slacker2114
3rd Level White Feather
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- Apr 27, 2001
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Well, here's another story straight from my warped little mind to you. Enjoy! BTW, I am not a member of the so-called 'bondage community', so if I worded certain situations wrong, remember that it's just a work of fiction.
The Power of
Tickling
Mistress Kathleen was baffled. How is this possible, she wondered? The more she punished this little tramp, the more defiant she became. The mistress had exhausted all the usual implements to no avail. Nipple clamps, crops, whips, long hours of tight suspension, the rack, nerve wheels, even severe combinations of both. None of it worked. It seemed that no matter how much pain she inflicted on this new inductee, it only made her stronger, as if she liked, even thrived, on it. The mistress had never encountered someone with such a high threshold. This was not good. Having recently been granted the title of dominatrix, she knew her reputation was at stake.
When the Master of Shadows had brought this girl to Mistress Kathleen, he had been quite specific in his request. He wanted her totally broken before he returned from his business trip in two weeks. He wanted this new girl to be willing to do whatever he requested, whenever he requested and without hesitation. He was willing to pay handsomely for the mistress’ service, provided it was done to the letter of his instructions, within the 14 days he provided. More than enough time, he had assured. He had even hinted at the mistress indulging herself a little with this new little slave.
Now, with only four days left, the mistress was at a loss. This little bitch was going to ruin her before she could even get properly established. Visions of her shame and failure to break her first assignment flashed through her mind. These mental images seemed only to steel her, though, made her even more determined. Her eyes drifted across her office and settled on an oil painting of an eagle, hanging on her wall. Inspiration sparked in her mind and suddenly, she realized what she was going to do to break the seemingly unbreakable slave.
When next the mistress faced the new slave, she saw what had become the customary smirk on the little tramp’s face. The slave was standing with her arms ties above her head and a spreader bar between her legs. She was totally nude, with the exception of that cocky grin on her face.
“So, ‘Mistress’,” she said with obvious sarcasm, “still haven’t given up? Still trying to break me? You’re pathetic! I’ve met amateurs who were tougher than you.”
The mistress gave a rather dry smile. She had learned that verbal exchanges with this woman was pointless, seemed to even make her more defiant. Instead, she simply asked, “Are you ticklish, you little bitch?”
It could have been her imagination, but Mistress Kathleen could almost swear some of the venom in that sarcastic smirk had suddenly disappeared. “What kind of stupid question is that? You must be all out of tricks if you’re thinking of resorting to something so childish. Well, whatever. Do what you feel you have to do if it will make you feel better. You’re still not going to win. And by the way, no, I’m not so you’ll only be wasting your worthless time and giving me more to laugh at you for.”
The mistress considered the slave’s words for a moment. If this didn’t work, it was all over. But it HAD to work, there was no other way. It was well known what the Master of Shadows did to those who were unfortunate enough to fail him. Mistress Kathleen had no choice. Determined, she lightly traced her fingernails up the defiant slave’s ribs.
The reaction was music to the mistress’ ears. In the last ten days, she had gotten no reaction other than scorn from this slave. Now, the slave was suddenly twisting in all directions to get away, laughing insanely. And the mistress had barely touched her! Hope began to take shape in young Mistress Kathleen’s heart.
She continued the light fingernail dance up and down the bound bitch’s ribs, and to her delight, the slave squirmed more and more with each touch, laughing harder and louder than anyone the mistress had ever heard. She had found the defiant slave’s weakness!
Time to see where else she’s ticklish, thought the mistress as her fingernail flutters worked their way to the captive’s exposed and vulnerable armpits. Scratching lightly, being sure to agitate the slight stubble of hairs in the woman’s armpits, the mistress worked slowly and methodically, drawing the torment out and intensifying it at much as possible. She didn’t need to, as the slave screamed at the top of her lungs at the slightest touch on her underarms. The slave was laughing and screaming uncontrollably, pulling hard, but futilely on her bonds. The mistress’ fingernails stroked and caressed those armpits for what seemed an eternity to the slave before she felt them slip down around her breasts, gently circling the outside edges of her nipples. The intensity of the helpless captive’s laughter seemed to double, her screams echoing off the walls.
