Sisters (F/m)

This is an F/m story. If you don't like that, don't read it. All of the characters in this story are 18 years old or older. There is some adult material in this story.

Sisters (F/m)
by Milagros

Bill had never been in a class with her before, but of course he knew who Patricia was. Three years ago, as the college basketball season got into full swing in the spring semester of their freshman year, her picture had been all over the sports page of their college newspaper. Touted as the one who would return the women's basketball program to the prominence not known since her oldest sister had graduated in 1992. Mary Murphy, at 6'2", had been the star and captain of that team. In her senior year, she had gotten Woodrow College to the round-of-16 in the NCAA March Madness, but in that round, they had been eliminated by the UConn women. Anne, the next Murphy sister, class of 1994, had been only 5'11", and had played a supporting role on a team that got into the NCAA tournament, but was eliminated in the first round. Kerry, the third sister, class of 1997, had been 6' tall, but relatively unskilled at basketball, and Woodrow hadn't been back to the women's NCAA tournament since 1994, before Patricia.

Patricia, the fourth and youngest sister, had Mary's height, and perhaps even more than her skills. Injuries had limited her playing time in the springs of 1999 and 2000. As a junior, and team captain, in March of 2001 she had the team back in the NCAA tournament, where they once again reached the round-of-16, but were once again eliminated by UConn. Now, in spring 2002, the coach had hopes of reaching the final four.

Bill wasn't surprised that she had never been in a class with him before. He was a business student, majoring in accounting, and she was a pre-law student, majoring in political science. In this, the spring of his senior year, he was treating himself to a film course, and recognized Patricia on the first day of class, in January. Not that he spoke to her. He was quite shy, and she was out of his league, in any case. At a mere 5'8", he was six inches shorter than Patricia, as well as being unathletic. He was sure that she had less than no interest in men like him.

Bill usually sat in about the third row of seats in his classes, in the center of the row. This gave him a good view of all three chalkboards, and, in this class, of the screen, when they actually watched a film. Patricia, he noticed, used two chairs--one that she sat in, in the fourth row, diagonally behind him, and to his left. And one that she turned around backwards, and used as a footrest,in the third row, directly to his left. All through January and February, he was frequently glancing leftward at her large feet, always in white socks and sneakers. He wondered if the feet inside were pretty.

One day in early March, as class ended, he stared at her feet, imagining that he was pulling the laces on her sneakers open, then slowly pulling the sneakers off. He stared and fantasized, oblivious, as all of the other students and Prof. Katz left the room, with only him and Patricia remaining. As he reached the stage of imagining pulling one of her socks off, Patricia, who had been observing him, spoke, startling him.

"They're size 11, if that's what you're trying to guess."

"Oh, umm, I, uh, ..." was all that Bill could manage to say, as he turned red.

"Don't be embarrassed. No need to turn beet red."

Bill remained silent, frozen, afraid to speak, and turned even redder.

"Really, don't be embarrassed. Lots of guys notice my feet, especially at the pool at the club in the summer. They're quite lovely, I've been told. And some of the women on the basketball team stare at them in the locker room, too."

"I wasn't, umm, that is, uh, I wasn't really ..."

"Oh, don't worry," she interrupted him, "I'm not angry at you. It's kind of sweet that you're so shy. I'll tell you what. I'm going to be very busy until the NCAA tournament is over, but after it is, why don't we have dinner?"

"Really?"

Bill's tone was so sincere and so happy that Patricia had to laugh.

"Yes, really. Give me your phone number, and I'll call you."

Bill quickly wrote down his dorm phone on a sheet of paper, and added his name, William Lamb, in case she didn't know it. Giving her the paper, he said a quick 'thank you' and left the classroom, not trusting himself to speak coherently. Patricia glanced at the paper, folded it, and put it in her notebook. She was thinking that little Billy had possibilities, and hoping that he was ticklish.

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During the NCAA Women's Basketball Tournament, there was no bigger fan on campus than Bill. He rooted for his school to do well, and especially for Patricia to excel. The 2002 squad did better than any previous Woodrow team, reaching the round-of-8. But there was to be no final four appearance; the Lady Volunteers of Tennessee sent them home, 76-50.

Patricia called him on March 27, but said that she would spend Easter in Florida with her parents, and could not see him until after Easter. She told him to meet her outside his dorm at 6pm on Friday, April 5, and to dress casually.

Bill was outside waiting at 5:55, quite nervous, but relieved when Patricia showed up at exactly 6 o'clock. He was slightly disappointed that, on this warm spring day, she still wore heavy white socks and sneakers.

"I'm parked on West Drive, come on," she said, and took him by the hand. Her grip was firm, and Bill followed along happily. He gasped when he saw her car, a BMW, a sporty model that must have cost well over $50,000.

"Is that yours?"

"Sure, get in."

As she drove, Patricia explained that her parents, now aged 65 and 60, had retired to Florida more than four years ago, after her graduation from high school, when her father's heart condition was diagnosed. Michael, her father, had turned over Murphy Construction Company, his original business, to his four daughters, in equal shares. He had also deeded them the large house they had all been living in. The he had sold his other businesses, and his real estate holdings, and moved south, where, he announced, he would go fishing every single day that God gave him. Retirement, and the lack of stress from business, seemed to agree with him, more than four years later.

Mary, then 28, and vice president of the construction company, became the president. The company had thrived, and Patricia's share of the profits was considerable, although she didn't say what. She did say that she could buy a new sports car every year, if she wanted to.

"So you four sisters still live together?"

"Well, Kerry moved out when she got married, three years ago, but she came back this year, after her divorce. That bastard!"

Bill decided not to pursue the topic of Kerry's ex-husband. Over dinner, he and Patricia talked about their years at Woodrow College. Upon learning that he was an accounting major, she explained that Kerry had been also, and was now a CPA, and did all of the accounting for Murphy Construction, among other clients. Anne had been a pre-medical student, and now practiced internal medicine. Mary had always worked summers doing construction, since high school, and knew every aspect of the business, from first hand experience.

Bill explained that he had only one sibling, an older sister, and that their parents had died in a car accident in 1999.

"How awful!" said Patricia, "Then, you must be really close to your sister."

"No, not really," said Bill, and she decided not to press him.

After dinner, Patricia was direct.

"Let's never argue about money. When we go out, we'll always just split it."

Bill grinned, noting her presumption that they would be going out again. He didn't know what he was doing right, but he was very pleased. He didn't ask where they were going next--perhaps she had liked the fact that he hadn't asked where she was going on the way to the restaurant.

They seemed to be going further into the Pennsylvania countryside, away from the College and away from the interstate. She drove fast on the rural roads, taking corners like an expert. Half an hour later, they came to a very large house, half a mile from the nearest neighbor.

"I wanted you to see where I live. This was once a farm."

"Sure."

As they walked in the door, a woman just as tall as Patricia, but with red hair instead of blonde, approached.

"This is Bill, my friend from college," said Patricia.

"Hi, I'm Mary," said the woman, shaking hands with a very firm grip.

"Pleased to meet you," said Bill.

Mary just smiled as Patricia took his hand and led him upstairs, half-way down a very long hallway, and into a bedroom.

