munchausen
TMF Expert
- Joined
- Jul 5, 2001
- Messages
- 453
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- 16
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The power, once it takes hold, suffuses the earth itself, radiating from the world’s core along invisible but very real lines. Some, alas, remain lost thousands of feet beneath the surface. Others, though, come close enough that those very special ones can draw it into themselves. I have found a few characteristics essential: They must be sensitive of foot, primed for venery, yet of unspoiled virginity, and in the fourth sextet of their years. As nearly as I can tell, a handful of barefoot, ticklish demivierges, properly placed, might power whole kingdoms…
From the Journals of Hieronymous Meade, circa 1814.
Even though the train that would take me to Mystmeade did not leave until three days later, I had packed all of my belongings into two steamer trunks within an hour of the Countess’s departure. My thoughts were oriented, utterly and completely, toward the future, and my body fairly trembled with the need to leave the awful, garish china shop that was Casa de Pig behind and to embrace my future with this peculiar, fascinating woman. I passed those days in listless impatience; I slept fitfully, and was ready to go hours before the coachman took me to the station. Madame Piggy put on a great show of being sad to see me go, showing me more affection (however brittle and false) in that morning than she had in all the months before. Behind her crocodile tears at my departure, I knew she was thrilled to see me go. Not half so thrilled as I was, of course, to leave her behind.
A couple of hours by train brought me to a charming little village in the countryside. I was greeted at the station by the tall, strong woman who had accompanied the Countess the night before. She smiled politely, her teeth strong, white, and even, and her dark eyes harbored a mysterious twinkle. “Miss Bethany? I’m Cassandra. Call me Cassie, if you like. We met briefly at your Uncle’s home. I will be driving you to Mystmeade.” Her voice was deep but feminine, and I found her accent bewitching. Again, she wore seemingly mannish clothes -- a white shirt open at the collar, khaki riding pants, and tall brown boots – but they fit her magnificent body in such a flatteringly snug way that no-one could have mistaken her for anything but a gorgeously proportioned woman. Her brown hair was loose, today, hanging free, straight, and shiny down her back. It was quite unconventional dress for a woman in those early years of the new century, but she was so breathtakingly lovely and so intimidating that I could not imagine anyone voicing an objection.
The porters loaded one of my steamer trunks into the boot of a great black motorcar, and she wrestled the other into the back seat. I had expected to ride in the back, but she opened the passenger side front door, and I climbed in. I had never ridden in the front seat of a motorcar before; it felt quite liberating. She climbed into the driver’s seat and we set off.
The road wound through a lovely bit of countryside, all sunny hills and meadows full of wildflowers. Cassie said little, and I, shy and overwhelmed, had so many questions that I could not decide where to begin, so we rode mostly in silence. It was a comfortable silence, though, and every now and again she would point out some feature to me: “Those bluffs give a lovely view of the sea,” or “There’s a little hamlet down that road a bit that has a charming inn.” The top was down on the car, and I simply drank in the cool breeze, gentle sunshine, and the scent of spring flowers.
Soon, we came to a great, venerable-looking building, constructed in classical style and enormous, sitting on a great expanse of manicured lawn. There were tennis courts and gardens, as well, and a number of pretty young girls walking about the grounds. “That’s Mystmeade Academy,” Cassandra said. “You’ll be getting to know it well enough, as all your classes will be there.”
“But I’m not to live there?” I asked, curious.
“No, ma’am. The Countess has a select few girls up to her own home to stay. Don’t worry – I’m quite sure you’ll like it there.”
I was quite sure I would like it, too. But I was also puzzled: why me, and not the scores of other girls at the Academy? I should have liked to think it was because I was so clever, or so charming, or so gifted – but, surely she would not have had to tickle me silly to determine that. And what of her other questions, so shockingly personal? And that little chant, and the strange necklace? I started to speak, but something in Cassandra’s bearing made me hold my tongue. Somehow, I knew that no answers would be forthcoming from her.
After a short drive, we turned off the main road and came to a great iron gate, capped with gold decorations. Cassie got out and opened the gate, drove us through, and closed it behind us. “The Countess keeps staff to a minimum,” she explained, as she returned to the car for the second time. “She values her privacy above nearly all else.”
And yet she invited me, and presumably others, to live with her, I thought. Inside, the drive wound through great, grassy, flowery meadows that gradually gave way to beautifully manicured gardens. Flowers of every color and description were trained around pathways and fountains, and little nooks with benches were situated here and there. The drive culminated at the front of an enormous manor house, imposing but somehow welcoming, grand and beautiful with its columns and galleries. We parked in front, I took a deep breath, and stepped out into my new life.
Cassie walked me to the front door, where I was greeted by a lovely young woman about my age. She was petite, barely five feet tall, with fiery red hair hanging about her shoulders. Her green eyes sparkled, and she had the most wonderful, impertinent little nose that crinkled when she smiled, as she was doing now. She had fair Irish skin with rosy cheeks, and her whole bearing radiated laughter and good cheer.
Her manner of dress surprised me. She wore a simple white dress of soft cotton, cut low at the neckline in a way that accentuated her firm and prominent breasts, and she was barefoot. It was lovely and fetching, and I could not help but think, as I stood in my heavy skirts, petticoats, crinolines, and stockings, how wonderfully, breezily comfortable she looked.
To my surprise, she embraced me immediately, standing on her tiptoes to hug me about the neck. “So lovely to meet you, Bethany!” she said, her voice lilting with an Irish accent. “I am Kelleen, one of your fellow pupils. This is a wonderful place, just marvelous, really, and I know you’ll simply adore it! Now, I shall be thrilled to take you to the mistress, but let’s go to your room first and get you changed. You’ll feel so much better out of those heavy clothes!”
She led me by the hand through the great foyer and up a spiral staircase to the second floor. My fleeting impressions of the manor’s interior reinforced my initial delight. It was beautiful, and fascinating, decorated with the most intriguing artifacts, paintings, and tapestries. A few I recognized by style, but others were unlike anything I had seen before. Nearly everywhere were little green stones, like the one the Countess had used during our first meeting: they winked from statues, glittered on mantels, shimmered in chandeliers. Glimpsed from the corner of the eye, they often seemed to sparkle with a light all their own.
She led me to a lovely, sunny bedroom, small but quite comfortable, with its own washbasin with running taps, a bed with a coverlet white and soft as a cloud and a wealth of fluffy pillows, and glass doors that opened onto my very own private balcony!
“Is this…to be mine?” I asked, incredulous. My parents had been rather wealthy, of course, and the Bludgings were of a kind of petty gentry, but I had thought luxury of this sort was reserved for royalty.
“Yes, of course! Do you like it?”
“It’s absolutely wonderful!” I said, looking out the glass doors over the gardens below and out to the hills in the distance.
“It is quite, isn’t it?” Kelleen grinned. “Now, would you like to change? Your trunks haven’t made it up here yet, but there are some lovely clothes in the armoire there. Here at the manor, we value simple beauty and comfort. I don’t know whether the Countess has told you much about how things work here, but that’s something you’ll realize quite quickly. I’ll wait outside, if you like, while you put on something more comfortable.”
I thanked her, and she left me alone in my new home. I opened the armoire, and inside found a beautiful array of spring clothes – light dresses, blouses, and skirts. There were underclothes, too, of a light and gossamer sort far different than those to which I was accustomed. I put these on, then chose a light blue dress of light, airy material that fit me as if it had been tailored precisely to compliment my body, then looked down at my feet in their heavy blue stockings. I saw no shoes in the armoire or under the bed, and the ones I had been wearing were hardly a match for the dress. I opened the door and called for Kelleen, who was looking out a window over the grounds.
“Oh! Look at ye!” She exclaimed, her Irish accent stronger for the emotion in her voice. “How lovely you are!”
I blushed slightly, thinking the same of her. “I didn’t see any shoes, and I’m afraid mine will look a bit funny with this dress,” I said.
“Oh, no, dear. You won’t need any shoes. We go barefoot here. It’s quite lovely, really. Sometimes we’ll wear sandals out of doors, but for the most part, we keep bare feet. The Countess insists upon it,” she explained, leaving me more puzzled than before.
But I was more than happy to strip off my stockings and bare my feet. Once I had done so, Kelleen led on. It was an almost scandalous feeling of freedom, to walk about a rich, magnificent manor like that barefoot. The floors seemed to caress my soles with each step – the hardwoods and marbles cool, but not cold; the carpets thick and soft and welcoming. With my bare feet and light clothes, I felt as if I had been set free from a prison I had not known I was in.
Kelleen led me through the manor. Each room seemed more breathtakingly beautiful than the last. I was particularly struck by the library, stocked from floor to towering ceiling with leatherbound books from all around the world, and by the music room, which featured all manner of instruments, including the most magnificently carved harp I had ever seen.
“Aren’t they lovely?” Kelleen asked, noticing my interest in the instruments. “They are ours to play, any time we like!”
I felt a pang of joy. What wonders this place held! And yet, so much remained unexplained! My brain swam with questions, but I was not yet sure whether Kelleen, much as I instantly liked her, was someone I could ask.
And another mysterious thing was happening to me, as we walked through that great house. I had no idea why, could not account for it logically in any way, but I found myself becoming increasingly aroused. I was not consciously thinking of anything erotic, nor daydreaming, yet it was happening. It was subtle, a warm tingle more than anything else, that seemed to enter at the soles of my feet and course deliciously to my nipples and nethers. It was actually rather delightful. But I could not, for the life of me, figure out why it would be happening.
The thousand questions in my head would hold no longer. “Kelleen,” I said, as we padded through a magnificent gallery of classical sculptures.
Kelleen stopped for a moment and turned to face me. Her smile was charming, almost elfin, and her eyes sparkled with glee and a bit of mischief. “Oh, I know, dearie. You must have so many questions. To be honest with you, I still have many myself. It’s all a bit mysterious here, but ever so pleasant. Once you speak with the Countess, you shall have a somewhat better idea. But I shouldn’t presume to try to explain any of it before that. It’s all so odd at first, and I fear if I were to try to explain any of it, I’d have ye runnin’ for the hills! And that would be such a shame, as you’d miss so much fun!” She giggled and winked, then turned and led on. I found my gaze lingering on her firm, round bottom beneath the sheer dress. I felt a pang of lust – why? I had never fancied women before. The very floor seemed to hum, ever so slightly, beneath the soles of my feet.
At last, we came to the Countess’s office. Kelleen straightened her dress and knocked on the door.
“Who is it?” came the rich, wonderful voice I had come to know in Madame Piggie’s parlor. I felt a twinge of nervous excitement.
“It’s Kelleen, ma’am. I have Bethany with me.”
“Thank you, darling. Send her in. As for you, get yourself and Rebecca ready – we meet at six!”
Kelleen gave me a wink, took my hand, and squeezed it reassuringly. “See you soon!” she whispered, opening the door.