Unbelievable, Mistress Kathleen thought. She’s practically immune to pain, but tickling drives her crazy. This may not take too long after all. Her finger tracings slowly grew wider and wider, until they were soon circling the whole of each breast. Under the breasts seemed to be especially sensitive, so the mistress concentrated her efforts there for a while. The once defiant slave, through her streams of laughter, now began to beg pitifully for mercy from the mistress whom she had so much as spat at and insulted for the last ten days. Mercy was not going to be given any time soon.
Feeling almost like an explorer, Mistress Kathleen continued the ticklish dance of her nails across the helpless, quivering belly being sure to pay close attention to the bound slave’s belly button. A single fingernail traced lightly around the perimeter of the belly button, while her other hand did a spider crawl across the belly. The slave was now sobbing along with her laughter, tears streaming down her face, begging and whining pitifully for mercy. The mistress ignored the pleas and began to wander towards the exposed inner thighs.
The poor slave pulled herself up off the floor by her bound hands. The mistress thought the bitch was going to literally go through the ceiling. She was no longer laughing. Her sounds were more like howls, taken from deep within her soul and released in protest against the torture. The light touch of the mistress’ nails was maddening against the sensitive flesh of her thighs. Purposely it seemed, the mistress kept bringing her nails so close to her pubic area. Oh God, she thought, please don’t let her find out that I’m excited!
Fortune was not with the slave today, because Mistress Kathleen had already taken note of that little fact, but was not ready to act on it. She was having entirely too much fun making this little piggy squeal. That thought gave her another idea, but she would save that for later. Right now, she was enjoying the current torment she was inflicting on this pathetic slave. Her fingers seemed to be pressing all the right nerves, moving towards, but never touching, the obvious moistness that was spreading and slowly dripping down her legs.
It was too much for the slave to handle. She screamed for the torment to stop, begged for it end, promising anything, even taking back everything she had said about the mistress. The mistress was actually beginning to take pity on the poor girl, until she was reminded about the insults. The slave was broken, but for what Mistress Kathleen had put up with, breaking her was not enough. She wanted this little whore to fear the mistress, wanted her to never forget who it was that had broken her. She continued the thigh torment, occasionally wiggling her fingers behind the knees for variety, until the slave grew delirious and passed out.
What to do, the mistress mused. The slave was broken, there was no doubt about that. But it wasn’t enough. Mistress Kathleen wanted more. But what more could she do? Then she remembered her idea from earlier. Mistress Kathleen smiled wickedly at the slave, still completely out of it. “I will teach you to respect me,” she said quietly as she undid the captive’s bonds.
When the slave came fully back to her senses, she found herself tied with her feet up in the air and spread wide apart. The mistress stood over her, and for the first time, the slave felt respect for the woman. Looking upon her again, and realizing her torment was not over, she began to know fear. But before she could even croak out an apology and beg for mercy, her next torment began.
Mistress Kathleen actually admired the captive’s feet. They were unblemished and very soft and smooth to the touch. That is why the mistress had determined that fingernails would not suffice. If she truly wanted to punish this insolent woman who had sneered at her, something much coarser was in order. From behind her back, she produced a small straw hand broom and swiped it down one helpless foot.
The shriek that issued forth was one born of ticklish agony. Her feet were bound so that they could barely even twitch under the relentless strokes of the broom. From the ball of her foot, across her arch, and around her heel, the broom would run its course and then return to start all over again. Then she began to feel the prickly bristles of another broom on her other foot. The strokes went up and down her soles, slowly and steadily, evoking the loudest squeals of laughter either of them had ever heard. The sole stroking continued for almost half an hour, non-stop, drawing peal after peal of laughter from the helpless victim. Then it stopped. The captive dared to open her eyes to see what was happening. What she saw immediately made her begin begging in earnest all over again.
Mistress Kathleen was beginning to tie the slave’s toes so they were spread wide apart. Once that was done, she pulled out two long, wicked looking feathers. She twirled them for a moment in her hands, then began to saw them slowly and steadily back and forth between those helpless toes. The exhausted captive came to life, unable to do anything except scream and laugh. She could not even wiggle her toes against the maddening feathers. Her feet were completely vulnerable and there was nothing she could do about it. Through her cries and sobs of laughter, she begged the mistress to end the torment, promising she would do anything if only the mistress would please stop the maddening torment.