Bill blushed at finding himself in her bedroom, and looked around. There was a large armchair, with an ottoman in front of it, and a large television mounted on the wall, in the perfect spot for viewing from the chair. An open door behind the chair led to a bathroom. There was a desk and a computer table next to it, against the far wall, near the window. A king-sized bed was in the middle of the room.

Patricia sat in the armchair, and put her feet up on the ottoman. Bill didn't know what to do--the only other chair in the room was far away, at the desk. But he didn't feel comfortable with the idea of sitting on her bed. She solved his dilemma by speaking.

"It's really sweet of you to blush at being in my bedroom. I like shy men, that's part of your charm for me, Billy. Now, I did a lot of walking today, and my feet are really tired. So I want you to give me a foot rub. Will that be fun for you?"

"Yes, oh, yes!" said Bill, as he knelt by the ottoman, and reached towards the laces of her left sneaker.

"Are you experienced at giving massages?"

"No, not really, but I'm very willing to learn," said Bill, as he completed untying both sets of laces.

"OK, here are the basics. Always use both hands. Do most of the work with your thumbs. Watch what you're doing, at all times, and concentrate on my feet. You should never be looking up at my face, nor talking to me. Concentrate on your work. Go slowly from heel to toe, and rub each toe separately when you get there. Work slowly and carefully. I'll tell you whether the pressure that you're using is too soft, too hard, or just right. I'll tell you when to switch feet, and I'll tell you when the massage is over. Don't answer me back when I give you instructions, just keep working, and keep concentrating on my feet."

By this time, he had carefully removed both of her sneakers, and gently pulled off both of her socks. Her feet were truly lovely, he thought, she must really take care of them. The soles were a creamy, pale pink, with whiter skin on her high arches. Her toes were long and well-shaped, neither too bony nor too fat. Her veins were not prominent. Her nails looked professionally pedicured, but clear polish had been used, giving them a natural look. There were no rough spots or dead skin. She cold see the awe in his face.

"Yes, I had a pedicure on Wednesday. I have one every week--it's one of my luxuries. Now, get started on my left foot."

Bill knew to keep quiet, as he'd been told, and began by pressing both thumbs into the heel of her left foot. He proceeded as she had indicated, slowing his pace when she told him to, and adjusting the pressure at her direction. He soon got into a rhythm, taking about ten minutes to go up her foot from the heel to the base of the toes, and then another five minutes rubbing and rolling the toes, before starting again at the heel. He swtiched feet as directed, and made no comment when she picked up a book and read as he worked, still giving him orders from time to time. When his fingers got tired, he ignored it, and kept working.

After an hour and a half, just when he thought his fingers were too numb to continue, she told him to stop.

"Stop. I need to use the bathroom. You can use a guest bathroom, two doors further down the hall, on the right."

She got up and went into the bathroom, through the door behind the armchair. He waited until she closed the bathroom door to get up--he did not want her to see his erection. He found the guest bathroom, and calmed himself down enough to urinate. He went back to the bedroom, and knelt by the ottoman, ready to resume the massage. She sat down, and put her still bare feet up on the ottoman. As Bill reached up to resume, she stopped him.

"No, that's very kind of you to be ready to continue, but I've made you work long enough. Your fingers must be tired. Did you enjoy it?"

"Oh, yes, Patricia. Thank you for allowing me to rub your very lovely feet. Thank you so much." His sincerity was obvious.

"You're certainly welcome, Billy. I'll drive you home soon, and I don't want an awkward moment when we get to your dorm. This is our first date, and I don't believe in kissing on the first date, or the second date, either. So don't even try. Just shake my hand. Understand?"

"Yes, Patricia," said Bill, as he started to stand up.

"No, stay where you are for a minute. I want to test your self-control."

Bill got back to his kneeling position, and wondered what was going on.

"Clasp your hands behind your back, don't talk, and keep as still as you can," she ordered, and Bill did so.

She rubbed her left foot on his right cheek, forehead, nose, chin, and right cheek again. Then she rubbed her right foot on his left cheek, forehead, nose, chin, and left cheek again. Both feet were now resting on his cheeks. His erection was huge, he realized. He kept still. She removed her feet.

"Very good, Billy. Now close your eyes, and stand up, but keep your hands clasped behind your back."

Bill did so, but soon blushed bright red, as he realized that she could now see his erection.

"No need to blush, Billy, it's perfectly natural. It just means you were telling me the truth when you called my feet 'very lovely.' I really like you, Billy. Now keep quite still, and don't make a sound."

She got up from the chair, and went around behind Bill, whose eyes were still closed. She dug her thumbs into his lower rib cage, on both sides, and then all ten fingers, wriggling them furiously.

Bill jumped up into the air, shrieked and howled with laughter, flailed his arms, and then fell down onto the floor.

"Oh, my, you really are quite ticklish. Your self-control disintegrated--you didn't keep quiet or still."

"I've always been dreadfully ticklish, I'll never be able to stay quiet or still if you tickle me. I'm so sorry that I hit you--I didn't mean to." One of his arms had struck her as he had flailed before falling.

"No harm done, sweety. We'll see each other again next Friday. Is the same time OK?"

"Sure, next Friday at 6 is fine."

Patricia put her socks and sneakers back on, and drove him back to the campus. As promised, she just offered her hand to shake before he got out of the car. Once in his room, he gratified himself quickly, remembering the sight and feel of her beautiful feet.

As she drove home, Patricia had this thought: He's perfect, he's just what we want. I'll have to reel him in slowly.

[to be continued in this thread]

Sisters (F/m) Part 2

Their second date, a week later, was about the same as the first. Bill knew what to expect, so he was less nervous. When the time came for him to close his eyes, stand up, hold still, and be quiet, he was expecting to be tickled, so he didn't scream or jump up off the ground. He did, however, laugh loudly, wriggle wildly, and flail his arms, hitting Patricia again. He managed not to fall down.

"Don't worry, Billy. I wasn't hurt when your arm hit my elbow. And I do want to see you again next week. Be ready to be picked up at 6 on Friday, and have a bathing suit with you."

"Sure," said Bill, wondering where the swimming pool was--he had not seen one near the house. On the way out, all the other sisters were downstairs, and he greeted Mary, and was introduced to Anne and Kerry. They were all beautiful, he told Patricia on the drive back to campus, but she was the most beautiful.

"That's very sweet Billy," she told him, tickling him under the chin with her right hand, as she held onto the wheel with her left. Billy squealed, and moved rightward, away from her tickling fingers.

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On Friday, April 19, Bill was excited as he waited for her, holding a rolled towel with a bathing suit in one hand. It was their third date, and he had hopes of some new intimacy. Patricia was punctual, as usual, and drove straight to her house, instead of to a restaurant. Bill made no comment, having learned that she liked to make the plans, and didn't like to be questioned. She took him to a room at the back of the ground floor, where there were two hot tubs, one full of water and bubbling away, and the other empty. The hot tub that was ready for use would hold two adults, Bill saw, but the empty one was much larger--it could hold at least half a dozen.

