oneortheother
TMF Expert
- Joined
- Sep 16, 2008
- Messages
- 375
- Points
- 18
Ar Tonelico TK: Misha
O-O-O
"Mmmmmm,” Misha Arsellec Lune giggled to herself sleepily, as she lounged on the large soft bed. She smiled contently, feeling warm and bubbly as she relaxed on her bed. It felt like she had just woken from a happy and silly dream, though for the life of her, she couldn’t remember what it was, only that in it she had a big smile on her face. Misha closed her eyes, trying to remember the dream as she pressed her cheek against the comfortable embrace of her pillow. For some reason, she found the bed was always at its most comfortable right when you first got up and weren’t quite ready to leave your bed yet.
Misha tried to roll over and rest more comfortably only to realize she couldn’t move her arms. Misha’s green eyes snapped open in confusion. Confusion gave way to worry when she realized her arms were tied firmly above her head with ribbons. Worry gave way to fear when she realized her ankles were fit snugly into a pair of wooden stocks at the foot of the bed that were build into the floor. And finally, fear gave way to pure dread when she realized each of the toes of her petite feet had been tied back into the stocks with ribbons. Thankfully, for now she still had all her clothes on on, sans her wooden sandals, which seemed to have magically disappeared. The fact she still had her purple dress was reassuring. At least this wouldn’t get too out of hand… yet.
There was a figure at the foot of the bed, with her back towards Misha. Misha could see the mysterious figure had painted white fingernails, and was lightly pawing at Misha’s stocked feet. There was a pit in Misha’s stomach as she realized why she had been giggling when she had woken up.
The figure had long well-taken care of fingernails, which were lightly tracing over Misha’s left foot. Misha stifled a squeal as the sharp fingernails grazed across her big toe. The dark-haired woman humming to herself as she played with Misha’s toes looked familiar.
From what Misha could see, the woman wore nothing at all but a slightly-oversized white button-up shirt. She looked so familiar. It felt like it was right on the tip of her tongue, but Misha just could not place her. The woman spoke as she pinched Misha’s little toe and wiggled it teasingly, “Wakey, wakey, Misha… time to get up…”Her voice… it reminded Misha of something that she knew she was supposed to recognize, but she just could not put her finger on exactly what it was.
After a bit more toe-teasing and a few more giggles from Misha, the woman realized her guest had awakened, and turned around to greet her, a Cheshire smile on her face.
“Good morning, my dear Misha,” said the woman, with a face that Misha recognized as the face she saw everytime she looked in the mirror.
“You’re me!” Misha blurted, as she realized what was happening, and the other Misha grinned at her in response. She was dreaming. This thought should have relaxed her, as it meant she was no true harm, but Misha knew how this dream went. It would not be the dreams of randomness that she used to have. Seeing this Misha, seeing this other version of her, with the lack of clothing, and her hair done in the fringe and the ponytail could mean only one thing.
Misha knew this because she had been dreaming the same dream for many a night now, each with its own uniquely unbearable flavour of torment.
“No… please,” Misha said, the words spilling out of her the same way they did every time she had this dream.
“No, what? I haven’t even done anything yet… do you want me to do something to you?” the other Misha tittered, scratching lightly at the base of Misha’s arch, as the doppelganger radiated malice. “You even said please…”
The begging never worked, night after night, but Misha couldn’t help herself from saying it, no more than she could stop herself from squealing to the other Misha to please stop when she hit all those spots that made Misha scream, or used her diabolical fingernails in all those ways she couldn’t stand, or when she begun using her tools. Oh, God, the tools, Misha remembered, as too vivid memories of all those dreams began coming back to her, all these too graphic reminders of the fate that awaited her. As all these thoughts began rushing through her head at the same time, she barely realized that the other Misha had stopped flicking her nails up and down Misha’s milky-white soles.
“I wasn’t even touching you, and you were giggling,” the other Misha laughed, as she wheeled in a tray of her ‘instruments’ on a trolley. “Were you fantasizing about being tickled? You naughty girl...”
Misha bit her lip, and looked away from the other her. “No.”
“Lying to me already? You should know better… I’m going to have to punish you extra for that…” the other Misha giggled, clapping her hands together excitedly like a pubescent school girl. “But then again… you love this anyway,” she said, squirted liberal amounts of baby oil and slowly began rubbing it into Misha’s bare foot.
Misha gasped as she felt the wet slick sensations of the oil being rubbed in her feet. She usually didn’t bring the oil out this quickly… Misha’s heart was pounding in her chest as she felt the oil being massaged and rubbed into her feet. She could feel the other Misha’s long talon-like fingers pressing into the skin to ‘accidentally’ tickle her during this massage, especially when she spent an especially long time making sure the oil had been rubbed in sufficiently in between Misha’s poor ticklish toes.
As the baby oil was being spread on her feet, all Misha could do was tense in anticipation and try not to think about how much more ticklish it would make her. Misha knew from experience that her small feet, with their pillow-like texture and bubble-like toes were ridiculously ticklish as they were, but slathered in oil, they would become even more sensitive, as oil would allow fingers and all manners of diabolical implements to skate frictionless across the supple skin of her feet with ease, stimulating all the ticklish nerves there.
“How does it feel, being tickled by me… when I am you. Guess it looks like you can tickle yourself,” the other Misha said, giggling to herself.
“I love the way you do your toes,” the other Misha said, commenting on the purple toenail polish that adorned Misha’s feet. “They’re almost like bullseyes. Like a great big billboard saying ‘would you kindly tickle me here’,” she giggled, only using her index fingers, she began to tickle the pads of Misha’s trapped toes two at a time. The other Misha cooed and hummed to herself, as she busily teased all over the toes – the sides, their pads, underneath, and especially in between.
Misha tried to splutter indignantly about how they matched her outfit, but with the toe ties keeping her feet firmly taut and bent back, there wasn’t much she could do than laugh about her fashion choices as every inch of her toes were tickled. The other Misha knew how deathly ticklish those pretty purple painted toes were, so she was going to take her time and make sure she hit every spot with her thorough toe-teasing.
Misha wasn’t sure why, but she found herself comparing this dream with a dream she recalled from last week, as these dreams of intense tickle-torture were starting to occur with disturbing regularity. Last week, her feet had been free to wiggle, but right now she wasn’t sure if she preferred it that way or not.
The other Misha had loved to tease her, as she made comments about how fun it was to make these toes wiggle and dance for her. She would love to trace with a single fingernail from Misha’s soft heel, all the way up to her toes, in an attempt to outline every single wrinkle in her scrunched up sole.