The mistress considered it for a moment. She had done what she wanted. She expected no further trouble from this slave. But she needed something else, something to top off the whole punishment. In a burst of inspiration, she grabbed a feather duster.
“You want it to end?” she said teasingly to the no-longer defiant slavegirl. “Very well. But it will not end the way you wish it to. It will end my way!” Then she lowered the feather duster between the exposed womanhood of her victim.
So many feathers rubbing between her legs at once! It was too much. She bucked like mad against her bonds to no avail. There was no escaping the insane feeling of the feathers. Then she felt one of the little brooms brushing one of her soles again. The scream of laughter that issued from her mouth actually seemed to shake the stone walls. Still, the torment did not relent.
Even through all the torture, she could feel the climax building. It was coming upon her, almost like the anticipation of a huge wave about to crash into the shore. The bristles on her foot and the feathers on her clit was bringing her to the most intense orgasm she had ever felt. This is what she wanted, what she craved. OH MY GOD, she thought to herself as she continued to laugh.
Just as the orgasm was about to overcome her, the duster was no longer between her legs. It was now stroking her other exposed bare sole, dancing in her arch and sliding between her toes.
“NO!” she screamed. “NO PLEASE LET ME CUM!” It was the most pathetic heartfelt plea Mistress Kathleen had ever heard. But she would not be swayed. She continued the foot tickling for a long, long time. She would continuously bring the slave to the brink of orgasm, only to return to the feet, never allowing the helpless captive to climax. The mistress was very happy with the way things had turned out.
Finally, after an hour of this torture, the mistress relented. But she was no fool. “You will remain tied in this position until I return for you in the morning. Tomorrow, your real training will begin.” Gently, she stroked one of the exposed soles with her index finger, drawing an agonized giggle from the exhausted slave. “You know what will happen if you disobey.”
Nodding, the broken slave acknowledged that she understood the price of failure. She would give the mistress no further problems. Mistress Kathleen smiled inwardly, knowing that she had accomplished her objective. Her reputation would grow. And without shame, would grow to become known as the ‘Mistress of Tickle’. A reputation well earned.
The Power of
Tickling
Mistress Kathleen was baffled. How is this possible, she wondered? The more she punished this little tramp, the more defiant she became. The mistress had exhausted all the usual implements to no avail. Nipple clamps, crops, whips, long hours of tight suspension, the rack, nerve wheels, even severe combinations of both. None of it worked. It seemed that no matter how much pain she inflicted on this new inductee, it only made her stronger, as if she liked, even thrived, on it. The mistress had never encountered someone with such a high threshold. This was not good. Having recently been granted the title of dominatrix, she knew her reputation was at stake.
When the Master of Shadows had brought this girl to Mistress Kathleen, he had been quite specific in his request. He wanted her totally broken before he returned from his business trip in two weeks. He wanted this new girl to be willing to do whatever he requested, whenever he requested and without hesitation. He was willing to pay handsomely for the mistress’ service, provided it was done to the letter of his instructions, within the 14 days he provided. More than enough time, he had assured. He had even hinted at the mistress indulging herself a little with this new little slave.
Now, with only four days left, the mistress was at a loss. This little bitch was going to ruin her before she could even get properly established. Visions of her shame and failure to break her first assignment flashed through her mind. These mental images seemed only to steel her, though, made her even more determined. Her eyes drifted across her office and settled on an oil painting of an eagle, hanging on her wall. Inspiration sparked in her mind and suddenly, she realized what she was going to do to break the seemingly unbreakable slave.
When next the mistress faced the new slave, she saw what had become the customary smirk on the little tramp’s face. The slave was standing with her arms ties above her head and a spreader bar between her legs. She was totally nude, with the exception of that cocky grin on her face.
“So, ‘Mistress’,” she said with obvious sarcasm, “still haven’t given up? Still trying to break me? You’re pathetic! I’ve met amateurs who were tougher than you.”
The mistress gave a rather dry smile. She had learned that verbal exchanges with this woman was pointless, seemed to even make her more defiant. Instead, she simply asked, “Are you ticklish, you little bitch?”
