tickle you into
submission!"


No!"


YES!" they all cried, and fell to it without mercy! Delicate fingers
danced along his ribs, wriggled around his stomach, and scratched at
his feet.


He screamed,
"Ahhhh--ha-ha-ha-ha--plea-hee-hee-hees-s-s-s-sto-ha-ha-ha-hap!!!!" He
bucked, wriggled, and squirmed, but the tickling torture went on and
on. He felt fingers circling around under his arms, swirling over his
naked ribs and tummy, wiggling round and round on the soles of his
feet! Then they attacked his toes, in between and under. Someone's
toes wiggled against his thighs, and someone else's agains his ribs.
All over his body,the maddening, merciless tickling! He tried to beg,
to plead for mercy, but he could only quiver in helpless laughter as
the girls tickled every helpless, naked inch of his body. He was
sourrounded by their giggles, the smell of their perfume.


He writhed under the touch of their hair, their silken gowns, and
their ever-present tickling fingers! After an eternity, it seemed,
they stopped.


Oh-ho-ho-ho-ho-ha-ha-ha. Oh. Oh. Oh, God" he breathed.


"Well," said Constance. "I suppose that will do for a start."


thought he might cry; he might go insane. Priscilla giggled
incessantly, Camilla regarded his helpless form from under long, dark
lashes. Constance eyed him like an amused cat, her deep green eyes
hypnotic in their intensity.


"Constance" he begged, "Constance, please; please no more!"


"Why, Edmund," she purred, "I don't believe you've ever called me
'Constance' before. But I suppose the circumstances aren't really that
formal, are they?" She grinned.


Priscilla trailed one bare toe down the length of his side. "Oh, is he
a ticklish little boy? Kitchee kitchee kooo!"


He jumped at the words, and at the gentle prodding of her delicate
foot. "This can't be real", he thought."This has to be a dream. Dear
God, let it be a dream!" He wasn't sure he meant it.


Constance," Camilla broke in "I think he's rested enough. We do want
to tire him."


"You're quite right, dear. Priscilla, did you find them?"


"Oh yes, Constance, they were in the desk, just where you said. I
found one for each of us! How shall we divide him up?" In her hand he
saw what she'd been after in the rolltop desk--three long, stiff quill
feathers. He began to sweat.


"Only three, dear? Are you sure?" Constance seemed disappointed.
Edmund was surprised at his relief. ONLY three?


"Constance--" he started.


"Hush." she said, placing one finger gently to his lips. "Edmund, if
you make one more sound, say one more word, we shall stay here all
night, and we shall tickle you the entire night. We shall tickle your
feet, tickle your ribs, tickle your neck, your tummy, and under your
arms. And then..." She glanced at Camilla and Priscilla, then leaned
very close, breathing softly in his ear, "And then, I shall send
Priscilla and Camilla away, and I will tickle your manhood until it
bursts." He lay there, very quietly, very tempted.


"What did you tell him?" Camilla asked.


"Something to keep him from begging for mercy."


"Constance!" Priscilla said, "I like hearing him beg for mercy."


I do too." Camilla added.


Constance shrugged, smiling. "I like watching him struggle not to."
Still giggling, they each took a feather. Helpless, he could only
watch as they gathered around him; Camilla at his left, Priscilla his
right, and Constance again at his feet.


They began slowly. At first it was only Priscilla and Camilla,
athers slowly gliding up and down his sides. He squirmed, stifling
the giggles that threatened to burst from his mouth as the feathers
went down his arms, under them, along his ribs, and towards his very
ticklish stomach. Then Constance began, twirling her feather along the
soles of his feet.


He thought he'd die--the tickling was unbearable. "MMh! MMh Hmm!" They
kept it up, feathers trailing slowly along his body and feet, just
slowly enough that he never quite gave in to the laughing fit that
threatened to overwhelm him. Constance watched intently, waiting for
the slightest sound. He knew she'd meant every word. He closed his
eyes, hoping to block out the whispers of touch.He felt a warm breath
on his neck. Risking a glimpse, he looked up into the deep blue eyes
of Camilla. They sparkled brightly in the lamplight. She leaned
nearer, and again he saw deep down into her nightdress. Then she began
to whisper.


