ShadowTklr
3rd Level Orange Feather
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This one may be new to many of you. Hope you enjoy!
Another Halloween-appropriate story of mine.
Grayton's Gamut
By ShadowTklr
Grayton mansion has been the hub of many legends for over 120 years, the most popular of which surrounds the story of Mrs. Grayton. The year was 1950. Yvonne Marie Grayton was a stunningly beautiful woman of about 35 with long flowing black hair and deep-set green eyes. Her gracefully curvaceous and lofty frame was voluptuous and swayed as though she was being carried on a cloud whenever she walked. Anyone who met her, even for a moment, remembered her fondly.
Her husband, millionaire Stanley Grayton III was Grayton University's greatest benefactor, but was many times away on business in search of artifacts that he collected from ancient castles and houses of nobility. He was considered somewhat odd because of the types of things he collected - namely, torture devices from all over the world. The mansion contained an incredibly large display room that was home to the dastardly devices, most of which were painstakingly restored to their once-intended operating condition. Some were even restored and improved upon, donning additions that were either improvements or enhancements of the original design. Few could understand the appeal of such things, but he was a gentleman, and a very generous benefactor, so his eccentricities were considered relatively harmless. Many times when inquired to about his penchant for such distasteful contraptions, Mr. Grayton indicated that they were staunch reminders of the horrible past of this very location. He was referring of course, to the past that loomed like a cloud of disrepute over the very land that now held his home. It seems that Grayton mansion was once a 14th century asylum where many unspeakable atrocities took place. For years, people talked of the place being haunted by some kind of evil force, capable of possessing its inhabitants. No one took the stories too seriously, that is, until now.
It was the harvest of 1950, and Grayton University's exclusive houses were gearing up for the much-awaited events of sorority pledging. Twelve girls were given the distinct honor of applying for membership here. Only 5 would be chosen, and to insure that the race wouldn't be too close, the upperclasswomen devised a series of daring challenges that would bring about the downfall of the weaker pledges within the weeklong trials. The challenges were called, Grayton's Gamut
At the same time, Yvonne Grayton was growing distant and was spending more and more time at home. Her husband's frequent and prolonged absences were to be targeted for blame in what appeared to be the progressive decline of his wife's otherwise polished and cheerful demeanor. She spent hours at a time in her husband's display room, talking to unseen people and returning conversation to unheard companions. Her graceful and proper etiquette was giving way to a highly charged sexual friskiness, the likes of which Stanley had never seen come so fluently from his somewhat prudish wife. Her disposition was becoming increasingly more unusual and even her treatment of the maids was quite bizarre. She was described by at least one of them to display wanton acts of sadistic mischief, dowsing lights and chasing them in the dark, or startling them and then threatening them with their jobs if they did not perform humiliating acts for her amusement. Their claim was that she was a woman possessed. With the exception of two part-time evening maids, all the others eventually resigned despite no visible prospects of alternative employment.
One dark, windy evening, during the final week of sorority initiations, a lovely young pledge was presented with the challenge that would insure her membership into Tu Kappa Lambda, Grayton's elite female aristocracy. What she had no way of knowing, was that her daring deed would soon introduce her to her worst fears, and some new ones that she never knew she had. For the eager pledge's task was to sneak into the Grayton mansion, undetected and retrieve the bedroom slippers of Mrs. Grayton from beneath her bed while she slept. The slippers had no intrinsic value, and the sorority girls weren't thieves. They just wanted something that would provide proof of her success, and epitomize the daring spirit that is so desired in TKL members. She was delivered to the rear of the mansion by three of her sisters, and coaxed into action.
The Sisters watched momentarily as the pledge sneaked into the house through a back window, and went about searching for the master bedroom. As soon as they were satisfied that she was well into the house, they began walking away. Suddenly the sisters heard a sound coming from within the house. It was the sound of people - women talking. It sounded like one woman was angry, perhaps scolding. The other sounds were much more subdued, almost submissive mewing of sorts, perhaps a heartfelt apology. The lead voice became sterner and more deliberate as the second voice became more urgent and quick paced. Fearing their newest pledge had just been discovered by Mrs. Grayton, the three girls made haste to distance themselves from the house, abandoning their charge for god-knows-what. As they turned the corner of the house, they heard the slightly distant vocal pitch slant upward sharply and then splinter into a tremendous shrill, followed by excruciating laughter. It was labored with the obvious weight of struggling pleas and panting, gasping cries. In an instant, the girls rushed off in escape of that house.
