oneortheother
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Morgana's Mansion: A Tickle Horror-Comedy, Part 3
The next door Taylor opened led her down a creaking wooden stairway to what must have been the basement of the house. The blonde knew that this would not bode well for her. Basements were always where murderers or captives lurked in horror movies. But would Taylor be able to buck the trend? She certainly hoped so.
More candles illuminated her path down the stairs, and when she walked off the final step, she felt the term basement could no longer apply to what this place was. It was a dungeon. She saw chains, a variety of bondage apparatuses, and trays and tray of utensils likely designed for the gruesome purpose of tickle torture.
“I was hoping you would be the one to stumble down here,” said the husky voice of Morgana Lafey. She was seated and bound in a wooden and steel stockade, though her expression was very much that of a woman at ease, not a prisoner. She stood up, passing through the heavy-looking shackles as if they were not even there. “You’re the one who spoke to one of my former guests here, no?”
It took a moment for Taylor to work out who Morgana was eluding to—Valerie. The woman whose boyfriend had died mysterious in this manor, the woman who must have undergone unimaginable tickle torment, the woman who had shown Taylor such kindness.
“What to know what she experienced?” Morgana said with a wide, thin smile. “But talking about it would be boring, so why don’t I just show you?” She snapped her fingers, and the world seemed to jolt underfoot.
“Omigawd, this is so not cool!” said a stocked girl who had not been there moments ago. She looked a bit like a hippie with her tie-dyed shirt, straw hat, short denim shorts, and brown gladiator sandals. Her silvery blonde hair curled around her shoulder, she wore round glasses, and her ears were full of piercings. When Taylor noticed the silver anklet and the brightly-painted yellow toenails, she saw the resemblance to the more mature woman she had met. This was the young Valerie. They must all be in some kind of memory.
“It’s also not cool for you and your boytoy to pee on my carpet,” Morgana said. “So just for you, I’ll put you in something a little special.”
Valerie whimpered as Morgana removed her sandals in a few deft movements. Her feet were lightly tanned at the tops, but the soles remained creamy. The large stockade could have seated two, which gave Taylor a sense of foreshadow-y trepidation as to what fate might await her next. With your ankles shackled in those holes and your arms tied above your head, you would be helpless to any ticklish ministrations in that thing.
“I picked this up from a pianist with the most delightfully receptive feet I ever saw,” Morgana said as she reached for several little wooden metronomes from a shelf. “Let’s see how you handle it.”
At the end of the metronome were a bundle of white, stiff feathers. Morgana positioned one of them under each armpit where they swept away in time to their clicking beats. The tie-dye shirt that Valerie wore was very fashionable, but the sleeves were very short and failed to provide more protection to her obviously sensitive armpits. Valerie was already shaking with giggles as the feathers struck again and again. The colourful shirt also cut off a few inches before it reached her waist, so another metronome was put to work brushing back and forth across her pierced navel.
“Now, I think you need to learn how to keep the noise down,” Morgana said in a stern voice as Valerie spluttered and twitched. “I’ll have you know you very inconsiderately interrupted my beauty sleep. So, here’s how this is going to work.” Morgana snapped her fingers and two more metronomes positioned themselves at Valerie’s scrunching feet, though these two seemed to not be on. “If you laugh, these two are going to join in. So, do yourself a favour and STFU.”
Morgana walked away, leaving Valerie to grit her teeth and chew on her lower lip as she tried to get her body under control. It was a thing easier said than done when three feathers were dancing along one’s sensitive skin, however.
Taylor watched as Valerie’s eyes closed with the effort of suppressing her body’s natural reaction to such ticklish pressure. Poor her, Taylor thought, and even if Valerie could hold back her snorts and giggles for a while, it was a battle she was inevitably going to lose.
“Enjoying the show?” Morgana said, putting an arm around Taylor’s shoulder. “It sure looks like you are. I never knew you were such a voyeur, sweetie.”
“I am not!”
Morgana tilted her head—her face was a mask of innocence. “Oh, so you’re not content just watching? Well, I understand that… you’d much rather be participating. I imagine you’re thinking what a weakling dear Valerie is, and you’re saying to yourself ‘oh, I bet I could handle that no problem, easy peasy lemon squeezy!’ Am I right or am I right? Say no more!”
Taylor took a step back as realisation dawned on her once more. And in a flash, she found herself seated beside Valerie with her arms raised, ankles in the stocks, flip flops gone, and tickling metronomes starting their regular sweeps along underarms and belly.
“Oh, and just for you, I’ll give you something a bit special.” Morgana pointed a finger at a tray of utensils, and a series of guitar picks floated. “Thought we might as well keep with the musical theme,” she explained. “I obtained these from some wannabe rock star with a belly button to die for… If you start making too much noises, these picks are gonna starting strumming along those pretty tootsies of yours, so best you try to keep silent.”
Tossing her head back, Taylor sucked in breath desperately through her nose as those feathers stroke under her spots with the monotony of a pendulum. Yet somehow, knowing it was coming made it no less bearable. Beside her, she could feel Valerie fighting the same battle. Those feathers were soft, and their bristles swished madly as they came again and again and again. No sooner had the nerves settled down from their previous slash would another arrive. Over and over and over again those feathers came as the girls’ panting breaths grew more and more ragged.
Taylor couldn’t say which feather was the worst. The feather swiping at the edges of her toned biceps brushed against the centre of her armpit hollows was awful, but it was her stomach that was driving her mad. The feather seemed to be placed at the perfect location. It just skirted along the rim of her navel, and with every motion seemed destined to dip into that terribly ticklish little spot, yet it didn’t. The fear of that moment coming kept Taylor fixated on that feather, and she was probably making it tickle her even more than it should have because of the way she was psyching herself out.
Maybe it was because Taylor had leaned forward a bit too far, or she had tensed her abs a bit too much, but either way, the feather at her stomach came whisking towards her navel at just the right angle to give the inside of her belly button a quick ticklish lick, and the floodgates opened. Laughter poured out of her, and then it gushed out of her when those guitar picks came to life at her feet.
Perhaps it was because Valerie had somehow heard her companion’s resistance crumble to nothing, or perhaps it was simply curious timing, but the hippie-esque girl burst into laughter a moment later. And with her laughter, the metronomes at her feet sprang to life to ensure she could make no more further attempts to get her laughter under control. And in much the same way, Taylor’s laughter had become a runaway train she had no hope of catching. Those guitar picks plaguing her feet were like fingernails—but the idealised perfect fingernail for tickle torture. They were long and sharp, and they could be used to pluck away at sensitive spots with abandon, unlike a normal fingernail of that length which had to use a bit of caution lest she risk breaking that nail. Not to mention their size made them perfect for darting around squirming and scrunching toes, and Taylor’s long, gold-painted toes were definitely vulnerable to their vile presence.
Together, their laughter made a strange symphony of hysterical giggles and spluttering guffaws, and they laughed and laughed till the dungeon rang with sound of their musical mirth.
O-O-O
Lee walked through the corridor, her feet padding across the dusty floor. Her shoes had long ago been stolen away, and for now, still had one foot in her nylon stockings while the other foot was bare. She considered remove the stocking on that foot as well for symmetry, but it seemed foolhardy to remove one of the few protections that remained to her.
As she pushed her way through the next door, a polished, painted door of faded purple, she expected to find herself in another ghastly torture chamber, probably with a rack or stockade just waiting for her. But this room was different. The rest thing that hit her was the smell of sweet perfume—it smelled of wild flowers, of herbs, of cinnamon. In contrast to the other filthy rooms and grimy corridors, this room seemed relatively free of dust. There was an open window letting in rays of bright sunlight. It must have been midday, for the sun was still high in the air. Lee tried to push the window open, but it held firm, and she didn’t dare try to break it open to escape. Part of it was because she was somehow on the third floor, despite the fact she didn’t really remember going up any stairs, and also because of what Morgana Lafey had said on that foyer hours ago. This would only end when that witch had enjoyed her fill.
Sighing to herself, Lee tried to work out how this room planned to torment her. There was another side door at the opposite end of the room, but it refused to budge either. Lee was familiar enough with the bizarre expectations of this manor that she recognised something would need to happen before the entrance to her next challenge would open, and that something would probably involve copious amounts of tickling.
But what was there in this room that could lead to that? By the looks of things, this was Morgana’s dressing room or something. Lee examined the floor in case there were rotten floorboards like before, but this room has plush carpets that felt wonderfully soft on her feet. There was an ornate closet in the corner that looked like contained clothes, but Lee wasn’t sure she wanted to open that door lest shirts and trousers suddenly fly out to tie her up or something. She was starting to get an inkling of how this manor worked…
The only other feature of note in the room was a series of stained and cracked mirrors that lined one wall. Perhaps time and nature had warped them, but the reflection they showed resembled that of a carnival hall of mirrors. None of them quite looked like Lee—a bit too tall, too short, too fat, too thin, or etc. Though Lee herself could hardly say she looked like herself right now. She had always hoped to dress to impress with a neat, professional style, but she looked like a right mess at the moment. Her long black hair looked like she had just crawled out of bed following a frantic love-making session. Her white blouse was ruffled and stained with dirt, and of course, she was shoeless and had that stocking torn off so she looked like she had just survived some kind of shipwreck.
As she stared at herself in the mirror, she thought she saw one of her reflections wave at her. She blinked and no, she was just looking at herself, albeit a version of herself twisted in that ugly mirror.
It was then Morgana finally made her appearance, the way she did for every room. She appeared in front of the mirror, though the ghost made no reflection. “You know that phrase that you’re your own worst enemy? Let’s put that to the test, shall we?”
Lee took a step back as the reflections of her in the mirror all took a step forward and suddenly became three-dimensional. There were six of them: too tall, too short, too thin, too fat, too pretty, and too ugly. They all looked just like her, but she knew they must be reflections for they all had bare left foot while her own right foot was bare.