"Tickle, tickle tickle. Kootchee kootchee kooo." The feathers
continued their slow, even strokes, but the added distraction seemed
to magnify the sensation. Worse, Camilla's hair and breath were
tickling his neck, and her nearness was intoxicating. "Kitchee kitchee
koooo. Who's a ticklish boy? Who's a helpless, naked, ticklish baby
boy?" She giggled, and he almost died of the effort not to join in. He
was weakening, and they knew it. Then he felt a warmth and a whisper
of breath from the other side.Priscilla was joining the new game.


"What a ticklish baby boy! Is he ticklish? Is he?" Her feather jerked
as she lost the rythm. Edmund jerked, too; as the quill skittered
along his inner thigh. Just then, Constance began to tickle between
his toes.


"Ahh! No! Nohopleaheeheeheeheeeese! Stohahahap! Stop! I ca--I ca-can't
sta-ha-ha-ha-hand it!


At once, they began in earnest. Again, they tickled his entire
body--feet, ribs, stomach--everywhere! He felt his erection growing
painfully hard, then something--toe, finger, or tongue; he never
knew--slid up and down his throbbing penis! Wriggling, bucking,
helplessly laughing; he nearly climaxed,but the tongue(?) withdrew,
and he was left with the tickling fingers. At last, they stopped.


"Ha-ha-ha-oh-go-ha-ha-ha-had, plea-he-he-heese sto-hap! Oh, stop.
Please. Please. Please. Please."


"Do you think he's tired enough?" Camilla grinned.


Constance looked down at him; helpless and naked before her; drench
in sweat, and still giggling."Edmund. You were not very quiet."


"Oh, Constance" Priscilla enthused. "What are you going to do to him?"


He looked up at her, not sure what he hoped for. She looked, as ever,
amused. "Nothing, I should think."


"Oh." The other two sighed. They were very disappointed.


"Thank God." Edmund breathed. He seemed disappointed, also.


"Nothing, till after we've bathed him."


Camilla nodded, while Priscilla gushed. "Oh my, yes!" Certainly, the
poor dear's been perspiring just a bit. We truly, truly should!"


Edmund couldn't speak. He was gasping, panting, and indeed drenched
with sweat. Silently, grateful for the blessed reprieve from their
fiendish tickling, he lay breathing, still feeling in his mind those
merciless fingers probing every inch of his helpless, naked, and
oh-so-ticklish body. He struggled feebly, surreptitiously (he hoped)
against the bonds which secured his wrists. If there ever had been any
hope of escaping them, it was now long gone. The knots--deftly
tied--had been pulled even tighter by his frantic struggles; and if
they had not broken then, he could certainly not now muster sufficient
force to break free. As his heart ceased to pound, he began to think.
His first thought: How to escape? His second: Did he want to? Revenge?
Against one, perhaps even two... but THREE sets of tickling fingers?
And how, Oh how could he ever stand before them again? Best, he
thought, to re-phrase that...

(To be continued below thanks to Wildtime)

Nice, find. It effected me too!

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


This was one of the VERY first stories I ever read. Thank you so much for finding it! You're a hero!

Has it really been ten years?? *wow* That went fast....


I think there's a bit more of it out there as well, I recall the story going on a bit past this point... I shall keep an eye out for it.

thanks!

thanks for finding this again... it's been too long

Gosh, I remember this one, too! I think I still have a printout in the drawer of my nightstand!

Thanks for the blast from the past!

Jerry! You are fabulous for posting this! I had never read it and I LOVED it! I would have loved to have been Constance in that story:-D

hard2break007 said:

Jerry! You are fabulous for posting this! I had never read it and I LOVED it! I would have loved to have been Constance in that story:-D

Click to expand...

And I would love to have been Edmund.

You are all welcome. It is my pleasure.

This was also one of the first tickling stories I ever found online, and the very first long detailed F/m story. I loved it when I first read it and it's still great.

Ticklish9's said:

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


I think there's a bit more of it out there as well, I recall the story going on a bit past this point... I shall keep an eye out for it.