I entered a great, airy office whose wall of windows offered a panoramic view of the surrounding countryside. As beautiful as it was, my attention was drawn entirely to the breathtaking person of the Countess herself. In the city, she had been conventionally, if impeccably, dressed, as befitted a proper upper-class woman calling upon the same. Today, though, she wore an achingly beautiful gossamer gown of emerald green, light and airy like the dresses Kelleen and I wore, but somehow far more elegant in its simplicity. Her silver hair flowed over her shoulders, glistening in the soft light, and her kind blue eyes sparkled. I realized, as she drifted across the floor to embrace me, that she was barefoot, as well. Rings glistened on the second toe of each elegant, delicate foot. She was utterly enchanting.
She kissed me on both cheeks and took my hands. “Welcome, darling. I am ever so glad you have chosen to join us. Is your room all right?”
“I should say so, ma’am. It’s wonderful.”
“Good, good. Have a seat, won’t you?”
I sat as she poured me a glass of cool water at came to sit opposite me. For a moment, I flashed back to the last time she’d sat across from me, and my toes curled involuntarily.
“Now. Mystmeade, as you have no doubt surmised, is a unique and unusual place. First and foremost, I want you to understand that you will be receiving a first class education. Each morning, you, Kelleen, and Becca, whom you will meet shortly, will descend the hill to take your classes at the Academy. You will be treated like any other student there – no favoritism simply because you live here. You will be expected to keep up with your lessons and apply yourself. Is that understood?” Her tone was gentle but firm.
“Absolutely, ma’am,” I replied. I was actually rather eager for the lessons – I have always been a keen and curious student.
“All right,” she said, sitting back in her chair and propping her bare feet on the low table between us. I noticed the soles of her feet looked smooth and buttery-soft, then wondered why I noticed. She flexed her toes, and her soles wrinkled. I quickly looked away, hoping she hadn’t noticed me looking.
“Here’s the rest of it, or as much as I can tell you now. First off, know that you are free to leave here at any time. My initial offer to set you up independently with the considerable funds your guardian has handed over for your education and upkeep stands, and will stand throughout your time here. If you do stay, though, you must participate fully and completely in all that we do. I will not prohibit your from asking questions, but I will likely answer very few. A great deal of what I will ask of you will seem quite personal, even scandalous. And a great deal of it will involve tickling those pretty feet of yours.”
I unconsciously pulled my bare feet back beneath the hem of my dress. “I…see,” I said, uncertainly.
“No, you don’t,” she said kindly. “How could you? But I will try to explain. I am…a researcher. A scientist, really, of a very particular kind. You, Kelleen, and Becca are here to assist me in work of tremendous importance. ”
I was incredulous. But I remembered the stone she had used to keep our interview from the ears of Madame Piggy, and it seemed less impossible. Also, as I looked into those wise, intelligent, sparkling blue eyes, I believed this woman capable of anything.
“I will not waste either of our time in attempting to explain the full scope of my research. If you knew, it could potentially compromise your unique suitability to help with it.”
My confusion must have been evident in my expression, as she smiled apologetically. “I know it’s all a bit strange, darling. You will come to understand more in time. Simply put, I need you and the other girls in two capacities. You will assist me in my experiments. To do so, all you’ll have to do is go about barefoot most of the time while on the Manor grounds, and, now and again, submit to a good, thorough tickling. I promise you, you will sustain no harm from this; in fact, all indications from my research are that the process fills young women with strength, vigor, and health. Do you think you will be willing to help me with this?”
I blinked, overwhelmed and puzzled. I suspected she might be crazy. But then there was the strange, humming energy that tingled along the soles of my feet when I walked here, and the strong, inexplicable arousal that seemed to come with it. What was going on here? Was I to be the ward of a madwoman?
Perhaps. But for the moment, I reasoned, the worst that could come of this is that I live in a paradise, receive a fine education, and am forever free of Madame Piggy, all for the price of an occasional foot-tickling. I could live with that. And it gave me a fascinating mystery to solve…
“Yes, ma’am,” I replied. “I shall be happy to help you.”
She regarded me thoughtfully, and smiled. “I’m quite sure you think I am absolutely out of my damned mind,” she said gently. “And that’s fair. In any case, I thank you for indulging me.
“Now, I would ask only two more things – one easy, one perhaps more difficult. First, you must tell no-one of the work I am doing here, however little you know of it. I’m afraid I must ask you to swear secrecy. Will you?”
“Yes, ma’am. I swear it.” I could see no reason not to. But once the oath was out, it felt oddly solemn and weighty, and I realized that, at that moment, I had no intention of breaking it.
“Thank you. Second, I must make a request of you that in some ways goes against my entire world view. I must ask that, while you remain here, you retain your virginity. This is not for moral reasons; you should know already how I feel about the silly strictures we place on women’s sexuality. It is simply that, for reasons as yet unknown to me, the moment a woman takes a man’s seed inside her, her suitability for my work is forever compromised. So, I’m afraid you must not engage in intercourse for as long as you remain here. Do you understand?”
“Yes ma’am.” This troubled me a bit, but as I had no immediate prospects, it did not seem a pressing problem.
She gave me a rueful look. “Now, I know it seems cruel. But you can, and should, relieve your tension in other ways, whether alone or with your fellow students.”
I felt a scandalous jolt pass through me as my thoughts turned uncontrollably to the lovely Kelleen.
“You can even sport with gentlemen, if you’d like, so long as you stop short of consummating the act. In short, you may climax all you like, but guard the final prize of your virginity.”
I felt a heady thrill at her frank discussion of topics I could not imagine voicing openly. The consistent, subtle, throbbing energy that set me tingling made the thrill all the sharper. I found myself nodding in assent.
“Excellent!” she said, laying a reassuring hand on my knee. “Now, my pledge to you. I will respect you through all, I will never exploit you, and I will be as honest with you as I am able. And at any time, by your request, I will relinquish to you the entire fortune your Aunt has paid me, plus more besides, and will let you depart as you wish. I would only ask that you keep your vow of secrecy, as I already know you will.”
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.”
“Very good, then. Come along! Dinner will be served soon, but before, you shall meet your fellows, and shall see a bit of what really goes on here.”
She led me to a chamber in a previously-unexplored wing of the house and to a lovely sitting room, where two young women awaited us. One was Kelleen, looking somehow more bewitchingly lovely now than before for having freshened up; she smiled cheerily. The other was blonde, and, though equally beautiful, as different from Kelleen in bearing and apparent temperament as could be. She was of medium height, a bit shorter than myself, a bit taller than Kelleen. If Kelleen was the sweet, maternal type, this blonde was a sultry, sardonic nymph. Every part of her seemed subtly radiant. Her skin, browned by the sun as mine was in summers before I moved to Casa de Pig, glowed with health and vigor; her hair, a lovely dark golden, caught the light fetchingly as it fell about her bare shoulders in artfully touseled impudence. Her face had an arch beauty that might well have seemed cold or cruel, but a charming little beauty mark at the edge of her mouth softened it slightly, and her brown eyes, while mocking, seemed to do so good-naturedly. She, like Kelleen and me, wore a lovely light dress that clung to her lean curves and accentuated her full bosom and slender waist. Her body had the look of an athlete’s, as I like to fancy mine does; her shoulders and arms had the smooth muscle tone of perhaps a swimmer. She was barefoot, as well, like the rest of us, and stood rather jauntily, a glass of wine in one hand, the other on her hip; the toes of one foot resting on the instep of the other. There was an almost masculine confidence about her, though one would be hard-pressed to see anything else masculine in her appearance or bearing!
“Ladies, this is Bethany. She has just joined us this afternoon from London, as I am quite sure you both know. Bethany, I know you have met Kelleen. This other lovely creature is Rebecca.”
Rebecca smiled and gave me a nod. Her eyes held a dark humor, but something in them reassured me that she was neither cruel nor mean-spirited. “Welcome, Bethany, to our little asylum,” she said. Her voice was the slightest bit husky, and made me think instantly of sex – though, truth be told, nearly everything was having that effect on me that evening!
The Countess laughed. “Asylum, indeed! Asylum in the truest sense, as a place of shelter from the preposterous and mundane world beyond. And peopled with such lovely young inmates, as well.” She affectionately brushed a lock of crimson hair from Kelleen’s forehead.
“Now, as comparative veterans of Mystmeade, you both know, basically, what is to happen here this evening,” our mistress began.
“Time for someone to pay her tuition,” Rebecca cooed, pouring dark red wine into a fresh crystal glass and handing it to me. I nodded my thanks and took a sip, feeling its heady warmth immediately.
“Oh, I hate to think of it that way. I prefer to think of it as contributing to the ongoing operations of this school, and to my very important research,” the Countess said.
“Easy for you to say,” Kelleen said, giving another of those precious nose-wrinkling smiles.
Their banter made me a bit nervous, but at the same time was light enough that I felt much more curiosity –even excitement and anticipation – than any real fear.
“Are we to break in the new one tonight?” Rebecca asked. Her accent was pure London upper crust; mine was, as well, primarily, though occasionally a bit of cockney crept in around the edges. She sounded sophisticated, cool, and a bit scary.
“After a fashion,” the Countess replied. “But, no, she shall not be … contributing in the way you mean. Not on her first night here. She will be assisting, instead.”
“Right, then who’s it to be?” Kelleen asked, taking a deep breath.
“Draw straws?” The Countess asked, and the other two assented. In a moment, it was Kelleen who held the short straw – Rebecca stuck out her tongue at her for the briefest moment before resuming her air of cool. The redhead blushed and let out a despairing little “Aah!” I waited, fascinated to see where this was going, though I already had a vague and general idea.
“Where shall I sit?” Kelleen asked.
“I had an idea,” the Countess said. She took some thick, soft quilts that had been draped over sofas in the room and laid them out on the floor behind the couch. She gestured to Kelleen, who, with a giggle, lay down on her back atop them, her crimson curls making a fiery halo around her lovely face. The Countess then guided Kelleen’s legs up against the back of a sofa and propped her ankles on the back so that the soles of her bare feet were essentially pointed at the ceiling; she shifted a bit to ensure that her dress left her a bit of modesty. “There. That way, you might at least relax a bit as they go.”
The Countess produced a small golden cord that glistened in the room’s rich light. She whispered a phrase over it, and it lashed out, snakelike, to wrap around Kelleen’s ankles, binding her feet together, and then extended to shore them up against the sturdy wooden rail at the back of the sofa . Kelleen let out a bit of a squeal, but neither of my schoolmates seemed particularly shocked at what seemed, to me, to verge on a miracle.
Rebecca noticed my incredulous expression. “Oh, there’s quite a bit of that sort of thing to get used to,” she said matter-of-factly. The Countess gave me a smile and wink.
“Right!” the Countess said, after giving each of Kelleen’s big toes a playful wiggle. “I have a bit of business to take care of, but I trust I can leave things to you. Rebecca, I am certain you will be a fine guide and mentor to Bethany through this evening’s activities, correct?’