They pounced and overwhelmed her, dogpiling her to the ground. They were all giggling as they did so, a noise which Lee found so familiar yet so foreign. She had never really ‘heard’ herself laugh before like this, after all. But before long, she was hearing herself laugh heartily. Trapped on her back, she twisted and bucked as bed she could, but she had no chance when she was being sextupled teamed.
Two of them, too tall and too short, were sitting on her arms, which were pinned above her head, and they were spidering all ten of their fingernails in each underarm. They would graze along the edges of the armpits and then dive back into the hollows, shifting gears every few seconds or so. The right armpit was especially awful as too tall had longer fingernails than Lee herself, as they scraped and raked the soft flesh there viciously.
“Plehehehehease stahahahp! Don’t do thihihihis to meheehehe! You are meheheheeee!”
“What are you going to offer me to stop, huh?” asked too pretty, sneering at her. “Let me guess—anything? Well, what if I told you what I wanted was to tickle you even more? What are you gonna do about that?”
Too pretty had a slimmer face but a larger bust, and Lee had a good view of both of them while she was perched on Lee’s midsection. Her nails focusing on the prominent collarbones and neck that Lee’s white blouse left exposed. Worst of all was her lips, fuller than Lee’s own. They mocked and teased Lee in both English and her native Putonghua, telling her what a weak little ticklish girl she was, how she couldn’t even stand a few tickles, how she probably was a little slut who was enjoying every second of this. Lee never knew she could hate herself so much.
Too fat was sitting on her thighs, putting her weight to good use to keep Lee’s legs from going anywhere as she traced and squeezed her fingers along Lee’s knees.
Too thin and too ugly had spread Lee’s legs and sat down across her ankles. With her feet pinned beneath them, they had free rein to scamper their small, nimble finger all over Lee’s soles. Just as before, the bare foot and the foot still in stockings felt different, and although they were being tickled by the same mischievous fingers, it seemed vastly different on each foot, which of course meant that it tickled more.
“Let’s really get her feet,” said too pretty suddenly at Lee’s neck, and in a flash, as if all the reflections shared but one mind, they stood up and piled around her feet. Lee’s arms were suddenly free, but she couldn’t wrench her feet from the six reflections that had clustered around her tiny ticklish feet.
They wriggled their adroit fingers under her clenched, red-painted toes and pried them back till the Lee’s petite feet were taut and immobile. And then sixty (give or take the hands holding her quivering feet in place) wicked fingers engulfed her soles in a wave of sensations. And they knew every sensitive spot on Lee’s small feet well, from her arches, to between her toes, to the soft balls of the feet—they were her, after all.
Lee tried slapping at the backs of her reflections or tugging on their shoulders, but there were too many of them, and the all-powering foot tickling was quickly driving the resistance out of her, one gushing guffaw at a time.
“You know,” Morgana said as she watched Lee pound her palm on the carpeted floor, “I always thought it was impossible to tickle yourself. Thanks for proving me wrong, dearie.”
O-O-O
Janis had learned not to expect too much in terms of realism when it came to the malleable laws of space and time in this manor, but somehow, she still found what she saw in the next room to look incredibly odd, even though it probably wasn’t really that remarkable. It was so mundane that it might not have even been magic, yet there was something jarring and perplexing about the sight, like when you saw an old friend with a crazy new hairstyle.
The candlelit room was small, sparse, and spartan. There were a few paintings on the wall, an armchair covered with dust, and a copper hat rack in the corner. The only truly remarkable feature was the door, and not the door that Janis had just entered through, which naturally had slammed and locked itself shut as soon as the blue-haired girl had stepped inside.
This oaken door was a bold whorehouse red, and where the door knob should have been, a pair of pale, slender bare feet protruded from the wood. It looking like the door had grown around the feet, as the fit seemed so snug. The feet wiggled at the sound of Janis’s approach, like a rabbit twitching its ears at the sound of potential danger.
Just above the feet, Janis could make out a little dial. The faded writing on it said ‘close’, but it had another setting that said ‘open’. She tried to twist the dial, but it seemed stuck.
“You’ll need to tickle those feet to get out,” said the voice of Morgana Lafey, though the witch herself didn’t seem to be in the area. “I wonder if you can dish out what you can take. Good luck…”
Janis brushed an experimental finger down the foot in closest to her. It wrinkled up immediately, and it certainly felt real and warm enough to be a real foot. The feet before her were long, though not as long and large as Taylor’s. They were pale, dainty things, a bit similar to her own but thinner, and when Janis pushed the foot down to examine them a bit better, she saw that the tidily-trimmed toenails had a smooth shine to them and black nail varnish. From their creamy pinkish tan, Janis guessed they probably belonged to a Caucasian girl, perhaps some kind of goth girl, though from how unbelievably soft and pampered these feet were, it wouldn’t have surprised Janis at all if they belonged to some snotty prima donna alpha bitch type. Janis solemnly hoped they did, as that would make it make easier to tickle these pretty things guilt-free.
As Janis rubbed her fingers into those immaculate feet, she could hear a steady stream of slow giggles from the other side of the thick wooden door. Well, there was no kindness in teasing the girl by keeping her waiting in suspense any longer, Janis decided, and she started right away by digging her fingers firmly into the silky flesh of the arches of both feet. Those deep, high arches proved to be an immediate goldmine of sweet spots, as Janis’s blue nails focused over the area between heel and ball of feet, relishing in the squeals and gasps that could be heard from beyond. Whoever this girl was, she seemed as ticklish as any girl Janis had ever seen. It was a crying shame that Morgana had not thought to supply her with any tools. A hairbrush in particular looked like it would have tremendously fun to treat these buttery-soft arches too, or perhaps maybe a backscratcher for a more precise touch. Oh well, she digressed. She would just have to make do with what she had. At least she got to tickle for once in this place.
And as she tickled, the dial on the door was beginning to turn. It was about one third of the way to open now. Good, Janis thought, she was making progress. But now she had to find the spots that really make this girl tick…
After playing with the wrinkles of those arches for a while, Janis refocused her attacks on one foot at a time—the left foot first. She started at the heel, scurrying up the foot with all ten of her long fingernails like a ravaging horde of ticklish mayhem. Her nails would swarm up the sole, then swarm down, up and down, up and down. The girl beyond the door would also shriek when the skittering fingers would dash past her arch, and she would always let loose machine-gun laughter when the motion reached her toes. It was cute how like clockwork her reactions seemed to be. Janis supposed she respected how consistent her reactions were. There was nothing bad about being reliable, was there?
While Janis had her way with that left foot, the other foot began to clench and unclench its toes, wiggling and flexing as if trying to wave to get Janis’s attention. The trapped feet were a bit too far away from each other for the foot to reach over and take a few ticklish blows for its twin, but that didn’t seem to stop it from trying. It was an adorably futile gesture, and every now and then Janis couldn’t resist brushing her nails along the black-painted toes as they desperately strained to protect the besieged left foot. Those slender toes would also splay open and flex back, as if shocked by the sudden touch, but they could never stay away for long. And Janis would greet those grasping toes with another swipe to get them to recoil once more, and then the cycle would repeat itself.
After Janis did the same with the right foot, which prompted the same cutesy toe defence, she noticed the dial was nearly at open. Well, it was time to bust out the big guns and find out where those fun arches of hers were really ticklish. Using just her index fingers, she focused her efforts on the centres of them, probing slowly and listening for the girl’s wild whoops of laughter. It didn’t take long to find that the base of the arches was a particular delightful spot to tease. Janis dug two fingers into that spot on the arch, moving back and forth to hit the same place on one foot then the other, and luckily for Janis but unluckily for the girl, that tender spot seemed present and equally ticklish on both pampered feet.
Janis couldn’t have said how long she kept this up for, though the pale feet were certainly a shade pinker at this point—she was all too familiar with the adage that time flew when you were having fun. And Janis was having all kinds of fun. Tickling was her fetish, after all, and she was undecided on whether she enjoyed being more on the delivering end or the receiving end. And although this girl’s slim feet looked nothing like her chunky, wider ones, as her fingers flew over the soft, succulent, pliable flesh of her soles, Janis’s toes curled as she empathised with the girl and imagined cruel, vicious fingernails ravaging across her own feet as well. It was the sort of thinking that made her heart beat a little faster, made her bite her lower lip, and turned on the tap downstairs.
After a while, the girl’s laughter beyond the door started to fade, but Janis knew the girl must have simply gone into silent laughter, because both feet were still twitching and thrashing as if they had all the energy in the world. And them the dial clicked in place, and door unlocked and swung open.
Janis gaped as she realised who she had been tickling. Morgana Lafey herself pulled her long, shapely legs from the wall still giggling to herself. “Not bad,” she said. “Not bad at all. You tickle pretty well.”
“It is kinda my hobby.”
“Well, it heartens me to see a strong young woman following her passions,” Morgana said with a chuckle, her eyes glowed yellow, and they sparkled with mischief. “Follow me. It’s time for the grand finale.”
O-O-O
To call where that door led a ‘room’ would give it serious injustice, Janis thought. It was more a great hall, a large, majestic place which seemed almost too big to fit into the manor. It was definitely bigger than any of Taylor’s tennis courts, that was for sure. The centre of the room was elevated with stone steps, and the steps led to a great throne carved of jutting metal. Seated cross-legged on the throne was Morgana Lafey.
“How very Game of Thrones,” Janis said by way of greeting.
“Why thank you,” Morgana said, her voice booming from the throne as Janis slowly walked towards her. “Do you like my chair? I added a few personal touches to it.”
On the right armrest of the throne, Janis saw a pair of tanned bare feet protruding within easy reach of Morgana’s long, black fingernails. Janis recognised those silver toerings, so it must have been poor Taylor trapped under the throne. When her eyes followed those lone feet down, she saw the metal of the throne had engulfed the feet’s owner entirely, binding them in the base of the chair so that only their feet was the only part of their body that was visible. As Morgana spoke, in a casual, relaxed motion, she would brush her nails lightly across the feet to make them squirm and struggle. Muffled echoes of laughter were audible. And on the other side, on the other armrest, the small feet that were curled up in anticipation of the ticklish fate that was due to befall them had to be Lee—there was no mistaking those tiny toes and those black stockings, though she only had one foot with the stocking still on.