Click to expand...

Yes, there is. I know I've read it before too, but this is the only version I could find.

I LOVE YOU!!!! RIP josie's site.

Wait, no i don't. this is a quarter of the story, where's the rest?

Here's the rest

blootwentytoo said:

Wait, no i don't. this is a quarter of the story, where's the rest?

Click to expand...

I apologize to Jerry67911 if he wanted to make this a serial, but here's the rest of the story...by the way, who wrote this?

The young ladies, meanwhile, were busily engaged. Water had been poured from the wash stand pitcher into the basin, and more into the brass tea- kettle, now hanging ominously over the fire. As it hung there, it seemed to giggle and hiss, fingers of flame reaching up to tickle its belly. He suppressed the image of himself, tied naked to the rafters by his hands and feet, fingers reaching up...

He turned his face from the kettle, now helplessly spouting great guffaws of steam. On the other side of the bed, preparations were underway for his latest indignity. Priscilla was not to be seen, but behind him he heard the sharp ‘clank’ of the poker being lifted from its place–As though to lift a kettle from the fire! Before him stood Camilla and Constance, conspiring together in half-heard whispers. Camilla held soap, and some soft washing cloths; Constance (oh, god!) a stiff-bristled scrub-brush.

“I believe we are ready.” She said.

“Constance–” he began, but ended with a gasp as she lay one finger across his lips. Five others were wrapped around his penis, the littlest one gently tickling his scrotum.

“Edmund, dear” she purred, “you needn’t thank us.”

“Oh, indeed not!” Priscilla chimed in, coming to stand beside her sister. “It’s our pleasure, Edmund–truly it is!” you poor man, so utterly helpless, and absolutely soaked in–well, you know. And I feel it may be in part our fault...”
She went on, pouring steaming water into the basin.

“Arousing–I mean–um–well, bringing out, as it were, your terrible masculine...hungers.” taking a cloth and soap from Camilla “Although, I suppose if could only trust you to control yourself, why, we could just...release you, couldn’t we?”
“But” Constance broke in, “he cannot help himself, dear.”

“Why,” she said, finally removing her hand, “look how he still is victim to such wicked thoughts.”

“Oh, it’s so very, very wicked.” Camilla breathed.

“We must save him from himself, mustn’t we, Constance?” Priscilla said, every inch the martyr, working a really good lather into her washcloth.

“Of course we must. I cannot help but feel” Constance said with an almost perfectly straight face, “That his terrible predicament is in part our own doing.”

Edmund groaned.

“Well,” she said. “are we ready?”

The water was warm and sudsy, and he began to relax despite himself as three pairs of hands began to slide sensuously along his body, spreading the suds all over. He sighed contentedly, free for the moment from the merciless tickling; and felt their warm, soft fingers gently stroking across his chest, up his arms, and down his legs.

“Ooohhhhhhhhh.” He began to moan, as the warm water and soft caresses soothed away the jangling of his tortured nerves–the clean soapy smell mixing erotically with the perfumed nearness of the girls all around him. They continued in silence (even Priscilla)–gently stroking, kneading, soft cloths and fingers now passing over every sensitive inch of him. Eyes closed in rapture, he didn’t see whose hand held the soapy fabric that wound around his genitals, trailing down between his legs, and up, and back around again. And around. And around. Other hands busied themselves with his hair, stroking, smoothing, playing with it, bringing forth more contented sighs. Where was the third pair of hands? A quick glimpse became a prolonged stare into deep, deep blue eyes. Camilla was at his head, twirling one stray lock of his hair around one slender finger. By her side was Priscilla, still wringing groans of pleasure from him with her soft cloth and softer hands.

That left–Constance! There she was, beside Priscilla, at his feet. In her hand was the scrub brush. He quivered, waiting for what was to come.

“Oh, Edmund” she teased, “why one would almost think you were frightened, you look so...apprehensive”

With one forefinger she traced a line very slowly up the bottom of one helpless foot. He snickered, as her finger began to move sideways, with excruciating slowness, along the bottoms of his toes. Her other hand held the brush. Suddenly, every nerve in his body seemed inhumanly ticklish–his neck muscles quivered at the soft teasing of Camilla’s fingers, and Priscilla’s attentions were almost unbearable–the more so for their increasing eroticism. He began to giggle.