Patricia went into a small bathroom off the hot tub room, and emerged wearing a bikini. Bill watched, in awe at her fabulous figure, as she got into the jacuzzi.

"Change and join me, Billy."

He needed no urging, hung his clothes in the bathroom near hers, and was soon in the hot tub next to her.

"Mary brought home pizzas, on her way home from work, and she'll bring them to us soon. But now let me show you that I like you."

She leaned over, grabbed him, and kissed him full on the lips. He kissed back eagerly, and parted his lips. He felt as if he were in heaven. After some time, she pulled back.

"That was just fine, Billy, I liked that a lot, but now you're all excited."

They both looked down at his erection, obvious even though it was under the bubbling water.

"I suppose that I'll just have to distract you from lustful thoughts now."

Patricia moved forward, until he was pressed against the side of the jacuzzi, unable to retreat or climb out. Then she dug her strong fingers under his arms, and began to scrabble with her fingernails. Bill went wild, shrieking with uncontrollable laughter, and trying to pull her arms away, but he wasn't able to budge them. She tickled and tickled his armpits, and he turned red, as he laughed and laughed, until tears ran down his cheeks. After ten minutes, he was unable to struggle much--he just he kept laughing and crying at the same time, and gasping for air.

"My, my, isn't he the ticklish one," said Mary, as she put down two medium pizzas and two beers on a table.

"Yes," said Patricia, "he's extremely ticklish, and that's definitely part of his charm. He's so cute! I can't resist the urge to tickle him. But I guess we have to eat before the pizza gets cold. Thanks so much, Mary."

She stopped tickling him, and, as he started to collapse into the water, picked him up and carried him to one of the chairs at the table.

"You're welcome. Bye, Pat. And good-bye, ticklish Billy."

Bill was still catching his breath, and didn't answer. After he recovered, they ate the pizza, Bill consuming four slices, and Patricia devouring nine.

Bill took the opportunity to explain something as she ate.

"It's not just that I don't like the actual sensation of being tickled, it's more than that. It brings back awful childhood memories. My sister, Alice, is five years older than I am. Both of our parents worked when I was in grade school. She used to tickle me every schoolday afternoon, quite cruelly. She would pin me down, and tickle me without ever stopping. Until I cried, until I couldn't breathe, until I wet my pants. Then she would make me clean up the mess, and, usually, tickle me again."

"That's awful, Billy, I didn't know," said Patricia, between bites of pizza.

"That's why we're not close, I never forgave her. I haven't even invited her to my graduation next month. It only stopped when I was 13, because she went away to college. Then I grew to be as tall as she is, so she didn't even try, after she flunked out of college in her sophomore year, and came back to live at home again."

Patricia wiped her mouth and hugged Bill. She gave him a passionate kiss.

"Poor dear. Let me make you a promise, Billy. I promise that I will never tickle you again, unless you yourself ask me to. I'll make it stronger than that--unless you _beg_ me to. Alright?"

The world now seemed all bright and wonderful to Bill.

"Yes, more than alright. I love you so much, Patricia, so much."

"I love you, too, Billy. Now let's go up to my room. I want an especially long foot rub tonight."

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After two hours of massaging her feet, Patricia told him that she had had enough, and went to her bathroom. Bill went to the guest bathroom down the hall. When he came back, Patricia was seated in the armchair, but had moved the ottoman away from it.

"Billy, there's something that I want you to do, but only if you're willing."

"Sure, what is it?"

"I want you to lie down on the floor, with your head sticking out from under the seat of this chair, and I want you to lick my soles. Will you do that for me?"

Bill smiled. He'd been afraid that she was going to ask to tickle him, in spite of her promise.

"Sure," he said, "It's going to be a privilege to lick _your_ beautiful soles, my love."

Billy got down in the indicated position, and extended his arms out from under the chair, to hold her left foot.

"No, Billy, keep your arms at your sides. Use only your tongue. And, just like when you're massaging me, don't talk to me, just concentrate on your task."

Bill did as he was told, and soon, by her instructions, he was licking slowly and deliberately, with full tongue extention, from her heel to her toes. She picked up the remote control, and began to watch a movie on the TV. She switched feet about every 15 minutes during the film. Although Bill's tongue became tired, and his mouth dry, he never complained, but just kept licking.

When the film was over, just under two hours, Patricia told him to go get himself a drink of water, and to bring a towel to dry her feet. As he dried them, she spoke to him.

"Some of my previous boyfriends refused to lick my soles at all, and the others all stopped, complaining about the taste, or that their tongue was tired. None lasted more than 30 minutes. You're the best, Billy. Thank you."

"I meant it when I said it was my privilege. I thank you for allowing me to lick your lovely soles. And the taste was wonderful."

At that she stood up and kissed him, and then stimulated his erection with her hand, keeping it outside his bathing suit. He had been excited so long, that it only took two minutes for him to climax.

"My angel," said Patricia, "you just leave the suit down in the bathroom where your clothes are, and it will be washed and ready for you by next Friday. Let's go get dressed, and I'll drive you to campus."

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For the next three Fridays, through May 10, their dates went about the same way, with dinner in the hot tub room, hours of attention to her feet, a hand job for Bill, and no tickling, nor even any mention of tickling.

When Bill explained that he was worried that he had not found
employment yet, that none of his interviews with accounting firms had yet produced an offer, Patricia had a solution.

"Of course it's hard for you to find a job with no actual experience, just as you're getting your degree. I've talked to Kerry, and she's willing to hire you to be her associate for a year. The salary isn't large, but it will get you experience to put on your resume. And we all want you to move into our house, right after graduation. You'll have your own room, of course, at first."

"Really?" asked Bill, in a tone of awe and grattitude.

"Absolutely," said Patricia, giving him a big kiss.

[to be continued in this thread]

Sisters (F/m) Part 3

And so it was settled. They graduated together on Sunday, May 19, and Bill vacated his dorm room and moved into the Murphy's house the next day. His room was a respectable five doors down the hall from Patricia's room. Kerry said that he deserved a little vacation, and that he would start work for her on Monday, June 3. Patricia was taking the summer off before her law school classes began in September. They spent four idyllic days together, while the three older sisters were at work. Of course, Patricia asked for a long foot rub every morning, and again every afternoon, with a sole-licking session after each. Bill was all too happy to oblige. He was in paradise.

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Friday, May 24, their fourth day together, was the start of Memorial Day Weekend. The three older sisters were all home from work by 6pm, and Patricia had dinner ready for them. She had Bill fill the large hot tub while she cooked. After dinner, they all got into bathing suits and relaxed there. Surrounded by four gorgeous women in bikinis, the love of his life and her three sisters, Bill felt as if he were in heaven indeed.

Mary smiled, and said "The last time I saw Billy in a hot tub, that one," pointing to the smaller jacuzzi, "he was laughing and laughing, with tears flowing down his cheeks."

"Was Pat telling him funny stories?" asked Anne, in an innocent tone.

"No, she was tickling him," said Mary, with a gleam in her eyes.

"How fascinating," said Kerry, with the same gleam in her eyes. "And are you ticklish, Billy?" she asked.

Bill seemed just a little nervous as he answered.