Morgana laughed when she saw where Janis was looking. “No need to glare at me! Don’t you worry, I was just keeping your friends entertained why they wait for you.” She gave Lee’s petite feet a quick parting scratch, then clapped her hands together, and Taylor and Lee appeared beside Janis in a puff of black smoke, gasping and coughing. It was good to see her friends again, Janis thought, and although all three of them were undoubtedly a bit worse for wear, at least they were all fairly unharmed.
“Thanks,” Lee said. “If we get out of here, I swear I’m changing my name. It really is tempting fate.”
Taylor said, “What’s happening now? Are you finally going to let us do that interview unmolested?”
“What a curious choice of words there,” Morgana said with a wry smile on her face, “but I digress. Anyway, here we all are, at the final frontier, as a reward for all your efforts you get the ultimate blessing of all. You get to tickle me.”
The three girls all looked at each other. After all they had been through, the chance at ticklish comeuppance and revenge was a sweet tonic indeed.
“But how?” Taylor asked. “Aren’t you like a ghost?”
“I am, but ghosts have bodies.” Morgana snapped her fingers and a coffin burst from the ground—it sent dirt and dust flying everywhere. There was a harsh scraping sound the air as the heavy black coffin slowly slid open. When the girls finally got a look at the thing inside the coffin, they were surprised to see it was almost identical to the Morgana Lafey who sat on her throne, only minus the ominous blue glow that clung to her. The ‘real’ Morgana smiled up at them. She was also only wearing a black lace bra and panties which certainly did not look like they had been around in the 18th century.
“Wow, why aren’t you a skeleton?” Lee asked. “It’s been three hundred years, hasn’t it? I expected some… well, decay and overall grossness, to be honest.”
“I’m surprised that’s the first thing you noticed. Anyway, I was very well preserved.”
“And hold on,” Janis said. “Weren’t you drowning? If that’s how you died, shouldn’t you look, I don’t know, a bit more like a Pirates of the Caribbean villain?”
“Yeah, why aren’t you wet and slimy or gross?” Taylor added.
“You’re talking to a ghost with vaguely-defined powers and you’re complaining about realism?” Morgana shook her head and chuckled. “GTFO.”
Another flash of light and the black coffin had transformed into a black table. The real Morgana was bound across it with fur-lined chains at her wrists and ankles to pull her eagle-spread. A black ball-gag in her mouth muffled her. At the corner of the table was a tray of tickle implements.
“Wow, you’re going to let the three of us tickle you all at once?” Lee said. “You don’t stand a chance.”
“Well, about that,” Morgana said, “I think you may have noticed I love to tickle—almost as much as I enjoy being on the receiving end, so why not get the best of both words?” She snapped her fingers and an identical table popped up opposite the one that held her physical form. “And I think I’ll start with you, though don’t worry, all of you will get a turn.” She pointed at Lee, and the Chinese girl suddenly found herself bound to the table in the exact same way the real Morgana was. “Let’s begin, shall we?”
Taylor and Janis didn’t need telling twice. With Morgana’s body exposed and bound, they had their pick of spots to attack, not to mention their pick of which implement to use thanks to the tray of tickle tools the witch had so thoughtfully provided. Janis picked a comb while Taylor decided she wanted to adopt a more hands-on approach.
Janis took a quick peek at Morgana’s pale feet. They feet were very wrinkled, the way they got after swimming in the pool for a while, and they were also very soft to a touch. Janis set to work exploring those wrinkles with the fine-toothed wooden comb right away. She was delighted by the way Morgana reared up, her black-painted toes flexing and scrunching as best as those tight binds would allow. It was good to know those gorgeous feet were every bit as sensitive and ticklish as they looked.
Taylor was having a ball of the time with Morgana’s armpits as well. She wasn’t exactly sure how big a thing personal grooming was at the time of Morgana’s death, but she wasn’t about to complain with her finger attacked those smooth, hairless hollows. Morgana’s biceps were thing and lightly muscled, unlike Taylor’s arms strengthened from years of playing tennis, but those arms were straining all the same as Taylor fluttered her nails all around them. Morgana’s green eyes were closed as the gag continued to eat up and muffle her frantic laughter.
“Now, you, my darling, are way too uptight,” the other Morgana said to Lee, who was gagged. She seemed unaffected by the potent tickled being inflicted on her true form by the other two girls, aside from the fact her grin seemed to be wider than before. “Let’s see if we can’t get you to loosen up a bit.”
Her fingers crept into short sleeves of Lee’s blouse to tease along the armpits as she began to softly kiss and lick along her neck and collarbones. Lee scrunched her eyes shut and tried to twist her head away. That tongue… it felt like it was half a feather and half a tongue. It sent tingly tendrils of sensation crawling through her body with every tender lap.
“Does that feel nice, sweetheart?” Morgana giggled and began to unbutton Lee’s blouse, causing the Asian girl to struggle even harder.
Her friends saw what was happening and quickly tried to move to her rescue. Janis began sawing the comb between Morgana’s long toes, the wooden teeth of the comb scratching and stimulating the hypersensitive flesh of the undersides along the toe webbing. Taylor was spidering all five of her fingers in each armpit, sometimes scratching hard and other times teasing slowly. The bound Morgana’s eyes bulged and tears began to trickle down her cheeks, yet the other Morgana continued unimpeded. Morgana’s tongue began to slide across Lee’s slim stomach.
Lee was going mad from this light touch alone, though the fact Morgana’s fingers had begun to brush along her pale sides probably didn’t help. Lee tried to twist to the side, tried to suck in her stomach, but that devastating tongue continued to follow her. The tongue began to skitter slow, clockwise circles around her navel, spiralling closer to her belly button each time with every lap around that quivering, spasming stomach, with Lee’s giggles growing more intense once her hyper analytical mind realised where that tongue was due.
“You’ve got such a tasty tummy,” Morgana said in a husky purr before she finally slipped her tongue into her navel. It wiggled around as Lee exploded with laughter. “Let’s see if your feet are the same.” Morgana traced that crazy feather-soft tongue of hers down Lee’s inner thigh and shin as she made her way down to the feet.
She quickly took up shop at the right foot, which was bare. As her tongue licked up and down the foot and attacked those red-painted toes, pushing through the gaps to drive Lee to more hysterics, her other hand raked up and down Lee’s left foot, which was still clad in the stocking.
Meanwhile, Taylor had relocated to Morgana’s feet as well, launching a furious ten fingered assault on her right foot while Janis and her comb continued to attack the left. But again, the effect it had on the other Morgana’s was minimal, though Morgana’s body seemed like she was suffering spectacularly.
“Yum, yum, yum,” Morgana said. “I wonder how you taste up there as well…” She licked her way back to the inner thighs, which we still covered in Lee’s nylon tights, though they still provided a feeble amount of protection from such a powerful tongue as the one Morgana possessed. And she licked and licked, one thigh and then the other, while her fingers continued to play with Lee’s trim stomach or her tiny feet. After there was a while, there was no mistaking the way conservative Lee’s hips were grinding together. That devilish tongue was close to coaxing an orgasm out of her. “Hmm, I’m not sure you deserve this, though.”
Lee glanced down at her, her expression twisted in lust and confusion and in a flash, Lee and Janis had swapped places. Janis was strapped down, Lee was free and beside the trapped body of Morgana Lafey. Lee put her hands on her knees. She was panting, with her legs weak from the teasing she had just undergone.
“Oh, you bitch,” she said and picked up a pair of feathers. She instantly set them to work on Morgana’s inner thighs, in particular the point where they met the hip. She hugged her heaving chest. “Grab some feathers and get her nipples, Taylor.”
“Dayum, girl, she really did a number on you, huh?” Taylor said, her eyebrows raised. “but I gotta say, I like pissed off Lee. You go, girl! Let’s do this!” She picked up a pair of feather dusters, tugged down Morgana’s black bra, and set to dusting those pink, erect nipples right away.
“Ooooh, your girls now how to spoil a girl,” Morgana said, rubbing her neck. She grinned at the gagged blue-haired girl in front of her. “I guess you’re feeling a little jealous of your friend getting the taste of my talented tongue? Well, I don’t plan on depriving you of anything. But I do find doing the same thing over and over again a bit boring… so let’s how you handle this?”
Morgana waggled her tongue, and suddenly it grew to ten times its normal length. Morgana smiled, resembling some massive great snake, and she went down towards Jani’s chunky, white feet. The long tongue wound around the right foot several times before pushing its way through several toes as Janis howled with laughter.
And Janis could already feel herself shuddering as the throbbing between her legs grew stronger and stronger. Janis had been having a wonderful time tickling the bound Morgana—there was something about sweet revenge that was so powerfully arousing, and not to mention the fact that Morgana was a very alluring woman with that dark hair and those captivating eyes of hers. And shit, that tongue of hers… it was like the craziest, most ticklish foot worship session she had ever had multiple by a thousand. And there was more. Everywhere that the saliva touched, Janis’s skin seemed to grow warmer as it trickled across her bare feet. And the saliva seemed thicker than normal spit would be.
“You’re noticing, aren’t you?” Morgana said as she switched feet. “My ‘venom’ is making you even more sensitive…” When Morgana stroked a finger down the foot she had just finished licking, the truth of her words hit Janis like a train. As Janis’s other foot was set aflame by that long, roving tongue, Morgana over fingers danced across the hypersensitive foot. She didn’t need to concentrate her efforts too much on that that foot—a simple scrabbling of nails up and down the slick, soft foot was enough to drive Janis wild with laughter. It was clear Morgana’s attention was clearly focused on using her mind-numbingly effective tongue to its full utility. She took care to slide her long tongue through the gaps of every single one of Janis’s blue-painted toed so not a spot would be spared from being slathered in her sizzling saliva. And when she was finally finished, she licked her lips, then quickly spidered her fingers up and down both feet at once.