Misha could picture it in her mind’s eye, as she tried to distance herself from the toe-torment that was being inflicted upon her in the present. She saw it from a spectator’s viewpoint, as the aggressive, dominant Misha began using her devilish long fingernails against the helpless submissive Misha – she leaned in to tickle the soft pads of the toes with quick little strokes as the scrunched feet trembled. The poor helpless Misha’s toes would clench defiantly, but the cruel Misha only smirked, and used a lone finger to stroke at the sensitive arch till the exhausted toes yielded and flexed. This would open up a finger to sneak in a tickle the fleshy undersides, as the trapped Misha giggled and squealed, utterly powerless to stop the domineering Misha from doing whatever she wanted with those ticklish soles. Just like now…
Misha scream and fell into a harsh belly laugh as she was jolted back to her trapped on her bed, her feet clamped in stocks and her toes tied back. The other Misha had wedged her nails in the webbing between her toes. “Your eyes were glazed, having another durdy fantasy? You really made me feel like I wasn’t doing a good job,” the other Misha hissed, as she wiggled her fingers, which tantalized the oh-so-delicate skin between each toe and made Misha howl with laughter.
“Was, I really doing such a bad job? Are you so unsatisfied?” the other Misha said fiercely, as she raked her fingers vigorously up and down Misha’s feet, aided by how slick the soles were due to the baby oil. Her fingers were a blur as her nails scratched up and down the sensitive flesh, which made Misha burst out into unbroken screams of laughter.
“Since, you think I’m so incompetent, I guess I’ll just have to tickle you harder. I’ll stop when you tell me you’ve had enough,” the other Misha said, leaning forward and speaking a bit more loudly so she was sure Misha could hear her words despite the roars of laughter that came billowing from her lips.
Misha opened her mouth to tell the other Misha that this was enough, it was more than enough, it was enough for a lifetime, but words failed her. Every time she made an effort to speak, the ruthless nails would hit another weak spot. Breathing was difficult enough, as the other Misha scythed her nails up and down the silky soles, and scratched hungrily at helpless Misha’s desperately trembling, bound toes.
She knew the other Misha was doing this on purpose, that it was just another one of her games and that she would tickle her poor feet so intensely that speaking would be impossible. After all, she could only ever make it to the second or third syllable maybe before everything was lost in her gushing laughter that spilled from her lips unbidden. Misha didn’t have a chance. And without a doubt she would be punished later for being unable to answer. Misha felt tears form in her eyes at how unfair this was. How unfair this side of her could be. Yet sadness was drowned out by overwhelming waves of mirth, as the other Misha continued her ‘scratch everything as quickly as possible method’. She would always press in a bit more with her fingernails in Misha’s taut arches, or right in the base of the toes, right where this kind of scratching was most mind-melting. By the time the other Misha stopped, Misha’s face was turning blue, a queer juxtaposition to the raw red her soles had become.
“You didn’t answer me,” the other Misha said coldly, as she lodged her fingers in between Misha’s toes once more. “Give me one reason I shouldn’t punish you, you naughty little girl.”
“Please… don’t…” Misha whimpered, desperately trying to suck in breathes of air. She looked down, strands of her dishevelled dark hair falling down into her eyes at the smirking doppelganger that was at the foot of the bed, with her malicious fingers lodged in between Misha’s terribly ticklish toes.
“Maybe I’ll hold off if you tell how much you love it,” the other Misha said, ever so gently sliding her fingers in and out the gaps between Misha’s toes at a snail’s pace.
“Please, no more! I love it, I love it, I love it!” Misha begged desperately. She was 99% sure begging and giving in would not free her, but every night when this choice presented itself to her, so always went for it, praying and hoping that this would be the night she might be spared.
It wasn’t.
“So you finally admit you love having your feet tickled… then you’ll love me teasing these toes of yours, because I’m not finished yet,” the other Misha said with a chuckle, and set to work wiggling her fingers to send Misha flopping on the bed once more, squeaking and squealing is the undersides of her toes were given no respite.
It felt like hours when the other Misha stopped, but time never seemed to mean anything in her dreams anyway, as Misha panted for breath. Her wrists and ankles never chaffed no matter how much she tugged at them, which was something she was glad for, but why was it that she didn’t feel pain, but the dream was more than happy to let her feel the pain of fingernails tickling her silly?
“You know, I think your feet have had enough tickling for now…” the other Misha said, her cat-like grin back on her face. She licked her lips. “I feel bad, look how red I got them…”
The other Misha began caressing the soles in front of her, and giggled at how warm they felt to her touch. “You’re so deliciously ticklish, my dear Misha…” she said, as she tenderly began planting kisses on Misha’s toes.
Misha could never decided if this was the part she loved, or the part she hated, as she felt her a tender kiss greet her big toe. Misha slumped back in the bed and closed her eyes, wondering if her toes were free, would she have pressed them against those loving lips. Misha half-moaned, half-giggled, as the other Misha pulled her toes into her mouth, and began tenderly licking and sucking them. The licking also had the effect of a tinderbox, which was partly why Misha loved it as much as she hated it, as it stoked a fire within her loins as she felt the tongue worm between her toes, making her gasp.
More and more moans entered within the giggles, as Misha lay back as her toes were kissed and nibbled. After all the torment her poor feet had gone through, the tongue bath she was receiving was heavenly.
Misha dimly wondered why the other Misha was so content to lick and nibble her feet considering how her feet were lathered in oil. She wondered if the brand of oil was somehow edible or sweet-tasting, before she realized it probably didn’t make that much sense to over-think what was happening in a dream. It wasn’t supposed to make sense, anyway, was it? As her feet screamed for her attention, Misha decided she had more pressing concerns either way. She found her hips beginning to grind as the fire within her was being stoked higher and higher, with each lapping caress of that tongue.
“Ohhh, your tongue…” Misha said, eyes half-closed. She shouldn’t have said anything. She regretted it the second the words left her mouth.
“I’m glad you enjoying this, my dear Misha, but I feel like I’ve done you a disservice,” the other Misha said, as she stuck her tongue out at Misha. “You told how you loved to be tickled, but here I am doing other things. I should get back to what I should be doing.”
Misha’s smile turned into a look of desperation, and her cry was promptly silenced, as the other Misha reached up to tickle her knees. She squeezed and spidered her nails around the kneecap, and snuck her fingers to tickle the back of Misha’s knees. The red legging Misha wore on her right leg seemed to have disappeared somewhere, but she couldn’t quite point her finger on when or where it had gone. The main point seemed to be that the other Misha was free to tickle unimpeded, as she reached up to torment the knees, while her mouth continued to sensually lick and suckle Misha’s toes.
Now Misha was remembering that she hated this. Very much so. The savage tickling her knees were receiving made it hard to enjoy the kisses and licks her feet were receiving. Or did they make it better? Wait, that wasn’t right… Misha was finding it hard to focus; her mind was in a haze as the though-incinerating fire between in legs slowly grew hotter and hotter.
