WestchesterT
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new story: Kassandra as "French Maid" f/m, m/f
"French Maid Gets A Raise" ( F/m, m/f)
by Westchester Tickler
A true tale of tickling (and some leg/foot worship) as played out at the Hidden Chamber in NY with the lovely Mistress Kassandra.
I’m sitting on the leather couch, reading the times when I hear a knock at the door. “Come in,” I call out without looking up.
In walks the newly hired French maid, Kassandra. “I come in to clean, yes?”
“Yes, yes, do go ahead,” I reply almost dismissively. Her maid’s uniform leaves much of her long, sculpted legs exposed and I find myself staring…allowing my gaze to follow the seams of her stockings up the backs of her calves and thighs, and continue up to her beautifully round derriere…
I look away as I become keenly aware that she has caught me looking at her legs.
“Monsieur, is something wrong?”
I clear my throat and avoid her eyes. “No, I was just lost in thought. Carry on, please.”
She goes back to her cleaning, leaning way over to dust a low spot on a table. My eyes are drawn to her legs once more, and I pry my eyes away time and again, but it is so difficult. Then I hear a noise on the floor and instinctively look toward it, and see that she has allowed her heel to pop off her foot. So intent is she on her cleaning, she appears not to notice. I watch as her feet, lovingly clad in full-fashioned nylon stockings, remain completely visible to me. I marvel at the wonderful curves of her heel, her high arches and the lovely balls of her feet – pure perfection! She begins to slowly, hypnotically, rotate her ankle, allowing more angles of these perfect peds…
She has caught me again – damn! When I guiltily avert my gaze, I swear I saw a slight smile…
“Monsieur, you appear…distracted? Am I doing something wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong…I was merely…admiring your shoes. That’s all. They’re…very nice.”
“I think you are interested in more than just my shoes, monsieur! I think perhaps you like looking at my feet…and my legs. They seem to have captured your attention…”
“Absolutely not!” But I am still staring at her feet, which she is dipping into, and out of her pumps, keeping me mesmerized – and she knows it.
“Oh, I think so! You have been looking at my legs since I walked in. Perhaps you would like to see more of them, up close?”
“Well,” I hesitate, afraid to admit my weakness to someone who could exploit it.
“Perhaps we can come to some kind of agreement, yes? Perhaps, I let you enjoy my legs and feet if we can come to some sort of agreement about my salary?”
“Your salary is for your cleaning services and you are paid well enough for what you do.”
“Look at these legs, monsieur…” as she poses them prettily.
“They are quite…distracting…” I admit reluctantly.
“And yet,” she says with a bit of an edge in her voice, “you think I make enough money here – this pitiful wage you that you pay me?”
“It’s not a pitiful wage!” I retort, “You’re paid a competitive salary for your job!”
“Perhaps we can make some kind of a wager, hmm? You do not wish to admit the effect my legs have on you…I will make a bargain with you: I think I can make you beg, and if I can, you will agree to pay me whatever salary I wish!”
“That’s a very ambitious wager…” I sneer, confident in my own self-control.
“Perhaps not so ambitious…Do you agree to this?”
I think for a minute, and then agree. Surely, she won’t win this bet.
She leads me to an area with overhead wrist restraints and asks me to strip to my underwear. “Well, if you insist, but this won’t help you,” I claim, although I already do feel more vulnerable. She secures my wrists and begins to put on a marvelous leg and foot show for me, perched upon a leather “horse” in the corner. I watch as she stretches and poses, giving me every angle of her incredibly long, luscious legs. She then moves the horse closer and rubs her legs up against me, watching my reactions. I feel my resistance slipping away as she lets her shoe slip slowly off her foot and dangle from her perfect little toes inches away from me. The pumps sways back and forth through the air, hypnotically holding my longing gaze. She smiles as she sees her power begin to undo me, and she starts to stroke my upper body with her fingernails. I am unaware of this at first, but then her fingers graze my ribs and I suddenly giggle. She continues the stroking, purposely hitting the same spot a few seconds later, and letting her nails linger there for a second. I giggle again, a little louder, and her expression has changed.
“Well…perhaps we can make this entire wager a little more simple! Monsieur seems to be a little ticklish, no?”
I shake my head, but I know it’s a useless gesture. To punctuate this, she rakes her nails up my ribcage, causing me to shudder as I fight the sensations.
“I can simply tickle you until you beg. I have you restrained already!”
“That wasn’t the bet!” I groan, fighting for control as her nails continue a torturously slow examination of armpits. “You were going to make me beg for your legs…your feet…”
“Oh, monsieur,” she laughs, “I said nothing of the kind! I merely said I could make you beg. You are a man of your word, no? If I make you beg me to stop tickling you, you would have to pay me the salary I want, is that not so?” She grins evilly, knowing she has just gained a tremendous advantage over me.