“Edmund,” Camilla whispered. He looked up into her deep blue eyes. “Kitchee kitchee coo.”

He giggled again, trying in vain to curl up into a ball.

“Kitchee kitchee coo.” she said again, delighting in his helpless reaction. Priscilla was elated.

“Oh, Camilla! Do it again! Do!”

She stopped her stroking of his now rigid penis, watching in fascination. Constance also watched, one hand poised a mere inch from the soles of his feet. Camilla blushed prettily. She leaned closer to him, affording him an incredible view down the front of her nightgown as she put her lips to his ear.

“Kitchee kitchee coo. Tickle, tickle, tickle. What a ticklish boy! A gitchee gitchee gooooo!” He was laughing helplessly now, the mere words seeming to slide along his ribs, her voice vibrating along his nerves.

“Ca-ha! Camillah-ha-ha! Ple-hee-hee-hee heese no-ho-hoo stah-haaaap! Plee-hee-hee-hee-heee-heeeeees!”

Constance and Priscilla watched, enraptured. He knew they’d never forget this weakness! He was even more helpless now, more entirely at their mercy. Camilla stood, smiling.

“Well,” Constance remarked. Perhaps our lessons shall be a bit more interesting now, shan’t they?” She was looking at him as he had only once before seen a cat look at a very little bird. He felt like that bird.

“Well, dears, do you suppose he’s had enough?” He felt a brief glimmer of hope, quickly drowned out by Camilla and Priscilla’s stricken looks. They clearly still wished to play.

“Oh, but Constance, we haven’t finished his bath.” Priscilla wailed. “Why how dreadfully forgetful of me. Of course, dear. We must dry him, at the very least. Camilla, dear, are there any towels?”

Camilla looked around the little room in surprise.

“Why Constance, there isn’t a single towel in sight!” Priscilla said nothing, being busy throwing an entire stack of clean towels quickly under the bed.

“Whatever shall we do, Constance? The poor dear will catch his death now, truly he will! Is there no other way to dry the poor thing?” She looked perfectly stricken, and Constance feigned her very best consternation.

“Constance,” Camilla ventured, “we could do–you know. Like–like cats?”
Edmund stared. He prayed she wasn’t thinking...

“Why Camilla, how could you suggest such a thing?” His heart resumed beating.

“No,” Constance continued “we shall merely have to cover him up, and hope for the best. Surely he shan’t be too cold.”

She reached for the long forgotten blanket at the foot of the bed. Edmund let out a long, shuddering breath of relief...

“Oh, Dear! Why Edmund, you are shivering!”

Constance cried with (apparent) glee. “It seems we have no choice...”

Dropping the blanket, she quickly directed Priscilla to Edmund’s head, Camilla to his feet. His midsection she reserved for herself.

“Oh, no.” Edmund pleaded “No, please! Ladie–hee–hee-he-he-he- heeeese–help! he-he-he-he-he-heeeelpstopstah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-haaaa!”

He writhed helplessly as the three of them began licking his ribs, feet, and inner thighs. Soft, warm tongues explored every inch of him, flicking and teasing his most helplessly ticklish spots. Priscilla began at his ribs, tongue flickering up along his side and under his arm. Then she moved to the nape of his neck, licking, kissing, and nibbling his neck and collarbone.

Camilla swirled her tongue around and around on the arches of his feet, then slipped it delicately between each of his toes. Constance’s tongue glided in long sweeps up his inner thighs, around and around his testicles, and up and down his near-bursting penis. He giggled, shrieked, and squirmed, to no avail. Soon they were licking, sucking, and gently biting him all over, and Constance’s sweet lips had engulfed his penis, tongue delicately tickling all the while. Camilla sucked and nibbled his toes as he begged for mercy, gasping for breath as Priscilla captured an ear.