Misha was almost disappointed when the other Misha stood up, after giving Misha’s big toe a good bye kiss. She straddled Misha eagerly, immediately giggling at how aroused she could tell Misha was. The other Misha knew it was looking forward to stoking that fire even higher.
Misha gasped when she felt a slick, wet sensation across her stomach. This was the first time her upperbody had been touched today, and she had almost forgotten how ticklish she was here. The other Misha was using her tongue to lap against Misha’s ribs and stomach as the devilish finger pillaged Misha’s sides. She hated the tongue. She hated so much how good it felt, and despised how sensual it felt being licked and tickled at the same time was. Misha’s body always reacted in the same mutinous way whenever this happened, as she felt an ominious trickle within her panties, and she felt her nipples stiffen slightly, especially as the other Misha ‘accidentally’ brushed them as her hands dipped into Misha’s sensitive underarms. This was what the other Misha loved to do. She loved to send mixed signals, so her body and mind felt like it was being torn in two different directions as once. Misha yearned, no; Misha’s body yearned for the tongue, Misha mentally corrected itself, as the tongue was a friend whose ticklish touch was almost tolerable, but the other Misha would never be content to just lick her body from head to toe, no matter how much she would like that. She would be mischievious. She would be cheeky. She would be naughty. The tongue was always accompanied by her devilish nails, which always, always, always, would breakdown whatever good feeling lingered within Misha with their strokes and scribbles.
The other Misha suddenly hopped back down where Misha’s feet lay, eager for more, and the tender suckling of Misha’s toes, which made the dark-haired girl arch her back and part her mouth in a contented sigh, was obscured by the roaring tidal waves of sensation that were caused by nails scratching at her belly.
The light lapping in one armpit, which put the purest smile on Misha’s face, was warped into a forced ticklish grin by fingers scratching and stroking wildly in her other arm.
The kind kisses placed along her inner thighs, which sent forth a fire within Misha’s loins, was firmly quenched by ice-cold hands prodding and poking along her ribcage.
And just when Misha thought she was about to burst with pent-up emotion, the tongue and the hands retracted, leaving her a muddled, confused, and lustful mess on the bed, panting and frustrated.
“I know how you love toys,” the other Misha giggled, as she stood up to the tray and pulled out a fluffy white feather.
Misha shuddered as she remembered the effect feathers had on her. She had a soft spot for feathers, quite literally. She do not even want to contemplate the feather going anywhere near her breasts or her legs or…. okay, no, no, no, bad thought, bad thought. Misha tried to push the thought from her mind.
“What’s wrong, Misha, you don’t want me to play with the feather?” the other Misha tittered, as she playfully swiped the feather up Misha’s foot (which by now had dried) making her jump. “Would you rather I play with this?” the other Misha said, as she took out an electric vibrator, which made Misha mouth go dry, yet it was charcoal for the inferno between her legs. “Maybe later… ” the other Misha said, teasingly. “When you’ve earned it… because all you’ve earned so far is a date with my feather.”
“Such a poor ticklish little girl… too helpless to stop me… but you wouldn’t want me to stop anyway, even if you could…” the other Misha mocked, as she began dusting the feather down one creamy foot. Misha felt giggles building in her throat. These giggles quickly burst out of her mouth when Misha felt a finger lazily stroke up her other sole too. The other Misha grinned at Misha’s contorted expression as she began to tease the feet gently from heel to toe. The finger and the feather were a devious pair of ticklish stimulants, as they worked up and down Misha’s bare soles. Sometimes they would work in unison to tickle the same spots at the same time, while other times they would confuse her by doing different things instead. A squealing Misha twisted in her bonds as she felt an insistent finger scatching at her big toe while the feather slipped down her arches. Misha wasn’t sure where she finding new energy to laugh, as she felt the feather being pulled slowly between two bubble-like toes while the finger pestered her arches.
The other Misha was humming to herself, as she settled into a tickling rhythm of softly and slowly teasing both feet at a time. When one reaches the top and tickled Misha’s quivering toes, the other lightly scratches her silky soft heel.
Misha hated the feather. She hated how it felt to have her soles and toes kissed by that feathery-soft touch. And how sometimes on the right spots the tickling could almost feel… good? The other Misha had tools that tickled worse like the back-scratcher, or the hairbrush, that was true, but nothing tantalized Misha’s hypersensitive flesh quite like the soft touch of the feather, and it always sent shivers down her spine.
Sure enough, the finger was replaced by another feather, which began a bittersweet tickling duet across Misha’s milky-white feet, which sent sensations roaring throughout her body and culminating a dull throb in her loins, as she realized, that the light motion of the feathers of her feet was having the exact effect she feared would happen.
"Oh God, N-No plehehease!" Misha begged out of habit, though her body was so eager for every stroke of that feather on her flesh. "Don't tickle me with that! I can't tahahake it! I cahahahahant!"
“You can, and you will,” the other Misha said with a titter, as she wielded her feathers, the edge of the plume gliding over the smooth soles with ease. Misha’s feet were ideal for feather tickling – their softness and smoothness made them a delightfully easy to tickle with the plumes, and it was child’s play to brush all over them with either the tip of a side of the feather.
The other Misha was no stranger to this game, and knew just how to tease her. The feathers alternated between brushing up and down her soles with the feather rapidly, or giving slow flicks with the tips along the purple-painted toes, and sure enough, before long gasps and moans were creeping into Misha’s giggles.
“These little toes just love to be tickled…” the other Misha snickered, as she continued to feather Misha’s bare feet, with the toes getting the best of it as she used the feather to tickle each digit in turn, the tip going up and down on each toe in turn on both feet. “And I know just the effect the feathering on your tootsies will have on you…”
Sure enough, the soft tickling on Misha's toes was producing more moans than laughter as the fire in Misha’s loins burned in raged, and Misha could feel her entire body calling for the feather to tickle her harder and harder, and go get the rest of her body… she didn’t even realize how her hips were lifting off the bed, begging to gain some kind of release.
True to her cruel nature, the other Misha stopped the feathering right after an especially sensual moan of delight from Misha. Misha panted, her black-hair a mess, and looked at the feather expectantly and then the other Misha who twirled the feathers between her fingers.
“You want more, don’t you?” the other Misha said, with a laugh. “You’re a dirty, lusty, insatiable little girl who wants more and more.” It was a statement. Misha’s lip quivered as she was lost for words.
“These feathers aren’t going anywhere near where you want them to go,” the other Misha sneered, as she pointed the feather at Misha like an accusing finger. “Until you beg me for more,” she said, as she slapped a liberal quality of oil onto Misha’s soles, which immediately set her mind reeling in alarm. It went from bad to worse as the other Misha picked up a paintbrush from her tray.