“I know you’re loving this, you little tickleslut,” Morgana said with a giggle, “so I wonder, can you get an orgasm just from? I don’t know if it’s possible, but let’s make an honest attempt at it, shall we?” On that, she dug her fingers fiercely into both feet. She scratched her nails deep into Janis’s arches, wriggled her nails through the gaps between those pedicured toes, and raked her nails across the fleshy balls of her foot.
The other girls were doing their best to drive Morgana mad with such sensual tickling as well. Lee was demonstrating her tremendous capacity to multitask with a three-pronged attack—her mouth was nibbling and licking away on the big toe of Morgana’s right foot, one hand with sliding a feather against the thighs, and the other hand was squeezing along the knee cap. Taylor had picked up a pair of toothbrushes and was scrubbing away with gusto. Those perky nipples were an obvious target, though Taylor made sure to brush circles around them as well. She had her pick of sensitive spots on the torso, so every now and then, she would send a toothbrush to Morgana’s stomach or an armpit as well, which from the witch’s tear-stained cheeks must have been effective.
After a while, as Janis’s pale feet began to redden from insistent scratching, Morgana realised her goal would likely forever remain out of reach. “Wouldn’t be fair to just leave those sensitive tootsies all alone, though,” Morgana said with a giggle and she pointed at some feathers on the tray of tickle tools on the table. Those feathers floated open in the air and made a beeline for Janis’s feet while Morgana strutted her way to Janis’s torso.
Janis’s feet were still hypersensitive from the stimulating effect of that saliva, so the feathers were more than enough to keep her laughing steadily. And there were half a dozen of them eagerly feathering away. Some were fluffy, some were stiff, some were white and some were grey, but all of them tickled madly on Janis’s spots. They could dust all over her feet with light swiping touches, twirl through wiggling blue-painted toes, or slide up and down those damp arches with quick strokes. It all worked, and the soft, light kiss of those feathers felt like a giggly massage to the punky girl, a massage which did some turbulent things to her tingling womanhood.
Her womanhood was further agitated when Morgana’s tongue starting slipping under Janis’s sleeves to get her armpits. Like before, where the tongue went felt feverish, the skin heating up and becoming more sensitive to subsequent touches. And Janis had never felt anything like Morgana’s long tongue circling and stroking away in one armpit then the other. She jumped and bounced on the table as much as her bonds allowed while the longing in her legs grew and grew. She wanted to scream when Morgana’s long fingernails began tracing along her breasts, her fingers someone reaching through the fabric so she could acutely feel every single flick and stroke.
Morgana leaned in close, her tongue brushing against Janis’s ear for a moment, “Having fun, dear?” As she spoke, her fingers phased through Morgana leaned in close, her tongue brushing against Janis’s ear for a moment, “Having fun, dear?” As she spoke, her fingers phased through Janis’s undergarments once more so she could give her hard dark nipples a quick teasing pinch.
Janis was torn between admitting yes and shaking her head because of how it wasn’t nearly enough. She eventually went with the latter, which prompted Morgana to chuckle. “Not enough for you, huh?” And on that note, her fingers started raking hard into Janis’s slick and smooth armpits while the feathers at her feet sped up their attack, almost like she was being attacked by a plague of tiny birds. Again and again they ran between her toes or through her arches. Again and again Morgana pressed her fingers deep into the soft, silky flesh of Janis’s underarms and dug. And just when the tickling was finally driving her to the point of pure bliss… it stopped.
Taylor found herself gagged and in Janis’s spot from before. Janis wailed and looked like she wanted to punch someone. Lee gave her an understanding pat on the shoulder and passed her a hairbrush, with one already in the Asian girl’s hand. The real Morgana shook her head, pleading comprehensible syllables into the gag, but those two girls had been teased far too much for mercy. They both took a foot each, pulled those long, black-painted toenails back, and began brushing those ferocious bristles fiercely across each sole.
“Hey, cutie,” the other Morgana said the bound blonde in front of her. The ghost shifted her weight from foot to foot, but that seemed to her only physical concession to the speedy scrubbing that was being inflicted on her ticklish bare feet. What was her secret? Taylor wondered. Her sharp eyes shifted over to where Janis and Lee were diligently working away with the plastic-tipped hairbrushes—well, it was more than diligence spurring them on. Was there some way that Morgana was repressing the sensations in that body to prevent from transferring to her ghostly form? Unfortunately, it became difficult to focus on metaphysical matters of souls and spirits when the other Morgana grinned at her and lifted up a hand. Morgana’s black fingernails were about half an inch long, but she wiggled her fingers and those nails suddenly lengthened till they were several inches long—long talons which would be harrowing for any ticklish girl like Taylor to endure. And Morgana wasted no time getting started right away on her long, tanned feet with these new nails of hers. They slashed and scythed up and down Taylor’s feet in long, unhurried motions. She knew she had all the time in the world to torment Taylor’s slender, flawless feet.
She was wrong, however, Taylor realised as she spied movement out of the corner of her eye. She willed herself not to respond, not to react, even when those long, evil fingernails began scratching under her sparkling gold toes, right along her silver toe rings.
In a surprising feat of athleticism that Taylor would never have expected from her more sedentary friends, Janis and Lee suddenly tackled Morgana—they had completely ignored the ‘real’ Morgana who was gasping on the table in favour of a newer target. Morgana seemed as taken aback as she was quickly tickled to the floor. Janis had jumped onto her back with two hands plunging wildly into each armpit as Morgana tried to rise. After a few attempts, Morgana’s arms shook, wobbled and crashed down. Lee sat across Morgana’s bare calves to further secure the squirming and shouting witch in place, and her fingers were soon flying across Morgana’s pale, shapely feet to try to distract her from any attempts at escape with more fierce tickling.
As Morgana shrieked and squealed, Taylor found the shackles that bound her to that black table starting to fade away—they were smoking, almost like they were the last vestiges of a cigarette fast being consumed. And before long, she was free and very eager for revenge.
“Nice work, girls,” Taylor said over the shouting whoops of Morgana’s laughter. “I brought you guys some gifts for all your hard work.” She showed them the tray of tickle tools, and they both exchanged quick high fees. Lee scooted up to sit on Morgana’s ankles with a wooden fork in hand that she eagerly out to work under and between Morgana’s black painted toes. Taking advantage of the new spot that was open to her, Taylor took a few feathers to see if Morgana’s bare behind and thighs were sensitive to them—the answer was yes.
Janis, whom Taylor believed had been most slighted but the sensual tickling, was scrubbing away in those armpits with a toothbrush, and she was saying something to Morgana as she did so. Janis’s voice was too low and Morgana’s laughter was too loud, but Taylor had seen enough trash talking on the tennis courts to recognise the smug look of a victor on her friend’s face.
Morgana writhed beneath them, slapped her hands on the stony ground or tried to make attempts to tickle them with her hands, but Taylor noticed that not once did she beg them to stop. When she did talk, it was that of the observational variety, a “thahahahat tihihickles sohoho much!”, a “wohohow, my tohohohohoes!” or “hohoholy shit thahaht bruhuhsh!”
All these reactions plus the fact that Morgana had displayed an abundance of otherworldly powers sent a shiver down Taylor’s spine. Sure, they were winning right now. But was this a true victory or a feigned one? Were they only winning because Morgana was letting them?
Taylor got her answer when suddenly Morgana was no longer there—they were sitting on the ground, tickling nothing but air with their tools. Morgana floated above them, smiling.
“Well, that was a fun change of pace,” Morgana said, her eyes glowing green and then a feral yellow. “What, you guys didn’t really think you had me beaten, did you? Oops, psych.”
Fear blossomed on the faces of Lee, Janis, and Taylor. They took a step back as Morgana hovered above them.
“I never got finished with you,” Morgana pointed at Taylor and a stone crucifix sprouted from the ground with the blonde girl bound to it. Stone hands grew and began wriggling at armpit, ribs, and feet.
“Shihihihit!” Taylor wailed.
“This was your idea, wasn’t it?” Morgana nodded at Janis. “I like the way you think.” Stony hands shot out from the ground and grabbed Janis by the ankles. The hands lifted her up in the air till she was dangling upside down. “Of course, I like the way you laugh more.” Vines and vegetation sprouted from the cracks in the stones to swarm over Janis’s feet till she was laughing as hard as Taylor. Some of those naughty tendrils wandered along her thighs and belly and armpits as well.
“Yohohoho’re such a tehehehease!” Janis shouted as her shook from the ticklish stimulation.
“And don’t worry, I ahven’t forgotten you, honey,” Morgana said as a fresh batch of stony hands grabbed Lee by the ankles and spread them till she was almost doing the splits. Smaller hands about the size of pennies swarmed over her feet, knees and thighs. “Anyway, I promised you guys anad interview, so feel free to ask me any questions you like.”
When the only sound that greeted her was more raucous laughter, Morgana shrugged with an aloof smile on her face. “Come, come, my dearies, don’t be shy! If you have anything you want to know at all, ask away! I’m happy to answer any queries you may have. Want to know how I became a ghost? What powers I have? How many celebrities of course I’ve tickled? Ask and ye shall receive!”
Taylor tried to ask, but the big hands at her smooth, sensitive armpits scrabbled harder to choke off her words.
Janis tried to ask, but the vines at her bare, creamy thighs teased her and teased till she was close to drooling.
Lee tried to ask, but the tiny hands had lodged themselves in her stocking-clad feet, and they refused to leave her toes alone.
“Nothing? Really?” Morgana’s eyes went from girl to girl as she grinned. “I thought your newspaper people would be very curious. Well, then I’ll have to tickle you till you can think of something! Cootchie cootchie coo, my darlings!”
