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WE KNOW YOUR WEAKNESS
Story Excerpt: Dominant Material By J.R.
The van’s driver window unrolled slowly, and a guy stared at her. He looked to be in his early twenties, not the balding, middle-aged gut-bucket Lydia had been expecting. That was a rather pleasant surprise, though she still wouldn’t rank this guy very high on her “most attractive toy-dominant” list. He was skinny to the point of scrawniness, dressed in a suit that, if more or less tasteful and expensive-looking, wasn’t exactly her idea of a master’s get-up. His dark hair was shaggy, with massive side-burns that brought back bad memories of the 70s. Mirror shades hid his eyes, making his long, sallow face look like that of a giant insect.
“Well, well, now,” he said, leaning out the window with an unpleasant grin. “And what have we here, eh? Are we lookin for fun, darlin?” His voice was startling; a nasal whine with a definite brogue. Odd, Lydia thought. Sam had never mentioned that his “friends” were Irish. He was alone in the van’s front seat; Lydia assumed Sam must be in the back, waiting for her.
“If you’ve got fun, I’m up for it,” Lydia said. She was trying to sound game, rolling her shoulders in a way meant to look slutty, but she knew she was just coming off bored and mean. Well, to hell with it. Lucky the Leprechaun could just deal.
“Aaah, now,” Lucky said, grinning and reaching a hand out to tap thoughtfully on the van’s door. His hand was remarkably large, with long, bony, white fingers, one of which bore no fewer than three heavy silver rings. “She’s up for it, is she? A brave lady, is that the message I’m receivin?” He didn’t tell her to get in; he just sat there grinning at her with his wide, lipless mouth.
“Brave. Yeah. Sure. Whatever.” Lydia was already circling the van, making for the door opposite the driver’s side. It was starting to get dark and the drunks stumbling up 14th for their nightly can of Red Bull were getting progressively larger and uglier. She pulled on the handle, rattling it impatiently. If they were going, they needed to go now.
“Heaven help us,” Lucky breathed. “Really a goer, now ain’t she? Ain’t she just? You’re quite positive you know what you’re doin there, sweetheart? You’re quite sure you want to come with us?”
“Just let me in and let’s go, okay? I’ll get in character later.”
Lucky rolled his eyes and leaned over his shoulder. “You heard the lady,” he called, speaking to someone in the back of the van. “Open up for her and let’s be on our way.”
The side-door slid open, revealing the van’s dark interior. Lydia climbed in and the door slid shut with a slam behind her. The van’s engine grumbled, and the floor shifted under her feet, nearly costing her her balance. They were on their way, alright, moving at a speed that had to be well above the city speed-limit.
Lydia stared around her, holding onto the van’s walls. It was really dark in here; after even the dim light of the street-corner, she was blind as a bat. Someone was moving directly in front of her, but she couldn’t make them out at all.
The someone reached up and turned on an overhead light set into the van’s ceiling. The interior was suddenly flooded with light. Lydia found herself blinking at a girl. It was difficult to tell how old she was, though she was almost certainly younger than Lydia herself. She was a head or so shorter as well, with long blonde hair and a thin, oddly impassive-looking face. Something about her large, staring blue eyes gave Lydia the creeps. The girl wore a pink sweatshirt with a fluffy kitten on the front. The shirt, as well as her blue-jeans, seemed a bit too large for her skinny frame; her long bare toes protruded from the jeans’ drooping cuffs. The whole outfit was even less suggestive of a dominant than Lucky’s. Maybe she was another “slave,” Lydia thought.
Something struck her abruptly. “Where’s Sam?” she asked.
The girl didn’t answer. Still staring, she reached out a hand and ran her pale fingers down Lydia’s cheek, down her throat and over her chest. Before she could so much as jerk away, the girl’s hand was on her right boob, thumbing her nipple with what felt like the surety of long experience. The girl’s hand was cool - almost cool - but her thumb made Lydia’s nipple stiffen immediately, leaving it aching.
“Alex,” the girl said, not taking her eyes off Lydia’s. “Aaalex...who is she?” Her voice was flat and unaccented, and it - even more than her eyes or her touch - gave Lydia a chill. “Why’d you make me let her in, Aa-alex?”
“She’s a new friend, Feather darlin,” Lucky - whose real name was Alex, apparently - called from the front seat. “Make her comfortable now, there’s a good girl.” He leaned abruptly into the wheel, taking a corner with a swerve so hard that Lydia’s feet slipped out from under her. With a low cry, she toppled onto a pile of rags and carpets on the van’s floor. She cursed; then, as she set her hands down onto the pile to right herself, got a start.