"Yes, I've always been extremely ticklish. I can't stand it, I just dread it, so your dear sister has promised never to tickle me again."

"Did you promise him that, Pat?" asked Anne, again with an innocent tone.

"Yes," said Patricia, "more exactly, I promised never to tickle Billy again, unless he himself begs me to do it."

Bill calmed down, reassured that she had repeated her promise in front of all of them. But Mary, standing next to him, scooped him up in her strong arms, and carried him out of the hot tub.

"Well," said Mary, "I've certainly made him no promises, and Pat's promise doesn't mention what I will or won't do."

"Pat's promise doesn't mention me, either," said Anne.

"Nor me," said Kerry, as she and Anne climbed out of the hot tub, leaving Patricia in there alone.

"No!!" screamed Bill, in a panic, "Please don't!"

But Mary put him down on the floor, and knelt with each of her legs pinning down one of his arms. Kerry and Anne each sat on one of his legs. Mary dug into both of his armpits, sometimes poking, and sometimes scratching with her nails. Anne reached up to knead his lower ribs with both hands. Kerry grabbed the toes of his left foot, bending them back, and used her other hand to scratch his flexed sole with her nails.

Bill went wild, screetching and howling, thrashing, unable to dislodge them. He laughed and laughed, unable to speak. After 10 minutes, his face was red, and tears began to flow from his eyes. After 20 minutes, he wet his bathing suit--he had had a beer at dinner. After 30 minutes, Anne and Kerry switched roles, with Kerry digging into his ribs, and Anne working on his right foot. By this time, Bill was into the stage of silent laughter. His mouth still made laughing motions, but he didn't have enough breath to make a sound. His weakness made him unable to struggle, he just quivered under their fingers, a quaking mass of ticklish flesh, utterly helpless and at their mercy. But they showed him no mercy, and continued to tickle without a pause. Mary looked down into his eyes, and began to taunt him.

"Poor little ticklish Billy! Tickle, tickle, tickle, tickle. We're not going to stop. Oh, no. We're going to tickle you for hours, and I do mean that, literally. All evening long. It's so much fun to tickle you--every squirm and wriggle that you make entertains us and amuses us. Tickle, tickle, tickle. Poor Billy-boy, poor little tickle-toy. Tickle, tickle, tickle. You're so cute! We just can't resist the urge to tickle you, Billy. And we don't have to. So we'll just tickle, and tickle, and tickle even more."

After a full hour, Bill actually fainted. They got off of him, but stayed nearby, as Anne checked his pulse.

"He'll be fine. Just let him rest for a few minutes. Let's rotate places."

And so they did, with Anne pinning his arms down, and Mary and Kerry on his legs. Billy awoke, and looked frantically around for Patricia. She had come out of the jacuzzi, and was sitting in a chair watching. He locked eyes with her, and spoke in desparation.

"Tell them. Please stop them, tell them why I hate it, why I can't stand it. Please tell them! I love you."

Patricia sighed. "And I love you, too, Billy, but I'm not your guardian. You're on your own defending yourself against my sisters. I will tell them. Billy has a sister, Alice, five years older than him. She used to tickle him, every day after school, without mercy, until he cried and peed in his pants. This went on for years, until he was 13, and she went off to college. There, Billy, I told them. But don't cry to me for help. You have to defend yourself."

"But that just proves that Billy _can_ stand it, because he _did_ stand it, from Alice, for years, and he survived to tell the tale," said Anne.

"Enough talking, more tickling," said Kerry, as they all began again. Patricia pulled her chair closer, to get a really close look, as her sisters once again reduced him to a quivering mass of very ticklish flesh, feebly squirming as they continued to tickle-torture him, all through the evening.

At midnight, when Bill awoke from his fifth time fainting, Mary carried him upstairs, to the room he had moved into, and tossed him onto the bed. He was still weak, and just lay there, suprised when Anne produced a straightjacket, and put his arms into it.

"What? What's going on?"

"Don't give us trouble, Billy," said Anne, as she began to buckle all of the straps. "You heard Pat. She won't help you, you are free to try to defend yourself, but I don't recommend that you try to fight us. Any one of us could take you apart, easily. But Pat does love you, and we don't want to hurt you. So don't make trouble."

"All will be clear to you by the end of this weekend, Billy," said Patricia, "I promise that. I do love you. And I do keep my promises."

Anne had finished buckling all of the straps, and Patricia told her sisters to close their eyes, which they did. She removed Billy's bathing suit, cleaned his private parts, and put an adult-sized diaper on him. Then she gave him a passionate kiss on the lips.

"Open your eyes," she then said, and the sister did so.

"She's quite concerned with your modesty," said Kerry, as she produced a set of padded ankle cuffs, and locked them, with small padlocks, around his ankles. A 3-inch chain was then locked to the cuffs, holding them close together. Kerry used ropes to tie each cuff, via a D-ring, to the nearest lower bedpost. Finally, Mary tied ropes from D-rings on the shoulders of his straightjacket to the upper bedposts.

"All secure for the night," announced Mary, as she kissed him on the forehead.

"Sleep tight," said Anne, doing the same.

"And wake up bright," said Kerry, also kissing his forehead.

"In the morning light," said Patricia, kissing him deeply on the mouth, this time with her sisters watching.

They left him to sleep.

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Bill awoke at 9am, because Anne and Kerry were tickling his feet with toothbrushes. Mary and Patricia just watched, as he shrieked and thrashed, and laughed uncontrollably.

"His feet seem to be his most sensitive spot," said Anne, "but it's so hard to keep them still, until we get him up to the attic."

Bill was trying to speak through his laughter, but he was not able to be understood.

"Listen, Billy-boy," said Mary, "from now on, you are forbidden to speak, unless we specifically give you permission. We'll gag you if we have to. The only thing I want to hear from you is laughter. If you understand, then nod."

Bill nodded his head, and ceased trying to talk.

"Good," said Mary. "And you'll see the furnishings that I built up in the attic soon enough. I'm an expert carpenter, among other skills, from my early years working in construction."

Kerry had switched from a toothbrush to a used ballpoint pen, out of ink, running it up and down his left sole. It produced a better tickling effect than the toothbrush had, but it was Anne who had found a truly devastating implement. She was running the tines of a sterling silver fork all over his right sole, and Bill was thrashing as if electrocuted. So Kerry tossed aside the pen, and used a fork also. In just 20 more minutes, he was a mere lump of ticklish flesh, a quivering jelly, helpless as the forks ran over his soles. In ten more minutes, he fainted.

"I'll change his diaper and feed him some breakfast, and then you can have him to take up to the attic," said Patricia.

--------------------------------------------------------

After breakfast, carried up to the attic by Mary, Bill was stunned when he looked around. It was a large house, and the attic was enormous. It had been finished, but not divided into rooms. A bathtub, sink, and toilet were in plain view against one wall. A refrigerator was next to the sink. There was a sturdy brass bed, just like the one in the room he'd been in, with four posts. There was a small table, and a few chairs around it. Those were the only pieces of ordinary furniture. The rest of the attic was filled with bondage equipment, as would be found in a dungeon, he supposed. Bill had realized that a straightjacket and ankle cuffs didn't just happen to be lying around the house, that his capture had been planned. But he now realized the extent of the planning--the stuff up here hadn't been built in a day, or even in a week. He kept his mouth shut as Mary sat him, still in his diaper, straightjacket, and ankle cuffs, in a bondage chair.