The next door Taylor opened led her down a creaking wooden stairway to what must have been the basement of the house. The blonde knew that this would not bode well for her. Basements were always where murderers or captives lurked in horror movies. But would Taylor be able to buck the trend? She certainly hoped so.
More candles illuminated her path down the stairs, and when she walked off the final step, she felt the term basement could no longer apply to what this place was. It was a dungeon. She saw chains, a variety of bondage apparatuses, and trays and tray of utensils likely designed for the gruesome purpose of tickle torture.
“I was hoping you would be the one to stumble down here,” said the husky voice of Morgana Lafey. She was seated and bound in a wooden and steel stockade, though her expression was very much that of a woman at ease, not a prisoner. She stood up, passing through the heavy-looking shackles as if they were not even there. “You’re the one who spoke to one of my former guests here, no?”
It took a moment for Taylor to work out who Morgana was eluding to—Valerie. The woman whose boyfriend had died mysterious in this manor, the woman who must have undergone unimaginable tickle torment, the woman who had shown Taylor such kindness.
“What to know what she experienced?” Morgana said with a wide, thin smile. “But talking about it would be boring, so why don’t I just show you?” She snapped her fingers, and the world seemed to jolt underfoot.
“Omigawd, this is so not cool!” said a stocked girl who had not been there moments ago. She looked a bit like a hippie with her tie-dyed shirt, straw hat, short denim shorts, and brown gladiator sandals. Her silvery blonde hair curled around her shoulder, she wore round glasses, and her ears were full of piercings. When Taylor noticed the silver anklet and the brightly-painted yellow toenails, she saw the resemblance to the more mature woman she had met. This was the young Valerie. They must all be in some kind of memory.
“It’s also not cool for you and your boytoy to pee on my carpet,” Morgana said. “So just for you, I’ll put you in something a little special.”
Valerie whimpered as Morgana removed her sandals in a few deft movements. Her feet were lightly tanned at the tops, but the soles remained creamy. The large stockade could have seated two, which gave Taylor a sense of foreshadow-y trepidation as to what fate might await her next. With your ankles shackled in those holes and your arms tied above your head, you would be helpless to any ticklish ministrations in that thing.
“I picked this up from a pianist with the most delightfully receptive feet I ever saw,” Morgana said as she reached for several little wooden metronomes from a shelf. “Let’s see how you handle it.”
At the end of the metronome were a bundle of white, stiff feathers. Morgana positioned one of them under each armpit where they swept away in time to their clicking beats. The tie-dye shirt that Valerie wore was very fashionable, but the sleeves were very short and failed to provide more protection to her obviously sensitive armpits. Valerie was already shaking with giggles as the feathers struck again and again. The colourful shirt also cut off a few inches before it reached her waist, so another metronome was put to work brushing back and forth across her pierced navel.
“Now, I think you need to learn how to keep the noise down,” Morgana said in a stern voice as Valerie spluttered and twitched. “I’ll have you know you very inconsiderately interrupted my beauty sleep. So, here’s how this is going to work.” Morgana snapped her fingers and two more metronomes positioned themselves at Valerie’s scrunching feet, though these two seemed to not be on. “If you laugh, these two are going to join in. So, do yourself a favour and STFU.”
Morgana walked away, leaving Valerie to grit her teeth and chew on her lower lip as she tried to get her body under control. It was a thing easier said than done when three feathers were dancing along one’s sensitive skin, however.
Taylor watched as Valerie’s eyes closed with the effort of suppressing her body’s natural reaction to such ticklish pressure. Poor her, Taylor thought, and even if Valerie could hold back her snorts and giggles for a while, it was a battle she was inevitably going to lose.
“Enjoying the show?” Morgana said, putting an arm around Taylor’s shoulder. “It sure looks like you are. I never knew you were such a voyeur, sweetie.”
“I am not!”
Morgana tilted her head—her face was a mask of innocence. “Oh, so you’re not content just watching? Well, I understand that… you’d much rather be participating. I imagine you’re thinking what a weakling dear Valerie is, and you’re saying to yourself ‘oh, I bet I could handle that no problem, easy peasy lemon squeezy!’ Am I right or am I right? Say no more!”
Taylor took a step back as realisation dawned on her once more. And in a flash, she found herself seated beside Valerie with her arms raised, ankles in the stocks, flip flops gone, and tickling metronomes starting their regular sweeps along underarms and belly.
“Oh, and just for you, I’ll give you something a bit special.” Morgana pointed a finger at a tray of utensils, and a series of guitar picks floated. “Thought we might as well keep with the musical theme,” she explained. “I obtained these from some wannabe rock star with a belly button to die for… If you start making too much noises, these picks are gonna starting strumming along those pretty tootsies of yours, so best you try to keep silent.”
Tossing her head back, Taylor sucked in breath desperately through her nose as those feathers stroke under her spots with the monotony of a pendulum. Yet somehow, knowing it was coming made it no less bearable. Beside her, she could feel Valerie fighting the same battle. Those feathers were soft, and their bristles swished madly as they came again and again and again. No sooner had the nerves settled down from their previous slash would another arrive. Over and over and over again those feathers came as the girls’ panting breaths grew more and more ragged.
Taylor couldn’t say which feather was the worst. The feather swiping at the edges of her toned biceps brushed against the centre of her armpit hollows was awful, but it was her stomach that was driving her mad. The feather seemed to be placed at the perfect location. It just skirted along the rim of her navel, and with every motion seemed destined to dip into that terribly ticklish little spot, yet it didn’t. The fear of that moment coming kept Taylor fixated on that feather, and she was probably making it tickle her even more than it should have because of the way she was psyching herself out.
Maybe it was because Taylor had leaned forward a bit too far, or she had tensed her abs a bit too much, but either way, the feather at her stomach came whisking towards her navel at just the right angle to give the inside of her belly button a quick ticklish lick, and the floodgates opened. Laughter poured out of her, and then it gushed out of her when those guitar picks came to life at her feet.
Perhaps it was because Valerie had somehow heard her companion’s resistance crumble to nothing, or perhaps it was simply curious timing, but the hippie-esque girl burst into laughter a moment later. And with her laughter, the metronomes at her feet sprang to life to ensure she could make no more further attempts to get her laughter under control. And in much the same way, Taylor’s laughter had become a runaway train she had no hope of catching. Those guitar picks plaguing her feet were like fingernails—but the idealised perfect fingernail for tickle torture. They were long and sharp, and they could be used to pluck away at sensitive spots with abandon, unlike a normal fingernail of that length which had to use a bit of caution lest she risk breaking that nail. Not to mention their size made them perfect for darting around squirming and scrunching toes, and Taylor’s long, gold-painted toes were definitely vulnerable to their vile presence.
Together, their laughter made a strange symphony of hysterical giggles and spluttering guffaws, and they laughed and laughed till the dungeon rang with sound of their musical mirth.
O-O-O
Lee walked through the corridor, her feet padding across the dusty floor. Her shoes had long ago been stolen away, and for now, still had one foot in her nylon stockings while the other foot was bare. She considered remove the stocking on that foot as well for symmetry, but it seemed foolhardy to remove one of the few protections that remained to her.
As she pushed her way through the next door, a polished, painted door of faded purple, she expected to find herself in another ghastly torture chamber, probably with a rack or stockade just waiting for her. But this room was different. The rest thing that hit her was the smell of sweet perfume—it smelled of wild flowers, of herbs, of cinnamon. In contrast to the other filthy rooms and grimy corridors, this room seemed relatively free of dust. There was an open window letting in rays of bright sunlight. It must have been midday, for the sun was still high in the air. Lee tried to push the window open, but it held firm, and she didn’t dare try to break it open to escape. Part of it was because she was somehow on the third floor, despite the fact she didn’t really remember going up any stairs, and also because of what Morgana Lafey had said on that foyer hours ago. This would only end when that witch had enjoyed her fill.
Sighing to herself, Lee tried to work out how this room planned to torment her. There was another side door at the opposite end of the room, but it refused to budge either. Lee was familiar enough with the bizarre expectations of this manor that she recognised something would need to happen before the entrance to her next challenge would open, and that something would probably involve copious amounts of tickling.
But what was there in this room that could lead to that? By the looks of things, this was Morgana’s dressing room or something. Lee examined the floor in case there were rotten floorboards like before, but this room has plush carpets that felt wonderfully soft on her feet. There was an ornate closet in the corner that looked like contained clothes, but Lee wasn’t sure she wanted to open that door lest shirts and trousers suddenly fly out to tie her up or something. She was starting to get an inkling of how this manor worked…
The only other feature of note in the room was a series of stained and cracked mirrors that lined one wall. Perhaps time and nature had warped them, but the reflection they showed resembled that of a carnival hall of mirrors. None of them quite looked like Lee—a bit too tall, too short, too fat, too thin, or etc. Though Lee herself could hardly say she looked like herself right now. She had always hoped to dress to impress with a neat, professional style, but she looked like a right mess at the moment. Her long black hair looked like she had just crawled out of bed following a frantic love-making session. Her white blouse was ruffled and stained with dirt, and of course, she was shoeless and had that stocking torn off so she looked like she had just survived some kind of shipwreck.
As she stared at herself in the mirror, she thought she saw one of her reflections wave at her. She blinked and no, she was just looking at herself, albeit a version of herself twisted in that ugly mirror.
It was then Morgana finally made her appearance, the way she did for every room. She appeared in front of the mirror, though the ghost made no reflection. “You know that phrase that you’re your own worst enemy? Let’s put that to the test, shall we?”
Lee took a step back as the reflections of her in the mirror all took a step forward and suddenly became three-dimensional. There were six of them: too tall, too short, too thin, too fat, too pretty, and too ugly. They all looked just like her, but she knew they must be reflections for they all had bare left foot while her own right foot was bare.