I reluctantly agree that I would have to abide by the terms, and she gleefully begins an all-out assault on my underarms, expertly wiggling her fingers and moving her hands up and down the hollows of my armpits, causing my legs to collapse under me as I succumb to the laughter.
“I have you restrained, you cannot get away from my tickling fingers, monsieur! Tickle tickle tickle! Oooh, look how ticklish you are here! Oh, it will not take long for me to make you beg, will it, monsieur! Tickle tickle!” She looks delighted as she continues her tickle attack, moving down to my ribs and my stomach, making me squirm and writhe in useless efforts to escape her devilish fingers. The more I struggle, the more she enjoys it. If I turn my body, she tickles my hips and the backs of my thighs; if I turn sideways, my stomach; if I face her my ribs and armpits. There is no escaping her relentless tickle torture!
“Yes!” she laughs out loud, “Tickle tickle! You are my little tickle toy now! Tickle tickle tickle, monsieur! My little tickle toy cannot stop me from tickling him all over his body! Oooh,
poor little ticklish man!” I have very little control now as I am a laughing, writhing, helpless mess, my body exposed to her every ticklish whim.
She mercifully stops and enjoys watching me recover, gulping in precious air and regaining my ability to stand. She sits back and strokes my body with her legs again, dangling her shoes and teasing me with her stockinged feet. My arousal is immediate, and unwelcome. She sees it and smiles, knowing she has control over me with both her teasing and her tickling. She slowly moves her feet up to my face and I am in awe of their perfect, arched beauty. Her full-fashioned stockings were made for legs and feet like hers, and my resolve melts even more.
“You would like to kiss them, no?” she whispers dreamily. As if in a haze, I merely nod my head slowly, unable to stop looking at her feet. I hear her say something like “I don’t think you need this anymore, monsieur…” and I realize that she is now slowly pulling my underwear down my legs, completing my state of helplessness. There is no shred of clothing to protect me anywhere. Then she states, quietly,” I think I have to do a little more tickling now…your break is over, monsieur!” She suddenly lunges forward and her hands are wriggling in my armpits so fast I could not catch me breath in time. Once again, my legs desert me and I am hanging by my arms, totally exposing them to her fiendish tickle attack.
“Tickle tickle, monsieur! Look at yourself in the mirror, how helpless you are! Oh, you are so ticklish here…and here! But I think there is someplace I am being denied access to…”
I cry out through my laughter, “What could you possibly not have access to…you’ve stripped me naked! …”
“You are standing on your feet, monsieur,” she replies a she kneels next to me. She grabs my right ankle and quickly pulls it off the ground, placing it on her lap. I try to pull it away, but my left leg gives out on me as soon as she starts tickling the ball of the foot. I’m helpless and can’t pull away as her nails dance along the ball and arch of my foot. I attempt to spin my body to escape her fingers, to no avail. “This toe is a little ticklish, no? Tickle tickle tickle! OOOH!” she squeals with delight as another paroxysm of laughter racks my weakening body.
“And don’t forget the tops of the feet!” she exclaims as she moves to assail them. Every time she moves to another area of my foot, a new burst of laughter erupts and she feels she is close to breaking me.
“I have not heard you beg! If you want me to stop, you must beg, monsieur! That is the only way! Tickle tickle!”
“No...” I somehow manage to utter softly, so softly I don’t know if she even heard me.
But she did, and she slowly released my captive foot from her lap and stands just behind me. She whispers in my ear, her lips tantalizingly grazing against them, “But my legs, monsieur! You want to enjoy them, no? You want to feel my stockings rub against your body, hmmm?” She is now in front of me and sits on the horse, raising her legs up, dangling her shoes in front of my face, letting them drop, placing her soles against my face and caressing my cheek with the lovely balls of her feet. I kiss them softly, longingly, and she smiles at my obvious rapture.
“A little break, but I am not finished yet,” she says quietly. There is no menace in here voice, but there doesn’t need to be: her words chill me. She walks around me as I stand helpless before her. “I think you can see how easily I can control you with my legs, my feet,…my tickling!” and she begins anew from behind me, tickling my thighs and immediately buckling my knees again. I had no ideas my thighs were so ticklish! She runs her fingernails all around my back, sending shivers through my entire body.
“I will tickle you all day and all night if I have to! Tickle tickle tickle! Oh, you cannot take too much more! Oooh, “”she squeals as she comes around to face me again. “Monsieur, look at that!” she refers to my manhood, which has become rigid once again. With a broad, evil smile, she attacks my armpits with wild abandon. “You must beg…I think you are very close…let me hear you beg…Your knees, they are very ticklish no? Tickle tickle!” I am muttering incoherently and she asks, “Are you begging? “
I manage a weak, “No” and she stands next top me, whispering in my ear as she digs into my ribs. “I am never going to stop, monsieur! Never going to stop tickling you until you beg! Oh, you are perspiring, monsieur, and I am the one who is working! Such a ticklish man, and so helpless! You want to rest, no?”