Rings in the backrest of the padded chair were locked onto the D-rings on the shoulders of his straightjacket. Three thick leather straps were buckled around his chest and belly, holding him firmly to the backrest. The back of his head fit into a padded clamp, which was adjusted to hold his head still. Thick straps on the seat secured his thighs. His ankle cuffs were removed, and a set of stocks was carried over. His ankles were locked into the padded holes of the stocks. He saw ten wooden rods extending upwards from the top of the stocks, in perfect position to tie his toes back. Anne and Kerry proceeded to bend each toe back, and to tie them with twine, leaving his soles flexed, immobile, and utterly vulnerable.

At this point, Patricia came up into the attic. She took a long, slow look at him, observing all of the details of his bondage. She bent down and studied the stocks, and the way that all of his toes were tied. She smiled at him.

"You aren't doing very well defending yourself against my sisters, Billy. They seem to have put you in a situation that I would describe as ... _ticklish_. The straightjacket keeps your arms and hands imprisoned, and it's locked to the chair's back at your shoulders. The leather straps insure that you can't even wriggle away from the back of the chair. The clamp makes it so that you can't move your head. Your ankles are locked in the stocks, and your thighs are strapped to the seat of the chair, so they can't wriggle, either. Best of all, your toes are tied back, firmly, so that your tender soles are flexed and vulnerable, and you can't move them at all, not one tiny fraction of an inch. And you have such ticklish soles, Billy! As I see it, my sisters seem to have you utterly at their mercy."

At this point, Patricia took six forks out of her purse, and handed two to each of her sisters.

"I just happened to be carrying six forks with me, Billy. I think that that is somewhat unlucky for you, considering what the tines of a fork can do to your ever-so-sensitive soles. I'll be leaving now,
and I won't be back for several hours. But I'm sure that I can count on my sisters to keep you from being bored while I'm away. Poor, ticklish Billy! From the looks of keen anticipation on my sisters' faces, I would say that you are _really_ in for it, Billy."

As Patricia left the room, Mary glanced at her watch; it was 10:30am. The three of them began to scrape the forks along his soles, endlessly plowing parallel grooves in his soft skin. Bill went mad, laughing and laughing, trying to thrash, but being barely able to move in his restraints. It was sheer agony, as all six forks kept moving, exploring every wrinkle and crevice on his soles, never resting. He sobbed, and, as tears flowed down his cheeks, Mary taunted him.

"You're in for it now, Billy-boy. Four solid hours without a rest, not even when you faint. We'll just keep tickling. This should make your torture at Alice's hands seem mild. Your poor soles will turn pink soon, and we're going to keep it up until they're red, beet red, just like your face is already. Poor little Billy. Tickle, tickle, tickle, tickle. Four whole hours. Tickle, tickle, tickle."

True to ther word, they scraped his soles even when he fainted, so that he would wake up to the sensation. His soles did turn pink, and then red, as he suffered, and sobbed, and squirmed. He was in a timeless hell, of pure tickle-torture, and each minute was like an eternity to him. Even when 2:30 came, and they finally stopped, he kept quivering and sobbing for another three minutes.

Anne brought a Slim Fast shake for him to drink for lunch, and also lots of water, as he was thirsty. Then she addressed him.

"You are now going to be allowed to speak. Tell us what statement you would make to Patricia, if we go get her. Think carefully, and make it 25 words or less. Just speak as if she were here, and say what you would say to her."

Bill gulped, and didn't think at all; he couldn't. He just blurted out, "Please make them stop! If you love me at all, make them stop tickling me."

The three sisters all groaned. Kerry spoke for all of them.

"You disappoint us, Billy. That's not even close to what's required. So now you'll get four more hours, in a new position."

It took them a while to get him loose from the chair and stocks, and they decided to change his diaper and give him a quick bath--he really stank. (In Patricia's absense, they had no regard for his modesty, and he was tickled senseless, beyond caring.) After the bath, they put him in a new diaper, and that was all he wore.

By the time they had him moved to the rack, and stretched him out, so that he was taut but not in pain, it was 3:45pm. Mary noted the time as she dug into his rib cage, on both sides. Anne and Kerry each poked at one of his armpits. He began to shriek, but could not manage to move, just to pull on the four padded cuffs. The three women were relentless, all 30 fingers tickling him all of the time. This session it was Kerry who taunted him.

"Poor Billy, you're not very bright. You should have known what Pat wants to hear from you. Tickle, tickle, tickle. We've got it written down for you, so all you have to do tonight is memorize it and say it to her. Tickle, tickle, tickle. Does that tickle? Does it really? All ten of my fingers, wriggling in your armpit? Tickle, tickle, tickle, tickle. Poor baby. Four whole hours, and no rest for you in sight. Tickle, tickle, tickle. You're just so cute when you're helpless, no wonder I can't resist the urge to tickle you."

Each time Billy fainted, they just kept tickling him anyway, to be sure that he'd wake up to continued tickling. He again lost all sense of time, and just suffered and suffered as they gleefully watched his rib cage and the skin under his arms turn red. Enjoying themselves so much, they lost track of time as well, and went past the four hours, to 8pm, before Mary noticed. Each minute had been an eternity of suffering for Bill, who quaked and sobbed for five minutes after they had stopped.

They released him from the rack, and gave him water, as he sat, dazed, on the floor.

"You've got two choices, Billy," explained Kerry. "You can memorize this statement, and make it to Pat, or you can go back to the chair and stocks. If you go back, then we'll sleep in shifts, and tickle your feet all night long, for 12 full hours. Which will it be? You may speak."

She handed him a paper, and he answered before even reading it.

"12 hours would kill me; I'll make the statement."

Billy gasped when he read the paper, but, just the same, he memorized the statement. Kerry went downstairs to get Patricia, and Mary told him to be on his hands and knees for her.

"That's a rule for you, too," she added. "Whenever you're not in bondage, and not already under orders, you should be waiting on your hands and knees, ready to obey us."

Patricia entered the attic with Kerry, and smiled down at Billy, who was waiting patiently on his hands and knees.

"I understand that you are ready to speak to me, my love. Go ahead, but keep it to 25 words or less."

Bill bit his lip, and said, "I most humbly _beg_ you to tickle me, as often as you want to and as long as you want to, every single day."

"Oh, thank you, Billy, that's just what I wanted to hear! That releases me from my promise. How sweet of you, Billy. Here is your reward: I'll often order you to give me foot rubs, by the hour, and I'll often order you to lick my soles, also by the hour. During those hours, you won't be tickled. Even better, Billy. I'm giving my sisters permission to do the same--I'm sharing your services as a foot-slave with them. So I want you to be grateful to them also, whenever they allow you to rub their feet, or lick their soles. Nod if that's clear to you."

Bill nodded, and all four sisters laughed at him.