It could have been her imagination, but Mistress Kathleen could almost swear some of the venom in that sarcastic smirk had suddenly disappeared. “What kind of stupid question is that? You must be all out of tricks if you’re thinking of resorting to something so childish. Well, whatever. Do what you feel you have to do if it will make you feel better. You’re still not going to win. And by the way, no, I’m not so you’ll only be wasting your worthless time and giving me more to laugh at you for.”
The mistress considered the slave’s words for a moment. If this didn’t work, it was all over. But it HAD to work, there was no other way. It was well known what the Master of Shadows did to those who were unfortunate enough to fail him. Mistress Kathleen had no choice. Determined, she lightly traced her fingernails up the defiant slave’s ribs.
The reaction was music to the mistress’ ears. In the last ten days, she had gotten no reaction other than scorn from this slave. Now, the slave was suddenly twisting in all directions to get away, laughing insanely. And the mistress had barely touched her! Hope began to take shape in young Mistress Kathleen’s heart.
She continued the light fingernail dance up and down the bound bitch’s ribs, and to her delight, the slave squirmed more and more with each touch, laughing harder and louder than anyone the mistress had ever heard. She had found the defiant slave’s weakness!
Time to see where else she’s ticklish, thought the mistress as her fingernail flutters worked their way to the captive’s exposed and vulnerable armpits. Scratching lightly, being sure to agitate the slight stubble of hairs in the woman’s armpits, the mistress worked slowly and methodically, drawing the torment out and intensifying it at much as possible. She didn’t need to, as the slave screamed at the top of her lungs at the slightest touch on her underarms. The slave was laughing and screaming uncontrollably, pulling hard, but futilely on her bonds. The mistress’ fingernails stroked and caressed those armpits for what seemed an eternity to the slave before she felt them slip down around her breasts, gently circling the outside edges of her nipples. The intensity of the helpless captive’s laughter seemed to double, her screams echoing off the walls.
Unbelievable, Mistress Kathleen thought. She’s practically immune to pain, but tickling drives her crazy. This may not take too long after all. Her finger tracings slowly grew wider and wider, until they were soon circling the whole of each breast. Under the breasts seemed to be especially sensitive, so the mistress concentrated her efforts there for a while. The once defiant slave, through her streams of laughter, now began to beg pitifully for mercy from the mistress whom she had so much as spat at and insulted for the last ten days. Mercy was not going to be given any time soon.
Feeling almost like an explorer, Mistress Kathleen continued the ticklish dance of her nails across the helpless, quivering belly being sure to pay close attention to the bound slave’s belly button. A single fingernail traced lightly around the perimeter of the belly button, while her other hand did a spider crawl across the belly. The slave was now sobbing along with her laughter, tears streaming down her face, begging and whining pitifully for mercy. The mistress ignored the pleas and began to wander towards the exposed inner thighs.
The poor slave pulled herself up off the floor by her bound hands. The mistress thought the bitch was going to literally go through the ceiling. She was no longer laughing. Her sounds were more like howls, taken from deep within her soul and released in protest against the torture. The light touch of the mistress’ nails was maddening against the sensitive flesh of her thighs. Purposely it seemed, the mistress kept bringing her nails so close to her pubic area. Oh God, she thought, please don’t let her find out that I’m excited!
Fortune was not with the slave today, because Mistress Kathleen had already taken note of that little fact, but was not ready to act on it. She was having entirely too much fun making this little piggy squeal. That thought gave her another idea, but she would save that for later. Right now, she was enjoying the current torment she was inflicting on this pathetic slave. Her fingers seemed to be pressing all the right nerves, moving towards, but never touching, the obvious moistness that was spreading and slowly dripping down her legs.
It was too much for the slave to handle. She screamed for the torment to stop, begged for it end, promising anything, even taking back everything she had said about the mistress. The mistress was actually beginning to take pity on the poor girl, until she was reminded about the insults. The slave was broken, but for what Mistress Kathleen had put up with, breaking her was not enough. She wanted this little whore to fear the mistress, wanted her to never forget who it was that had broken her. She continued the thigh torment, occasionally wiggling her fingers behind the knees for variety, until the slave grew delirious and passed out.