It has been 30 minutes and I would be grateful for a respite, however brief, to catch my breath. But she plans nothing of the kind!
“It would be so easy for me to stop but no…you are so close. It is time to tickle your feet again!” She slides her ever-wriggling fingers down my body, tickling all along the way, and then pulls one foot up and onto her lap as she kneels on the floor.
As she lightly scratches my soles, she says, “See, monsieur? It is only necessary to touch very lightly and you laugh so much! I can do this all night long very easily! I will hold your foot very still – you cannot stop me! Oooh, these ticklish little toes! Tickle tickle!” Her tickling is maddening and I am too weak to even attempt to pull my foot away and I know I cannot last much longer. She is too skilled at this!
She stands up and is tease-talking in my ear again, which shakes me to my core. She tickles my upper body as she whispers, “You may be here all night because you are so stubborn…you must not resist me any longer! Tickle tickle tickle…”
”Oh, God, mercy! I moan.
“What was that? Was that begging?” she asks with an amused smile on her face.
Knowing what is at stake, I quickly say “No” again, and she begins tickling much more aggressively, knowing she has me on the edge. “I will make you beg again so there is no question! I will have to tickle faster and harder now, and you will beg! I will win, monsieur! Tickle tickle! You are helpless and ticklish and I will not stop! Beg me now! Your arms must be getting tired, no? Tickle tickle!”
I am having trouble catching my breath with this new assault and she senses victory is within her grasp. “Tickle tickle . monsieur! You weak, ticklish man! Tickle tickle!”
“Please stop! How long have you been tickling me?” I managed weakly.
“45 minutes, but I have no intention of stopping until you beg me!”
“Please stop! Ah hahahaha I beg you! Ple-heeheease!” As she stops and I breathe deeply, thankful for the precious air in my lungs, I tell her I will double her salary.
“Double? Oh, no no, monsieur! I want triple my salary! I am worth it, no?” and she punctuates her question with another quick rib-tickle, which catches me by surprise and instantly undoes my resolve.
“Yes, yes! Triple! Triple your salary! But please no more tickles!”
She smiles triumphantly and begins to unshackle me form my overhead wrist restraints. The blood starts returning to my arms and they tingle. She sits down on the arm of the couch and slowly crosses her left leg over her right. I watch, utterly enchanted by the beauty of her luxuriously long legs.
“So, you deserve to enjoy these legs, now that I make $18 an hour. Come, sit by me,” as she motions to the floor. I sit down as if in a trance. I slowly take in her garters showing below her too-short skirt; the dark stocking welts; her thighs, knees and calves covered by the silky seamed off-black nylons; the reinforcements visible over the top of her pumps… As I watch her left foot, she flexes her shoe expertly and the pump begins to glacially slide down off her heel, revealing more and more of the reinforcements and exposing an arch of unbelievable curvature. I have never seen such a perfect arch and heel, and my face and hands gravitate toward them. I slide my hands down her calves, over the top of her foot and then, reverently, into the warm recesses of her shoe. My fingers caress her heel and arch, marveling at the silky softness and smoothness. She sighs and watches me as I continue to bask in the enjoyment of the empirical beauty of that foot. She closes her eyes as I use both hands to caress, gently massage and worship her magnificent legs and feet.
As her shoe continues its hypnotic and precarious dangle from her toes, I ask “Who invented the dangle? The French?”
“Oui, monsieur,” she purrs, “In France, young girls begin dangling their shoes at a very early age. They understand the power it has over men! Do you wish to take that shoe off?” she offers. I do, and the full beauty of her foot is revealed to me. The ball of her foot is a perfect complement to the rest of the graceful curves of her arch and heel. I hold in my hands the consummate beauty in a female foot. Freshly pedicured, her comely toes are painted blue and I am irresistibly drawn to kiss and nibble them gently.
“Don’t bite too hard. Monsieur, “ she says with a giggle, “They are very sensitive!”
Beautiful AND sensitive, I think to myself. A dangerous combination! Perhaps this will work out to be a worthwhile proposition, paying her so much to keep her as a maid, I think as the fantasy scenario continues.
“You must be tired,” I whisper gently as I slowly rub the backs of her shapely calves. “Perhaps you should lie down and rest. You have worked very hard today,” I continue, my voice soft and soothing.
“Mmmm, monsieur, yes, I am tired. I would like to lie down and rest a bit before I continue my work in the house.” I extend my hand and gently lead her to the bondage table, which serves as the bed. She lies down with a loud sigh and stretches out. I position her arms slightly above her head and she doesn’t resist as her eyes can barely stay open. “If you would like, you can massage my legs through the stockings all you like while I sleep,” she whispers. I rub her left wrist as I bring a wrist cuff over and slowly wrap it around her wrist, securing it noiselessly. I silently move to her right wrist and she doesn’t move, her eyes closed and her breathing steady. As I position the second wrist cuff, I mention the unusual bracelets she has by her bed. She smiles, then her eyes open suspiciously.