“Kitchee kitchee coo!” she whispered, then moved on to his lips. He kissed her passionately, helplessly writhing and giggling all the while. For a long moment she returned the kiss, then remembered herself and busied her fingers along his sides. Camilla and Constance followed suit, Constance attacking his tummy, Camilla the soles of his feet. He began to buck, the sensation in his groin becoming more and more intense, the intensity seeming to increase his sensitivity to the tickling. He seemed about to burst, when Constance released his penis.

“Wait.” She said. Immediately (well, almost) Priscilla and Camilla stopped. “I think dear Edmund is nearly ready to...exhaust himself. Perhaps we should try something new?”

He gasped in great gulps of air, then gasped again as Constance began to remove her nightgown...

Don’t panic he thought to himself, and Who’s panicking, was the answering thought. She wouldn’t dare–not really. Would she? Part of him hoped not; another part–well–felt different. He wasn’t sure what to say–whether to stop her, encourage her, or beg her to move more slowly? He barely noticed Priscilla and Camilla to his right and left, fascinated with his every reaction–particularly the most apparent. His eyes were locked on Constance, her deep green eyes drawing his attention as a moth to the flame; then to the slender hands at her bosom, the shapely neck that arched seductively as she ever-so-slowly shrugged away the gauzy cloth, revealing her perfect breasts and large, honey-colored nipples. Harder, ever harder came the pounding in his swollen phallus, as the gossamer fabric caressed her slender waist, falling away to reveal the darkness of the shadowed thatch between her legs. For a long, endless moment, he felt as though her essence engulfed him, sweeping through her eyes into his–burning itself into his mind before rushing off like a flood into every fiber of his body, of his soul. Then his gaze returned to the emerald fire of her eyes, the sultry half-pout of her lips; and then again those eyes, burning bright in the tawny frame of her hair.

He watched a bead of perspiration roll timidly down her neck, around her breast and down her side. Over her hip, then, to bury itself in the hair of her–oh! His every sense seemed hyper-acute: he caught and held like a drowning man to the scent of her; in which, paradoxically, he drowned.
He felt the drop of sweat that rolled along his own body, knowing somehow that it moved at her direction.

“Am I beautiful, Edmund?” she asked.

“Yes.” he breathed, enraptured by the sight. He had never seen a woman naked before, and he was nearly overcome by a feeling of...awe. And wonder. And fear.

“You’ve been a very good boy tonight, Edmund.” Camilla giggled, and Priscilla took breath for a comment that was never to be uttered. At a glance from Constance, both subsided into immediate, total silence. Edmund never noticed. His entire world had distilled and divided itself into a pair of bright green eyes.

“Green like a cat’s, when they see a mouse.” he thought “or a pitcher of–of cream.”

“Do you like to be tickled, Edmund?” she asked, casually toying with one toe, fingers poised at the sensitive instep below it. Slowly, deliberately she ran one finger up and down his foot. “I...I” he tried, but could only giggle helplessly.

The fiendish tickling had nearly driven him insane, with desire as well as with helplessness. He had ceased to think of escape, and only wondered how much longer this night would last. And whether it would outlast himself. He felt unable to bear another moment of being so helplessly tickled.

“Oh dear,” she purred, “poor, poor baby. Have we befuddled you? Priscilla, dear, do you think he enjoys our tickling?”

“Oh, I think so, Constance.” he heard the voice as though from far away, still rapt with fascination for Constance’s glorious nakedness. He heard no word at all of “In fact, I think he’s especially fond of being tickled right...here” until one delicate toe poked and wiggled into his side.

“Oh! Please!! NO! No–ho–hoo-hoo-sta-ha-ha-ha-haaap!
Pleeeasse!” He wiggled helplessly as Priscilla’s dainty foot explored his ticklish midsection, wriggling into his tummy and navel, then travelling on to burrow into the sensitive space between his scrotum and thigh.

“Mercy! Mercee-hee-hee-hee-stop-pleeeasse!!” His helpless giggling grew to a surprised whoop as Priscilla’s toe stroked upward along the length of his shaft. he felt as if he might burst, but then the demon foot was gone, nestled snugly up under its mistress. he stared guiltily, Constance hungrily, at the milky drop which dewed the tip of his near-painful erection.

“Constance” he begged “Constance please–no more.”