Something soft and firm was under there, and it moved under her hands.
“What the hell?” There was a girl under the mass of rags, a young girl with heavy brunette hair in wild disarray. She blinked fearfully as Lydia uncovered her, and mumbled around the gag in her mouth. She was wearing nothing but a bra and a pair of sky-blue panties. Her hands were bound firmly behind her back with cord; more cord was wrapped around her ankles.
“What is this?” Lydia cried, scooting back on her heels a few inches. This was quite a bit harder than anything she had expected from these people. Harder and much scarier. Her heart was thudding in her throat as she confronted the blonde girl - was her name really “Feather?”
“I think she’s Susan,” the blonde said. She drew the name out in the same toneless sing-song: Su-u-usa-an. She knelt beside the girl and touched her belly - laid her fingers on the soft flesh as though applying a benediction. The brunette whimpered and flinched, then shuddered violently all over. Her legs jacknifed up and she threw her head back, rolling her eyes and uttering a low, mewling cry that broke gradually into muffled giggles. It took Lydia a few moments to realize what was happening.
“You’re tickling her!” she cried.
“Yeah-hh,” Feather agreed. She didn’t seem to find anything odd about the situation. She kneaded at “Susan’s” ribs with a slow, merciless motion of all ten fingers, smiling a little as the girl’s cries grew in intensity.
“Ahh, now that’s what I like to hear,” Alex chortled from the front seat. “Sweet laughter, music of the angels!”
“Stop it!” Lydia cried. “Stop doing that to her!” She tried to slap the girl’s hands away from Susan’s belly, but the blonde turned on her, thrusting a hand at Lydia’s own stomach so fast that she fell backward on her ass, squawking.
“Wha-at’s the matter?” The blonde didn’t go after Lydia, but seemed content to sit tickling Susan.
Lydia’s mind was whirling. Perhaps she was over-reacting; after all, this was just a game, right? Maybe the dark-haired girl liked being tickled. Maybe she was turned on by it. But it was difficult for Lydia to imagine anyone liking to be tickled. In her deepest, darkest fantasies, she could sometimes imagine submitting to a hardcore tickling from a real dominant. Someone who could truly push her limits, in a way Sam never could. But those were the most extreme fantasies her imagination was capable of; she didn’t indulge in them often. In any case, the pretty Susan certainly didn’t seem to be enjoying her ordeal. She was jerking and twitching all over, her face contorted into a mask of panic. And Feather was nobody’s idea of a capable top; she was obviously out of her mind.
“I don’t think she likes that,” she told the blonde girl, willing herself to sound rational - to be rational, to sit relaxed on the van’s floor and just talk. “Maybe she shouldn’t be gagged. You know, so she could use the safeword...” Her voice trailed off on the last word, injecting a questioning note. “I mean, she looks like she wants to use it.”
“Safe...word?” Feather looked genuinely puzzled. She stared down at Susan for a moment, then dug her fingers into the girl’s belly again.
“I can make her pee-ee herself,” she told Lydia. “Wanna see?”
Lydia moaned. It was time to end this. High time. “You’re crazy,” she said. “You’re both insane. Where’s Sam?” She got up and tottered unsteadily over to the driver’s seat on her heels - heels that now seemed far too high. Maybe Sam thought this was the “intensity” she had so often nagged him about. If so, she was going to give him a piece of her mind.
“Hey!” she yelled, addressing the back of Alex’s head. “Where’s Sam? Where is he?”
“Don’t know a Sam, darlin,” Alex told her, his eyes locked on the road. “Except for old Sam Cullen, back in Dublin, and a proper piece of work he was, I’ll tell you. Ah, but that was a long time ago...ancient history, really.”
A terrible suspicion was forming in Lydia’s mind. She was beginning to think she had made a mistake. A very bad
mistake. “Stop this van. Stop it right now. I’m getting out.”
“Get out?” The back of Alex’s shaggy head wagged from side to side. “Not possible, old love. We’ve got a schedule to meet, you see. And...eh, I hate to be diving into cliche, as it were, but...you know too much now, see.”
He turned and flashed her a smile, his shades gleaming in the scant light. “Wasn’t it me asked you if you were certain you wanted to come with us? You were, so you said. Sure, you’re a member of the family now. Don’t worry, Feather’ll look after you. She’s got her ways - as do we all - ah, but she’s a grand girl at heart, truly.”
With a low cry, Lydia turned and ran for the van’s door, pushing past Feather. But her heels betrayed her; she brought one foot down the wrong way and it twisted to one side, spilling her onto her knees. And then Feather was on her.