“Bracelets?” she asks and looks at her right wrist, just as I have finished buckling it.
“Monsieur, this is outrageous! What are you doing?”
With her arms secured above her head, I study the look of fear in her eyes.
“My dear, I merely want to teach you a lesson in respecting your employers.”
“I don’t know what you think you are doing. We have an agreement and I won our wager fairly!”
“I don’t know about fairly, but you did win and I will honor our agreement…but I must also teach you that I must be respected in this house. Now…”and I begin to undo the bun her hair is up in, letting her beautiful brunette hair flow down her shoulders, “let’s get a good look at you.” I gaze at her body, so fetching in her French maid’s uniform, and her angelic face and her long, thin arms so helplessly restrained. I now climb up on the bed, sitting astride her thighs, completely rendering her legs helpless before me. I smile as I gaze at her stockinged limbs. “Perhaps you should be punished for making me suffer,” I say slowly as I slowly remove her pumps. “Hmm, did you not say before that your feet were a little…sensitive?” I ask.
“Monsieur, you cannot do this…you must stop…hahahahahahahahaha” she begins laughing hysterically immediately as I begin tickling her soles relentlessly. Having tickled her in the past in previous sessions, I know they are an excellent point of attack. Her body writhes, twisting this way and that in vain attempts to escape my fingers, which glide smoothly and quickly over her nylon-covered flesh. She is very strong and succeeds in lifting my body weight off the bed, but does not throw me off. I do not let up, relishing the sweet sound of laughter escaping her lips.
“They are not just sensitive, madame,” I mock her, “They are quite ticklish, no?” Between laughs, she manages a weak response of “Yes, they are so ticklish! Please no, monsieur!”
As I continue running my nails lightly over her soles, I muse out loud, “Perhaps I will hire another regular maid to clean the house, and keep you – for $18 an hour – as my personal tickle maid! What a great idea! Would you like that, Kassandra? To be my tickle maid?”
She shakes her head from side to side, but does not respond. At some point, I turn quickly around to face her upper body and begin a new attack on her underarms. Previous experience tells me where to tickle and how hard and, within seconds, she is an hysterical, squirming mess. Her laughter cascades over me and is the most delightful sound in the world. “Tickle tickle tickle, Kassandra! You will be my personal tickle maid! Every day! I will tickle tickle you here,” as I continue my assault on her armpits, “and here” as I move my hands down to her ribs, eliciting more howls of laughter, “ and here!” as I move to her sensitive hips, where even more reserves of ticklishness are found. Between gales of laughter, she pleads for me to stop, but I reply, “You showed me no mercy, young lady! I will do the same to teach you a lesson! Tickle tickle! Laugh for me, Kassandra! Tickle tickle tickle!” I lean back and rest on my hands and she looks up quickly with panic in her eyes.
“No, not the knees!” and quickly realizes her mistake. I raise my eyebrows and ask, “NOT the knees?”
“No, no please, monsieur! Not there!” as I slide my body back, now sitting on her shins with her lovely knees waiting before me. “I didn’t know about your knees, Kassandra!” and I didn’t. I hadn’t tickled her there before. As I do, I am instantly rewarded with laughter a full decibel louder than I had previously wrested from her. Her body gyrations became almost uncontrollable and she nearly bucked me off the bed. As I very softly ran my fingernails up and down over her kneecaps and she exploded with laughter. And I was in awe over her beauty as a helpless, ticklish captive. I show a little mercy and stop for a few seconds, repositioning myself on top of her, facing her gorgeous feet. When she has recovered somewhat, I gently stroke her feet, eliciting musical giggles from her as I played a finger concerto on her soles. Watching her stockinged soles move this way and that to avoid my fingers is so enjoyable I lose track of time. I quickly get up and straddle her hips again for one quick, final round of underarm tickling and, despite being exhausted, her laughter is still loud and boisterous. She manages to yank one wrist out of the cuffs, but I retie her quickly and continue her torture. I am aroused throughout this part of the session and get off the bed to finish our hour together by playing with her feet again. I sit on the floor and place her pumps loosely on her feet, letting them dangle and sway as I touch, kiss and smell.
“Merci,” she whispers, “Thank you for stopping the tickling…” I am gentle and deliberate, and Kassandra has begun to moan with pleasure. I cannot help touching myself as I get lost in the beauty of her soles in stockings…
I slowly rise and declare happily, “Congratulations, Kassandra. You have earned your new salary and I hope to continue employing you for many years to come!”
Our session has ended and I help her out of her restraints. We are both tired but smiling and happy. We hug tightly and thank each other for a highly enjoyable session. This was my second with her and - as I knew after my first - I will be back for many more. I have never met a Mistress as beautiful, fun and skilled in role-playing as Kassandra. As she escorts me to the elevator, I am drained and as happy as could be – and already planning a return to my favorite Mistress.