Mary spoke next. "You may feel that your statement was coerced, and therefore not valid. Such may be true in ordinary law. But we're not
in a courtroom; we're in this house. And in this house, there is only Murphy's Law."

The four all laughed again. Bill stayed on his hands and knees, trembling. Patricia took pity on him.

"You've had a hard day. So we're going to feed you, and put you to bed early. You'll need your rest. Tomorrow is going to be a long day for you."

Patricia left the attic. Kerry and Anne fed him a meatloaf sandwhich, and gave him another bath. Then they left. Mary put him in the straightjacket and secured him to the brass bed in the attic, exactly as he had been the previous night in the ordinary bedroom. Alone with him, she spoke all four lines of the rhyme, and kissed his forehead four times:

"Secure for the night [kiss],
"Sleep tight [kiss],
"And wake up bright [kiss],
"In the morning light [kiss]."

As the attic had no windows, only ventillating fans, the last line seemed inappropriate. Mary bent down and looked deep into his eyes.

"Patricia was right. You're perfect. We'll keep you."

[to be continued in this thread]

Sisters (F/m) Part 4

Bill awoke Sunday morning, May 26, at 8am sharp. Anne was tickling his left foot with two forks, and Mary was doing the same to his right foot. Kerry was tickling his ears and nose with two Q-tips, and Patricia was tickling him under the chin with all ten fingernails. As Bill laughed and laughed, until he cried, he did notice that they had brought an armchair and ottoman, identical to the ones in Patricia's bedroom (except for the color of the upholstery), into the attic. This pleased him--he really would have some respite from the tickling, serving at their feet. As they kept tickling him, Patricia spoke to him.

"Good morning, my love! I've got a wonderful day planned for you. A half hour of this wake-up tickle, and then some cereal and coffee for breakfast. Then we'll introduce you to a new bondage device--Mary built so many of them, it will be a while before you've experienced them all. You won't much like your morning tickling session, I'm afraid. But the afternoon will be more fun for you, I promise. Oh, you're so _cute_ when you're helpless, I just love you to pieces!"

Kerry handed her the Q-tips, and Patricia took over tickling his ears and nostrils. Kerry went downstairs to get his breakfast, as the other three kept tickling him.

At 8:30, they released him from the bed and straightjacket, and he was allowed to eat his breakfast at the small table, after he had been changed and bathed. Then they brought him to the hoist, his first experience with it. He was ordered to kneel on two padded indentations in the floor, and his knees were strapped down to them. His ankles, again in cuffs, were locked to bolts in the floor, leaving his bare feet, soles up, on the floor. His big toes were tied together, and then to a ring in the floor. His wrists were raised above his head, and placed in padded cuffs attached to the hoist. The hoist was mounted on a support beam above him, and soon Patricia was turning the crank, raising his arms high above his head, until they were taut.

"Oh, don't you look deliciously helpless, my love, utterly helpless and totally vulnerable!" exclaimed Patricia. "Just the way that I love you most of all--utterly at our mercy, and ready to be tickled."

She ran one fingernaill along his sole, causing a shriek.

"But this is a strenuous position, so this tickling session will be only three hours," she added. Mary began scratching at his left armpit, and Kerry at his right armpit. Anne played his rib cage as if it were a piano. Patricia began to run two forks over his left sole. As the women tickled and tickled him, Bill had no escape from their attentions. He could only laugh and laugh, until his face turned red, and tears flowed freely down his cheeks. After 40 minutes, he was in the jelly state, merely able to quiver and suffer, as they tickled and tickled without mercy. They kept it up, tickling without a pause, for the whole three hours.

As Patricia and Kerry went down to eat lunch, Mary and Anne released Bill, and put him in the straightjacket and ankle cuffs. They sat him at the small table, and went down for their lunch. Patricia and Kerry returned, with a Slim Fast shake for his lunch. Then they placed him under the armchair, with his head sticking out in front of the seat. Patricia sat in the chair, and removed her sneakers and socks.

"You know what to do. Begin," she said, as she picked the book that she had brought to read. Bill began licking her right sole, which she dangled just over his lips, with long strokes, from heel to toes. He luxuriated in not being tickled, and licked and licked with enthusiasm. Kerry watched with interest.

"He does that well. It's my turn next."

"Sure. That's why I didn't get a masage first, to leave time for all of you to get your soles licked."

Every 15 minutes, Patricia changed feet. She frequently wriggled her toes in pleasure as Bill kept licking. At 2pm, she got up, propped up his head, and let him drink water through a straw.

"What do you have to say to me, Billy? Speak," she said, after he finished the water.

"Thank you ever so much for allowing me to lick your lovely soles, Patricia."

Kerry now sat in the chair, having already taken off her clogs and socks. Bill noted that her feet were a little smaller than Patricia's perhaps size 10, and not as well cared for--there were some callouses and rough spots. Of course, he said nothing, and just licked her left sole with concentration, over and over again.

"It's actually rather soothing. I like it. I wasn't sure that I would, but it is a nice sensation," said Kerry.

"Enjoy," said Patricia, as she left, "I'll send Anne up at 3pm."

Kerry had really gotten into the pleasurable feeling of his tongue on her soles, when Anne showed up, announced that it was her turn, and kicked off her flip-flops.

"OK," said Kerry, with a sigh, as she got up, and picked up her socks and clogs. "What do have to say to me, Billy? Speak."

"Thank you ever so much for allowing me to lick your lovely soles, Kerry."

"You're welcome, Billy. But don't expect me to go easy on you in your evening tickle session," she said.

Then to Anne, "I'll send Mary up at 4pm."

Bill noted that Anne had the smallest feet of the sisters, about size 9-1/2, and that they were well cared for--soft and free of rough skin, like Patricia's. He licked and licked, and gratified to hear her say that she liked it. She then began reading a medical journal, and remained quiet, changing feet often, as she read. She was lost in the journal, and startled when Mary came up, clomping in in heavy boots.

"I put my size 11-and-a-halfs in thick socks and heavy boots, just so they'll be nice and sweaty for him," said Mary, as Anne got up, and put her flip-flops back on. As Mary sat at the small table, and began to remove her boots, Anne invited Bill to speak to her.

"Thank you ever so much for allowing me to lick your lovely soles, Anne."

"You're welcome, Billy, and I'll see you after dinner."

Mary, now in the armchair, placed a bare foot that was indeed sweaty, and also grimy, over Bill's lips, and he began to lick the full length of her sole, over and over again.

"Very good, Billy. I'm glad I heard no complaints from you. I'll be listening to music now, so you just concentrate on your work."

She put on her diskman headphones, and listened, as he licked and licked. Her feet tasted acidic, and she had many callouses. But he just kept licking, with feigned enthusiasm. She changed feet every time a new song started on the CD. She was sorry when the hour was over, and Patricia came up with Bill's supper.

Mary got up, and put one foot gently on Bill's forehead, pressing down only lightly.

"What do you have to say to me, Billy? Speak."

"Thank you ever so much for allowing me to lick your lovely soles, Mary."

"That's sweet of you to say, but weren't they all sweaty?"

"It is a great privilege to taste the sweat and grime off _your_ feet, Mary, and I was honored to do it."