“Oh, absolutely, ma’am,” Rebecca said.
“And be effective, but kind, with Kelleen?”
Kelleen gave a little groan from where she lay on the floor. Rebecca smiled a wicked little smile. “The very soul of kindness, ma’am. But ever so effective. One crystal?”
“To start,” the Countess said. Kelleen groaned again at that.
And so it was that I was left alone for the first time with my two schoolmates, one of whom was bound supine on the floor with her bare feet in the air, the other of whom fairly glowed with gleeful mischief.
“Right,” Rebecca said. “I know the mistress has doubtless explained the basics to you, but I also know that this seems absolutely barking mad. Well, it is, and it isn’t. Here’s the way of it.” She moved to the mantel and opened a small, ornate box. Inside were three or four gems of varying colors and sizes. They were similar to some I had already seen about the manor, but while those seemed to flare with inner light, these were dark. “See this crystal, here? These little chaps glow brighter and brighter when we laugh. But not just any laugh – we can’t just sit about telling each other droll stories and dirty jokes. It’s got to come from tickling to be any good. Genuine, physical. Do you follow?”
“Yes, I suppose,” I said. I really didn’t – how could I? Why did they glow, and what good was the glowing? And what did laughter have to do with it? But I held my peace, preferring to observe and learn.
“Good. As I said, barking mad. But the Countess insists it’s crucial to her work, whatever that is. So, we do it.”
I nodded, eyes wide. It was wondrous. It was bizarre. And at the same time, I could not quite get past the silliness of the whole scene. I glanced over at Kelleen; from where I stood, all I could see were her pink bare feet. Her toes wiggled absently as she waited patiently for what was to come.
“Aye, we do it,” her voice chimed in from where she lay on the floor. “And tonight, bless me, I’m the one for it.”
“That you are,” Rebecca said, with a little chuckle. “Now, come along, Bethany, and I’ll show you how it works.” She took the crystal and placed it on a little pedestal, which, in turn, she placed on the floor a couple of yards from Kelleen.
“Don’t want her thrashing about and upsetting it,” she explained, “Though I doubt that would really have much effect. Now, my dear, for the fun part. Here at Mystmeade,” she said, arching her brow in a parody of a schoolmistresses’ didactic speech, “we believe that there is an art to any task, however large, small, or…unusual. If you will join me here on the sofa, I shall teach you how to well and truly tickle Kelleen Murphy’s feet.”
Kelleen let out a little shriek and curled her toes tight. I knelt alongside Rebecca on the couch, Kelleen’s bound feet between us. From where we knelt, we could easily see Kelleen’s lovely, flushed face and heaving bosom as well as, in stark close-up, the bottoms of her helplessly-trussed bare feet. I had never really made a study of anyone’s feet, save perhaps my own, but under the circumstances I found hers quite interesting. Kelleen’s feet, while smaller than my own, were well-formed and sturdy, broad and strong-looking but eminently feminine, with toes that had a round, gumdrop cuteness without being stubby. When she scrunched those little toes, as she was now for all she was worth, her smooth, shapely soles became a veritable web of tiny, fetching little wrinkles and crinkles. I don’t know if it was the house and its strange energies, the bit of a crush I had developed on Kelleen, or simply the novelty of the situation, but I found myself quite keen to tickle those little pink darlings for all I was worth. I deferred, though, to Rebecca’s leadership.
“Now, the thing about Kelleen is that she, like me and, I’m sure, you, since you’re here, is wickedly ticklish.” She glanced meaningfully down at my own bare soles, upturned as I knelt on the couch, and I found myself subtly swiveling them away from her.
“So, there’s really no wrong way to go about tickling her feet. I like to start with a bit of a tease,” she said. With that, she blew ever so softly on the soles of Kelleen’s feet through tightly pursed lips, making her toes wriggle a bit at the cool pinpoint of breath. I glanced at Kelleen’s face and saw that her eyes were shut, and she appeared to be biting her lip.
“Then,” Rebecca said, her voice now a husky coo, “I like to tease a bit with my hair.” Leaning over Kelleen’s upturned feet, she took a lock of her hair between her fingers and began to use the tips to tease Kelleen’s soles, dusting the balls of her feet ever so lightly with it. Kelleen began to shake and giggle, her whole body quivering. I noticed the crystal flash subtly.
“Aaaand, once I’ve had my fill of that,” Rebecca said softly, “I’ll see what damage I can do with one finger. In fact, why don’t you try, Bethany? One finger,” she said, crooking her index finger as if to demonstrate.
Excitement overcame my hesitation. I was fascinated from an intellectual standpoint, by the strange and mysterious research this was supposedly enabling, as well as for more lascivious reasons. Something about having this beautiful, barefoot girl bound helplessly before me struck me as powerfully arousing, and was transforming the idea of tickling into something far more erotic than I had ever considered it could be.
I carefully, gently traced one fingernail down the very center of Kelleen’s right arch. Her toes clenched, then spread and wiggled, as if trying to fight the sensation. I kept it up, tracing up and down, and was quickly rewarded with helpless peals of the sweetest giggles I had ever heard. Rebecca joined in, using her index finger up and down the center of Kelleen’s other sole, and the giggles seemed, impossibly, to double, bubbling up out of our ticklish Irish lass like overflowing champagne.
Abruptly, Rebecca switched tacks, using all four fingernails in a light, skittering attack. Kelleen bucked once in panic, then her giggles transformed into a rich, musical belly-laugh that swelled with each new focus of Rebecca’s attack. I followed her lead, scribbling my fingernails over Kelleen’s other foot, and delighted in the effect my touch had upon her.
We tickled her with gusto, flicking tickly fingertips over her cringing soles, as she whooped and shrieked and hollered with laughter. Save my time on the receiving end of the Countess’s deft fingers, I had no experience with this type of tickling, which went so far beyond the little poke-or-stroke-and-giggle tickling that had been the whole of my knowledge as to be a different sort of thing entirely. I was seeing for the first time what happened when a ticklish person was bound with no hope of escape and forced to endure the unendurable consequences of her vulnerability. What does one do, under those circumstances? Well, apparently, one squirms, and writhes, and begs, and wiggles, and laughs, and laughs, and laughs some more.
“Now, she’s frightfully ticklish about the arches, clearly, and terribly so about the toes,” Rebecca cooed, her voice as soft and musical as if she were putting a baby down to sleep. “But I’ve found a few spots – like this one, here, right at the top of the heel, where it meets the center of the foot – that, if scratched insistently and relentlessly, can drive her utterly out of her little mind.”
“HEEEYY!” Kelleen began to protest, but her words were instantly shattered into a cascade of ha’s and hee’s and ho’s as Rebecca and I, her attentive student, carried out exactly the maneuver that had just been described. As I tickled the top of the heel, I brought my other hand to bear on the area just beneath her struggling toes, and she squealed afresh.
Rebecca struck me with the cool, cruel way she carried out this tickling attack on her friend and comrade. She seemed a natural torturer, tickling Kelleen to devastating effect, but for all her mocking air, she was not without sweetness and affection. I found myself regarding her with a pang similar to that which Kelleen had inspired in me, earlier. For a moment, I imagined, in a flash, the three of us, quite naked, entwined among silk sheets, touching and caressing and pleasuring and, yes, tickling, and my inner parts simply melted into a gush of arousal.
Surprised as I was by these unfamiliar feelings – unfamiliar in their source, I should say, not in their nature – I did not flag in my task of tickling Kelleen’s feet. Rebecca and I tickled our poor, lovely, helpless Kelleen until she seemed about to burst with laughter. Her laugh was, as I said, musical, and, as frenzied and desperate as it became, it never lost that tone of dulcet sweetness. Even shrieking like a ticklish madwoman, Kelleen’s voice sounded sweet and strong and pleasant to the ear. I was not surprised to discover, subsequently, that she was a wonderful singer. At any rate, Rebecca and I played her ticklish feet like instruments, wringing out all the clear, sweet laughing music we could from that healthy, heaving breast – a breast that I found myself staring at, more than once, as it strained against her light, airy, form-fitting dress. I felt a little tingle in my core to see that her nipples were quite hard, and straining against the fabric.
Though her eyes were shut tight throughout most of the tickling, now and again Kelleen would open those emerald windows of the soul and gaze up at us, her torturers. Her expression was a mix of pleading and hilarity; tears flowed down her reddened cheeks into that flaming nimbus of hair. She seemed to be desperately suffering, but the smile that lit her angelic features made it look like the sweetest pleasure, as well.
Suddenly, there was a soft, chiming sound –a single tone, like a knife tapped against fine crystal. “Aah! That one’s done,” Rebecca said, with evident regret. She left off tickling, and I reluctantly did the same. I gazed down at Kelleen, who was gasping with relief. The soles of her feet instinctively turned toward each other, as if she were attempting to close doors against any invading onslaught of tickles yet to beset her soles.
“Oh…y….you’re a …cruel one, Becca Winters, that …. Ye are,” she gasped. Then her eyes came to rest on me, with a mix of outrage and good humor. “And you, ye wicked lass! Ye fair killed me!”
“I—I’m sorry. I really am. I just…”
“Oh, pish tosh,” said Becca, inspecting the stone, which now glowed brightly, and replacing it in the box on the mantel. “She’s just bellyaching. You did precisely as you were supposed to, and as she knew you would.”
“Oh, yes, dear, quite,” Kelleen managed, getting her breath back under control. “I’m just funnin’ with ye. If ye hadn’t been such a natural at tickling me poor feet, it might have taken twice as long to light that stone, and I’d still be laughin’ me fool head off here on the floor.”
Becca came back over the the sofa, moving with catlike languor. I felt flushed, tingling with arousal; I could not help but wonder whether Becca, or even Kelleen, was as heated as I by the evening’s activities. “Now…. The mistress said one crystal ‘to start,’ Becca said, absently trailing a fingernail over the tips of Kelleen’s bound toes. “It may be, Kelleen darling, that your evening has yet to end.”
Kelleen let out a little cry of dismay, her feet cringing anew, and I felt my excitement rising at the prospect of having another go and those deliciously sensitive feet. But at that very moment, a soft knock came on the chamber door, and the Countess swept in.
“Is the crystal done, then?” she asked, smiling brightly.
“Yes, ma’am,” Becca responded, nodding toward the mantel.
“Are you quite all right, Kelleen, dear?” the Countess called. All she could see of Kelleen, of course, were her bound bare feet, still pointing skyward from behind the couch.
“Yes ma’am,” Kelleen responded, her sweet voice a bit hoarse.
“Oh, she’s fit as a fiddle,” Becca said, licking her lips. “Shall we do another, while we have her there?” Kelleen whimpered, her feet cringing.