“Mohohohohore!” Misha said, panicking as she felt long fingernails begin raking up and down a slick sole. Harsh laughter came burbling from her lips as she felt nails harass her toes while wet bristles spun around the heel of the other foot.
“Say it with more feeling! Say it like you mean it!” the other Misha said, tickling even harder. She was painting up and down the arch with the brush now, with the precision of a master artisan. She would scratch her nails haphazardly but always wield the brush deftly, such as the way the brush gently kissed and caressed Misha’s quivering toes while fingers wildly spidered the ball of the foot.
“Plehehehease Mohohhore! Morehihihhi! Morehohohohoahah! Gahahahahah!”
“I can’t hear you! Speak more clearly!” the other Misha chided, a grin on her face as she precisely dusted the paintbrush in the extremely sensitive spaces between toes one at a time.
And on and on this went, till Misha was screaming for more for what felt like an hour till the other Misha finally stopped.
“Why… didn’t… you… stop?” Misha panted, her eyes closed as sweat pouring down her face.
“You were convincing,” she laughed, as she stood up from her perch in front of Misha’s feet which had been rubbed red again. “But I’ll be a sweetie now, and finally give what you want, since you were asking me so nicely.”
Misha’s eyes opened, and she suddenly found she was now completely naked. When had her clothes disappeared? The Installer Port between her firm breasts was visible, and Misha was dismayed to see how her nipples were erect and her womanhood… well, she didn’t want to think about it. Had the intense tickling really aroused her so much?
She didn’t have much time to think, as she felt the other Misha straddle her, fluffy white feathers in hand. Misha could feel the nagging prickle of heat within her loins become stronger as the feather spun and danced over her body. The feathers slowly moved their way up her body, feathering ever spot meticulously as if the other Misha was a diligent maid, dusting priceless artefacts for every iota of dust. The feathers flew over Misha’s flesh, which was now highly hypersensitized from the earlier bouts of tickling. The feathers took care to linger in all the spots were the tickling filled Misha with bubbly laughter, the giggles and squeaks which were more cute than desperate. This did not mean the feathering was easy to endure, as on the contrary, this light tickling was worse in its own as it was right on the line between enjoyable and unbearable.
Misha sucked for breathe and thrust her hips helplessly, as for another eternity, the other Misha danced the feathers from her thighs to her stomach. Minutes into a thorough feathering of Misha’s inner thighs, which were tantalizing close to her now-sopping wet womanhood, Misha could only laugh and thrust her hips as she urged the feather to enter the spots that so desperately wanted now to be touched.
Misha begged with her lips, and for a second, as the other Misha hovered the feather near the inferno between her legs, held her breath and dared to hope – but it was all in vain, as with a cackle, the other Misha guided the feather into Misha’s super-sensitive belly instead, which was not the hole Misha had been hoping to be probed.
“What’s wrong? You want something?” the other Misha asked, an evil grin on her face. Typical. She was going to make her say it.
“I…” Misha stuttered, as the other Misha reached for more baby oil. “I… oh… my gosh…” began Misha, as her doppelganger began rubbing the baby oil into the rest of her body in a pleasant but tickly-massage.
“Keep going, I’m listening,” the other Misha said with a chuckle, as she massaged oil along Misha’s breasts, taking care to accidentally-on-purpose squeeze and tease their stiff buds.
Misha’s moaned loudly, almost forgetiting for a moment her situation, and just immensely grateful for the break and the pleasure the other Misha was kind enough to grant her. Such uncharacteristic kindness never lasted long, and this was no exception.
The massage grew more and more tickly, as hands rubbed along Misha’s inner thighs, stroking and scratching gently as they skirted around her womanhood and migrating to tease her sides. Misha gasped and her eyes rolled back in her head as she felt a single finger on each side gently trace a path towards her breasts. Her mouth was open wide with giggly-moans as soft teasing fingers gently stroking the undersides of her breasts. The fingers danced around her erect nipples and continued over her collar bone. She felt the fingers leave her collarbone and return to spidered her nibbles, as a mouth gently kissed and nibbled her neck.
Misha heard a vibrating sound, and her heart leapt into her throat. The other Misha lifted the humming vibrator and showed it to her. Misha thought her green eyes might have been kind and generous, but she realized a moment too late they were shining with malice, as the other Misha plunged the vibrator into a spot where she definitely did not want it – her underarm.
The other Misha savagely tickled the taut underarms with both hands, buzzing with the vibrator and scratching with the other. The vibrating sensations wrecked ticklish havoc across Misha’s body, as she her stomach and underarms where vibed, yet the one spot she wanted the vibrator to go lay neglected, as fluid continued to trickle down her legs.
Misha didn’t know what to felt, especially when the other Misha jabbed the vibrator at her stomach, tantalizingly close to her legs while she also lightly nibbled at Misha’s neck. The orgasmic sensations and tickle torture were mixing together in a way till it felt like nothing was making sense anymore.
The other Misha stopped, stroking her chin with hand while holding the vibrator over Misha’s womanhood. Misha gasped, and prayed that she would finally be free of the frustration gnawing at her. Her eyes darted from the vibrator hovering there, and the other Misha’s predatory grin.
“I was going to touch you where I know you wanted to be touched, but I realize we forgot to play with your favourite brushes today,” the other Misha said, clapping her hands excitedly. She pointed at the scrub brushes on the tray, and on command, they flew to Misha’s feet and began scrubbing. Misha was laughing too much to think about how that happened. All she could focus on was how it felt. Bristles, bristles, bristles. Dozens of scratchy, itchy thing, brushing mercilessly up her soles as if they were a stubborn bedpan that had to be scoured clean. The brushes were uniquely unbearable in that unlike two feathers or ten fingers, which only felt like two or ten points of stimulus respectively, the scrub brushes were dozens and dozens of little pressure points, each tickling Misha’s poor buttery-soft feet in just a slightly different way and sending yet another ticklish response roaring through her body.
It was the most intense of the tickle implements the other Misha would use on her, and its torture would always be the most mind-blowing torment that would be doled out, but somehow as the waves of sensations coursed throughout Misha’s tickle-ravaged body, all she could do was smile and laugh. Through the din of her own frenzied laughter she could hear the hum of the vibrator, and somehow knowing that the vibrator might finally give her the pleasure she now-wanted, or was it what she had always wanted, right from the beginning? Had she always been in denial in what tickling did to her? The brutal brushing was feeling almost sweet, as Misha panted and moaned, forcing her head down to watch as the vibrator drew nearer and nearer. The scrub brushes got under her toes, and she laughed wildly, her hips bucking, but she did not take her eyes off the vibrator as it drew ever closer, it was almost there. She could almost feel it…
O-O-O
Misha gasped, as she woke up in her bed, alone, trembling from the sensations that had felt so incredibly real. She punched her pillow moodily. Why does it always stop right when it was getting to the good part?