- from the quill of the Westchester Tickler
"French Maid Gets A Raise" ( F/m, m/f)
by Westchester Tickler
A true tale of tickling (and some leg/foot worship) as played out at the Hidden Chamber in NY with the lovely Mistress Kassandra.
I’m sitting on the leather couch, reading the times when I hear a knock at the door. “Come in,” I call out without looking up.
In walks the newly hired French maid, Kassandra. “I come in to clean, yes?”
“Yes, yes, do go ahead,” I reply almost dismissively. Her maid’s uniform leaves much of her long, sculpted legs exposed and I find myself staring…allowing my gaze to follow the seams of her stockings up the backs of her calves and thighs, and continue up to her beautifully round derriere…
I look away as I become keenly aware that she has caught me looking at her legs.
“Monsieur, is something wrong?”
I clear my throat and avoid her eyes. “No, I was just lost in thought. Carry on, please.”
She goes back to her cleaning, leaning way over to dust a low spot on a table. My eyes are drawn to her legs once more, and I pry my eyes away time and again, but it is so difficult. Then I hear a noise on the floor and instinctively look toward it, and see that she has allowed her heel to pop off her foot. So intent is she on her cleaning, she appears not to notice. I watch as her feet, lovingly clad in full-fashioned nylon stockings, remain completely visible to me. I marvel at the wonderful curves of her heel, her high arches and the lovely balls of her feet – pure perfection! She begins to slowly, hypnotically, rotate her ankle, allowing more angles of these perfect peds…
She has caught me again – damn! When I guiltily avert my gaze, I swear I saw a slight smile…
“Monsieur, you appear…distracted? Am I doing something wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong…I was merely…admiring your shoes. That’s all. They’re…very nice.”
“I think you are interested in more than just my shoes, monsieur! I think perhaps you like looking at my feet…and my legs. They seem to have captured your attention…”
“Absolutely not!” But I am still staring at her feet, which she is dipping into, and out of her pumps, keeping me mesmerized – and she knows it.
“Oh, I think so! You have been looking at my legs since I walked in. Perhaps you would like to see more of them, up close?”
“Well,” I hesitate, afraid to admit my weakness to someone who could exploit it.
“Perhaps we can come to some kind of agreement, yes? Perhaps, I let you enjoy my legs and feet if we can come to some sort of agreement about my salary?”
“Your salary is for your cleaning services and you are paid well enough for what you do.”
“Look at these legs, monsieur…” as she poses them prettily.
“They are quite…distracting…” I admit reluctantly.
“And yet,” she says with a bit of an edge in her voice, “you think I make enough money here – this pitiful wage you that you pay me?”
“It’s not a pitiful wage!” I retort, “You’re paid a competitive salary for your job!”
“Perhaps we can make some kind of a wager, hmm? You do not wish to admit the effect my legs have on you…I will make a bargain with you: I think I can make you beg, and if I can, you will agree to pay me whatever salary I wish!”
“That’s a very ambitious wager…” I sneer, confident in my own self-control.
“Perhaps not so ambitious…Do you agree to this?”
I think for a minute, and then agree. Surely, she won’t win this bet.
She leads me to an area with overhead wrist restraints and asks me to strip to my underwear. “Well, if you insist, but this won’t help you,” I claim, although I already do feel more vulnerable. She secures my wrists and begins to put on a marvelous leg and foot show for me, perched upon a leather “horse” in the corner. I watch as she stretches and poses, giving me every angle of her incredibly long, luscious legs. She then moves the horse closer and rubs her legs up against me, watching my reactions. I feel my resistance slipping away as she lets her shoe slip slowly off her foot and dangle from her perfect little toes inches away from me. The pumps sways back and forth through the air, hypnotically holding my longing gaze. She smiles as she sees her power begin to undo me, and she starts to stroke my upper body with her fingernails. I am unaware of this at first, but then her fingers graze my ribs and I suddenly giggle. She continues the stroking, purposely hitting the same spot a few seconds later, and letting her nails linger there for a second. I giggle again, a little louder, and her expression has changed.
“Well…perhaps we can make this entire wager a little more simple! Monsieur seems to be a little ticklish, no?”
I shake my head, but I know it’s a useless gesture. To punctuate this, she rakes her nails up my ribcage, causing me to shudder as I fight the sensations.
“I can simply tickle you until you beg. I have you restrained already!”
“That wasn’t the bet!” I groan, fighting for control as her nails continue a torturously slow examination of armpits. “You were going to make me beg for your legs…your feet…”
“Oh, monsieur,” she laughs, “I said nothing of the kind! I merely said I could make you beg. You are a man of your word, no? If I make you beg me to stop tickling you, you would have to pay me the salary I want, is that not so?” She grins evilly, knowing she has just gained a tremendous advantage over me.
I reluctantly agree that I would have to abide by the terms, and she gleefully begins an all-out assault on my underarms, expertly wiggling her fingers and moving her hands up and down the hollows of my armpits, causing my legs to collapse under me as I succumb to the laughter.