The Countess looked at Becca for a moment, a sly smile on her face. “Oh, we’ll do another, my dear. But not from Kelleen.” She made a gesture and uttered a phrase, and the golden cord slithered free of Kelleen’s ankles, liberating her. I hopped from the couch and helped her to her feet. She thanked me, and took a deep draught of the wine she had been drinking before her ordeal began.
“Oh, no,” Becca said, backing unconsciously away from the Countess.
“Oh, I fear so, sweetie,” the Countess replied. “Our new arrival must understand that everything here will be fair and square. So, how would you like it? Donor’s choice. Will you try it as Kelleen did? It looked quite relaxing.”
Becca shook her head ruefully. She sat down on a divan and propped her bare feet, crossed at the ankles, on the low table in front of her. She gave her long toes a defiant little wriggle. “Right here will do. I’ll look my tormentors squarely in the eye,” she said theatrically.
“Very good, then. Kelleen, Bethany – Becca owes us a crystal. Then, bathe, collect yourselves, and to the west dining room for dinner.” She blew us a kiss and swept out of the room, leaving me and Kelleen staring hungrily at Becca’s bound feet. They were quite lovely: on the large side, rather like mine, but longer and thinner. Her arches were quite high, narrowing her soles at their apex until they widened to a delicate ball and quite strikingly long, nimble-looking toes. Had they not been so large, they would have seemed elfin in their proportions – as it was, they put me in mind of the most graceful of dancers.
As I considered the cool, haughty blonde, I was struck by the very different ways that a woman can be barefoot. Not long before, the barefoot Becca had seemed carefree, confident, in control, her lack of footwear a sign of relaxation and casual comfort. Now, her trembling soles and nervously writhing toes bound on helpless display, being barefoot took on an entirely new meaning. I could not help but think, momentarily, of the Countess – what might it be like to have her bound, her soles at my mercy. My nipples, stiff and tingling, poked at the gossamer of my gown, and my engorged bud gave such a throb I felt my knees threaten to buckle. I wondered if the others could see my arousal, feared that the juices suffusing my overheated quim might rain to the floor in great plashing drops.
Kelleen, her recovery quite hastened by the prospect of payback, swiftly retrieved another empty crystal from the box on the mantel and set it on its pedestal in an opportune locale. Then, making a great show of rubbing her hands together with relish, she came to kneel in front of her trussed tormentress. I took pillows from a nearby sofa and knelt on one, offering the other to Kelleen, who accepted it gratefully. Then, we attacked.
Kelleen wasted no time with the teasing show of instructing me in how to tickle, which I now know was as much a psychological technique as it was a genuine lesson. Instead, she dove in with great relish, grabbing hold of the toes of Becca’s right foot with one hand, yanking them back for maximum exposure, and digging her fingertips in in a wiggly, scribbly assault on the long, slender stems of Becca’s ticklish toes.
With the first unbearable sensations of Kelleen’s toe-tickling, Becca’s entire body writhed and contorted like an angry snake. She was silent except for a great, dramatic catching of her breath, a desperate gasp that fit the agony that suddenly suffused her stunning face perfectly. The silence continued, and I thought for a moment that she was resisting, until I realized how violently her shoulders were shaking. Her desperate laughter was merely so high-pitched and intense as to be inaudible, like a scream from one who cannot catch a breath. The impact of Kelleen’s fingers squirming beneath and among those wonderfully long, slender, agile bare toes was so powerful that it robbed her of breath, voice, and bodily control.
Her reaction was, in fact, so striking that I hesitated, afraid to join in lest she couldn’t handle any more. Kelleen gave me a reassuring wink and pat on the knee. “Oh, have at her, dear. Once she’s over the initial shock, we’ll get her laughing loud and long enough. I won’t presume to tell you how, as you seemed a natural right enough when you were working on me. I will tell you that these long, wiggly toes are a weak spot, as is the very hollow of the arch.”
I nodded, hungry to try this new and different victim for my tickles. I leaned in and began scratching at the apex of her arch with teasing, but tenacious fingerstrokes. The long toes of the foot with which I was entrusted splayed, monkeyish, and her leg jerked helplessly against the cord that bound it, but I kept it up, never losing contact with her sensitive sole, and was quickly rewarded with a high-pitched shriek that crested and broke into a flood of wonderful, rich, smoky-voiced laughter, deep but feminine, pouring out of her magnificent body in great wracking waves. Employing a technique that had proven effective on Kelleen a short time before, I teased and tickled her wiggling toes with the spidery fingers of one hand while scratching gently but insistently at the center of her sole with the nails of the other. And I watched, and listened, and felt, as the touch of my fingers and those of my fire-maned accomplice on her bare, ticklish feet transformed Becca thoroughly from haughty-cool sophisticate to hysterically laughing loon. She kept trying to beg, her mouth working as if to form words, but every time she managed a syllable or two her voice broke anew into that wonderful, rolling, smoky chuckle.
Her total defeat was signaled, as it turned out, when those magnificent toes – those long, active, wiggly toes – fell more or less still. At a certain point, they stopped squirming, and her whole body followed suit, no longer writhing and twisting so severely that I had feared she might damage the furniture. From that point, she simply lay back and laughed, surrendering her fruitless efforts to free herself from our tickling. We no longer had to work to maintain my tickling of her squirming, flexing feet; she simply lay slack, toes toward the ceiling, and responded to our sole-tickling offensive by throwing back that beautiful, blonde-tressed head and laughing that rich, deep, body-wracking laugh in utter ticklish surrender. We kept her going that way, laughing with utter abandon, tears streaming down her cheeks, until, a short time later, the crystal sounded its single, final tone. We ceased, and she let out a long, shuddering, wracking sigh.
“Whoo. Hoo hoo hoo. Oh..my…goohohoodness,” she croaked. “That was…quite…gohohoodness.”
Kelleen gave the cord around her ankles a bit of a tug, and it came free. Becca pulled her feet back, rubbing at their soles with her hands as if to massage away lingering tickles. She rolled to her side, grabbed her wine glass, and drained it in a single draught, then took in a deep, ragged breath. Kelleen leaned in and gave her a playful kiss on the forehead, then danced away from a half-hearted grab at her ribs.
“Well, Bethany, darlin’. That’s how it is around here, from time to time, anyway. We do a bit of that, and the place keeps going. That and mistress’s research. Now, though, we should hurry. Can you find your way back to your room? A quick bath, fresh clothes, and I’ll come fetch you for dinner.”
_______________________________________________________________________
I staggered weak-kneed back to my chamber. No sooner could I close and latch the door behind me than I was collapsing on my bed, hiking my dress up around my thighs, delving a desperate hand inside my panties and triggering, in what felt like seconds, the climax for which my body had been hungering so intensely all afternoon. As I rode out the waves of an orgasm that seemed to last longer than the strokes that set it free, disjointed images of the bizarre afternoon’s events danced in my mind: Kelleen’s heaving breast, Becca’s long, dexterous toes, the tears running down their cheeks, the ways their feet and bodies writhed and struggled against their bonds. I had never fantasized about anything close to this sort of thing, but mere flashes of memory stoked the fires of a long, shuddering cum that left spots dancing before my eyes and my heart hammering in my chest.
I drew a luxurious, hot bath, stripped, and stepped into the steaming tub, easing myself into the water’s caress. I washed thoroughly, enjoying the languorous feeling of having just had a cum. I found, though, that the satisfaction of spending was quickly replaced by a fresh wave of arousal, and so again, in the tub, feet propped on either side of the faucet, one hand teasing my rock-hard nipples, the other busy in my underwater cavern, I brought myself to a glorious, shuddering, toe-curling spend. I gasped aloud as each wave hit me, throwing my head back in delicious, rapturous pleasure as the tension within me burst and dissolved into sweet pleasure.
By the time I had collected myself and finished my bath, though, I found myself hungry for it again. It was strange: as strong an appetite as I had (and have), I had always been fairly well sated after one good, strong climax. Now, though, it was as if some tension, some need, remained unsatisfied, despite the pair powerful orgasms I had given myself. But I couldn’t just stay there and bring myself off all evening – they’d be waiting for me at dinner. With a tinge of regret, I dressed for dinner, choosing a particularly lovely deep blue dress from the armoire, dried and brushed my hair, and, still getting used to the novel luxury of going everywhere barefoot, went down to dinner.
Dinner was a lovely affair. We ate in a great but oddly cozy dining room, lit by golden candlelight. There was much wine, and such delicious food of a kind I had never tasted before – the Countess explained that it was a recipe from the Far East. The Countess, Kelleen, and Becca were my dinner companions; the Countess explained to me that Cassandra, the lovely, if Amazonian, New Zealander who had met me at the station, often joined us for meals, but that she was away tonight. The Countess kept a minimal staff, in contrast with the habits of most landed gentry. Madge, the cook, was a solid, pretty blonde-haired woman in perhaps her forties; buxom and braided, she reminded me of a Viking princess in an opera, though she was not at all heavy. She both prepared and served the food with a rough-spun grace that was instantly endearing. I noticed she was shod, and wondered how much she knew of the house’s secrets. Whatever the answer, she could certainly prepare a magnificent meal. I felt at ease, welcome, and indulged, even if still a bit abuzz with arousal.
Kelleen and Becca, despite (or perhaps because of) their earlier ordeal, looked absolutely radiant. They had, of course, bathed and dressed for dinner, but their faces and bare shoulders had a healthy glow of exertion about them, and their demeanor was ever so relaxed and at ease. I wondered if they had indulged themselves as I had in the intervening hour. If so, they had evidently achieved the release that still eluded me.
Our discussion roved over many topics, as we told of ourselves and our interests and they prepared me for the day ahead. The discussed the various teachers at the school -- Miss Glover, a professor of biology, in particular. Kelleen, kind soul, found her perfectly delightful, but, to Becca’s tastes, she was exceedingly proper and rather pinched: as Becca put it, she had a stick up her arse that badly wanted removing.
My intellectual curiosity took over, and I found myself pressing the Countess for details about her work. When I did, she raised a subtle finger, stopping me, and cut her eyes in the direction of the kitchen. Evidently, we did not discuss such things in front of outsiders, and Madge the Cook counted as an outsider. I blushed, but a kind smile and shake of the head told me I was forgiven. I was still desperately curious, as was my nature, but more discussion would have to wait. I didn’t mind, really – I was enjoying myself tremendously, and feeling so magnificently fortunate not to be dining at the somber, strict, and generally Spartan table at Casa de Pig.
Dinner completed, we cleared our own dishes, which I found rather refreshing, then said our good nights. Kelleen told me she would fetch me at a bit before nine the next morning for lessons, and we retired to our respective chambers.
Back in my room, I discovered that my bed had been turned down and a wonderfully sheer and soft silk nightgown had been left for me. I changed, washed up, brushed my teeth, and slid between the covers. It was not terribly late, but I was tired from rich food and the day’s…exertions. For a moment, my hand strayed once more between my thighs, as the peculiar tension remained. But its edge had been dulled by fine food and drink, and I drifted off to sleep, eager to discover what the next day held.