“Stop it! Stop!” The blonde girl’s cold fingers were working over her sides, insinuating themselves under her thin blouse and pressing certain spots on her ribs. Ticklish spots. Lydia tried to fight the laughter, turn it into a snarl, but the giggles rising in her throat wouldn’t be denied. Feather pressed her small weight into Lydia’s back, driving her down until she was lying full-length on her belly, shrieking as her sides were tickled.
“C’mon, laugh. It’s fu-u-un!”
“Let me go, you fucking crazy bitch! Let me alone! L-let-hahaha!”
If it had been anything but tickling, she might have had a chance. Sheer anger would have come to her rescue, given her the strength to push the crazy girl away, maybe give her a good kick into the bargain. But the sensation of Feather’s fingers fluttering over her bare sides threw her into a panic. She couldn’t think, couldn’t act. All she could do was scream.
Feather grabbed Lydia’s flailing hands and pulled them backward, pressing them onto the small of her back with one hand. Then Lydia felt thin, strong cord being wrapped around her wrists.
“No! This is a mistake! I wasn’t supposed to go with you, don’t you understand? I was waiting for somebody else...hahaha!”
By now Feather had Lydia’s ankles tied as well, and was prying one of her shoes off. Lydia clenched her toes, swore and prayed that somehow her shoe would remain on her foot. It was no good; suddenly her foot was enveloped by cool air. A moment later her other foot was unshod as well, toes wriggling in their fishnet stockings.
“Poor feet,” Feather murmured. “Poor feet are all so-ore from the nasty shoes....” Lydia screamed into the van’s floor as Feather lifted her ankles. She was burying her face in Lydia’s soles, her tongue teasing the spots of bare flesh exposed by the stockings’ gaps. Tickle - God that tickled!
“Smell good, though...mmn. I li-i-ke it...”
“You’re sick! Sick fucking - hahahaha!”
“Can’t do nothing about it,” Feather observed, reaching down and giving Lydia’s sides another tickle. “Can you, huh? No-o-oo. Gotta lie there, gotta be tickled.”
“You’re too good to me, Feather love,” Alex’s voice said. “All that lovely laughter. Does me heart good, so it does. Keep it up, old girl. Keep her laughing. We got a long way to go, after all.”
Read the full Story in the first exciting issue of We Know Your Weakness E-Zine.
Story Excerpt: Dominant Material By J.R.
The van’s driver window unrolled slowly, and a guy stared at her. He looked to be in his early twenties, not the balding, middle-aged gut-bucket Lydia had been expecting. That was a rather pleasant surprise, though she still wouldn’t rank this guy very high on her “most attractive toy-dominant” list. He was skinny to the point of scrawniness, dressed in a suit that, if more or less tasteful and expensive-looking, wasn’t exactly her idea of a master’s get-up. His dark hair was shaggy, with massive side-burns that brought back bad memories of the 70s. Mirror shades hid his eyes, making his long, sallow face look like that of a giant insect.
“Well, well, now,” he said, leaning out the window with an unpleasant grin. “And what have we here, eh? Are we lookin for fun, darlin?” His voice was startling; a nasal whine with a definite brogue. Odd, Lydia thought. Sam had never mentioned that his “friends” were Irish. He was alone in the van’s front seat; Lydia assumed Sam must be in the back, waiting for her.
“If you’ve got fun, I’m up for it,” Lydia said. She was trying to sound game, rolling her shoulders in a way meant to look slutty, but she knew she was just coming off bored and mean. Well, to hell with it. Lucky the Leprechaun could just deal.
“Aaah, now,” Lucky said, grinning and reaching a hand out to tap thoughtfully on the van’s door. His hand was remarkably large, with long, bony, white fingers, one of which bore no fewer than three heavy silver rings. “She’s up for it, is she? A brave lady, is that the message I’m receivin?” He didn’t tell her to get in; he just sat there grinning at her with his wide, lipless mouth.
“Brave. Yeah. Sure. Whatever.” Lydia was already circling the van, making for the door opposite the driver’s side. It was starting to get dark and the drunks stumbling up 14th for their nightly can of Red Bull were getting progressively larger and uglier. She pulled on the handle, rattling it impatiently. If they were going, they needed to go now.
“Heaven help us,” Lucky breathed. “Really a goer, now ain’t she? Ain’t she just? You’re quite positive you know what you’re doin there, sweetheart? You’re quite sure you want to come with us?”
“Just let me in and let’s go, okay? I’ll get in character later.”
Lucky rolled his eyes and leaned over his shoulder. “You heard the lady,” he called, speaking to someone in the back of the van. “Open up for her and let’s be on our way.”