“I have you restrained, you cannot get away from my tickling fingers, monsieur! Tickle tickle tickle! Oooh, look how ticklish you are here! Oh, it will not take long for me to make you beg, will it, monsieur! Tickle tickle!” She looks delighted as she continues her tickle attack, moving down to my ribs and my stomach, making me squirm and writhe in useless efforts to escape her devilish fingers. The more I struggle, the more she enjoys it. If I turn my body, she tickles my hips and the backs of my thighs; if I turn sideways, my stomach; if I face her my ribs and armpits. There is no escaping her relentless tickle torture!
“Yes!” she laughs out loud, “Tickle tickle! You are my little tickle toy now! Tickle tickle tickle, monsieur! My little tickle toy cannot stop me from tickling him all over his body! Oooh,
poor little ticklish man!” I have very little control now as I am a laughing, writhing, helpless mess, my body exposed to her every ticklish whim.
She mercifully stops and enjoys watching me recover, gulping in precious air and regaining my ability to stand. She sits back and strokes my body with her legs again, dangling her shoes and teasing me with her stockinged feet. My arousal is immediate, and unwelcome. She sees it and smiles, knowing she has control over me with both her teasing and her tickling. She slowly moves her feet up to my face and I am in awe of their perfect, arched beauty. Her full-fashioned stockings were made for legs and feet like hers, and my resolve melts even more.
“You would like to kiss them, no?” she whispers dreamily. As if in a haze, I merely nod my head slowly, unable to stop looking at her feet. I hear her say something like “I don’t think you need this anymore, monsieur…” and I realize that she is now slowly pulling my underwear down my legs, completing my state of helplessness. There is no shred of clothing to protect me anywhere. Then she states, quietly,” I think I have to do a little more tickling now…your break is over, monsieur!” She suddenly lunges forward and her hands are wriggling in my armpits so fast I could not catch me breath in time. Once again, my legs desert me and I am hanging by my arms, totally exposing them to her fiendish tickle attack.
“Tickle tickle, monsieur! Look at yourself in the mirror, how helpless you are! Oh, you are so ticklish here…and here! But I think there is someplace I am being denied access to…”
I cry out through my laughter, “What could you possibly not have access to…you’ve stripped me naked! …”
“You are standing on your feet, monsieur,” she replies a she kneels next to me. She grabs my right ankle and quickly pulls it off the ground, placing it on her lap. I try to pull it away, but my left leg gives out on me as soon as she starts tickling the ball of the foot. I’m helpless and can’t pull away as her nails dance along the ball and arch of my foot. I attempt to spin my body to escape her fingers, to no avail. “This toe is a little ticklish, no? Tickle tickle tickle! OOOH!” she squeals with delight as another paroxysm of laughter racks my weakening body.
“And don’t forget the tops of the feet!” she exclaims as she moves to assail them. Every time she moves to another area of my foot, a new burst of laughter erupts and she feels she is close to breaking me.
“I have not heard you beg! If you want me to stop, you must beg, monsieur! That is the only way! Tickle tickle!”
“No...” I somehow manage to utter softly, so softly I don’t know if she even heard me.
But she did, and she slowly released my captive foot from her lap and stands just behind me. She whispers in my ear, her lips tantalizingly grazing against them, “But my legs, monsieur! You want to enjoy them, no? You want to feel my stockings rub against your body, hmmm?” She is now in front of me and sits on the horse, raising her legs up, dangling her shoes in front of my face, letting them drop, placing her soles against my face and caressing my cheek with the lovely balls of her feet. I kiss them softly, longingly, and she smiles at my obvious rapture.
“A little break, but I am not finished yet,” she says quietly. There is no menace in here voice, but there doesn’t need to be: her words chill me. She walks around me as I stand helpless before her. “I think you can see how easily I can control you with my legs, my feet,…my tickling!” and she begins anew from behind me, tickling my thighs and immediately buckling my knees again. I had no ideas my thighs were so ticklish! She runs her fingernails all around my back, sending shivers through my entire body.
“I will tickle you all day and all night if I have to! Tickle tickle tickle! Oh, you cannot take too much more! Oooh, “”she squeals as she comes around to face me again. “Monsieur, look at that!” she refers to my manhood, which has become rigid once again. With a broad, evil smile, she attacks my armpits with wild abandon. “You must beg…I think you are very close…let me hear you beg…Your knees, they are very ticklish no? Tickle tickle!” I am muttering incoherently and she asks, “Are you begging? “
I manage a weak, “No” and she stands next top me, whispering in my ear as she digs into my ribs. “I am never going to stop, monsieur! Never going to stop tickling you until you beg! Oh, you are perspiring, monsieur, and I am the one who is working! Such a ticklish man, and so helpless! You want to rest, no?”