They pounced and overwhelmed her, dogpiling her to the ground. They were all giggling as they did so, a noise which Lee found so familiar yet so foreign. She had never really ‘heard’ herself laugh before like this, after all. But before long, she was hearing herself laugh heartily. Trapped on her back, she twisted and bucked as bed she could, but she had no chance when she was being sextupled teamed.
Two of them, too tall and too short, were sitting on her arms, which were pinned above her head, and they were spidering all ten of their fingernails in each underarm. They would graze along the edges of the armpits and then dive back into the hollows, shifting gears every few seconds or so. The right armpit was especially awful as too tall had longer fingernails than Lee herself, as they scraped and raked the soft flesh there viciously.
“Plehehehehease stahahahp! Don’t do thihihihis to meheehehe! You are meheheheeee!”
“What are you going to offer me to stop, huh?” asked too pretty, sneering at her. “Let me guess—anything? Well, what if I told you what I wanted was to tickle you even more? What are you gonna do about that?”
Too pretty had a slimmer face but a larger bust, and Lee had a good view of both of them while she was perched on Lee’s midsection. Her nails focusing on the prominent collarbones and neck that Lee’s white blouse left exposed. Worst of all was her lips, fuller than Lee’s own. They mocked and teased Lee in both English and her native Putonghua, telling her what a weak little ticklish girl she was, how she couldn’t even stand a few tickles, how she probably was a little slut who was enjoying every second of this. Lee never knew she could hate herself so much.
Too fat was sitting on her thighs, putting her weight to good use to keep Lee’s legs from going anywhere as she traced and squeezed her fingers along Lee’s knees.
Too thin and too ugly had spread Lee’s legs and sat down across her ankles. With her feet pinned beneath them, they had free rein to scamper their small, nimble finger all over Lee’s soles. Just as before, the bare foot and the foot still in stockings felt different, and although they were being tickled by the same mischievous fingers, it seemed vastly different on each foot, which of course meant that it tickled more.
“Let’s really get her feet,” said too pretty suddenly at Lee’s neck, and in a flash, as if all the reflections shared but one mind, they stood up and piled around her feet. Lee’s arms were suddenly free, but she couldn’t wrench her feet from the six reflections that had clustered around her tiny ticklish feet.
They wriggled their adroit fingers under her clenched, red-painted toes and pried them back till the Lee’s petite feet were taut and immobile. And then sixty (give or take the hands holding her quivering feet in place) wicked fingers engulfed her soles in a wave of sensations. And they knew every sensitive spot on Lee’s small feet well, from her arches, to between her toes, to the soft balls of the feet—they were her, after all.
Lee tried slapping at the backs of her reflections or tugging on their shoulders, but there were too many of them, and the all-powering foot tickling was quickly driving the resistance out of her, one gushing guffaw at a time.
“You know,” Morgana said as she watched Lee pound her palm on the carpeted floor, “I always thought it was impossible to tickle yourself. Thanks for proving me wrong, dearie.”
O-O-O
Janis had learned not to expect too much in terms of realism when it came to the malleable laws of space and time in this manor, but somehow, she still found what she saw in the next room to look incredibly odd, even though it probably wasn’t really that remarkable. It was so mundane that it might not have even been magic, yet there was something jarring and perplexing about the sight, like when you saw an old friend with a crazy new hairstyle.
The candlelit room was small, sparse, and spartan. There were a few paintings on the wall, an armchair covered with dust, and a copper hat rack in the corner. The only truly remarkable feature was the door, and not the door that Janis had just entered through, which naturally had slammed and locked itself shut as soon as the blue-haired girl had stepped inside.
This oaken door was a bold whorehouse red, and where the door knob should have been, a pair of pale, slender bare feet protruded from the wood. It looking like the door had grown around the feet, as the fit seemed so snug. The feet wiggled at the sound of Janis’s approach, like a rabbit twitching its ears at the sound of potential danger.
Just above the feet, Janis could make out a little dial. The faded writing on it said ‘close’, but it had another setting that said ‘open’. She tried to twist the dial, but it seemed stuck.
“You’ll need to tickle those feet to get out,” said the voice of Morgana Lafey, though the witch herself didn’t seem to be in the area. “I wonder if you can dish out what you can take. Good luck…”
Janis brushed an experimental finger down the foot in closest to her. It wrinkled up immediately, and it certainly felt real and warm enough to be a real foot. The feet before her were long, though not as long and large as Taylor’s. They were pale, dainty things, a bit similar to her own but thinner, and when Janis pushed the foot down to examine them a bit better, she saw that the tidily-trimmed toenails had a smooth shine to them and black nail varnish. From their creamy pinkish tan, Janis guessed they probably belonged to a Caucasian girl, perhaps some kind of goth girl, though from how unbelievably soft and pampered these feet were, it wouldn’t have surprised Janis at all if they belonged to some snotty prima donna alpha bitch type. Janis solemnly hoped they did, as that would make it make easier to tickle these pretty things guilt-free.
As Janis rubbed her fingers into those immaculate feet, she could hear a steady stream of slow giggles from the other side of the thick wooden door. Well, there was no kindness in teasing the girl by keeping her waiting in suspense any longer, Janis decided, and she started right away by digging her fingers firmly into the silky flesh of the arches of both feet. Those deep, high arches proved to be an immediate goldmine of sweet spots, as Janis’s blue nails focused over the area between heel and ball of feet, relishing in the squeals and gasps that could be heard from beyond. Whoever this girl was, she seemed as ticklish as any girl Janis had ever seen. It was a crying shame that Morgana had not thought to supply her with any tools. A hairbrush in particular looked like it would have tremendously fun to treat these buttery-soft arches too, or perhaps maybe a backscratcher for a more precise touch. Oh well, she digressed. She would just have to make do with what she had. At least she got to tickle for once in this place.
And as she tickled, the dial on the door was beginning to turn. It was about one third of the way to open now. Good, Janis thought, she was making progress. But now she had to find the spots that really make this girl tick…
After playing with the wrinkles of those arches for a while, Janis refocused her attacks on one foot at a time—the left foot first. She started at the heel, scurrying up the foot with all ten of her long fingernails like a ravaging horde of ticklish mayhem. Her nails would swarm up the sole, then swarm down, up and down, up and down. The girl beyond the door would also shriek when the skittering fingers would dash past her arch, and she would always let loose machine-gun laughter when the motion reached her toes. It was cute how like clockwork her reactions seemed to be. Janis supposed she respected how consistent her reactions were. There was nothing bad about being reliable, was there?
While Janis had her way with that left foot, the other foot began to clench and unclench its toes, wiggling and flexing as if trying to wave to get Janis’s attention. The trapped feet were a bit too far away from each other for the foot to reach over and take a few ticklish blows for its twin, but that didn’t seem to stop it from trying. It was an adorably futile gesture, and every now and then Janis couldn’t resist brushing her nails along the black-painted toes as they desperately strained to protect the besieged left foot. Those slender toes would also splay open and flex back, as if shocked by the sudden touch, but they could never stay away for long. And Janis would greet those grasping toes with another swipe to get them to recoil once more, and then the cycle would repeat itself.
After Janis did the same with the right foot, which prompted the same cutesy toe defence, she noticed the dial was nearly at open. Well, it was time to bust out the big guns and find out where those fun arches of hers were really ticklish. Using just her index fingers, she focused her efforts on the centres of them, probing slowly and listening for the girl’s wild whoops of laughter. It didn’t take long to find that the base of the arches was a particular delightful spot to tease. Janis dug two fingers into that spot on the arch, moving back and forth to hit the same place on one foot then the other, and luckily for Janis but unluckily for the girl, that tender spot seemed present and equally ticklish on both pampered feet.
Janis couldn’t have said how long she kept this up for, though the pale feet were certainly a shade pinker at this point—she was all too familiar with the adage that time flew when you were having fun. And Janis was having all kinds of fun. Tickling was her fetish, after all, and she was undecided on whether she enjoyed being more on the delivering end or the receiving end. And although this girl’s slim feet looked nothing like her chunky, wider ones, as her fingers flew over the soft, succulent, pliable flesh of her soles, Janis’s toes curled as she empathised with the girl and imagined cruel, vicious fingernails ravaging across her own feet as well. It was the sort of thinking that made her heart beat a little faster, made her bite her lower lip, and turned on the tap downstairs.
After a while, the girl’s laughter beyond the door started to fade, but Janis knew the girl must have simply gone into silent laughter, because both feet were still twitching and thrashing as if they had all the energy in the world. And them the dial clicked in place, and door unlocked and swung open.
Janis gaped as she realised who she had been tickling. Morgana Lafey herself pulled her long, shapely legs from the wall still giggling to herself. “Not bad,” she said. “Not bad at all. You tickle pretty well.”
“It is kinda my hobby.”
“Well, it heartens me to see a strong young woman following her passions,” Morgana said with a chuckle, her eyes glowed yellow, and they sparkled with mischief. “Follow me. It’s time for the grand finale.”
O-O-O
To call where that door led a ‘room’ would give it serious injustice, Janis thought. It was more a great hall, a large, majestic place which seemed almost too big to fit into the manor. It was definitely bigger than any of Taylor’s tennis courts, that was for sure. The centre of the room was elevated with stone steps, and the steps led to a great throne carved of jutting metal. Seated cross-legged on the throne was Morgana Lafey.
“How very Game of Thrones,” Janis said by way of greeting.
“Why thank you,” Morgana said, her voice booming from the throne as Janis slowly walked towards her. “Do you like my chair? I added a few personal touches to it.”
On the right armrest of the throne, Janis saw a pair of tanned bare feet protruding within easy reach of Morgana’s long, black fingernails. Janis recognised those silver toerings, so it must have been poor Taylor trapped under the throne. When her eyes followed those lone feet down, she saw the metal of the throne had engulfed the feet’s owner entirely, binding them in the base of the chair so that only their feet was the only part of their body that was visible. As Morgana spoke, in a casual, relaxed motion, she would brush her nails lightly across the feet to make them squirm and struggle. Muffled echoes of laughter were audible. And on the other side, on the other armrest, the small feet that were curled up in anticipation of the ticklish fate that was due to befall them had to be Lee—there was no mistaking those tiny toes and those black stockings, though she only had one foot with the stocking still on.