Did I truly ask that? he wondered. Camilla’s eyes were saucer-wide. Both she and Priscilla seemed as enthralled by Edmund’s naked body as he was by Constance’s. She was still perspiring (indeed, they all were), and Edmund unsuccessfully stifled a gasp as she leaned forward, hands braced on the bed, breasts hanging gloriously free as her eyes came closer...closer, burning brighter...brighter.

“Edmund” she breathed, “Priscilla thinks that you like to be tickled–right...here...”

As she spoke she drew her long nails along his side, across his stomach, and down to burrow into that same space–the oh-so-sensitive place between his scrotum and thigh.

“Ah!..Ah!..Ah!..Const-aance! Oh, please, please, please, please, please, please!” He nearly screamed, so horrible was the tickling–and more! She stopped, eyes wide with incredibly well- feigned innocence.

“Please what?” she asked. He didn’t know. He could only stare at those wide green eyes, the long–so long!–auburn hair; almost, but not quite touching and brushing his near-bursting penis.

Seeing the direction of his gaze, she lowered her head, the slightest bit, so that her long hair brushed delicately along his length. He moaned, nearly terrified at the thought of her long fingers repeating the action of her long, silky hair. He steeled himself to burst at the touch of her fingers along his swollen prick. She used her tongue. He screamed, or tried to, but he found his lungs had no breath. How long ago had he stopped breathing? He didn’t know, couldn’t think about it, as he desperately fought against the pulsing that quivered along his penis, threatening to pump the very life out of him. At last, the tingling subsided. He became aware of a firm, steady pressure at the base of his shaft, and realized what Constance had been up to with her long, slender fingers. French, he thought. I never should have taught them French. As the tension eased, so too did Priscilla and Camilla. Constance alone seemed tense–poised; as though about to spring.

“For the love of God, Constance” he moaned “Please, please just finish me!”
He yearned for her now–ached for her more than in his deepest most passionate dreams, the more so as her haughty, beaming face came closer, closer to his own. Her breath was sweet and cooling to his sweat-soaked face.

“Edmund,” she whispered softly. As to a lover, he thought, “not just yet.”
She swirled her fingers around his sides, watching raptly as he surrendered to helpless laughter, trailing her nails down his side and between his legs to tickle him under the scrotum. He convulsed with laughter, feeling again the swelling in his groin–the more so as her wrist brushed the sensitive underside of his again-rising penis.

“Camilla, dear” she asked, “Do you think our Edmund enjoys our tickling?”

Camilla was silent a moment, thrust as she had been, so abruptly from the sidelines into the limelight. But Constance did have such a sense of–of symmetry. Slowly, deliberately, she took a deep breath.

“No, Constance. No, I don’t.”

Edmund was shocked. Was this salvation–now, when he no longer wished it?
Damn! he thought, but quickly amended that to ‘Thank God’ in case his soul hung in the balance. Constance seemed surprised. Priscilla was openly dismayed.

“Camilla!” she exclaimed, “Do you truly think not? How could you think so?”

“I am...surprised, dear.” Constance managed. “Are you certain?”
Edmund held his breath...

“Quite certain.” Camilla said, folding her arms stubbornly. Dear child, Edmund thought. Only a month or so past eighteen summers, yet willing to stand against both her sisters to his own defense--thank God! he thought.

“I might say,” she went on, “that he has been ‘entirely disagreeable’ throughout.”

Entirely disagreeable. How many times had he himself applied such a label to the shy, retiring girl who would not speak her lessons. Yet now she spoke out, in his defense. He felt a pang of regret, recalling his idle threats then to...to... Oh, no.

“Camilla” Constance resumed, “That will simply never do.”

“And yet,” Camilla returned, faltering only a little under her eldest sisters scrutiny, “And yet, I do think he’s–he’s been absolutely horrid! There!”

“No!” From Priscilla.

“Yes?” From Constance.

“No!!!” From Edmund.

“Yes,” From Camilla. “Yes. And I think…”

“Please, no!”

“I should take him…”

“Please!”

“–over my knee!”

“Oh, God.”

“Why Camilla dear! Do you know, I believe you are correct.”