Part the Second: In which I am Initiated into the Strange, Wonderful Secrets of MystmeadeThe power, once it takes hold, suffuses the earth itself, radiating from the world’s core along invisible but very real lines. Some, alas, remain lost thousands of feet beneath the surface. Others, though, come close enough that those very special ones can draw it into themselves. I have found a few characteristics essential: They must be sensitive of foot, primed for venery, yet of unspoiled virginity, and in the fourth sextet of their years. As nearly as I can tell, a handful of barefoot, ticklish demivierges, properly placed, might power whole kingdoms…
From the Journals of Hieronymous Meade, circa 1814.
Even though the train that would take me to Mystmeade did not leave until three days later, I had packed all of my belongings into two steamer trunks within an hour of the Countess’s departure. My thoughts were oriented, utterly and completely, toward the future, and my body fairly trembled with the need to leave the awful, garish china shop that was Casa de Pig behind and to embrace my future with this peculiar, fascinating woman. I passed those days in listless impatience; I slept fitfully, and was ready to go hours before the coachman took me to the station. Madame Piggy put on a great show of being sad to see me go, showing me more affection (however brittle and false) in that morning than she had in all the months before. Behind her crocodile tears at my departure, I knew she was thrilled to see me go. Not half so thrilled as I was, of course, to leave her behind.
A couple of hours by train brought me to a charming little village in the countryside. I was greeted at the station by the tall, strong woman who had accompanied the Countess the night before. She smiled politely, her teeth strong, white, and even, and her dark eyes harbored a mysterious twinkle. “Miss Bethany? I’m Cassandra. Call me Cassie, if you like. We met briefly at your Uncle’s home. I will be driving you to Mystmeade.” Her voice was deep but feminine, and I found her accent bewitching. Again, she wore seemingly mannish clothes -- a white shirt open at the collar, khaki riding pants, and tall brown boots – but they fit her magnificent body in such a flatteringly snug way that no-one could have mistaken her for anything but a gorgeously proportioned woman. Her brown hair was loose, today, hanging free, straight, and shiny down her back. It was quite unconventional dress for a woman in those early years of the new century, but she was so breathtakingly lovely and so intimidating that I could not imagine anyone voicing an objection.
The porters loaded one of my steamer trunks into the boot of a great black motorcar, and she wrestled the other into the back seat. I had expected to ride in the back, but she opened the passenger side front door, and I climbed in. I had never ridden in the front seat of a motorcar before; it felt quite liberating. She climbed into the driver’s seat and we set off.
The road wound through a lovely bit of countryside, all sunny hills and meadows full of wildflowers. Cassie said little, and I, shy and overwhelmed, had so many questions that I could not decide where to begin, so we rode mostly in silence. It was a comfortable silence, though, and every now and again she would point out some feature to me: “Those bluffs give a lovely view of the sea,” or “There’s a little hamlet down that road a bit that has a charming inn.” The top was down on the car, and I simply drank in the cool breeze, gentle sunshine, and the scent of spring flowers.
Soon, we came to a great, venerable-looking building, constructed in classical style and enormous, sitting on a great expanse of manicured lawn. There were tennis courts and gardens, as well, and a number of pretty young girls walking about the grounds. “That’s Mystmeade Academy,” Cassandra said. “You’ll be getting to know it well enough, as all your classes will be there.”
“But I’m not to live there?” I asked, curious.
“No, ma’am. The Countess has a select few girls up to her own home to stay. Don’t worry – I’m quite sure you’ll like it there.”
I was quite sure I would like it, too. But I was also puzzled: why me, and not the scores of other girls at the Academy? I should have liked to think it was because I was so clever, or so charming, or so gifted – but, surely she would not have had to tickle me silly to determine that. And what of her other questions, so shockingly personal? And that little chant, and the strange necklace? I started to speak, but something in Cassandra’s bearing made me hold my tongue. Somehow, I knew that no answers would be forthcoming from her.
After a short drive, we turned off the main road and came to a great iron gate, capped with gold decorations. Cassie got out and opened the gate, drove us through, and closed it behind us. “The Countess keeps staff to a minimum,” she explained, as she returned to the car for the second time. “She values her privacy above nearly all else.”
And yet she invited me, and presumably others, to live with her, I thought. Inside, the drive wound through great, grassy, flowery meadows that gradually gave way to beautifully manicured gardens. Flowers of every color and description were trained around pathways and fountains, and little nooks with benches were situated here and there. The drive culminated at the front of an enormous manor house, imposing but somehow welcoming, grand and beautiful with its columns and galleries. We parked in front, I took a deep breath, and stepped out into my new life.
Cassie walked me to the front door, where I was greeted by a lovely young woman about my age. She was petite, barely five feet tall, with fiery red hair hanging about her shoulders. Her green eyes sparkled, and she had the most wonderful, impertinent little nose that crinkled when she smiled, as she was doing now. She had fair Irish skin with rosy cheeks, and her whole bearing radiated laughter and good cheer.
Her manner of dress surprised me. She wore a simple white dress of soft cotton, cut low at the neckline in a way that accentuated her firm and prominent breasts, and she was barefoot. It was lovely and fetching, and I could not help but think, as I stood in my heavy skirts, petticoats, crinolines, and stockings, how wonderfully, breezily comfortable she looked.
To my surprise, she embraced me immediately, standing on her tiptoes to hug me about the neck. “So lovely to meet you, Bethany!” she said, her voice lilting with an Irish accent. “I am Kelleen, one of your fellow pupils. This is a wonderful place, just marvelous, really, and I know you’ll simply adore it! Now, I shall be thrilled to take you to the mistress, but let’s go to your room first and get you changed. You’ll feel so much better out of those heavy clothes!”
She led me by the hand through the great foyer and up a spiral staircase to the second floor. My fleeting impressions of the manor’s interior reinforced my initial delight. It was beautiful, and fascinating, decorated with the most intriguing artifacts, paintings, and tapestries. A few I recognized by style, but others were unlike anything I had seen before. Nearly everywhere were little green stones, like the one the Countess had used during our first meeting: they winked from statues, glittered on mantels, shimmered in chandeliers. Glimpsed from the corner of the eye, they often seemed to sparkle with a light all their own.
She led me to a lovely, sunny bedroom, small but quite comfortable, with its own washbasin with running taps, a bed with a coverlet white and soft as a cloud and a wealth of fluffy pillows, and glass doors that opened onto my very own private balcony!
“Is this…to be mine?” I asked, incredulous. My parents had been rather wealthy, of course, and the Bludgings were of a kind of petty gentry, but I had thought luxury of this sort was reserved for royalty.
“Yes, of course! Do you like it?”
“It’s absolutely wonderful!” I said, looking out the glass doors over the gardens below and out to the hills in the distance.
“It is quite, isn’t it?” Kelleen grinned. “Now, would you like to change? Your trunks haven’t made it up here yet, but there are some lovely clothes in the armoire there. Here at the manor, we value simple beauty and comfort. I don’t know whether the Countess has told you much about how things work here, but that’s something you’ll realize quite quickly. I’ll wait outside, if you like, while you put on something more comfortable.”
I thanked her, and she left me alone in my new home. I opened the armoire, and inside found a beautiful array of spring clothes – light dresses, blouses, and skirts. There were underclothes, too, of a light and gossamer sort far different than those to which I was accustomed. I put these on, then chose a light blue dress of light, airy material that fit me as if it had been tailored precisely to compliment my body, then looked down at my feet in their heavy blue stockings. I saw no shoes in the armoire or under the bed, and the ones I had been wearing were hardly a match for the dress. I opened the door and called for Kelleen, who was looking out a window over the grounds.
“Oh! Look at ye!” She exclaimed, her Irish accent stronger for the emotion in her voice. “How lovely you are!”
I blushed slightly, thinking the same of her. “I didn’t see any shoes, and I’m afraid mine will look a bit funny with this dress,” I said.
“Oh, no, dear. You won’t need any shoes. We go barefoot here. It’s quite lovely, really. Sometimes we’ll wear sandals out of doors, but for the most part, we keep bare feet. The Countess insists upon it,” she explained, leaving me more puzzled than before.
But I was more than happy to strip off my stockings and bare my feet. Once I had done so, Kelleen led on. It was an almost scandalous feeling of freedom, to walk about a rich, magnificent manor like that barefoot. The floors seemed to caress my soles with each step – the hardwoods and marbles cool, but not cold; the carpets thick and soft and welcoming. With my bare feet and light clothes, I felt as if I had been set free from a prison I had not known I was in.
Kelleen led me through the manor. Each room seemed more breathtakingly beautiful than the last. I was particularly struck by the library, stocked from floor to towering ceiling with leatherbound books from all around the world, and by the music room, which featured all manner of instruments, including the most magnificently carved harp I had ever seen.
“Aren’t they lovely?” Kelleen asked, noticing my interest in the instruments. “They are ours to play, any time we like!”
I felt a pang of joy. What wonders this place held! And yet, so much remained unexplained! My brain swam with questions, but I was not yet sure whether Kelleen, much as I instantly liked her, was someone I could ask.
And another mysterious thing was happening to me, as we walked through that great house. I had no idea why, could not account for it logically in any way, but I found myself becoming increasingly aroused. I was not consciously thinking of anything erotic, nor daydreaming, yet it was happening. It was subtle, a warm tingle more than anything else, that seemed to enter at the soles of my feet and course deliciously to my nipples and nethers. It was actually rather delightful. But I could not, for the life of me, figure out why it would be happening.
The thousand questions in my head would hold no longer. “Kelleen,” I said, as we padded through a magnificent gallery of classical sculptures.
Kelleen stopped for a moment and turned to face me. Her smile was charming, almost elfin, and her eyes sparkled with glee and a bit of mischief. “Oh, I know, dearie. You must have so many questions. To be honest with you, I still have many myself. It’s all a bit mysterious here, but ever so pleasant. Once you speak with the Countess, you shall have a somewhat better idea. But I shouldn’t presume to try to explain any of it before that. It’s all so odd at first, and I fear if I were to try to explain any of it, I’d have ye runnin’ for the hills! And that would be such a shame, as you’d miss so much fun!” She giggled and winked, then turned and led on. I found my gaze lingering on her firm, round bottom beneath the sheer dress. I felt a pang of lust – why? I had never fancied women before. The very floor seemed to hum, ever so slightly, beneath the soles of my feet.
At last, we came to the Countess’s office. Kelleen straightened her dress and knocked on the door.
“Who is it?” came the rich, wonderful voice I had come to know in Madame Piggie’s parlor. I felt a twinge of nervous excitement.
“It’s Kelleen, ma’am. I have Bethany with me.”
“Thank you, darling. Send her in. As for you, get yourself and Rebecca ready – we meet at six!”
Kelleen gave me a wink, took my hand, and squeezed it reassuringly. “See you soon!” she whispered, opening the door.