"You're maybe smarter than I thought, Billy. You can be quite polite when you make the effort. Looking forward to tickle-torturing you after dinner."

As Mary left, carrying her socks and boots, Patricia lifted him into a chair at the small table, and feed him his dinner, leaving him in the straight jacket and ankle cuffs.

"I'm proud of you, Billy. That was a good answer. No matter how sweaty or filthy her feet are, always tell Mary what a great privilege it is for you to lick them. Now you've gotten a taste of all of my sisters' feet, and I expect you to be very, very grateful and very, very thankful whenever you are allowed to lick them."

His dinner being finished, she changed his diaper, and carried him to the bondage chair. By the time she had him secured, with his ankles in the stocks, and all ten toes tied back, her sisters had come back upstairs, having finished an early dinner.

"It's only 6pm. Can he stand five hours?" asked Patricia.

"Sure, his heart is strong. He's a healthy young man. You chose him well," said Anne.

"And he's had the whole afternoon to rest up from being tickled," said Mary, "so five hours he will get."

With that, the sisters began to drag 8 forks all over his soles, and the long evening of tickle-torture was underway.

---------------------------------------------------

Five hours later, Bill didn't feel healthy; he felt half dead. He barely noticed what was happening as they changed his diaper, bathed him, and secured him into the brass bed in his straightjacket, in the usual manner. Why they recited that silly rhyme and kissed him, he didn't know, but they did it again, and then he slept like a log.

[to be continued in this thread]

Sisters (F/m) Part 5

On Monday, May 27, Memorial Day, Bill was awakened at 8am with all four of them at his feet. Anne and Kerry were holding his toes back with one hand, and scratching the balls of his feet with the other. Patricia and Mary were each running two forks over his heels and arches. They were having so much fun with the wake-up tickle that they decided to turn it into his morning session, skipping his breakfast. So they just kept tickling him, turning him into quivering jelly, unable to laugh out loud or to stuggle. By noon, he was completely exhausted.

After they had bathed him, and put him is a fresh diaper, they allowed him to eat a large lunch, unbound. Then it was back into the straghtjacket, ankle cuffs linked together, and in position under the armchair. Mary went first this time, and her feet were not sweaty. They had been bare all morning, and they were absolutely filthy. As Bill licked and licked the grime off her soles, she explained things to him, about the Murphys.

"As a child," said Mary, "I tried to tickle my sisters. But they never laughed, none of them is ticklish. Neither am I, by the way. So I would find classmates to tickle during recess, and it wasn't hard to overpower them. I was always the tallest student--not just the tallest girl--in my classes. By age 10, I was known as a terror in the schoolyard, and the teachers kept an eye on me. So I was frustrated--an eager, sadistic tickler, with no victims."

Mary paused as she changed feet, and then continued, as Bill kept licking.

"When I was 16, I had a golden opportunity. A boy asked me out on a date, and, for the first time, my parents agreed that I was old enough to allow it. He was 17, and had his driver's license. We went to a movie, and I let him give me one kiss in the theater. I was already 6 feet tall then, but he didn't seem to mind being a few inches shorter. I told him that my parents wanted me home by 10, when they actually had said 11. So he drove me home at 10, and he was surprised when I asked him to come in the house. He was even more surprised when I jumped him in the recreation room, and pinned him down. Anne and Kerry were waiting with ropes, and we hog-tied him. We took off his shoes and socks, and pulled up his shirt. We all tickled him for an hour, and I went upstairs at 11, to pretend that I had just come home. Kerry and Anne were still tickling him when I came down and joined them again. We drove him nuts. We tickled until he cried, until he begged for mercy, until he wet his pants. We were still tickling him at 1am, when my mother finally noticed that we weren't in our bedrooms, and found us. She made us untie him. You should have seen him run out of the house! He was too embarrassed to tell what we'd done to him, so he just told all the guys at school that I was a lesbian, and I had no more dates that year."

Mary paused as she switched feet again, and, observing the sole of the foot he had been licking, smiled in approval that it was now almost clean. Bill continued licking the other foot.

"We were punished for that episode, but it didn't keep me from capturing my dates, and tickling them silly. As did my sisters, when they got old enough to date."

Kerry then spoke up. "I thought that I had found the perfect tickle-toy in my husband. He was kind of kinky, and he didn't mind that I loved to tie him up and tickle him, especially since we would always have sex afterwards. Susan Sarandon was right: Men will do just about anything, if you convince them that it's foreplay. But he refused to live here, with my sisters. So we had an apartment in Cranston, 20 miles away. One Christmas, when we were staying here for the holiday, I tied him tightly, and then invited all my sisters in to share the fun. Big mistake. The fun lasted all night, but when we untied him in the morning, he drove off. Kept driving until he got to Nevada, where he filed for divorce. The bastard!"

As Bill kept licking, Mary resumed the explanation.

"So that's when I started my project, remodeling the attic, turning it into a sound-proof, well-equipped dungeon. The sound-proofing is overkill, you know how far the nearest neighbors are. But even if people are right in the house, there's no chance anybody will ever hear a sound from this attic. I did a really good job of it. And it was fun building all the aparatus. I just bought a few kinky magazines, and copied what I saw. All four of us were resolved, that when we found the perfect tickle-toy, he would never escape us. That's you, Billy-boy. End of explanation. We all agree that Patricia wins the pool."

Bill didn't speak, but he did jerk his head in surprise, and then resumed licking.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you. We put $100,000 from last year's profits into the tickle-toy pool. Right after the divorce. To go to whichever one of us supplied the perfect tickle-toy. It goes to Pat, no question. It was her idea to have a man who would also be our foot-slave. She's really into having her feet worshipped. And I must admit, I'm starting to see why. Your busy tongue is quite soothing on my soles, and I'm flattered by your thanks when you finish. But make them more profuse from now on, I insist on it. Or else you'll get pure tickle-torture, with no rest."

The remainder of Mary's sole-licking session passed in silence. Bill had to admit that Patricia had kept the promise about the situation being made clear to him before the weekend was over.

"What do you have to say to me, Billy? Speak."

Mindful of her instructions, Bill came up with this:

"Thank you ever so much for allowing me to lick your very lovely soles, Mary. I am deeply honored to be permitted to taste the dirt off of your sacred feet, and deeply grateful for the respite from being tickled, which proves that you are most kind, as well as being most beautiful."

"I suppose that will do, Billy. But from now on, address me as 'Mistress Mary,' and similarly for all of my sisters. Understand? Speak."

"Yes, Mistress Mary."

Without further prompting, Bill gave his profuse thanks three more times that afternoon, after licking the soles of the women that he now addressed as Mistress Anne, Mistress Kerry, and Mistress Patricia.

-------------------------------------

After dinner that evening, Bill was stretched out on the rack for his evening tickling session. As she dug into his left armpit, Patricia spoke to him.

"So now you have the whole explanation, Billy. But you should know that I really do love you. Not as a boyfriend, no, but as my tickle-toy, and my foot-slave. To be shared with all of my sisters, of course. You'll love being our foot-slave, I'm sure of that. I could tell that from back when you were staring at my feet in class. Just think of the tickling as the price you have to pay to be our foot-slave. This attic is your permanent home now, you'll never be allowed out of it. Anne will see to your medical care. You're such a perfect tickle-toy, so cute, so sweet, so shy, so polite, and so very, very ticklish. I really do just love you to pieces."