What to do, the mistress mused. The slave was broken, there was no doubt about that. But it wasn’t enough. Mistress Kathleen wanted more. But what more could she do? Then she remembered her idea from earlier. Mistress Kathleen smiled wickedly at the slave, still completely out of it. “I will teach you to respect me,” she said quietly as she undid the captive’s bonds.
When the slave came fully back to her senses, she found herself tied with her feet up in the air and spread wide apart. The mistress stood over her, and for the first time, the slave felt respect for the woman. Looking upon her again, and realizing her torment was not over, she began to know fear. But before she could even croak out an apology and beg for mercy, her next torment began.
Mistress Kathleen actually admired the captive’s feet. They were unblemished and very soft and smooth to the touch. That is why the mistress had determined that fingernails would not suffice. If she truly wanted to punish this insolent woman who had sneered at her, something much coarser was in order. From behind her back, she produced a small straw hand broom and swiped it down one helpless foot.
The shriek that issued forth was one born of ticklish agony. Her feet were bound so that they could barely even twitch under the relentless strokes of the broom. From the ball of her foot, across her arch, and around her heel, the broom would run its course and then return to start all over again. Then she began to feel the prickly bristles of another broom on her other foot. The strokes went up and down her soles, slowly and steadily, evoking the loudest squeals of laughter either of them had ever heard. The sole stroking continued for almost half an hour, non-stop, drawing peal after peal of laughter from the helpless victim. Then it stopped. The captive dared to open her eyes to see what was happening. What she saw immediately made her begin begging in earnest all over again.
Mistress Kathleen was beginning to tie the slave’s toes so they were spread wide apart. Once that was done, she pulled out two long, wicked looking feathers. She twirled them for a moment in her hands, then began to saw them slowly and steadily back and forth between those helpless toes. The exhausted captive came to life, unable to do anything except scream and laugh. She could not even wiggle her toes against the maddening feathers. Her feet were completely vulnerable and there was nothing she could do about it. Through her cries and sobs of laughter, she begged the mistress to end the torment, promising she would do anything if only the mistress would please stop the maddening torment.
The mistress considered it for a moment. She had done what she wanted. She expected no further trouble from this slave. But she needed something else, something to top off the whole punishment. In a burst of inspiration, she grabbed a feather duster.
“You want it to end?” she said teasingly to the no-longer defiant slavegirl. “Very well. But it will not end the way you wish it to. It will end my way!” Then she lowered the feather duster between the exposed womanhood of her victim.
So many feathers rubbing between her legs at once! It was too much. She bucked like mad against her bonds to no avail. There was no escaping the insane feeling of the feathers. Then she felt one of the little brooms brushing one of her soles again. The scream of laughter that issued from her mouth actually seemed to shake the stone walls. Still, the torment did not relent.
Even through all the torture, she could feel the climax building. It was coming upon her, almost like the anticipation of a huge wave about to crash into the shore. The bristles on her foot and the feathers on her clit was bringing her to the most intense orgasm she had ever felt. This is what she wanted, what she craved. OH MY GOD, she thought to herself as she continued to laugh.
Just as the orgasm was about to overcome her, the duster was no longer between her legs. It was now stroking her other exposed bare sole, dancing in her arch and sliding between her toes.
“NO!” she screamed. “NO PLEASE LET ME CUM!” It was the most pathetic heartfelt plea Mistress Kathleen had ever heard. But she would not be swayed. She continued the foot tickling for a long, long time. She would continuously bring the slave to the brink of orgasm, only to return to the feet, never allowing the helpless captive to climax. The mistress was very happy with the way things had turned out.
Finally, after an hour of this torture, the mistress relented. But she was no fool. “You will remain tied in this position until I return for you in the morning. Tomorrow, your real training will begin.” Gently, she stroked one of the exposed soles with her index finger, drawing an agonized giggle from the exhausted slave. “You know what will happen if you disobey.”
Nodding, the broken slave acknowledged that she understood the price of failure. She would give the mistress no further problems. Mistress Kathleen smiled inwardly, knowing that she had accomplished her objective. Her reputation would grow. And without shame, would grow to become known as the ‘Mistress of Tickle’. A reputation well earned.
Thanks for the great read, man !