O-O-O
"Mmmmmm,” Misha Arsellec Lune giggled to herself sleepily, as she lounged on the large soft bed. She smiled contently, feeling warm and bubbly as she relaxed on her bed. It felt like she had just woken from a happy and silly dream, though for the life of her, she couldn’t remember what it was, only that in it she had a big smile on her face. Misha closed her eyes, trying to remember the dream as she pressed her cheek against the comfortable embrace of her pillow. For some reason, she found the bed was always at its most comfortable right when you first got up and weren’t quite ready to leave your bed yet.
Misha tried to roll over and rest more comfortably only to realize she couldn’t move her arms. Misha’s green eyes snapped open in confusion. Confusion gave way to worry when she realized her arms were tied firmly above her head with ribbons. Worry gave way to fear when she realized her ankles were fit snugly into a pair of wooden stocks at the foot of the bed that were build into the floor. And finally, fear gave way to pure dread when she realized each of the toes of her petite feet had been tied back into the stocks with ribbons. Thankfully, for now she still had all her clothes on on, sans her wooden sandals, which seemed to have magically disappeared. The fact she still had her purple dress was reassuring. At least this wouldn’t get too out of hand… yet.
There was a figure at the foot of the bed, with her back towards Misha. Misha could see the mysterious figure had painted white fingernails, and was lightly pawing at Misha’s stocked feet. There was a pit in Misha’s stomach as she realized why she had been giggling when she had woken up.
The figure had long well-taken care of fingernails, which were lightly tracing over Misha’s left foot. Misha stifled a squeal as the sharp fingernails grazed across her big toe. The dark-haired woman humming to herself as she played with Misha’s toes looked familiar.
From what Misha could see, the woman wore nothing at all but a slightly-oversized white button-up shirt. She looked so familiar. It felt like it was right on the tip of her tongue, but Misha just could not place her. The woman spoke as she pinched Misha’s little toe and wiggled it teasingly, “Wakey, wakey, Misha… time to get up…”Her voice… it reminded Misha of something that she knew she was supposed to recognize, but she just could not put her finger on exactly what it was.
After a bit more toe-teasing and a few more giggles from Misha, the woman realized her guest had awakened, and turned around to greet her, a Cheshire smile on her face.
“Good morning, my dear Misha,” said the woman, with a face that Misha recognized as the face she saw everytime she looked in the mirror.
“You’re me!” Misha blurted, as she realized what was happening, and the other Misha grinned at her in response. She was dreaming. This thought should have relaxed her, as it meant she was no true harm, but Misha knew how this dream went. It would not be the dreams of randomness that she used to have. Seeing this Misha, seeing this other version of her, with the lack of clothing, and her hair done in the fringe and the ponytail could mean only one thing.
Misha knew this because she had been dreaming the same dream for many a night now, each with its own uniquely unbearable flavour of torment.
“No… please,” Misha said, the words spilling out of her the same way they did every time she had this dream.
“No, what? I haven’t even done anything yet… do you want me to do something to you?” the other Misha tittered, scratching lightly at the base of Misha’s arch, as the doppelganger radiated malice. “You even said please…”
The begging never worked, night after night, but Misha couldn’t help herself from saying it, no more than she could stop herself from squealing to the other Misha to please stop when she hit all those spots that made Misha scream, or used her diabolical fingernails in all those ways she couldn’t stand, or when she begun using her tools. Oh, God, the tools, Misha remembered, as too vivid memories of all those dreams began coming back to her, all these too graphic reminders of the fate that awaited her. As all these thoughts began rushing through her head at the same time, she barely realized that the other Misha had stopped flicking her nails up and down Misha’s milky-white soles.
“I wasn’t even touching you, and you were giggling,” the other Misha laughed, as she wheeled in a tray of her ‘instruments’ on a trolley. “Were you fantasizing about being tickled? You naughty girl...”
Misha bit her lip, and looked away from the other her. “No.”
“Lying to me already? You should know better… I’m going to have to punish you extra for that…” the other Misha giggled, clapping her hands together excitedly like a pubescent school girl. “But then again… you love this anyway,” she said, squirted liberal amounts of baby oil and slowly began rubbing it into Misha’s bare foot.
Misha gasped as she felt the wet slick sensations of the oil being rubbed in her feet. She usually didn’t bring the oil out this quickly… Misha’s heart was pounding in her chest as she felt the oil being massaged and rubbed into her feet. She could feel the other Misha’s long talon-like fingers pressing into the skin to ‘accidentally’ tickle her during this massage, especially when she spent an especially long time making sure the oil had been rubbed in sufficiently in between Misha’s poor ticklish toes.
As the baby oil was being spread on her feet, all Misha could do was tense in anticipation and try not to think about how much more ticklish it would make her. Misha knew from experience that her small feet, with their pillow-like texture and bubble-like toes were ridiculously ticklish as they were, but slathered in oil, they would become even more sensitive, as oil would allow fingers and all manners of diabolical implements to skate frictionless across the supple skin of her feet with ease, stimulating all the ticklish nerves there.
“How does it feel, being tickled by me… when I am you. Guess it looks like you can tickle yourself,” the other Misha said, giggling to herself.
“I love the way you do your toes,” the other Misha said, commenting on the purple toenail polish that adorned Misha’s feet. “They’re almost like bullseyes. Like a great big billboard saying ‘would you kindly tickle me here’,” she giggled, only using her index fingers, she began to tickle the pads of Misha’s trapped toes two at a time. The other Misha cooed and hummed to herself, as she busily teased all over the toes – the sides, their pads, underneath, and especially in between.
Misha tried to splutter indignantly about how they matched her outfit, but with the toe ties keeping her feet firmly taut and bent back, there wasn’t much she could do than laugh about her fashion choices as every inch of her toes were tickled. The other Misha knew how deathly ticklish those pretty purple painted toes were, so she was going to take her time and make sure she hit every spot with her thorough toe-teasing.
Misha wasn’t sure why, but she found herself comparing this dream with a dream she recalled from last week, as these dreams of intense tickle-torture were starting to occur with disturbing regularity. Last week, her feet had been free to wiggle, but right now she wasn’t sure if she preferred it that way or not.
The other Misha had loved to tease her, as she made comments about how fun it was to make these toes wiggle and dance for her. She would love to trace with a single fingernail from Misha’s soft heel, all the way up to her toes, in an attempt to outline every single wrinkle in her scrunched up sole.