When secured to his bed at midnight, Billy wondered what the next day would be like, with the three older sisters at work.

----------------------------------------

Tuesday, May 28, set the pattern for work days. Bill was awakened at 6:30am, with Mary, Anne, and Kerry tickling his feet with forks. They kept it up, without mercy, for an hour, turning him into quivering jelly.

"So glad to wake you up, Billy-boy. Now we all need to go to work. So you can doze off again until Pat gets up," said Mary.

He did doze off again until 9am, when Patricia woke him up with more foot-tickling. She stopped after half an hour, and took her time bathing him and feeding him breakfast. Hobbled at the ankles, he waited on his hands and knees for further orders after breakfast. She sat in the armchair, and put her bare feet up on the ottoman.

"I want a long foot rub. I haven't had one since Friday. Get started."

For over two hours, Bill was happy to rub her feet. At 1pm, she ordered him to stop, and received his profuse thanks. Then she got up and got their lunches, after buckling him into the straightjacket. After eating and feeding him, she moved the ottoman away, and got him into position for a sole-licking session. After an hour of licking her soles, Bill again gave his profuse thanks, of course addressing her as 'Mistress Patricia.' The rest of the afternoon, she had him stretched out on the rack, and tickled his ribs and armpits. By the time her sisters were home, at 6:30pm, she had already fed him dinner, and had him back on the rack, ready for an evening session. The older sisters took dinner breaks at different times, so there were always at least two of them, as well as Patricia, tickle-torturing him throughout the evening, until 11pm.

------------------------------------------------

So it went, the last few days of May, all of June, and well into July. On weekends, all four of them tortured him, all day, pretty much as it had been on Memorial Day Weekend. On workdays, his schedule resembled the one described above, except that he was introduced to more equipment, to bind him in different positions. Bill believed that things might improve for him in September, when Patricia would start her law school classes. He even dreamed of possible escape, with none of them home during the days.

But disaster struck on Saturday, July 27. After lunch, secured in the bondage chair and stocks, he was stunned to see a new face--that of his sister, Alice. He kept his mouth shut, as Alice smiled, picked up two forks, and began to tickle his feet. After letting her enjoy herself as a solo tickler for ten minutes, all four of the Murphy sisters joined her. They gave him a four-hour session, with ten forks plowing furrows in his soles, and no mercy. They kept tickling him even when he fainted, which was five times. After they finally stopped, Alice spoke to him.

"So there I was in Florida, working as a secretary, for a miserable $22,000 a year, before withholding. And I get a phone call from Mary here, which I don't quite believe, but she sends me the plane tickets, and the thousand dollar advance, so maybe I do believe it. And I come here, and I see that it's all true. So I'm staying. This is my new job, baby brother, guarding you. Five days a week, with weekends off. Room and board free, I'll sleep up here, and keep an eye on you during the nights. $35,000 a year, they're going to list me as an executive secretary at Murphy Construction. But best of all, Billy, my darling baby brother, are the fringe benefits: I get to keep you in bondage, all the time, and tickle you, and tickle you, and tickle you, and then tickle you even more, as much as I want to. And I _do_ want to, Billy. Very much. To make up for all of the years when I couldn't. It's going to be wonderful for me, Billy, just a dream come true. But a real nightmare for you."

As Alice grinned and smirked, Bill's heart sank. Patricia patted him on the cheek, and turned to Alice.

"And don't forget, he must always call you 'Mistress Allice,' lick the soles of your feet on command, and thank you profusely for the privilege."

Alice giggled, as she sat down in the armchair and kicked off her sandals.

"Not forgotten. Please carry him over here, so he can start doing that now. I'd like to see what it feels like."

The Murphy sisters all laughed, as they began to remove Bill from the bondage chair.

The End

Excellent, once again Milagros. I always enjoy your stories.

Thanks, Jerry. I appreciate the positive feedback.

PS The sisters originally had a different name, in the first draft, but then I decided to put in the joke about "Murphy's Law."

Another outstanding story!

Milagros is one of the rare breed of tickling fiction authors that actually manages to envoke my sympathy for the ticklish victims of his tales. Not an easy task.

Well done

Morandilas
MTJ Publishing

MTJpub said:

Another outstanding story!

Milagros is one of the rare breed of tickling fiction authors that actually manages to envoke my sympathy for the ticklish victims of his tales. Not an easy task.

Well done

Morandilas
MTJ Publishing

Click to expand...

Thank you for your kind comments. The male protagonists in my fiction stories, with the exception of Mike in "Cousin Laura's Revenge," are generally well-meaning fools who fall into the clutches of very sadistic women ticklers. So they do deserve some sympathy.

But mostly I envy them.

I envy them too....keep the stories coming.
I sign on evey night hoping that there will be some Fm stories
even though I realize they will continue to be the minority.
Thanks...keep em rolling

Good Lord...

Im ususally not into anything /m....but that story....wow....I actually felt sorry for the poor guy....I would rather die then go through that...

milagros, you sick sick puppy . . . how is it I can envy someone and pity them at the same time??

Teezable, Krokus, and tklr5150: Thank you for your kind comments.

Whether the protagonist would rather die or not is not relevant. Alice and the Murphy sisters will never let him commit suicide; they are having too much fun tickle-torturing him.

How can you envy and pity the protagonist at the same time? That is the very nature of tickling--I desperately want it to stop, but ten seconds after it does stop, I desperately want it to start again.

A nightmare captured...

<p>Like any truly memorable nightmare, your cagey tale ('Had to sneak
a hoops reference in here somewhere!) twists the perception of time
passing until it seems to be standing horrifically still. It ends at a shuddering point which causes the dreamer/reader to bolt upright, clutching one's surroundings to keep from falling and to
reassure oneself that all is well, the nightmare is over...<p>
<p>...Over, that is, until the dreamer/reader falls asleep/begins reading the story all over again...<p>
<p>This story has elements of the classic cautionary horror tale (You
know: the "Be careful what you wish for--for you might get it" genre).
Only, for many of us, we're not so sure whether Bobby's fate is be
scrupulously avoided--or even MORE fervently wished for. What's
terrific about "Sisters" is that it easily supports such disparate
reactions."Sisters" captures exquisitely the "Please do!/Please don't!" tension inherent in an interest in tickling--and in the very experience of being tickled itself.<p>
<p>Thanks for so wickedly adding to MY delicious nightmare file (as if it weren't full enough, thanks to this Forum)!<p>

Please post more stories

dolphanon said:

Please post more stories

Click to expand...

http://www.ticklingforum.com/forumdisplay.php?137-milagros317-s-Story-Archive

Nice when an older tickle story pops back up, isn't it.

Volsung said:

Nice when an older tickle story pops back up, isn't it.

Click to expand...

In this case, a story that is old enough to vote (over 18).

milagros317 said:

In this case, a story that is old enough to vote (over 18).

Click to expand...

You win. My oldest tickle story is in 2008.