The side-door slid open, revealing the van’s dark interior. Lydia climbed in and the door slid shut with a slam behind her. The van’s engine grumbled, and the floor shifted under her feet, nearly costing her her balance. They were on their way, alright, moving at a speed that had to be well above the city speed-limit.
Lydia stared around her, holding onto the van’s walls. It was really dark in here; after even the dim light of the street-corner, she was blind as a bat. Someone was moving directly in front of her, but she couldn’t make them out at all.
The someone reached up and turned on an overhead light set into the van’s ceiling. The interior was suddenly flooded with light. Lydia found herself blinking at a girl. It was difficult to tell how old she was, though she was almost certainly younger than Lydia herself. She was a head or so shorter as well, with long blonde hair and a thin, oddly impassive-looking face. Something about her large, staring blue eyes gave Lydia the creeps. The girl wore a pink sweatshirt with a fluffy kitten on the front. The shirt, as well as her blue-jeans, seemed a bit too large for her skinny frame; her long bare toes protruded from the jeans’ drooping cuffs. The whole outfit was even less suggestive of a dominant than Lucky’s. Maybe she was another “slave,” Lydia thought.
Something struck her abruptly. “Where’s Sam?” she asked.
The girl didn’t answer. Still staring, she reached out a hand and ran her pale fingers down Lydia’s cheek, down her throat and over her chest. Before she could so much as jerk away, the girl’s hand was on her right boob, thumbing her nipple with what felt like the surety of long experience. The girl’s hand was cool - almost cool - but her thumb made Lydia’s nipple stiffen immediately, leaving it aching.
“Alex,” the girl said, not taking her eyes off Lydia’s. “Aaalex...who is she?” Her voice was flat and unaccented, and it - even more than her eyes or her touch - gave Lydia a chill. “Why’d you make me let her in, Aa-alex?”
“She’s a new friend, Feather darlin,” Lucky - whose real name was Alex, apparently - called from the front seat. “Make her comfortable now, there’s a good girl.” He leaned abruptly into the wheel, taking a corner with a swerve so hard that Lydia’s feet slipped out from under her. With a low cry, she toppled onto a pile of rags and carpets on the van’s floor. She cursed; then, as she set her hands down onto the pile to right herself, got a start.
Something soft and firm was under there, and it moved under her hands.
“What the hell?” There was a girl under the mass of rags, a young girl with heavy brunette hair in wild disarray. She blinked fearfully as Lydia uncovered her, and mumbled around the gag in her mouth. She was wearing nothing but a bra and a pair of sky-blue panties. Her hands were bound firmly behind her back with cord; more cord was wrapped around her ankles.
“What is this?” Lydia cried, scooting back on her heels a few inches. This was quite a bit harder than anything she had expected from these people. Harder and much scarier. Her heart was thudding in her throat as she confronted the blonde girl - was her name really “Feather?”
“I think she’s Susan,” the blonde said. She drew the name out in the same toneless sing-song: Su-u-usa-an. She knelt beside the girl and touched her belly - laid her fingers on the soft flesh as though applying a benediction. The brunette whimpered and flinched, then shuddered violently all over. Her legs jacknifed up and she threw her head back, rolling her eyes and uttering a low, mewling cry that broke gradually into muffled giggles. It took Lydia a few moments to realize what was happening.
“You’re tickling her!” she cried.
“Yeah-hh,” Feather agreed. She didn’t seem to find anything odd about the situation. She kneaded at “Susan’s” ribs with a slow, merciless motion of all ten fingers, smiling a little as the girl’s cries grew in intensity.
“Ahh, now that’s what I like to hear,” Alex chortled from the front seat. “Sweet laughter, music of the angels!”
“Stop it!” Lydia cried. “Stop doing that to her!” She tried to slap the girl’s hands away from Susan’s belly, but the blonde turned on her, thrusting a hand at Lydia’s own stomach so fast that she fell backward on her ass, squawking.
“Wha-at’s the matter?” The blonde didn’t go after Lydia, but seemed content to sit tickling Susan.
Lydia’s mind was whirling. Perhaps she was over-reacting; after all, this was just a game, right? Maybe the dark-haired girl liked being tickled. Maybe she was turned on by it. But it was difficult for Lydia to imagine anyone liking to be tickled. In her deepest, darkest fantasies, she could sometimes imagine submitting to a hardcore tickling from a real dominant. Someone who could truly push her limits, in a way Sam never could. But those were the most extreme fantasies her imagination was capable of; she didn’t indulge in them often. In any case, the pretty Susan certainly didn’t seem to be enjoying her ordeal. She was jerking and twitching all over, her face contorted into a mask of panic. And Feather was nobody’s idea of a capable top; she was obviously out of her mind.