Misha could picture it in her mind’s eye, as she tried to distance herself from the toe-torment that was being inflicted upon her in the present. She saw it from a spectator’s viewpoint, as the aggressive, dominant Misha began using her devilish long fingernails against the helpless submissive Misha – she leaned in to tickle the soft pads of the toes with quick little strokes as the scrunched feet trembled. The poor helpless Misha’s toes would clench defiantly, but the cruel Misha only smirked, and used a lone finger to stroke at the sensitive arch till the exhausted toes yielded and flexed. This would open up a finger to sneak in a tickle the fleshy undersides, as the trapped Misha giggled and squealed, utterly powerless to stop the domineering Misha from doing whatever she wanted with those ticklish soles. Just like now…
Misha scream and fell into a harsh belly laugh as she was jolted back to her trapped on her bed, her feet clamped in stocks and her toes tied back. The other Misha had wedged her nails in the webbing between her toes. “Your eyes were glazed, having another durdy fantasy? You really made me feel like I wasn’t doing a good job,” the other Misha hissed, as she wiggled her fingers, which tantalized the oh-so-delicate skin between each toe and made Misha howl with laughter.
“Was, I really doing such a bad job? Are you so unsatisfied?” the other Misha said fiercely, as she raked her fingers vigorously up and down Misha’s feet, aided by how slick the soles were due to the baby oil. Her fingers were a blur as her nails scratched up and down the sensitive flesh, which made Misha burst out into unbroken screams of laughter.
“Since, you think I’m so incompetent, I guess I’ll just have to tickle you harder. I’ll stop when you tell me you’ve had enough,” the other Misha said, leaning forward and speaking a bit more loudly so she was sure Misha could hear her words despite the roars of laughter that came billowing from her lips.
Misha opened her mouth to tell the other Misha that this was enough, it was more than enough, it was enough for a lifetime, but words failed her. Every time she made an effort to speak, the ruthless nails would hit another weak spot. Breathing was difficult enough, as the other Misha scythed her nails up and down the silky soles, and scratched hungrily at helpless Misha’s desperately trembling, bound toes.
She knew the other Misha was doing this on purpose, that it was just another one of her games and that she would tickle her poor feet so intensely that speaking would be impossible. After all, she could only ever make it to the second or third syllable maybe before everything was lost in her gushing laughter that spilled from her lips unbidden. Misha didn’t have a chance. And without a doubt she would be punished later for being unable to answer. Misha felt tears form in her eyes at how unfair this was. How unfair this side of her could be. Yet sadness was drowned out by overwhelming waves of mirth, as the other Misha continued her ‘scratch everything as quickly as possible method’. She would always press in a bit more with her fingernails in Misha’s taut arches, or right in the base of the toes, right where this kind of scratching was most mind-melting. By the time the other Misha stopped, Misha’s face was turning blue, a queer juxtaposition to the raw red her soles had become.
“You didn’t answer me,” the other Misha said coldly, as she lodged her fingers in between Misha’s toes once more. “Give me one reason I shouldn’t punish you, you naughty little girl.”
“Please… don’t…” Misha whimpered, desperately trying to suck in breathes of air. She looked down, strands of her dishevelled dark hair falling down into her eyes at the smirking doppelganger that was at the foot of the bed, with her malicious fingers lodged in between Misha’s terribly ticklish toes.
“Maybe I’ll hold off if you tell how much you love it,” the other Misha said, ever so gently sliding her fingers in and out the gaps between Misha’s toes at a snail’s pace.
“Please, no more! I love it, I love it, I love it!” Misha begged desperately. She was 99% sure begging and giving in would not free her, but every night when this choice presented itself to her, so always went for it, praying and hoping that this would be the night she might be spared.
It wasn’t.
“So you finally admit you love having your feet tickled… then you’ll love me teasing these toes of yours, because I’m not finished yet,” the other Misha said with a chuckle, and set to work wiggling her fingers to send Misha flopping on the bed once more, squeaking and squealing is the undersides of her toes were given no respite.
It felt like hours when the other Misha stopped, but time never seemed to mean anything in her dreams anyway, as Misha panted for breath. Her wrists and ankles never chaffed no matter how much she tugged at them, which was something she was glad for, but why was it that she didn’t feel pain, but the dream was more than happy to let her feel the pain of fingernails tickling her silly?
“You know, I think your feet have had enough tickling for now…” the other Misha said, her cat-like grin back on her face. She licked her lips. “I feel bad, look how red I got them…”
The other Misha began caressing the soles in front of her, and giggled at how warm they felt to her touch. “You’re so deliciously ticklish, my dear Misha…” she said, as she tenderly began planting kisses on Misha’s toes.
Misha could never decided if this was the part she loved, or the part she hated, as she felt her a tender kiss greet her big toe. Misha slumped back in the bed and closed her eyes, wondering if her toes were free, would she have pressed them against those loving lips. Misha half-moaned, half-giggled, as the other Misha pulled her toes into her mouth, and began tenderly licking and sucking them. The licking also had the effect of a tinderbox, which was partly why Misha loved it as much as she hated it, as it stoked a fire within her loins as she felt the tongue worm between her toes, making her gasp.
More and more moans entered within the giggles, as Misha lay back as her toes were kissed and nibbled. After all the torment her poor feet had gone through, the tongue bath she was receiving was heavenly.
Misha dimly wondered why the other Misha was so content to lick and nibble her feet considering how her feet were lathered in oil. She wondered if the brand of oil was somehow edible or sweet-tasting, before she realized it probably didn’t make that much sense to over-think what was happening in a dream. It wasn’t supposed to make sense, anyway, was it? As her feet screamed for her attention, Misha decided she had more pressing concerns either way. She found her hips beginning to grind as the fire within her was being stoked higher and higher, with each lapping caress of that tongue.
“Ohhh, your tongue…” Misha said, eyes half-closed. She shouldn’t have said anything. She regretted it the second the words left her mouth.
“I’m glad you enjoying this, my dear Misha, but I feel like I’ve done you a disservice,” the other Misha said, as she stuck her tongue out at Misha. “You told how you loved to be tickled, but here I am doing other things. I should get back to what I should be doing.”
Misha’s smile turned into a look of desperation, and her cry was promptly silenced, as the other Misha reached up to tickle her knees. She squeezed and spidered her nails around the kneecap, and snuck her fingers to tickle the back of Misha’s knees. The red legging Misha wore on her right leg seemed to have disappeared somewhere, but she couldn’t quite point her finger on when or where it had gone. The main point seemed to be that the other Misha was free to tickle unimpeded, as she reached up to torment the knees, while her mouth continued to sensually lick and suckle Misha’s toes.
Now Misha was remembering that she hated this. Very much so. The savage tickling her knees were receiving made it hard to enjoy the kisses and licks her feet were receiving. Or did they make it better? Wait, that wasn’t right… Misha was finding it hard to focus; her mind was in a haze as the though-incinerating fire between in legs slowly grew hotter and hotter.