I entered a great, airy office whose wall of windows offered a panoramic view of the surrounding countryside. As beautiful as it was, my attention was drawn entirely to the breathtaking person of the Countess herself. In the city, she had been conventionally, if impeccably, dressed, as befitted a proper upper-class woman calling upon the same. Today, though, she wore an achingly beautiful gossamer gown of emerald green, light and airy like the dresses Kelleen and I wore, but somehow far more elegant in its simplicity. Her silver hair flowed over her shoulders, glistening in the soft light, and her kind blue eyes sparkled. I realized, as she drifted across the floor to embrace me, that she was barefoot, as well. Rings glistened on the second toe of each elegant, delicate foot. She was utterly enchanting.
She kissed me on both cheeks and took my hands. “Welcome, darling. I am ever so glad you have chosen to join us. Is your room all right?”
“I should say so, ma’am. It’s wonderful.”
“Good, good. Have a seat, won’t you?”
I sat as she poured me a glass of cool water at came to sit opposite me. For a moment, I flashed back to the last time she’d sat across from me, and my toes curled involuntarily.
“Now. Mystmeade, as you have no doubt surmised, is a unique and unusual place. First and foremost, I want you to understand that you will be receiving a first class education. Each morning, you, Kelleen, and Becca, whom you will meet shortly, will descend the hill to take your classes at the Academy. You will be treated like any other student there – no favoritism simply because you live here. You will be expected to keep up with your lessons and apply yourself. Is that understood?” Her tone was gentle but firm.
“Absolutely, ma’am,” I replied. I was actually rather eager for the lessons – I have always been a keen and curious student.
“All right,” she said, sitting back in her chair and propping her bare feet on the low table between us. I noticed the soles of her feet looked smooth and buttery-soft, then wondered why I noticed. She flexed her toes, and her soles wrinkled. I quickly looked away, hoping she hadn’t noticed me looking.
“Here’s the rest of it, or as much as I can tell you now. First off, know that you are free to leave here at any time. My initial offer to set you up independently with the considerable funds your guardian has handed over for your education and upkeep stands, and will stand throughout your time here. If you do stay, though, you must participate fully and completely in all that we do. I will not prohibit your from asking questions, but I will likely answer very few. A great deal of what I will ask of you will seem quite personal, even scandalous. And a great deal of it will involve tickling those pretty feet of yours.”
I unconsciously pulled my bare feet back beneath the hem of my dress. “I…see,” I said, uncertainly.
“No, you don’t,” she said kindly. “How could you? But I will try to explain. I am…a researcher. A scientist, really, of a very particular kind. You, Kelleen, and Becca are here to assist me in work of tremendous importance. ”
I was incredulous. But I remembered the stone she had used to keep our interview from the ears of Madame Piggy, and it seemed less impossible. Also, as I looked into those wise, intelligent, sparkling blue eyes, I believed this woman capable of anything.
“I will not waste either of our time in attempting to explain the full scope of my research. If you knew, it could potentially compromise your unique suitability to help with it.”
My confusion must have been evident in my expression, as she smiled apologetically. “I know it’s all a bit strange, darling. You will come to understand more in time. Simply put, I need you and the other girls in two capacities. You will assist me in my experiments. To do so, all you’ll have to do is go about barefoot most of the time while on the Manor grounds, and, now and again, submit to a good, thorough tickling. I promise you, you will sustain no harm from this; in fact, all indications from my research are that the process fills young women with strength, vigor, and health. Do you think you will be willing to help me with this?”
I blinked, overwhelmed and puzzled. I suspected she might be crazy. But then there was the strange, humming energy that tingled along the soles of my feet when I walked here, and the strong, inexplicable arousal that seemed to come with it. What was going on here? Was I to be the ward of a madwoman?
Perhaps. But for the moment, I reasoned, the worst that could come of this is that I live in a paradise, receive a fine education, and am forever free of Madame Piggy, all for the price of an occasional foot-tickling. I could live with that. And it gave me a fascinating mystery to solve…
“Yes, ma’am,” I replied. “I shall be happy to help you.”
She regarded me thoughtfully, and smiled. “I’m quite sure you think I am absolutely out of my damned mind,” she said gently. “And that’s fair. In any case, I thank you for indulging me.
“Now, I would ask only two more things – one easy, one perhaps more difficult. First, you must tell no-one of the work I am doing here, however little you know of it. I’m afraid I must ask you to swear secrecy. Will you?”
“Yes, ma’am. I swear it.” I could see no reason not to. But once the oath was out, it felt oddly solemn and weighty, and I realized that, at that moment, I had no intention of breaking it.
“Thank you. Second, I must make a request of you that in some ways goes against my entire world view. I must ask that, while you remain here, you retain your virginity. This is not for moral reasons; you should know already how I feel about the silly strictures we place on women’s sexuality. It is simply that, for reasons as yet unknown to me, the moment a woman takes a man’s seed inside her, her suitability for my work is forever compromised. So, I’m afraid you must not engage in intercourse for as long as you remain here. Do you understand?”
“Yes ma’am.” This troubled me a bit, but as I had no immediate prospects, it did not seem a pressing problem.
She gave me a rueful look. “Now, I know it seems cruel. But you can, and should, relieve your tension in other ways, whether alone or with your fellow students.”
I felt a scandalous jolt pass through me as my thoughts turned uncontrollably to the lovely Kelleen.
“You can even sport with gentlemen, if you’d like, so long as you stop short of consummating the act. In short, you may climax all you like, but guard the final prize of your virginity.”
I felt a heady thrill at her frank discussion of topics I could not imagine voicing openly. The consistent, subtle, throbbing energy that set me tingling made the thrill all the sharper. I found myself nodding in assent.
“Excellent!” she said, laying a reassuring hand on my knee. “Now, my pledge to you. I will respect you through all, I will never exploit you, and I will be as honest with you as I am able. And at any time, by your request, I will relinquish to you the entire fortune your Aunt has paid me, plus more besides, and will let you depart as you wish. I would only ask that you keep your vow of secrecy, as I already know you will.”
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.”
“Very good, then. Come along! Dinner will be served soon, but before, you shall meet your fellows, and shall see a bit of what really goes on here.”
She led me to a chamber in a previously-unexplored wing of the house and to a lovely sitting room, where two young women awaited us. One was Kelleen, looking somehow more bewitchingly lovely now than before for having freshened up; she smiled cheerily. The other was blonde, and, though equally beautiful, as different from Kelleen in bearing and apparent temperament as could be. She was of medium height, a bit shorter than myself, a bit taller than Kelleen. If Kelleen was the sweet, maternal type, this blonde was a sultry, sardonic nymph. Every part of her seemed subtly radiant. Her skin, browned by the sun as mine was in summers before I moved to Casa de Pig, glowed with health and vigor; her hair, a lovely dark golden, caught the light fetchingly as it fell about her bare shoulders in artfully touseled impudence. Her face had an arch beauty that might well have seemed cold or cruel, but a charming little beauty mark at the edge of her mouth softened it slightly, and her brown eyes, while mocking, seemed to do so good-naturedly. She, like Kelleen and me, wore a lovely light dress that clung to her lean curves and accentuated her full bosom and slender waist. Her body had the look of an athlete’s, as I like to fancy mine does; her shoulders and arms had the smooth muscle tone of perhaps a swimmer. She was barefoot, as well, like the rest of us, and stood rather jauntily, a glass of wine in one hand, the other on her hip; the toes of one foot resting on the instep of the other. There was an almost masculine confidence about her, though one would be hard-pressed to see anything else masculine in her appearance or bearing!
“Ladies, this is Bethany. She has just joined us this afternoon from London, as I am quite sure you both know. Bethany, I know you have met Kelleen. This other lovely creature is Rebecca.”
Rebecca smiled and gave me a nod. Her eyes held a dark humor, but something in them reassured me that she was neither cruel nor mean-spirited. “Welcome, Bethany, to our little asylum,” she said. Her voice was the slightest bit husky, and made me think instantly of sex – though, truth be told, nearly everything was having that effect on me that evening!
The Countess laughed. “Asylum, indeed! Asylum in the truest sense, as a place of shelter from the preposterous and mundane world beyond. And peopled with such lovely young inmates, as well.” She affectionately brushed a lock of crimson hair from Kelleen’s forehead.
“Now, as comparative veterans of Mystmeade, you both know, basically, what is to happen here this evening,” our mistress began.
“Time for someone to pay her tuition,” Rebecca cooed, pouring dark red wine into a fresh crystal glass and handing it to me. I nodded my thanks and took a sip, feeling its heady warmth immediately.
“Oh, I hate to think of it that way. I prefer to think of it as contributing to the ongoing operations of this school, and to my very important research,” the Countess said.
“Easy for you to say,” Kelleen said, giving another of those precious nose-wrinkling smiles.
Their banter made me a bit nervous, but at the same time was light enough that I felt much more curiosity –even excitement and anticipation – than any real fear.
“Are we to break in the new one tonight?” Rebecca asked. Her accent was pure London upper crust; mine was, as well, primarily, though occasionally a bit of cockney crept in around the edges. She sounded sophisticated, cool, and a bit scary.
“After a fashion,” the Countess replied. “But, no, she shall not be … contributing in the way you mean. Not on her first night here. She will be assisting, instead.”
“Right, then who’s it to be?” Kelleen asked, taking a deep breath.
“Draw straws?” The Countess asked, and the other two assented. In a moment, it was Kelleen who held the short straw – Rebecca stuck out her tongue at her for the briefest moment before resuming her air of cool. The redhead blushed and let out a despairing little “Aah!” I waited, fascinated to see where this was going, though I already had a vague and general idea.
“Where shall I sit?” Kelleen asked.
“I had an idea,” the Countess said. She took some thick, soft quilts that had been draped over sofas in the room and laid them out on the floor behind the couch. She gestured to Kelleen, who, with a giggle, lay down on her back atop them, her crimson curls making a fiery halo around her lovely face. The Countess then guided Kelleen’s legs up against the back of a sofa and propped her ankles on the back so that the soles of her bare feet were essentially pointed at the ceiling; she shifted a bit to ensure that her dress left her a bit of modesty. “There. That way, you might at least relax a bit as they go.”
The Countess produced a small golden cord that glistened in the room’s rich light. She whispered a phrase over it, and it lashed out, snakelike, to wrap around Kelleen’s ankles, binding her feet together, and then extended to shore them up against the sturdy wooden rail at the back of the sofa . Kelleen let out a bit of a squeal, but neither of my schoolmates seemed particularly shocked at what seemed, to me, to verge on a miracle.
Rebecca noticed my incredulous expression. “Oh, there’s quite a bit of that sort of thing to get used to,” she said matter-of-factly. The Countess gave me a smile and wink.
“Right!” the Countess said, after giving each of Kelleen’s big toes a playful wiggle. “I have a bit of business to take care of, but I trust I can leave things to you. Rebecca, I am certain you will be a fine guide and mentor to Bethany through this evening’s activities, correct?’