Constance seemed very happy. In the end (so to speak) it wasn’t very difficult for them. They only needed to release one arm and foot. Feebly, for some reason he could not explain, he had attempted escape, although he was foredoomed to failure. Constance, keeping tight hold of his ‘free’ foot had tickled unmercifully, long fingernails raking at his tender soles. Priscilla had attacked his sides, leaving him so helpless with laughter that Camilla had easily bound his left hand to the center of the headboard, followed by his right, and so on until he was bound, giggling and squirming, just as securely as before, face-down on the bed. Camilla, at his side, had managed to roll him over onto her legs, so that he lay across her lap, if not her knee. This put his penis in the very warm space between her thighs, try to ignore it though he might (which was, admittedly, not very hard--that is, his TRYING wasn’t very hard, although his penis–anyway...) He was painfully, blissfully aware of the warmth of her thighs against his shaft, which seemed ready to burst itself in passion. He struggled manfully, but could feel the pressure build. Turning, he could see as well as feel Camilla beside and beneath him, he sisters in silent attendance. In her hand was a plain, wooden-handled hairbrush.

“Do you remember, Edmund” she asked sweetly, “The many, many threats which you made against my person?”

“I remember.” Priscilla chimed in. “‘Miss Camilla’, he’d say, ‘you are being–”

“Entirely disagreeable!” all three chorused.

“That’s what he’d say. And then he’d say ‘Should you try any nonsense with me young lady, I shall take you over my knee as I would a child, for that is what you are.’ That is exactly what he said. Poor dear, I’d forgotten he’d been such a horrible brute.”

“I didn’t forget.” Camilla said solemnly. “It was not--” she said, bringing the back of the brush down hard against his bare buttocks with a resounding ‘Whap!’ “-very-” ‘Whap!’ “-nice!” ‘Whap!’

Edmund yelped again and again. The stinging of the wood against his bare flesh was a welcome– and erotic–relief from the feathery tickling, and he found himself almost eagerly awaiting the next sharp report. Priscilla seemed highly amused, encouraging her sister with

“Harder, Cammy, hit him harder!” Constance said nothing, but watched with frightening intensity. He could see the muscles of her nude body tense before each blow, and she regarded Camilla with what could only be affection and pride, as a servant who has performed an exemplary task.

‘Whap!” and again the wooden brush came down. He jumped again at its sting, the movement pressing his penis harder against the warm softness of Camilla’s thigh. She must have felt it as well, for she began to gasp, as did Edmund, with every report, and every ensuing thrust.

‘SMACK!’ He gasped in astonishment more than in pleasure or pain. That blow had not come from a hard wooden handle, but from a warm, soft hand! “Smack!” Again he gasped, the feeling becoming ever more erotic. He could feel the impression of her delicate fingers on his tender backside. Constance again laid knowing fingers at just the right spot to prevent his exploding, screaming in ecstasy, all over Camilla. He nearly wept in frustration before surrendering to the spasms that took his body, even as Camilla continued

“and never-” ‘Smack!’ “-do it-”

‘Smack!’ “-again!” ‘Smack!

‘Smack! Smack! SMACK!!’

He lay very quiet for what seemed an eternity. At last he felt himself being untied–no, only partially so--and rolled over again onto his back. When he opened his eyes, he was spread-eagled again, all three girls looking down at him. Priscilla was watching him very intently–her gaze far more penetrating than usual for the garrulous gadfly she’d been. Camilla, on his other side, looked for the first time directly at him, almost defiantly. Between them and—

“Oh, dear God!”

–and astride him was Constance. He remained very, very still. I shall never again hunt rabbit, he thought nonsensically. And yet he felt as though he was about to be rent asunder by these three bacchanalia–such was the look in their eyes. Constance leaned back, and he felt the warmth of her against his flaccid (but rising yet again) penis. Never before had he felt such arousal, such desperate hunger to–to–well, he could do nothing, tied as he was. But If Only... Constance, as though sensing his thoughts, leaned forward, placing her hands upon his chest. She swept them down along his sides as her lips came nearer...nearer to his own. A handbreadth from his face she stopped, staring deeply and longingly into his eyes. At last she spoke.