Misha was almost disappointed when the other Misha stood up, after giving Misha’s big toe a good bye kiss. She straddled Misha eagerly, immediately giggling at how aroused she could tell Misha was. The other Misha knew it was looking forward to stoking that fire even higher.
Misha gasped when she felt a slick, wet sensation across her stomach. This was the first time her upperbody had been touched today, and she had almost forgotten how ticklish she was here. The other Misha was using her tongue to lap against Misha’s ribs and stomach as the devilish finger pillaged Misha’s sides. She hated the tongue. She hated so much how good it felt, and despised how sensual it felt being licked and tickled at the same time was. Misha’s body always reacted in the same mutinous way whenever this happened, as she felt an ominious trickle within her panties, and she felt her nipples stiffen slightly, especially as the other Misha ‘accidentally’ brushed them as her hands dipped into Misha’s sensitive underarms. This was what the other Misha loved to do. She loved to send mixed signals, so her body and mind felt like it was being torn in two different directions as once. Misha yearned, no; Misha’s body yearned for the tongue, Misha mentally corrected itself, as the tongue was a friend whose ticklish touch was almost tolerable, but the other Misha would never be content to just lick her body from head to toe, no matter how much she would like that. She would be mischievious. She would be cheeky. She would be naughty. The tongue was always accompanied by her devilish nails, which always, always, always, would breakdown whatever good feeling lingered within Misha with their strokes and scribbles.
The other Misha suddenly hopped back down where Misha’s feet lay, eager for more, and the tender suckling of Misha’s toes, which made the dark-haired girl arch her back and part her mouth in a contented sigh, was obscured by the roaring tidal waves of sensation that were caused by nails scratching at her belly.
The light lapping in one armpit, which put the purest smile on Misha’s face, was warped into a forced ticklish grin by fingers scratching and stroking wildly in her other arm.
The kind kisses placed along her inner thighs, which sent forth a fire within Misha’s loins, was firmly quenched by ice-cold hands prodding and poking along her ribcage.
And just when Misha thought she was about to burst with pent-up emotion, the tongue and the hands retracted, leaving her a muddled, confused, and lustful mess on the bed, panting and frustrated.
“I know how you love toys,” the other Misha giggled, as she stood up to the tray and pulled out a fluffy white feather.
Misha shuddered as she remembered the effect feathers had on her. She had a soft spot for feathers, quite literally. She do not even want to contemplate the feather going anywhere near her breasts or her legs or…. okay, no, no, no, bad thought, bad thought. Misha tried to push the thought from her mind.
“What’s wrong, Misha, you don’t want me to play with the feather?” the other Misha tittered, as she playfully swiped the feather up Misha’s foot (which by now had dried) making her jump. “Would you rather I play with this?” the other Misha said, as she took out an electric vibrator, which made Misha mouth go dry, yet it was charcoal for the inferno between her legs. “Maybe later… ” the other Misha said, teasingly. “When you’ve earned it… because all you’ve earned so far is a date with my feather.”
“Such a poor ticklish little girl… too helpless to stop me… but you wouldn’t want me to stop anyway, even if you could…” the other Misha mocked, as she began dusting the feather down one creamy foot. Misha felt giggles building in her throat. These giggles quickly burst out of her mouth when Misha felt a finger lazily stroke up her other sole too. The other Misha grinned at Misha’s contorted expression as she began to tease the feet gently from heel to toe. The finger and the feather were a devious pair of ticklish stimulants, as they worked up and down Misha’s bare soles. Sometimes they would work in unison to tickle the same spots at the same time, while other times they would confuse her by doing different things instead. A squealing Misha twisted in her bonds as she felt an insistent finger scatching at her big toe while the feather slipped down her arches. Misha wasn’t sure where she finding new energy to laugh, as she felt the feather being pulled slowly between two bubble-like toes while the finger pestered her arches.
The other Misha was humming to herself, as she settled into a tickling rhythm of softly and slowly teasing both feet at a time. When one reaches the top and tickled Misha’s quivering toes, the other lightly scratches her silky soft heel.
Misha hated the feather. She hated how it felt to have her soles and toes kissed by that feathery-soft touch. And how sometimes on the right spots the tickling could almost feel… good? The other Misha had tools that tickled worse like the back-scratcher, or the hairbrush, that was true, but nothing tantalized Misha’s hypersensitive flesh quite like the soft touch of the feather, and it always sent shivers down her spine.
Sure enough, the finger was replaced by another feather, which began a bittersweet tickling duet across Misha’s milky-white feet, which sent sensations roaring throughout her body and culminating a dull throb in her loins, as she realized, that the light motion of the feathers of her feet was having the exact effect she feared would happen.
"Oh God, N-No plehehease!" Misha begged out of habit, though her body was so eager for every stroke of that feather on her flesh. "Don't tickle me with that! I can't tahahake it! I cahahahahant!"
“You can, and you will,” the other Misha said with a titter, as she wielded her feathers, the edge of the plume gliding over the smooth soles with ease. Misha’s feet were ideal for feather tickling – their softness and smoothness made them a delightfully easy to tickle with the plumes, and it was child’s play to brush all over them with either the tip of a side of the feather.
The other Misha was no stranger to this game, and knew just how to tease her. The feathers alternated between brushing up and down her soles with the feather rapidly, or giving slow flicks with the tips along the purple-painted toes, and sure enough, before long gasps and moans were creeping into Misha’s giggles.
“These little toes just love to be tickled…” the other Misha snickered, as she continued to feather Misha’s bare feet, with the toes getting the best of it as she used the feather to tickle each digit in turn, the tip going up and down on each toe in turn on both feet. “And I know just the effect the feathering on your tootsies will have on you…”
Sure enough, the soft tickling on Misha's toes was producing more moans than laughter as the fire in Misha’s loins burned in raged, and Misha could feel her entire body calling for the feather to tickle her harder and harder, and go get the rest of her body… she didn’t even realize how her hips were lifting off the bed, begging to gain some kind of release.
True to her cruel nature, the other Misha stopped the feathering right after an especially sensual moan of delight from Misha. Misha panted, her black-hair a mess, and looked at the feather expectantly and then the other Misha who twirled the feathers between her fingers.
“You want more, don’t you?” the other Misha said, with a laugh. “You’re a dirty, lusty, insatiable little girl who wants more and more.” It was a statement. Misha’s lip quivered as she was lost for words.
“These feathers aren’t going anywhere near where you want them to go,” the other Misha sneered, as she pointed the feather at Misha like an accusing finger. “Until you beg me for more,” she said, as she slapped a liberal quality of oil onto Misha’s soles, which immediately set her mind reeling in alarm. It went from bad to worse as the other Misha picked up a paintbrush from her tray.