Several hours later, arriving unexpectedly early from his trip, Mr. Grayton entered quietly through a back door of his mansion. Upon entry, he heard screams of piteous laughter echoing from the chambers of his display room. The laughter he heard was not normal by any stretch of his experience, but rather was laden with the cackling, broken pitches of a woman gone insane. As he followed the screams down the narrow hallway, the laughter became clearer and louder. By this time, he was able to discern the sounds of tortured cries for mercy, amidst waves of gut wrenching laughter and shrieks of desperation. Whoever was attempting to plead was always drowned out by another bout of maniacal screeching laughter before their pitiful utterances could be completed. He moved quickly toward the din, fearing his wife may be in the hands of some psychotic fiend.
He rushed toward the oval brass doorknob that marked the entrance to his collection room, turned the knob and thrust his shoulder against the hardwood door. As the door swung open with a sweeping whoosh, Stanley Grayton nearly dropped to his knees at the sight that unfolded instantly before his horrified eyes. For there, before him, was a scene straight out of a medieval dungeon. Three women were helplessly restrained to apparatus that he had restored and collected. All three were scantily clad and bound in different positions.
The first woman who appeared to be catatonic, was draped like a human hammock, her wrists and ankles secured to the four corners of some rectangular frame that stood about eight feet off the floor. It resembled the framework to a large cube without sides, top, or bottom - just heavy wooden beams that outlined the frame. In the upper four corners were four, short chains that ended in padded leather cuffs, attached to the motionless woman's four limbs. Her head hung back, and her body sagged, suspended in such a way that her buttocks were merely inches from the floor. Between her toes were several short feathers.
Her face was turned toward the door, and frozen upon it was the expression of pure madness - a caricature of grinning fashioned in the most grotesque configuration. Her eyes remained wide open, as though a single moment of the pinnacle of her agony had been forever memorialized within them. Her mouth was wide and her lips were stretched in a pose of hollering, howling hell. Her limbs were taut and her ankles and wrists bruised from what Mr. Grayton could only deduce was her frighteningly passionate attempts at freedom. Her body quivered and spasmed in reflexive, intermittent jolts as a leg might react when the knee is struck with a physician's mallet.
The second woman was blindfolded, and strapped to an arch-rack, given its name because of the unnatural arch imposed upon the victim when placed upon it. The rack itself, arched in a convex bow with wooden slats that ran along it from front to back as though a railroad track had been bent in an upward semi-circle. The woman was strapped only at the wrists and ankles in a position that resembled a back bend, with her hands nearly touching the floor at one end and her toes touching the floor at the other. Her ribcage and hips were acutely thrust upward, allowing for the visible protrusion of each and every rib beneath her smooth, sweat-glistened skin. She was panting and moaning, as though she had just undergone some tremendous physical exertion. She twitched with chirping, yelping giggles as though she fearfully anticipated the unwelcome, but inevitable next touch of whatever it was that was no longer there.
In the middle of the other two women, sat the young brunette, strapped in a sturdy chair, once used to imprison victims for roasting. She appeared to be perhaps 20 or 21 years of age with an athletic build. She wore an oversized TKL sorority shirt, but was otherwise naked. She had leather restraints at her head, neck, upper arms, wrists, waist, lap, knees, and ankles. The chair was high enough that her feet would not touch the floor, thereby giving her no leverage by which to push her body upward. The chair resembled an electric chair in design, but had a large hole in the seat through which her ass gently protruded. Her body sagged slightly in the chair as though her ass were stuck in the hole. The Lap strap was tightly cinched high across her upper thighs making it impossible for her to lift her ass out of the hole.
The woman was screaming with wild, frenzied abandon. It was a mixture of frustrated agony and uncontrollable laughter - the kind that is so strong, it causes your body to erupt in seizing guffaws. She twisted and pulled, gripping the armrests with her fingers before fanning them outward in want for something to grab. Her feet, clad in Yvonne's slippers flapped up and down, causing the backs of the slippers to slap against the fleshy flat part of the girl's heels, then twisted circularly with curled toes. Her head bobbed up and down, pressed helplessly in place by the leather strap that stretched across her forehead. Each upward jolt would press the skin on her forehead and give her eyes a squeezed appearance.
The reason for such unyielding reaction was that seated behind the chair on a low stool, was Yvonne. She was using her unusually long nails to tickle the bare ass cheeks, anus, and backs of the upper thighs of her frenzied victim through the seat hole. She giggled softly in sadistic contrast to the almost painful howling laughter emitting from the tired vocal chords of her young captive. Yvonne's hands whisked with painstaking calculation, poking the very points of her abnormally sharpened talons into the soft, highly sensitive flesh of the girl's ass, and then dabbling them playfully along the crack of her ass toward the tailbone, tickling the electrified surface nerves for the most violent responses.