It has been 30 minutes and I would be grateful for a respite, however brief, to catch my breath. But she plans nothing of the kind!
“It would be so easy for me to stop but no…you are so close. It is time to tickle your feet again!” She slides her ever-wriggling fingers down my body, tickling all along the way, and then pulls one foot up and onto her lap as she kneels on the floor.
As she lightly scratches my soles, she says, “See, monsieur? It is only necessary to touch very lightly and you laugh so much! I can do this all night long very easily! I will hold your foot very still – you cannot stop me! Oooh, these ticklish little toes! Tickle tickle!” Her tickling is maddening and I am too weak to even attempt to pull my foot away and I know I cannot last much longer. She is too skilled at this!
She stands up and is tease-talking in my ear again, which shakes me to my core. She tickles my upper body as she whispers, “You may be here all night because you are so stubborn…you must not resist me any longer! Tickle tickle tickle…”
”Oh, God, mercy! I moan.
“What was that? Was that begging?” she asks with an amused smile on her face.
Knowing what is at stake, I quickly say “No” again, and she begins tickling much more aggressively, knowing she has me on the edge. “I will make you beg again so there is no question! I will have to tickle faster and harder now, and you will beg! I will win, monsieur! Tickle tickle! You are helpless and ticklish and I will not stop! Beg me now! Your arms must be getting tired, no? Tickle tickle!”
I am having trouble catching my breath with this new assault and she senses victory is within her grasp. “Tickle tickle . monsieur! You weak, ticklish man! Tickle tickle!”
“Please stop! How long have you been tickling me?” I managed weakly.
“45 minutes, but I have no intention of stopping until you beg me!”
“Please stop! Ah hahahaha I beg you! Ple-heeheease!” As she stops and I breathe deeply, thankful for the precious air in my lungs, I tell her I will double her salary.
“Double? Oh, no no, monsieur! I want triple my salary! I am worth it, no?” and she punctuates her question with another quick rib-tickle, which catches me by surprise and instantly undoes my resolve.
“Yes, yes! Triple! Triple your salary! But please no more tickles!”
She smiles triumphantly and begins to unshackle me form my overhead wrist restraints. The blood starts returning to my arms and they tingle. She sits down on the arm of the couch and slowly crosses her left leg over her right. I watch, utterly enchanted by the beauty of her luxuriously long legs.
“So, you deserve to enjoy these legs, now that I make $18 an hour. Come, sit by me,” as she motions to the floor. I sit down as if in a trance. I slowly take in her garters showing below her too-short skirt; the dark stocking welts; her thighs, knees and calves covered by the silky seamed off-black nylons; the reinforcements visible over the top of her pumps… As I watch her left foot, she flexes her shoe expertly and the pump begins to glacially slide down off her heel, revealing more and more of the reinforcements and exposing an arch of unbelievable curvature. I have never seen such a perfect arch and heel, and my face and hands gravitate toward them. I slide my hands down her calves, over the top of her foot and then, reverently, into the warm recesses of her shoe. My fingers caress her heel and arch, marveling at the silky softness and smoothness. She sighs and watches me as I continue to bask in the enjoyment of the empirical beauty of that foot. She closes her eyes as I use both hands to caress, gently massage and worship her magnificent legs and feet.
As her shoe continues its hypnotic and precarious dangle from her toes, I ask “Who invented the dangle? The French?”
“Oui, monsieur,” she purrs, “In France, young girls begin dangling their shoes at a very early age. They understand the power it has over men! Do you wish to take that shoe off?” she offers. I do, and the full beauty of her foot is revealed to me. The ball of her foot is a perfect complement to the rest of the graceful curves of her arch and heel. I hold in my hands the consummate beauty in a female foot. Freshly pedicured, her comely toes are painted blue and I am irresistibly drawn to kiss and nibble them gently.
“Don’t bite too hard. Monsieur, “ she says with a giggle, “They are very sensitive!”
Beautiful AND sensitive, I think to myself. A dangerous combination! Perhaps this will work out to be a worthwhile proposition, paying her so much to keep her as a maid, I think as the fantasy scenario continues.
“You must be tired,” I whisper gently as I slowly rub the backs of her shapely calves. “Perhaps you should lie down and rest. You have worked very hard today,” I continue, my voice soft and soothing.
“Mmmm, monsieur, yes, I am tired. I would like to lie down and rest a bit before I continue my work in the house.” I extend my hand and gently lead her to the bondage table, which serves as the bed. She lies down with a loud sigh and stretches out. I position her arms slightly above her head and she doesn’t resist as her eyes can barely stay open. “If you would like, you can massage my legs through the stockings all you like while I sleep,” she whispers. I rub her left wrist as I bring a wrist cuff over and slowly wrap it around her wrist, securing it noiselessly. I silently move to her right wrist and she doesn’t move, her eyes closed and her breathing steady. As I position the second wrist cuff, I mention the unusual bracelets she has by her bed. She smiles, then her eyes open suspiciously.