Morgana laughed when she saw where Janis was looking. “No need to glare at me! Don’t you worry, I was just keeping your friends entertained why they wait for you.” She gave Lee’s petite feet a quick parting scratch, then clapped her hands together, and Taylor and Lee appeared beside Janis in a puff of black smoke, gasping and coughing. It was good to see her friends again, Janis thought, and although all three of them were undoubtedly a bit worse for wear, at least they were all fairly unharmed.
“Thanks,” Lee said. “If we get out of here, I swear I’m changing my name. It really is tempting fate.”
Taylor said, “What’s happening now? Are you finally going to let us do that interview unmolested?”
“What a curious choice of words there,” Morgana said with a wry smile on her face, “but I digress. Anyway, here we all are, at the final frontier, as a reward for all your efforts you get the ultimate blessing of all. You get to tickle me.”
The three girls all looked at each other. After all they had been through, the chance at ticklish comeuppance and revenge was a sweet tonic indeed.
“But how?” Taylor asked. “Aren’t you like a ghost?”
“I am, but ghosts have bodies.” Morgana snapped her fingers and a coffin burst from the ground—it sent dirt and dust flying everywhere. There was a harsh scraping sound the air as the heavy black coffin slowly slid open. When the girls finally got a look at the thing inside the coffin, they were surprised to see it was almost identical to the Morgana Lafey who sat on her throne, only minus the ominous blue glow that clung to her. The ‘real’ Morgana smiled up at them. She was also only wearing a black lace bra and panties which certainly did not look like they had been around in the 18th century.
“Wow, why aren’t you a skeleton?” Lee asked. “It’s been three hundred years, hasn’t it? I expected some… well, decay and overall grossness, to be honest.”
“I’m surprised that’s the first thing you noticed. Anyway, I was very well preserved.”
“And hold on,” Janis said. “Weren’t you drowning? If that’s how you died, shouldn’t you look, I don’t know, a bit more like a Pirates of the Caribbean villain?”
“Yeah, why aren’t you wet and slimy or gross?” Taylor added.
“You’re talking to a ghost with vaguely-defined powers and you’re complaining about realism?” Morgana shook her head and chuckled. “GTFO.”
Another flash of light and the black coffin had transformed into a black table. The real Morgana was bound across it with fur-lined chains at her wrists and ankles to pull her eagle-spread. A black ball-gag in her mouth muffled her. At the corner of the table was a tray of tickle implements.
“Wow, you’re going to let the three of us tickle you all at once?” Lee said. “You don’t stand a chance.”
“Well, about that,” Morgana said, “I think you may have noticed I love to tickle—almost as much as I enjoy being on the receiving end, so why not get the best of both words?” She snapped her fingers and an identical table popped up opposite the one that held her physical form. “And I think I’ll start with you, though don’t worry, all of you will get a turn.” She pointed at Lee, and the Chinese girl suddenly found herself bound to the table in the exact same way the real Morgana was. “Let’s begin, shall we?”
Taylor and Janis didn’t need telling twice. With Morgana’s body exposed and bound, they had their pick of spots to attack, not to mention their pick of which implement to use thanks to the tray of tickle tools the witch had so thoughtfully provided. Janis picked a comb while Taylor decided she wanted to adopt a more hands-on approach.
Janis took a quick peek at Morgana’s pale feet. They feet were very wrinkled, the way they got after swimming in the pool for a while, and they were also very soft to a touch. Janis set to work exploring those wrinkles with the fine-toothed wooden comb right away. She was delighted by the way Morgana reared up, her black-painted toes flexing and scrunching as best as those tight binds would allow. It was good to know those gorgeous feet were every bit as sensitive and ticklish as they looked.
Taylor was having a ball of the time with Morgana’s armpits as well. She wasn’t exactly sure how big a thing personal grooming was at the time of Morgana’s death, but she wasn’t about to complain with her finger attacked those smooth, hairless hollows. Morgana’s biceps were thing and lightly muscled, unlike Taylor’s arms strengthened from years of playing tennis, but those arms were straining all the same as Taylor fluttered her nails all around them. Morgana’s green eyes were closed as the gag continued to eat up and muffle her frantic laughter.
“Now, you, my darling, are way too uptight,” the other Morgana said to Lee, who was gagged. She seemed unaffected by the potent tickled being inflicted on her true form by the other two girls, aside from the fact her grin seemed to be wider than before. “Let’s see if we can’t get you to loosen up a bit.”
Her fingers crept into short sleeves of Lee’s blouse to tease along the armpits as she began to softly kiss and lick along her neck and collarbones. Lee scrunched her eyes shut and tried to twist her head away. That tongue… it felt like it was half a feather and half a tongue. It sent tingly tendrils of sensation crawling through her body with every tender lap.
“Does that feel nice, sweetheart?” Morgana giggled and began to unbutton Lee’s blouse, causing the Asian girl to struggle even harder.
Her friends saw what was happening and quickly tried to move to her rescue. Janis began sawing the comb between Morgana’s long toes, the wooden teeth of the comb scratching and stimulating the hypersensitive flesh of the undersides along the toe webbing. Taylor was spidering all five of her fingers in each armpit, sometimes scratching hard and other times teasing slowly. The bound Morgana’s eyes bulged and tears began to trickle down her cheeks, yet the other Morgana continued unimpeded. Morgana’s tongue began to slide across Lee’s slim stomach.
Lee was going mad from this light touch alone, though the fact Morgana’s fingers had begun to brush along her pale sides probably didn’t help. Lee tried to twist to the side, tried to suck in her stomach, but that devastating tongue continued to follow her. The tongue began to skitter slow, clockwise circles around her navel, spiralling closer to her belly button each time with every lap around that quivering, spasming stomach, with Lee’s giggles growing more intense once her hyper analytical mind realised where that tongue was due.
“You’ve got such a tasty tummy,” Morgana said in a husky purr before she finally slipped her tongue into her navel. It wiggled around as Lee exploded with laughter. “Let’s see if your feet are the same.” Morgana traced that crazy feather-soft tongue of hers down Lee’s inner thigh and shin as she made her way down to the feet.
She quickly took up shop at the right foot, which was bare. As her tongue licked up and down the foot and attacked those red-painted toes, pushing through the gaps to drive Lee to more hysterics, her other hand raked up and down Lee’s left foot, which was still clad in the stocking.
Meanwhile, Taylor had relocated to Morgana’s feet as well, launching a furious ten fingered assault on her right foot while Janis and her comb continued to attack the left. But again, the effect it had on the other Morgana’s was minimal, though Morgana’s body seemed like she was suffering spectacularly.
“Yum, yum, yum,” Morgana said. “I wonder how you taste up there as well…” She licked her way back to the inner thighs, which we still covered in Lee’s nylon tights, though they still provided a feeble amount of protection from such a powerful tongue as the one Morgana possessed. And she licked and licked, one thigh and then the other, while her fingers continued to play with Lee’s trim stomach or her tiny feet. After there was a while, there was no mistaking the way conservative Lee’s hips were grinding together. That devilish tongue was close to coaxing an orgasm out of her. “Hmm, I’m not sure you deserve this, though.”
Lee glanced down at her, her expression twisted in lust and confusion and in a flash, Lee and Janis had swapped places. Janis was strapped down, Lee was free and beside the trapped body of Morgana Lafey. Lee put her hands on her knees. She was panting, with her legs weak from the teasing she had just undergone.
“Oh, you bitch,” she said and picked up a pair of feathers. She instantly set them to work on Morgana’s inner thighs, in particular the point where they met the hip. She hugged her heaving chest. “Grab some feathers and get her nipples, Taylor.”
“Dayum, girl, she really did a number on you, huh?” Taylor said, her eyebrows raised. “but I gotta say, I like pissed off Lee. You go, girl! Let’s do this!” She picked up a pair of feather dusters, tugged down Morgana’s black bra, and set to dusting those pink, erect nipples right away.
“Ooooh, your girls now how to spoil a girl,” Morgana said, rubbing her neck. She grinned at the gagged blue-haired girl in front of her. “I guess you’re feeling a little jealous of your friend getting the taste of my talented tongue? Well, I don’t plan on depriving you of anything. But I do find doing the same thing over and over again a bit boring… so let’s how you handle this?”
Morgana waggled her tongue, and suddenly it grew to ten times its normal length. Morgana smiled, resembling some massive great snake, and she went down towards Jani’s chunky, white feet. The long tongue wound around the right foot several times before pushing its way through several toes as Janis howled with laughter.
And Janis could already feel herself shuddering as the throbbing between her legs grew stronger and stronger. Janis had been having a wonderful time tickling the bound Morgana—there was something about sweet revenge that was so powerfully arousing, and not to mention the fact that Morgana was a very alluring woman with that dark hair and those captivating eyes of hers. And shit, that tongue of hers… it was like the craziest, most ticklish foot worship session she had ever had multiple by a thousand. And there was more. Everywhere that the saliva touched, Janis’s skin seemed to grow warmer as it trickled across her bare feet. And the saliva seemed thicker than normal spit would be.
“You’re noticing, aren’t you?” Morgana said as she switched feet. “My ‘venom’ is making you even more sensitive…” When Morgana stroked a finger down the foot she had just finished licking, the truth of her words hit Janis like a train. As Janis’s other foot was set aflame by that long, roving tongue, Morgana over fingers danced across the hypersensitive foot. She didn’t need to concentrate her efforts too much on that that foot—a simple scrabbling of nails up and down the slick, soft foot was enough to drive Janis wild with laughter. It was clear Morgana’s attention was clearly focused on using her mind-numbingly effective tongue to its full utility. She took care to slide her long tongue through the gaps of every single one of Janis’s blue-painted toed so not a spot would be spared from being slathered in her sizzling saliva. And when she was finally finished, she licked her lips, then quickly spidered her fingers up and down both feet at once.