Yvonne would taunt the girl every so often.
"So, you like my slippers? They're yours. But don't drop them. All that toe wriggling is going to make you lose them, and you know what happens when you do that, don't you? Hmmmm? Tickle tickle tickle tickle." She cooed.
The girl was beyond hysterical. Her eyes were rotating in their orbits, focusing in on nothing. Yvonne was keeping herself out of visual range of the girl, taunting her repeatedly, and alternating between which ear she would whisper into. The girl scoured the area in front of her with her eyes, then rolled them back momentarily before she squinted them shut with great might. Tears spilled out of the corners of her swollen, reddened eyes. Her mouth contorted in maddened expressions that looked like facial exercises she was once taught in her drama classes. Her words were incomprehensive, broken pleas that were the result of her inability to concentrate on any one thought long enough to make sense.
"HHHAAAAIIIIEEEEEEE HA HA HA HA HA NO MO-HO HAHAHAHA BEEE PLEEEZEE I-I-I GAAWWWDDDD DOOONNN DOOOOOO HAHAHA HA HA HA HA HA HAAAAA!!!!!!"
Stanley stood dumbstruck at the sight. He could not believe what he was seeing, and yet time seemed to stand still for him. By all means he should have reacted already, but his legs wouldn't move. He was literally frightened into paralysis. His mouth would not move, and his fingertips became numb. All he could do was just look on with his mouth agape.
Yvonne looked over to notice him, momentarily stopping her insane tickling of the girl. A wickedly cruel smile slithered across her face as she noticed his expression. She turned her attention back to the girl, who was by now, pleading incessantly with what little breath she had in her short respite. At the foot of the chair, lay one empty slipper, inadvertently sprung from the girl's foot during one of her more violent eruptions. Yvonne merely tittered gleefully.
"Awwww. Poor little slipper thief. You wanted them soooo badly. I give them to you and you cast them to the floor? I think you deserve to be punished." Her mirthful giddiness bubbled over the top of her words.
"PLEEEZEE DON'T DO THIS ANYMORE. NO MORE TICKLING! NO MORE TICKLING! I'LL LEAVE! I'M SORRY! I'LL DO ANY-WHAT? WHA? GOD NO!! PLEASE DON'T TICKLE MY FEET! KEEP THE SLIPPERS! KEEEEE HEE HE HE HE HE HA HA HA HA HA HAAAIIIEEEEE HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!"
Yvonne kneeled at the feet of the shrieking, clawing girl, pulled the remaining slipper from her soft, twitching feet, and proceeded to rake her bare soles with the very tips of her fingernails, applying only enough pressure to maintain a steady, wracking volume of sobbing laughter. The girl tried desperately to look down, to capture even a glimpse of Yvonne's eyes in the hopes that she could translate her unbearable suffering through a pitiful look, but the strap kept her head steady and her eyes were forced to look ahead. The tickling continued until the girl lost consciousness in a wave of capitulating tremors.
Yvonne was institutionalized as a result of what was called a psychotic break. Almost from the moment she was removed from that house, she appeared to have no memory of the events, and acted and professed to be completely normal in every way. Her stay at the asylum would be no better. Many of the nurses that worked at the asylum had children that attended Grayton University, and they looked quite unfavorably at the likes of Yvonne for what she had done to one of its students.
Often, despite her repeated claims that she was possessed, the nurses tortured her in the same, insidious way she had tortured those women that night. She would be placed in 10 point bondage and tickled by several nurses for long periods while she shrieked and cried with helpless laughter. It seemed the nurses never grew tired of their little late-night games, inventing new and more sadistic ways of tickling poor Yvonne to madness. Unfortunately for Yvonne, she was more than hyper ticklish, and during one such game of straight jacket and gang tickle, she fatally passed away. Of course no one ever admitted the cause of death, but some people knew the truth.
Mr. Grayton, as a condition of his will, upon his own death had bequeathed the mansion to the college that he had so dearly loved. Since then, the mansion has sat unoccupied and lonely, a monument to a horror that has become as much a part of the surrounding town's heritage as the University itself.
To this day, people still claim to hear the desperate cries of laughter coming from the depths of the long abandoned mansion. Over the years, more than a few young sorority women have told tales of being abducted by unseen captors, and taken to the unholy house.
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…So, all of you who hear my voice tonight may wish to conspire with one another in disregard of the fears that well inside you when in its presence. However, be forewarned that what is real does not go away simply because you refuse to believe in it…"
Katherine Richards, President of Grayton University's elite sorority, Tu Kappa Lambda, eaves drops on the small gathering from the bushes. She notices the evenings keynote speaker is Agatha Buchner. Now, every college has its freaks, but Agatha is the queen of the freaks, and also the President of her rival sorority, or gang, the "Gothettes."