“Bracelets?” she asks and looks at her right wrist, just as I have finished buckling it.
“Monsieur, this is outrageous! What are you doing?”
With her arms secured above her head, I study the look of fear in her eyes.
“My dear, I merely want to teach you a lesson in respecting your employers.”
“I don’t know what you think you are doing. We have an agreement and I won our wager fairly!”
“I don’t know about fairly, but you did win and I will honor our agreement…but I must also teach you that I must be respected in this house. Now…”and I begin to undo the bun her hair is up in, letting her beautiful brunette hair flow down her shoulders, “let’s get a good look at you.” I gaze at her body, so fetching in her French maid’s uniform, and her angelic face and her long, thin arms so helplessly restrained. I now climb up on the bed, sitting astride her thighs, completely rendering her legs helpless before me. I smile as I gaze at her stockinged limbs. “Perhaps you should be punished for making me suffer,” I say slowly as I slowly remove her pumps. “Hmm, did you not say before that your feet were a little…sensitive?” I ask.
“Monsieur, you cannot do this…you must stop…hahahahahahahahaha” she begins laughing hysterically immediately as I begin tickling her soles relentlessly. Having tickled her in the past in previous sessions, I know they are an excellent point of attack. Her body writhes, twisting this way and that in vain attempts to escape my fingers, which glide smoothly and quickly over her nylon-covered flesh. She is very strong and succeeds in lifting my body weight off the bed, but does not throw me off. I do not let up, relishing the sweet sound of laughter escaping her lips.
“They are not just sensitive, madame,” I mock her, “They are quite ticklish, no?” Between laughs, she manages a weak response of “Yes, they are so ticklish! Please no, monsieur!”
As I continue running my nails lightly over her soles, I muse out loud, “Perhaps I will hire another regular maid to clean the house, and keep you – for $18 an hour – as my personal tickle maid! What a great idea! Would you like that, Kassandra? To be my tickle maid?”
She shakes her head from side to side, but does not respond. At some point, I turn quickly around to face her upper body and begin a new attack on her underarms. Previous experience tells me where to tickle and how hard and, within seconds, she is an hysterical, squirming mess. Her laughter cascades over me and is the most delightful sound in the world. “Tickle tickle tickle, Kassandra! You will be my personal tickle maid! Every day! I will tickle tickle you here,” as I continue my assault on her armpits, “and here” as I move my hands down to her ribs, eliciting more howls of laughter, “ and here!” as I move to her sensitive hips, where even more reserves of ticklishness are found. Between gales of laughter, she pleads for me to stop, but I reply, “You showed me no mercy, young lady! I will do the same to teach you a lesson! Tickle tickle! Laugh for me, Kassandra! Tickle tickle tickle!” I lean back and rest on my hands and she looks up quickly with panic in her eyes.
“No, not the knees!” and quickly realizes her mistake. I raise my eyebrows and ask, “NOT the knees?”
“No, no please, monsieur! Not there!” as I slide my body back, now sitting on her shins with her lovely knees waiting before me. “I didn’t know about your knees, Kassandra!” and I didn’t. I hadn’t tickled her there before. As I do, I am instantly rewarded with laughter a full decibel louder than I had previously wrested from her. Her body gyrations became almost uncontrollable and she nearly bucked me off the bed. As I very softly ran my fingernails up and down over her kneecaps and she exploded with laughter. And I was in awe over her beauty as a helpless, ticklish captive. I show a little mercy and stop for a few seconds, repositioning myself on top of her, facing her gorgeous feet. When she has recovered somewhat, I gently stroke her feet, eliciting musical giggles from her as I played a finger concerto on her soles. Watching her stockinged soles move this way and that to avoid my fingers is so enjoyable I lose track of time. I quickly get up and straddle her hips again for one quick, final round of underarm tickling and, despite being exhausted, her laughter is still loud and boisterous. She manages to yank one wrist out of the cuffs, but I retie her quickly and continue her torture. I am aroused throughout this part of the session and get off the bed to finish our hour together by playing with her feet again. I sit on the floor and place her pumps loosely on her feet, letting them dangle and sway as I touch, kiss and smell.
“Merci,” she whispers, “Thank you for stopping the tickling…” I am gentle and deliberate, and Kassandra has begun to moan with pleasure. I cannot help touching myself as I get lost in the beauty of her soles in stockings…
I slowly rise and declare happily, “Congratulations, Kassandra. You have earned your new salary and I hope to continue employing you for many years to come!”
Our session has ended and I help her out of her restraints. We are both tired but smiling and happy. We hug tightly and thank each other for a highly enjoyable session. This was my second with her and - as I knew after my first - I will be back for many more. I have never met a Mistress as beautiful, fun and skilled in role-playing as Kassandra. As she escorts me to the elevator, I am drained and as happy as could be – and already planning a return to my favorite Mistress.
- from the quill of the Westchester Tickler
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