“I know you’re loving this, you little tickleslut,” Morgana said with a giggle, “so I wonder, can you get an orgasm just from? I don’t know if it’s possible, but let’s make an honest attempt at it, shall we?” On that, she dug her fingers fiercely into both feet. She scratched her nails deep into Janis’s arches, wriggled her nails through the gaps between those pedicured toes, and raked her nails across the fleshy balls of her foot.
The other girls were doing their best to drive Morgana mad with such sensual tickling as well. Lee was demonstrating her tremendous capacity to multitask with a three-pronged attack—her mouth was nibbling and licking away on the big toe of Morgana’s right foot, one hand with sliding a feather against the thighs, and the other hand was squeezing along the knee cap. Taylor had picked up a pair of toothbrushes and was scrubbing away with gusto. Those perky nipples were an obvious target, though Taylor made sure to brush circles around them as well. She had her pick of sensitive spots on the torso, so every now and then, she would send a toothbrush to Morgana’s stomach or an armpit as well, which from the witch’s tear-stained cheeks must have been effective.
After a while, as Janis’s pale feet began to redden from insistent scratching, Morgana realised her goal would likely forever remain out of reach. “Wouldn’t be fair to just leave those sensitive tootsies all alone, though,” Morgana said with a giggle and she pointed at some feathers on the tray of tickle tools on the table. Those feathers floated open in the air and made a beeline for Janis’s feet while Morgana strutted her way to Janis’s torso.
Janis’s feet were still hypersensitive from the stimulating effect of that saliva, so the feathers were more than enough to keep her laughing steadily. And there were half a dozen of them eagerly feathering away. Some were fluffy, some were stiff, some were white and some were grey, but all of them tickled madly on Janis’s spots. They could dust all over her feet with light swiping touches, twirl through wiggling blue-painted toes, or slide up and down those damp arches with quick strokes. It all worked, and the soft, light kiss of those feathers felt like a giggly massage to the punky girl, a massage which did some turbulent things to her tingling womanhood.
Her womanhood was further agitated when Morgana’s tongue starting slipping under Janis’s sleeves to get her armpits. Like before, where the tongue went felt feverish, the skin heating up and becoming more sensitive to subsequent touches. And Janis had never felt anything like Morgana’s long tongue circling and stroking away in one armpit then the other. She jumped and bounced on the table as much as her bonds allowed while the longing in her legs grew and grew. She wanted to scream when Morgana’s long fingernails began tracing along her breasts, her fingers someone reaching through the fabric so she could acutely feel every single flick and stroke.
Morgana leaned in close, her tongue brushing against Janis’s ear for a moment, “Having fun, dear?” As she spoke, her fingers phased through Morgana leaned in close, her tongue brushing against Janis’s ear for a moment, “Having fun, dear?” As she spoke, her fingers phased through Janis’s undergarments once more so she could give her hard dark nipples a quick teasing pinch.
Janis was torn between admitting yes and shaking her head because of how it wasn’t nearly enough. She eventually went with the latter, which prompted Morgana to chuckle. “Not enough for you, huh?” And on that note, her fingers started raking hard into Janis’s slick and smooth armpits while the feathers at her feet sped up their attack, almost like she was being attacked by a plague of tiny birds. Again and again they ran between her toes or through her arches. Again and again Morgana pressed her fingers deep into the soft, silky flesh of Janis’s underarms and dug. And just when the tickling was finally driving her to the point of pure bliss… it stopped.
Taylor found herself gagged and in Janis’s spot from before. Janis wailed and looked like she wanted to punch someone. Lee gave her an understanding pat on the shoulder and passed her a hairbrush, with one already in the Asian girl’s hand. The real Morgana shook her head, pleading comprehensible syllables into the gag, but those two girls had been teased far too much for mercy. They both took a foot each, pulled those long, black-painted toenails back, and began brushing those ferocious bristles fiercely across each sole.
“Hey, cutie,” the other Morgana said the bound blonde in front of her. The ghost shifted her weight from foot to foot, but that seemed to her only physical concession to the speedy scrubbing that was being inflicted on her ticklish bare feet. What was her secret? Taylor wondered. Her sharp eyes shifted over to where Janis and Lee were diligently working away with the plastic-tipped hairbrushes—well, it was more than diligence spurring them on. Was there some way that Morgana was repressing the sensations in that body to prevent from transferring to her ghostly form? Unfortunately, it became difficult to focus on metaphysical matters of souls and spirits when the other Morgana grinned at her and lifted up a hand. Morgana’s black fingernails were about half an inch long, but she wiggled her fingers and those nails suddenly lengthened till they were several inches long—long talons which would be harrowing for any ticklish girl like Taylor to endure. And Morgana wasted no time getting started right away on her long, tanned feet with these new nails of hers. They slashed and scythed up and down Taylor’s feet in long, unhurried motions. She knew she had all the time in the world to torment Taylor’s slender, flawless feet.
She was wrong, however, Taylor realised as she spied movement out of the corner of her eye. She willed herself not to respond, not to react, even when those long, evil fingernails began scratching under her sparkling gold toes, right along her silver toe rings.
In a surprising feat of athleticism that Taylor would never have expected from her more sedentary friends, Janis and Lee suddenly tackled Morgana—they had completely ignored the ‘real’ Morgana who was gasping on the table in favour of a newer target. Morgana seemed as taken aback as she was quickly tickled to the floor. Janis had jumped onto her back with two hands plunging wildly into each armpit as Morgana tried to rise. After a few attempts, Morgana’s arms shook, wobbled and crashed down. Lee sat across Morgana’s bare calves to further secure the squirming and shouting witch in place, and her fingers were soon flying across Morgana’s pale, shapely feet to try to distract her from any attempts at escape with more fierce tickling.
As Morgana shrieked and squealed, Taylor found the shackles that bound her to that black table starting to fade away—they were smoking, almost like they were the last vestiges of a cigarette fast being consumed. And before long, she was free and very eager for revenge.
“Nice work, girls,” Taylor said over the shouting whoops of Morgana’s laughter. “I brought you guys some gifts for all your hard work.” She showed them the tray of tickle tools, and they both exchanged quick high fees. Lee scooted up to sit on Morgana’s ankles with a wooden fork in hand that she eagerly out to work under and between Morgana’s black painted toes. Taking advantage of the new spot that was open to her, Taylor took a few feathers to see if Morgana’s bare behind and thighs were sensitive to them—the answer was yes.
Janis, whom Taylor believed had been most slighted but the sensual tickling, was scrubbing away in those armpits with a toothbrush, and she was saying something to Morgana as she did so. Janis’s voice was too low and Morgana’s laughter was too loud, but Taylor had seen enough trash talking on the tennis courts to recognise the smug look of a victor on her friend’s face.
Morgana writhed beneath them, slapped her hands on the stony ground or tried to make attempts to tickle them with her hands, but Taylor noticed that not once did she beg them to stop. When she did talk, it was that of the observational variety, a “thahahahat tihihickles sohoho much!”, a “wohohow, my tohohohohoes!” or “hohoholy shit thahaht bruhuhsh!”
All these reactions plus the fact that Morgana had displayed an abundance of otherworldly powers sent a shiver down Taylor’s spine. Sure, they were winning right now. But was this a true victory or a feigned one? Were they only winning because Morgana was letting them?
Taylor got her answer when suddenly Morgana was no longer there—they were sitting on the ground, tickling nothing but air with their tools. Morgana floated above them, smiling.
“Well, that was a fun change of pace,” Morgana said, her eyes glowing green and then a feral yellow. “What, you guys didn’t really think you had me beaten, did you? Oops, psych.”
Fear blossomed on the faces of Lee, Janis, and Taylor. They took a step back as Morgana hovered above them.
“I never got finished with you,” Morgana pointed at Taylor and a stone crucifix sprouted from the ground with the blonde girl bound to it. Stone hands grew and began wriggling at armpit, ribs, and feet.
“Shihihihit!” Taylor wailed.
“This was your idea, wasn’t it?” Morgana nodded at Janis. “I like the way you think.” Stony hands shot out from the ground and grabbed Janis by the ankles. The hands lifted her up in the air till she was dangling upside down. “Of course, I like the way you laugh more.” Vines and vegetation sprouted from the cracks in the stones to swarm over Janis’s feet till she was laughing as hard as Taylor. Some of those naughty tendrils wandered along her thighs and belly and armpits as well.
“Yohohoho’re such a tehehehease!” Janis shouted as her shook from the ticklish stimulation.
“And don’t worry, I ahven’t forgotten you, honey,” Morgana said as a fresh batch of stony hands grabbed Lee by the ankles and spread them till she was almost doing the splits. Smaller hands about the size of pennies swarmed over her feet, knees and thighs. “Anyway, I promised you guys anad interview, so feel free to ask me any questions you like.”
When the only sound that greeted her was more raucous laughter, Morgana shrugged with an aloof smile on her face. “Come, come, my dearies, don’t be shy! If you have anything you want to know at all, ask away! I’m happy to answer any queries you may have. Want to know how I became a ghost? What powers I have? How many celebrities of course I’ve tickled? Ask and ye shall receive!”
Taylor tried to ask, but the big hands at her smooth, sensitive armpits scrabbled harder to choke off her words.
Janis tried to ask, but the vines at her bare, creamy thighs teased her and teased till she was close to drooling.
Lee tried to ask, but the tiny hands had lodged themselves in her stocking-clad feet, and they refused to leave her toes alone.
“Nothing? Really?” Morgana’s eyes went from girl to girl as she grinned. “I thought your newspaper people would be very curious. Well, then I’ll have to tickle you till you can think of something! Cootchie cootchie coo, my darlings!”