Although, TKL members have been prohibited from using Grayton mansion as a part of their Grayton Gamut, that has never stopped the Gothettes from commemorating the happenings there. But tonight will be different. Tonight will be the first time in 50 years that anyone from G.U. has actually returned to the house. Tonight, the Gothettes plan to bring Yvonne back
Agatha G. Buchner sways woefully as she continues her tale of horror, disseminating it to the group of girls who have gathered in memory of that fateful night, exactly 50 years ago. Her black, drooping blouse cascades awkwardly over her wiry frame, overlapping the waist band of what used to be pants, but are now simply ill-fashioned strips of tattered black cloth, covering black net stockings that descend to obscurity into the tops of dull black military boots. Her hair is a mass of black, shiny Medusa-esque strands all in seeming conflict with one another as to their position on her head. Her face, pale from so many applications of the lightest foundation, looks like a display head that belongs in the window of a piercing shop. Silver, titanium studs protrude from 5 different places on each ear, another one appears to have been thrust through her eyebrow, a small silver ring loops through the lower part of one nostril, and a silver chain connects it to one of the studs in her right ear. A ball-tipped pin juts out from behind her lower lip, equally distanced between the lip and her chin, and behind her black lipstick covered lips, lies another ball-tipped pin set through her tongue. Her eyes, mere slits, as though too sensitive even for the darkness, don black pastel eye shadow - a direct contrast to the paleness of her skin. As she speaks, she slips her long, black-lacquer-tipped fingers through her hair causing the multitude of silver bracelets on her wrist to jostle noisily like a small box of eating utensils.
Dull white candles adorn the right hand of every girl, their short fluttering flames gently consuming the shaft atop which they sit, sending droplets of liquid wax piggy-backing over one another on their descent to the flat, aluminum base.
The girls are near motionless in the dark, on the thick grass that lines the surface of nearly every square acre of the enormous college campus. Their location was ideal for this type of gathering. It was secluded, well off the beaten path normally covered by any of the campus security. No field lights, spotlights, or security lights break its darkness. However, perhaps best of all, was its proximity to the Grayton estate - the very subject of so many late-night spook stories, and no less the target of this night's ceremonies.
*****************************************************************
A cold laggardly breeze descends from the starry skies, swishing hollowly over the peaked clay roof shingles of the Grayton Mansion, swooping through the darkened branches of oak trees that line the elongated and overrun garden path. It glides through the links of the 12-foot fence that separates the estate's borders from the college grounds. Targeting the small group of gathered women, it languishes momentarily about the shoulders and hair of each as if the very breeze were inhaling their sweet scent. The girls, ever mindful of their waning candles' light, shelter the ragged flames with an open palm as they listen intently to the story, line by captivating line.
The breeze suddenly shifts back in their faces with great thrust, the force of which extinguishes each and every candle, causing a small chorus of startled female gasps, as it zooms back hastily toward the dividing fence. As if by some predetermined signal, all twelve heads turn in unison toward the direction of the fleeing wind, their vision attempting to hone through the darkness, staring intently, until a looming shadow comes into view, the mansion's haunting silhouette that stands seemingly in wait for the wind's welcome return.
An inconspicuously small, but gratifying smile forms at the corners of the dark female figure's mouth. Her statuesque form stands alongside the house, obscured in the dark recesses of its shadows. Its shudders yawn and creak in embrace of the caressing wind. She stands as though planted firmly, staring through blaring green eyes. Her pupils narrow as she bows her head cautiously toward the flickering light, glancing up through her long, upper lashes at the dispersing group. Then quietly, pouting her lips, she blows out the unscathed flame, turns and disappears into the blackness behind the trees.
**************************************************************
Kathleen rushes back to her house to tell the other girls about Agatha's plan. They all conspire to ambush the girls, and have a little rival sorority fun with them before they report them to college security. As they sit around in the den discussing their plans, the front door bursts open and two TKL members enter, carrying a squirming, squealing body wrapped tightly in a sheet. The two girls are laughing and panting as they drag the kicking, cussing baggage into the den and deposit her on the floor at the feet of the TKL group. The only thing protruding from the sheet roll is a pair of feet clad in black fish net stockings and large, clunky square heeled black shoes.
"My my. What have we here? Kathleen smirks as she nears the quivering package." She looks up at the two TKL girls who brought her in.