“Edmund. Dear, sweet Edmund.”

“Yes Constance, Yes!”

“I want you to know something, Edmund.” He waited, listening raptly–could only nod mute encouragement to the vision which hung before him...
“Before this very moment, Edmund...”

“Y–Yes?”

“We’ve only toyed with you.”

And then they pounced–all three of them–on every inch of his naked body. Priscilla tickled his neck–long fingers fluttering along his collarbone and around and under his arms. Camilla returned to his feet, fingernails scratching furiously at the ticklish soles, between his toes, and up and down his thighs. Then he felt even more tickling tortures–toes, tongues, hair–gliding and wriggling all over his body. He jumped, and felt his now-swollen phallus swallowed up by the warm, wet softness that he realized was Constance. Laughing hysterically, he hadn’t the breath to beg, to gasp, to do anything but squirm, wriggle, and writhe. And each wriggle drove him deeper into Constance. Moaning, gasping, she dug her fingers into his ribs. He whooped, bucked, and nearly exploded. His body ached for rest, but his long-denied penis begged for release. And there was no escape from the merciless tickling fingers, toes, and tongues. He came closer, closer to orgasm, and the closer he came the more sensitive-the more ticklish–his entire body became.
Constance–head thrown back, back arched, breasts thrust out–seemed oblivious to, or transported by, the pandemonium over which she reigned. Edmund felt fingers along his soles, wiggling along his sides, and the hot, throbbing grasp of Constance’s vagina on his swollen prick. And then he felt himself building to release.

Constance began to rock back and forth, faster and harder. Her sisters, in a tickling frenzy, began to lick and nibble at his ribs, toes, and neck; fingers wriggling over every inch of him. And it was building, building, exploding! He felt his life being pumped away, and the tickling ceased as Constance screamed–then fell forward onto him, grinding her lips against his own, driving her tongue as deeply inside him as he had been inside her, while the last tiny trickle of energy ebbed from man into woman. He felt the bonds about him release, and every muscle relax–like violin-strings abruptly cut–and then nothing.

He awoke only moments later (he thought) to find that he was indeed untied. Regardless he could not move. He heard someone (or some ones) moving about the room, but the effort required to open his eyes seemed exorbitant. He surrendered again to unconsciousness, waking only for a moment to the shrill, plaintive whine of Priscilla–sharpened by the first rays of dawn.

“But Cooonstaaance! What was it like?”

“You’ll see.” he heard (or thought he heard). “You’ll see. Perhaps tonight...”

THE END

Thank you Wildtime!

My God I'd forgotten how good this story was!

wow

oh wow! i was just thinking about this story the other day, wondering if it was still around or if anyone knew who wrote it! glad to see it again, it really is one of the best f/m stories I've ever read. thanks for reposting it.

It's one of the first F/M stories I found online when I first discovered I wasn't the only one. It's still one of my favorites. It has everything I want to experience.

looking for old f/m stories

this is one of a few stories i had on disk, but for some reason, it wouldn't open. Wasn't there a site that you could look for stories of the past ???? I'd love to get some of them back again...love the f/m stuff !!!!!

A very fun beuatifully written and erotic story.

The allltime classic in F/M

AMazing story. You felt like your in the room with him. Nothing better than a helpless man all bound up and the spanking was the icing on the cake.

Constance is my hero!

Jamie Footgirl said:

Constance is my hero!

Click to expand...

That makes you my hero

I remember first reading this maybe a decade ago (or a little less) on Josie's old site. Perhaps my all-time favorite F/M story.

I might be a little late to this…*but did anyone ever determine if this writer is still around and/or posting, maybe under a different name? I remember he had two other great stories on Josie's site —*"The Surprise" and "Island (or maybe it was "Isle") of Delights" —*that were also really, really good. Both were F/M, though the latter had some M/F, too.

WOW! This is the hottest tickling story I've ever read! I'd love to read more of this author's work.

Great. Sent you an E-mail for part 2 of another story. https://www.ticklingforum.com/showt...a-King-Private-Eye-Story&highlight=Diana+King