“Oh, absolutely, ma’am,” Rebecca said.
“And be effective, but kind, with Kelleen?”
Kelleen gave a little groan from where she lay on the floor. Rebecca smiled a wicked little smile. “The very soul of kindness, ma’am. But ever so effective. One crystal?”
“To start,” the Countess said. Kelleen groaned again at that.
And so it was that I was left alone for the first time with my two schoolmates, one of whom was bound supine on the floor with her bare feet in the air, the other of whom fairly glowed with gleeful mischief.
“Right,” Rebecca said. “I know the mistress has doubtless explained the basics to you, but I also know that this seems absolutely barking mad. Well, it is, and it isn’t. Here’s the way of it.” She moved to the mantel and opened a small, ornate box. Inside were three or four gems of varying colors and sizes. They were similar to some I had already seen about the manor, but while those seemed to flare with inner light, these were dark. “See this crystal, here? These little chaps glow brighter and brighter when we laugh. But not just any laugh – we can’t just sit about telling each other droll stories and dirty jokes. It’s got to come from tickling to be any good. Genuine, physical. Do you follow?”
“Yes, I suppose,” I said. I really didn’t – how could I? Why did they glow, and what good was the glowing? And what did laughter have to do with it? But I held my peace, preferring to observe and learn.
“Good. As I said, barking mad. But the Countess insists it’s crucial to her work, whatever that is. So, we do it.”
I nodded, eyes wide. It was wondrous. It was bizarre. And at the same time, I could not quite get past the silliness of the whole scene. I glanced over at Kelleen; from where I stood, all I could see were her pink bare feet. Her toes wiggled absently as she waited patiently for what was to come.
“Aye, we do it,” her voice chimed in from where she lay on the floor. “And tonight, bless me, I’m the one for it.”
“That you are,” Rebecca said, with a little chuckle. “Now, come along, Bethany, and I’ll show you how it works.” She took the crystal and placed it on a little pedestal, which, in turn, she placed on the floor a couple of yards from Kelleen.
“Don’t want her thrashing about and upsetting it,” she explained, “Though I doubt that would really have much effect. Now, my dear, for the fun part. Here at Mystmeade,” she said, arching her brow in a parody of a schoolmistresses’ didactic speech, “we believe that there is an art to any task, however large, small, or…unusual. If you will join me here on the sofa, I shall teach you how to well and truly tickle Kelleen Murphy’s feet.”
Kelleen let out a little shriek and curled her toes tight. I knelt alongside Rebecca on the couch, Kelleen’s bound feet between us. From where we knelt, we could easily see Kelleen’s lovely, flushed face and heaving bosom as well as, in stark close-up, the bottoms of her helplessly-trussed bare feet. I had never really made a study of anyone’s feet, save perhaps my own, but under the circumstances I found hers quite interesting. Kelleen’s feet, while smaller than my own, were well-formed and sturdy, broad and strong-looking but eminently feminine, with toes that had a round, gumdrop cuteness without being stubby. When she scrunched those little toes, as she was now for all she was worth, her smooth, shapely soles became a veritable web of tiny, fetching little wrinkles and crinkles. I don’t know if it was the house and its strange energies, the bit of a crush I had developed on Kelleen, or simply the novelty of the situation, but I found myself quite keen to tickle those little pink darlings for all I was worth. I deferred, though, to Rebecca’s leadership.
“Now, the thing about Kelleen is that she, like me and, I’m sure, you, since you’re here, is wickedly ticklish.” She glanced meaningfully down at my own bare soles, upturned as I knelt on the couch, and I found myself subtly swiveling them away from her.
“So, there’s really no wrong way to go about tickling her feet. I like to start with a bit of a tease,” she said. With that, she blew ever so softly on the soles of Kelleen’s feet through tightly pursed lips, making her toes wriggle a bit at the cool pinpoint of breath. I glanced at Kelleen’s face and saw that her eyes were shut, and she appeared to be biting her lip.
“Then,” Rebecca said, her voice now a husky coo, “I like to tease a bit with my hair.” Leaning over Kelleen’s upturned feet, she took a lock of her hair between her fingers and began to use the tips to tease Kelleen’s soles, dusting the balls of her feet ever so lightly with it. Kelleen began to shake and giggle, her whole body quivering. I noticed the crystal flash subtly.
“Aaaand, once I’ve had my fill of that,” Rebecca said softly, “I’ll see what damage I can do with one finger. In fact, why don’t you try, Bethany? One finger,” she said, crooking her index finger as if to demonstrate.
Excitement overcame my hesitation. I was fascinated from an intellectual standpoint, by the strange and mysterious research this was supposedly enabling, as well as for more lascivious reasons. Something about having this beautiful, barefoot girl bound helplessly before me struck me as powerfully arousing, and was transforming the idea of tickling into something far more erotic than I had ever considered it could be.
I carefully, gently traced one fingernail down the very center of Kelleen’s right arch. Her toes clenched, then spread and wiggled, as if trying to fight the sensation. I kept it up, tracing up and down, and was quickly rewarded with helpless peals of the sweetest giggles I had ever heard. Rebecca joined in, using her index finger up and down the center of Kelleen’s other sole, and the giggles seemed, impossibly, to double, bubbling up out of our ticklish Irish lass like overflowing champagne.
Abruptly, Rebecca switched tacks, using all four fingernails in a light, skittering attack. Kelleen bucked once in panic, then her giggles transformed into a rich, musical belly-laugh that swelled with each new focus of Rebecca’s attack. I followed her lead, scribbling my fingernails over Kelleen’s other foot, and delighted in the effect my touch had upon her.
We tickled her with gusto, flicking tickly fingertips over her cringing soles, as she whooped and shrieked and hollered with laughter. Save my time on the receiving end of the Countess’s deft fingers, I had no experience with this type of tickling, which went so far beyond the little poke-or-stroke-and-giggle tickling that had been the whole of my knowledge as to be a different sort of thing entirely. I was seeing for the first time what happened when a ticklish person was bound with no hope of escape and forced to endure the unendurable consequences of her vulnerability. What does one do, under those circumstances? Well, apparently, one squirms, and writhes, and begs, and wiggles, and laughs, and laughs, and laughs some more.
“Now, she’s frightfully ticklish about the arches, clearly, and terribly so about the toes,” Rebecca cooed, her voice as soft and musical as if she were putting a baby down to sleep. “But I’ve found a few spots – like this one, here, right at the top of the heel, where it meets the center of the foot – that, if scratched insistently and relentlessly, can drive her utterly out of her little mind.”
“HEEEYY!” Kelleen began to protest, but her words were instantly shattered into a cascade of ha’s and hee’s and ho’s as Rebecca and I, her attentive student, carried out exactly the maneuver that had just been described. As I tickled the top of the heel, I brought my other hand to bear on the area just beneath her struggling toes, and she squealed afresh.
Rebecca struck me with the cool, cruel way she carried out this tickling attack on her friend and comrade. She seemed a natural torturer, tickling Kelleen to devastating effect, but for all her mocking air, she was not without sweetness and affection. I found myself regarding her with a pang similar to that which Kelleen had inspired in me, earlier. For a moment, I imagined, in a flash, the three of us, quite naked, entwined among silk sheets, touching and caressing and pleasuring and, yes, tickling, and my inner parts simply melted into a gush of arousal.
Surprised as I was by these unfamiliar feelings – unfamiliar in their source, I should say, not in their nature – I did not flag in my task of tickling Kelleen’s feet. Rebecca and I tickled our poor, lovely, helpless Kelleen until she seemed about to burst with laughter. Her laugh was, as I said, musical, and, as frenzied and desperate as it became, it never lost that tone of dulcet sweetness. Even shrieking like a ticklish madwoman, Kelleen’s voice sounded sweet and strong and pleasant to the ear. I was not surprised to discover, subsequently, that she was a wonderful singer. At any rate, Rebecca and I played her ticklish feet like instruments, wringing out all the clear, sweet laughing music we could from that healthy, heaving breast – a breast that I found myself staring at, more than once, as it strained against her light, airy, form-fitting dress. I felt a little tingle in my core to see that her nipples were quite hard, and straining against the fabric.
Though her eyes were shut tight throughout most of the tickling, now and again Kelleen would open those emerald windows of the soul and gaze up at us, her torturers. Her expression was a mix of pleading and hilarity; tears flowed down her reddened cheeks into that flaming nimbus of hair. She seemed to be desperately suffering, but the smile that lit her angelic features made it look like the sweetest pleasure, as well.
Suddenly, there was a soft, chiming sound –a single tone, like a knife tapped against fine crystal. “Aah! That one’s done,” Rebecca said, with evident regret. She left off tickling, and I reluctantly did the same. I gazed down at Kelleen, who was gasping with relief. The soles of her feet instinctively turned toward each other, as if she were attempting to close doors against any invading onslaught of tickles yet to beset her soles.
“Oh…y….you’re a …cruel one, Becca Winters, that …. Ye are,” she gasped. Then her eyes came to rest on me, with a mix of outrage and good humor. “And you, ye wicked lass! Ye fair killed me!”
“I—I’m sorry. I really am. I just…”
“Oh, pish tosh,” said Becca, inspecting the stone, which now glowed brightly, and replacing it in the box on the mantel. “She’s just bellyaching. You did precisely as you were supposed to, and as she knew you would.”
“Oh, yes, dear, quite,” Kelleen managed, getting her breath back under control. “I’m just funnin’ with ye. If ye hadn’t been such a natural at tickling me poor feet, it might have taken twice as long to light that stone, and I’d still be laughin’ me fool head off here on the floor.”
Becca came back over the the sofa, moving with catlike languor. I felt flushed, tingling with arousal; I could not help but wonder whether Becca, or even Kelleen, was as heated as I by the evening’s activities. “Now…. The mistress said one crystal ‘to start,’ Becca said, absently trailing a fingernail over the tips of Kelleen’s bound toes. “It may be, Kelleen darling, that your evening has yet to end.”
Kelleen let out a little cry of dismay, her feet cringing anew, and I felt my excitement rising at the prospect of having another go and those deliciously sensitive feet. But at that very moment, a soft knock came on the chamber door, and the Countess swept in.
“Is the crystal done, then?” she asked, smiling brightly.
“Yes, ma’am,” Becca responded, nodding toward the mantel.
“Are you quite all right, Kelleen, dear?” the Countess called. All she could see of Kelleen, of course, were her bound bare feet, still pointing skyward from behind the couch.
“Yes ma’am,” Kelleen responded, her sweet voice a bit hoarse.
“Oh, she’s fit as a fiddle,” Becca said, licking her lips. “Shall we do another, while we have her there?” Kelleen whimpered, her feet cringing.