“Mohohohohore!” Misha said, panicking as she felt long fingernails begin raking up and down a slick sole. Harsh laughter came burbling from her lips as she felt nails harass her toes while wet bristles spun around the heel of the other foot.
“Say it with more feeling! Say it like you mean it!” the other Misha said, tickling even harder. She was painting up and down the arch with the brush now, with the precision of a master artisan. She would scratch her nails haphazardly but always wield the brush deftly, such as the way the brush gently kissed and caressed Misha’s quivering toes while fingers wildly spidered the ball of the foot.
“Plehehehease Mohohhore! Morehihihhi! Morehohohohoahah! Gahahahahah!”
“I can’t hear you! Speak more clearly!” the other Misha chided, a grin on her face as she precisely dusted the paintbrush in the extremely sensitive spaces between toes one at a time.
And on and on this went, till Misha was screaming for more for what felt like an hour till the other Misha finally stopped.
“Why… didn’t… you… stop?” Misha panted, her eyes closed as sweat pouring down her face.
“You were convincing,” she laughed, as she stood up from her perch in front of Misha’s feet which had been rubbed red again. “But I’ll be a sweetie now, and finally give what you want, since you were asking me so nicely.”
Misha’s eyes opened, and she suddenly found she was now completely naked. When had her clothes disappeared? The Installer Port between her firm breasts was visible, and Misha was dismayed to see how her nipples were erect and her womanhood… well, she didn’t want to think about it. Had the intense tickling really aroused her so much?
She didn’t have much time to think, as she felt the other Misha straddle her, fluffy white feathers in hand. Misha could feel the nagging prickle of heat within her loins become stronger as the feather spun and danced over her body. The feathers slowly moved their way up her body, feathering ever spot meticulously as if the other Misha was a diligent maid, dusting priceless artefacts for every iota of dust. The feathers flew over Misha’s flesh, which was now highly hypersensitized from the earlier bouts of tickling. The feathers took care to linger in all the spots were the tickling filled Misha with bubbly laughter, the giggles and squeaks which were more cute than desperate. This did not mean the feathering was easy to endure, as on the contrary, this light tickling was worse in its own as it was right on the line between enjoyable and unbearable.
Misha sucked for breathe and thrust her hips helplessly, as for another eternity, the other Misha danced the feathers from her thighs to her stomach. Minutes into a thorough feathering of Misha’s inner thighs, which were tantalizing close to her now-sopping wet womanhood, Misha could only laugh and thrust her hips as she urged the feather to enter the spots that so desperately wanted now to be touched.
Misha begged with her lips, and for a second, as the other Misha hovered the feather near the inferno between her legs, held her breath and dared to hope – but it was all in vain, as with a cackle, the other Misha guided the feather into Misha’s super-sensitive belly instead, which was not the hole Misha had been hoping to be probed.
“What’s wrong? You want something?” the other Misha asked, an evil grin on her face. Typical. She was going to make her say it.
“I…” Misha stuttered, as the other Misha reached for more baby oil. “I… oh… my gosh…” began Misha, as her doppelganger began rubbing the baby oil into the rest of her body in a pleasant but tickly-massage.
“Keep going, I’m listening,” the other Misha said with a chuckle, as she massaged oil along Misha’s breasts, taking care to accidentally-on-purpose squeeze and tease their stiff buds.
Misha’s moaned loudly, almost forgetiting for a moment her situation, and just immensely grateful for the break and the pleasure the other Misha was kind enough to grant her. Such uncharacteristic kindness never lasted long, and this was no exception.
The massage grew more and more tickly, as hands rubbed along Misha’s inner thighs, stroking and scratching gently as they skirted around her womanhood and migrating to tease her sides. Misha gasped and her eyes rolled back in her head as she felt a single finger on each side gently trace a path towards her breasts. Her mouth was open wide with giggly-moans as soft teasing fingers gently stroking the undersides of her breasts. The fingers danced around her erect nipples and continued over her collar bone. She felt the fingers leave her collarbone and return to spidered her nibbles, as a mouth gently kissed and nibbled her neck.
Misha heard a vibrating sound, and her heart leapt into her throat. The other Misha lifted the humming vibrator and showed it to her. Misha thought her green eyes might have been kind and generous, but she realized a moment too late they were shining with malice, as the other Misha plunged the vibrator into a spot where she definitely did not want it – her underarm.
The other Misha savagely tickled the taut underarms with both hands, buzzing with the vibrator and scratching with the other. The vibrating sensations wrecked ticklish havoc across Misha’s body, as she her stomach and underarms where vibed, yet the one spot she wanted the vibrator to go lay neglected, as fluid continued to trickle down her legs.
Misha didn’t know what to felt, especially when the other Misha jabbed the vibrator at her stomach, tantalizingly close to her legs while she also lightly nibbled at Misha’s neck. The orgasmic sensations and tickle torture were mixing together in a way till it felt like nothing was making sense anymore.
The other Misha stopped, stroking her chin with hand while holding the vibrator over Misha’s womanhood. Misha gasped, and prayed that she would finally be free of the frustration gnawing at her. Her eyes darted from the vibrator hovering there, and the other Misha’s predatory grin.
“I was going to touch you where I know you wanted to be touched, but I realize we forgot to play with your favourite brushes today,” the other Misha said, clapping her hands excitedly. She pointed at the scrub brushes on the tray, and on command, they flew to Misha’s feet and began scrubbing. Misha was laughing too much to think about how that happened. All she could focus on was how it felt. Bristles, bristles, bristles. Dozens of scratchy, itchy thing, brushing mercilessly up her soles as if they were a stubborn bedpan that had to be scoured clean. The brushes were uniquely unbearable in that unlike two feathers or ten fingers, which only felt like two or ten points of stimulus respectively, the scrub brushes were dozens and dozens of little pressure points, each tickling Misha’s poor buttery-soft feet in just a slightly different way and sending yet another ticklish response roaring through her body.
It was the most intense of the tickle implements the other Misha would use on her, and its torture would always be the most mind-blowing torment that would be doled out, but somehow as the waves of sensations coursed throughout Misha’s tickle-ravaged body, all she could do was smile and laugh. Through the din of her own frenzied laughter she could hear the hum of the vibrator, and somehow knowing that the vibrator might finally give her the pleasure she now-wanted, or was it what she had always wanted, right from the beginning? Had she always been in denial in what tickling did to her? The brutal brushing was feeling almost sweet, as Misha panted and moaned, forcing her head down to watch as the vibrator drew nearer and nearer. The scrub brushes got under her toes, and she laughed wildly, her hips bucking, but she did not take her eyes off the vibrator as it drew ever closer, it was almost there. She could almost feel it…
O-O-O
Misha gasped, as she woke up in her bed, alone, trembling from the sensations that had felt so incredibly real. She punched her pillow moodily. Why does it always stop right when it was getting to the good part?