“I don’t think she likes that,” she told the blonde girl, willing herself to sound rational - to be rational, to sit relaxed on the van’s floor and just talk. “Maybe she shouldn’t be gagged. You know, so she could use the safeword...” Her voice trailed off on the last word, injecting a questioning note. “I mean, she looks like she wants to use it.”
“Safe...word?” Feather looked genuinely puzzled. She stared down at Susan for a moment, then dug her fingers into the girl’s belly again.
“I can make her pee-ee herself,” she told Lydia. “Wanna see?”
Lydia moaned. It was time to end this. High time. “You’re crazy,” she said. “You’re both insane. Where’s Sam?” She got up and tottered unsteadily over to the driver’s seat on her heels - heels that now seemed far too high. Maybe Sam thought this was the “intensity” she had so often nagged him about. If so, she was going to give him a piece of her mind.
“Hey!” she yelled, addressing the back of Alex’s head. “Where’s Sam? Where is he?”
“Don’t know a Sam, darlin,” Alex told her, his eyes locked on the road. “Except for old Sam Cullen, back in Dublin, and a proper piece of work he was, I’ll tell you. Ah, but that was a long time ago...ancient history, really.”
A terrible suspicion was forming in Lydia’s mind. She was beginning to think she had made a mistake. A very bad
mistake. “Stop this van. Stop it right now. I’m getting out.”
“Get out?” The back of Alex’s shaggy head wagged from side to side. “Not possible, old love. We’ve got a schedule to meet, you see. And...eh, I hate to be diving into cliche, as it were, but...you know too much now, see.”
He turned and flashed her a smile, his shades gleaming in the scant light. “Wasn’t it me asked you if you were certain you wanted to come with us? You were, so you said. Sure, you’re a member of the family now. Don’t worry, Feather’ll look after you. She’s got her ways - as do we all - ah, but she’s a grand girl at heart, truly.”
With a low cry, Lydia turned and ran for the van’s door, pushing past Feather. But her heels betrayed her; she brought one foot down the wrong way and it twisted to one side, spilling her onto her knees. And then Feather was on her.
“Stop it! Stop!” The blonde girl’s cold fingers were working over her sides, insinuating themselves under her thin blouse and pressing certain spots on her ribs. Ticklish spots. Lydia tried to fight the laughter, turn it into a snarl, but the giggles rising in her throat wouldn’t be denied. Feather pressed her small weight into Lydia’s back, driving her down until she was lying full-length on her belly, shrieking as her sides were tickled.
“C’mon, laugh. It’s fu-u-un!”
“Let me go, you fucking crazy bitch! Let me alone! L-let-hahaha!”
If it had been anything but tickling, she might have had a chance. Sheer anger would have come to her rescue, given her the strength to push the crazy girl away, maybe give her a good kick into the bargain. But the sensation of Feather’s fingers fluttering over her bare sides threw her into a panic. She couldn’t think, couldn’t act. All she could do was scream.
Feather grabbed Lydia’s flailing hands and pulled them backward, pressing them onto the small of her back with one hand. Then Lydia felt thin, strong cord being wrapped around her wrists.
“No! This is a mistake! I wasn’t supposed to go with you, don’t you understand? I was waiting for somebody else...hahaha!”
By now Feather had Lydia’s ankles tied as well, and was prying one of her shoes off. Lydia clenched her toes, swore and prayed that somehow her shoe would remain on her foot. It was no good; suddenly her foot was enveloped by cool air. A moment later her other foot was unshod as well, toes wriggling in their fishnet stockings.
“Poor feet,” Feather murmured. “Poor feet are all so-ore from the nasty shoes....” Lydia screamed into the van’s floor as Feather lifted her ankles. She was burying her face in Lydia’s soles, her tongue teasing the spots of bare flesh exposed by the stockings’ gaps. Tickle - God that tickled!
“Smell good, though...mmn. I li-i-ke it...”
“You’re sick! Sick fucking - hahahaha!”
“Can’t do nothing about it,” Feather observed, reaching down and giving Lydia’s sides another tickle. “Can you, huh? No-o-oo. Gotta lie there, gotta be tickled.”
“You’re too good to me, Feather love,” Alex’s voice said. “All that lovely laughter. Does me heart good, so it does. Keep it up, old girl. Keep her laughing. We got a long way to go, after all.”
Read the full Story in the first exciting issue of We Know Your Weakness E-Zine.
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