The Countess looked at Becca for a moment, a sly smile on her face. “Oh, we’ll do another, my dear. But not from Kelleen.” She made a gesture and uttered a phrase, and the golden cord slithered free of Kelleen’s ankles, liberating her. I hopped from the couch and helped her to her feet. She thanked me, and took a deep draught of the wine she had been drinking before her ordeal began.
“Oh, no,” Becca said, backing unconsciously away from the Countess.
“Oh, I fear so, sweetie,” the Countess replied. “Our new arrival must understand that everything here will be fair and square. So, how would you like it? Donor’s choice. Will you try it as Kelleen did? It looked quite relaxing.”
Becca shook her head ruefully. She sat down on a divan and propped her bare feet, crossed at the ankles, on the low table in front of her. She gave her long toes a defiant little wriggle. “Right here will do. I’ll look my tormentors squarely in the eye,” she said theatrically.
“Very good, then. Kelleen, Bethany – Becca owes us a crystal. Then, bathe, collect yourselves, and to the west dining room for dinner.” She blew us a kiss and swept out of the room, leaving me and Kelleen staring hungrily at Becca’s bound feet. They were quite lovely: on the large side, rather like mine, but longer and thinner. Her arches were quite high, narrowing her soles at their apex until they widened to a delicate ball and quite strikingly long, nimble-looking toes. Had they not been so large, they would have seemed elfin in their proportions – as it was, they put me in mind of the most graceful of dancers.
As I considered the cool, haughty blonde, I was struck by the very different ways that a woman can be barefoot. Not long before, the barefoot Becca had seemed carefree, confident, in control, her lack of footwear a sign of relaxation and casual comfort. Now, her trembling soles and nervously writhing toes bound on helpless display, being barefoot took on an entirely new meaning. I could not help but think, momentarily, of the Countess – what might it be like to have her bound, her soles at my mercy. My nipples, stiff and tingling, poked at the gossamer of my gown, and my engorged bud gave such a throb I felt my knees threaten to buckle. I wondered if the others could see my arousal, feared that the juices suffusing my overheated quim might rain to the floor in great plashing drops.
Kelleen, her recovery quite hastened by the prospect of payback, swiftly retrieved another empty crystal from the box on the mantel and set it on its pedestal in an opportune locale. Then, making a great show of rubbing her hands together with relish, she came to kneel in front of her trussed tormentress. I took pillows from a nearby sofa and knelt on one, offering the other to Kelleen, who accepted it gratefully. Then, we attacked.
Kelleen wasted no time with the teasing show of instructing me in how to tickle, which I now know was as much a psychological technique as it was a genuine lesson. Instead, she dove in with great relish, grabbing hold of the toes of Becca’s right foot with one hand, yanking them back for maximum exposure, and digging her fingertips in in a wiggly, scribbly assault on the long, slender stems of Becca’s ticklish toes.
With the first unbearable sensations of Kelleen’s toe-tickling, Becca’s entire body writhed and contorted like an angry snake. She was silent except for a great, dramatic catching of her breath, a desperate gasp that fit the agony that suddenly suffused her stunning face perfectly. The silence continued, and I thought for a moment that she was resisting, until I realized how violently her shoulders were shaking. Her desperate laughter was merely so high-pitched and intense as to be inaudible, like a scream from one who cannot catch a breath. The impact of Kelleen’s fingers squirming beneath and among those wonderfully long, slender, agile bare toes was so powerful that it robbed her of breath, voice, and bodily control.
Her reaction was, in fact, so striking that I hesitated, afraid to join in lest she couldn’t handle any more. Kelleen gave me a reassuring wink and pat on the knee. “Oh, have at her, dear. Once she’s over the initial shock, we’ll get her laughing loud and long enough. I won’t presume to tell you how, as you seemed a natural right enough when you were working on me. I will tell you that these long, wiggly toes are a weak spot, as is the very hollow of the arch.”
I nodded, hungry to try this new and different victim for my tickles. I leaned in and began scratching at the apex of her arch with teasing, but tenacious fingerstrokes. The long toes of the foot with which I was entrusted splayed, monkeyish, and her leg jerked helplessly against the cord that bound it, but I kept it up, never losing contact with her sensitive sole, and was quickly rewarded with a high-pitched shriek that crested and broke into a flood of wonderful, rich, smoky-voiced laughter, deep but feminine, pouring out of her magnificent body in great wracking waves. Employing a technique that had proven effective on Kelleen a short time before, I teased and tickled her wiggling toes with the spidery fingers of one hand while scratching gently but insistently at the center of her sole with the nails of the other. And I watched, and listened, and felt, as the touch of my fingers and those of my fire-maned accomplice on her bare, ticklish feet transformed Becca thoroughly from haughty-cool sophisticate to hysterically laughing loon. She kept trying to beg, her mouth working as if to form words, but every time she managed a syllable or two her voice broke anew into that wonderful, rolling, smoky chuckle.
Her total defeat was signaled, as it turned out, when those magnificent toes – those long, active, wiggly toes – fell more or less still. At a certain point, they stopped squirming, and her whole body followed suit, no longer writhing and twisting so severely that I had feared she might damage the furniture. From that point, she simply lay back and laughed, surrendering her fruitless efforts to free herself from our tickling. We no longer had to work to maintain my tickling of her squirming, flexing feet; she simply lay slack, toes toward the ceiling, and responded to our sole-tickling offensive by throwing back that beautiful, blonde-tressed head and laughing that rich, deep, body-wracking laugh in utter ticklish surrender. We kept her going that way, laughing with utter abandon, tears streaming down her cheeks, until, a short time later, the crystal sounded its single, final tone. We ceased, and she let out a long, shuddering, wracking sigh.
“Whoo. Hoo hoo hoo. Oh..my…goohohoodness,” she croaked. “That was…quite…gohohoodness.”
Kelleen gave the cord around her ankles a bit of a tug, and it came free. Becca pulled her feet back, rubbing at their soles with her hands as if to massage away lingering tickles. She rolled to her side, grabbed her wine glass, and drained it in a single draught, then took in a deep, ragged breath. Kelleen leaned in and gave her a playful kiss on the forehead, then danced away from a half-hearted grab at her ribs.
“Well, Bethany, darlin’. That’s how it is around here, from time to time, anyway. We do a bit of that, and the place keeps going. That and mistress’s research. Now, though, we should hurry. Can you find your way back to your room? A quick bath, fresh clothes, and I’ll come fetch you for dinner.”
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I staggered weak-kneed back to my chamber. No sooner could I close and latch the door behind me than I was collapsing on my bed, hiking my dress up around my thighs, delving a desperate hand inside my panties and triggering, in what felt like seconds, the climax for which my body had been hungering so intensely all afternoon. As I rode out the waves of an orgasm that seemed to last longer than the strokes that set it free, disjointed images of the bizarre afternoon’s events danced in my mind: Kelleen’s heaving breast, Becca’s long, dexterous toes, the tears running down their cheeks, the ways their feet and bodies writhed and struggled against their bonds. I had never fantasized about anything close to this sort of thing, but mere flashes of memory stoked the fires of a long, shuddering cum that left spots dancing before my eyes and my heart hammering in my chest.
I drew a luxurious, hot bath, stripped, and stepped into the steaming tub, easing myself into the water’s caress. I washed thoroughly, enjoying the languorous feeling of having just had a cum. I found, though, that the satisfaction of spending was quickly replaced by a fresh wave of arousal, and so again, in the tub, feet propped on either side of the faucet, one hand teasing my rock-hard nipples, the other busy in my underwater cavern, I brought myself to a glorious, shuddering, toe-curling spend. I gasped aloud as each wave hit me, throwing my head back in delicious, rapturous pleasure as the tension within me burst and dissolved into sweet pleasure.
By the time I had collected myself and finished my bath, though, I found myself hungry for it again. It was strange: as strong an appetite as I had (and have), I had always been fairly well sated after one good, strong climax. Now, though, it was as if some tension, some need, remained unsatisfied, despite the pair powerful orgasms I had given myself. But I couldn’t just stay there and bring myself off all evening – they’d be waiting for me at dinner. With a tinge of regret, I dressed for dinner, choosing a particularly lovely deep blue dress from the armoire, dried and brushed my hair, and, still getting used to the novel luxury of going everywhere barefoot, went down to dinner.
Dinner was a lovely affair. We ate in a great but oddly cozy dining room, lit by golden candlelight. There was much wine, and such delicious food of a kind I had never tasted before – the Countess explained that it was a recipe from the Far East. The Countess, Kelleen, and Becca were my dinner companions; the Countess explained to me that Cassandra, the lovely, if Amazonian, New Zealander who had met me at the station, often joined us for meals, but that she was away tonight. The Countess kept a minimal staff, in contrast with the habits of most landed gentry. Madge, the cook, was a solid, pretty blonde-haired woman in perhaps her forties; buxom and braided, she reminded me of a Viking princess in an opera, though she was not at all heavy. She both prepared and served the food with a rough-spun grace that was instantly endearing. I noticed she was shod, and wondered how much she knew of the house’s secrets. Whatever the answer, she could certainly prepare a magnificent meal. I felt at ease, welcome, and indulged, even if still a bit abuzz with arousal.
Kelleen and Becca, despite (or perhaps because of) their earlier ordeal, looked absolutely radiant. They had, of course, bathed and dressed for dinner, but their faces and bare shoulders had a healthy glow of exertion about them, and their demeanor was ever so relaxed and at ease. I wondered if they had indulged themselves as I had in the intervening hour. If so, they had evidently achieved the release that still eluded me.
Our discussion roved over many topics, as we told of ourselves and our interests and they prepared me for the day ahead. The discussed the various teachers at the school -- Miss Glover, a professor of biology, in particular. Kelleen, kind soul, found her perfectly delightful, but, to Becca’s tastes, she was exceedingly proper and rather pinched: as Becca put it, she had a stick up her arse that badly wanted removing.
My intellectual curiosity took over, and I found myself pressing the Countess for details about her work. When I did, she raised a subtle finger, stopping me, and cut her eyes in the direction of the kitchen. Evidently, we did not discuss such things in front of outsiders, and Madge the Cook counted as an outsider. I blushed, but a kind smile and shake of the head told me I was forgiven. I was still desperately curious, as was my nature, but more discussion would have to wait. I didn’t mind, really – I was enjoying myself tremendously, and feeling so magnificently fortunate not to be dining at the somber, strict, and generally Spartan table at Casa de Pig.
Dinner completed, we cleared our own dishes, which I found rather refreshing, then said our good nights. Kelleen told me she would fetch me at a bit before nine the next morning for lessons, and we retired to our respective chambers.
Back in my room, I discovered that my bed had been turned down and a wonderfully sheer and soft silk nightgown had been left for me. I changed, washed up, brushed my teeth, and slid between the covers. It was not terribly late, but I was tired from rich food and the day’s…exertions. For a moment, my hand strayed once more between my thighs, as the peculiar tension remained. But its edge had been dulled by fine food and drink, and I drifted off to sleep, eager to discover what the next day held.