"We caught this one sneaking around the back of our house with this!" One of the girls dumps the contents of a brown paper bag on the floor next to the rolled up girl. It is two cans of black spray paint. Kathleen smiles broadly, and sits back on the couch. The sisters all giggle mischievously.
"Now, I wonder what a little Goth bitch was doing at our house with black spray paint?" She prods the buttocks of the trapped girl with the toe of her loafers. She is rewarded with a slew of screaming profanity that lasts 2 full minutes. The girls all sit back and smile. Kathleen raises her hand to her chin for a moment and contemplates her next move.
"You know girls, its been a long time since we had a Goth girl snack." She exclaims excitedly. The girls erupt in laughter and excitement. "Prepare her then." Kathleen commands as she retires upstairs to get changed for the festivities.
In a few minutes she returns with her sisters who all congregate in the den. All the girls are dressed in scant silk nighties and slippers. If there is one thing that Gothettes hate, its this cutesy, ruffled girlie stuff. There are few things more humiliating than being bound helpless and ridiculed by the likes of these bitches.
Kathleen looks over at four girls standing by the kitchen door.
"Is our hero ready, girls?" She asks cutely.
"She put up quite a struggle, so we weren't able to get the trimmings on, but she's ready to be served." Exclaimed one of the girls, smiling broadly.
"Well that's okay, we can garnish her afterward. What are we waiting for? Bring her out here!"
The room dissolves in frantic giggles as the four girls go into the kitchen and re-emerge carrying the Goth girl on their shoulders. She has been strapped to a long, thin board with her hands pulled high over her head. She is fastened at the wrists, forehead, elbows, chest, waist, knees and ankles. She is still fully dressed. Kathleen smiles and rubs her hands together.
"She looks really yummy, but shes still all wrapped up. How are we going to enjoy her with all that, that stuff on her? Oh well girls, let's make her a little more appetizing, shall we?"
With that, five girls sit next to each other on the couch, and the Goth girl is placed across all of their laps. She is screaming and threatening them all. They just look down at her and giggle, then immediatley begin tugging and unzipping and unlacing. They pull off her shoes, tear open her stockings to reveal her soft bare feet. They use pinking sheers to cut her pant legs from cuff to crotch, leaving the material opened to expose her legs. They cut open her shirt down the middle from navel to just under her breats, and open the flaps of newly cut material. One of the girls grabs a fistful of material at the armpit, and cuts a large hole in each one, exposing the smooth skin of her armpits.
Five more girls each grab folding chairs and sit opposite the five girls on the couch, with the Goth girl firmly bound and helpless between them all. As though a moment of complete terror had overtaken the Gothette, she began to plead.
"No! don't! Not that!" She looks pleadingly over at Kathleen. "I'll do anything, just don't say it! Don't say it! I'm begging you!"
Kathleen snickers and moves closer to the girl. You had your chance. You were going to deface our house. No, little dark one, I think you have this coming.
The girl begins to struggle frantically for freedom. "Don't say it! Don't say it! Please!"
The 10 women left their hands up in the air wiggling their fingers over the trapped and exposed Goth girl. Kathleen's smile suddenly turns stone cold serious. She looks one more time into the eyes of the Goth girl who is still pleading for mercy. "Oh god! I'm begging you. Please don't say it!"
With a ceremonious wave of her hand, Kathleen exclaims. "DIG IN GIRLS!"
In what can only be described as the human equivalent of a super nova, the Gothette literally explodes with mindless cackling as all ten girls dig their fingers into her exposed flesh at every possible entry point. Two are down at her feet, tickling her heels and the balls of her feet, as they flex spasmodically. Two more are caressing her calves with the tips of their nails, as two are kneading her thigh muscles, just above the knees, and two girls are vibrating the pads of their fingers into the soft tissue between her lower and upper ribcage. Lastly, the remaining two girls are tickling her from her armpits to her neck and ears. The room is alive with the sounds of screaming laughter, interwoven with the taunting melodious chants of so many girls reciting tickly sounds.
"STA HA HA H AHAAAAAPPPP! NO UGHHHA HA HA HA HA HA HA HAAAA HAH HAH HAH HAHAAAA NNGGGGHHHH OOOOOHHOHOHOHOHOHOHO HAHA HA HAAAA!"
Fingers wiggled everywhere for what seemed like an eternity. The Gothette looked up through the endless tears pouring from her eyes to see the blurry images of sadistic, feminine faces smiling down at her. Not one of them had an ounce of compassion. Not one of them, seeing her obvious tormented reaction to a particular technique would stave herself off for even a moment. Instead, they all showed an increased excitement at the hell they were putting her through. When they were finished gang-tickling her, they placed a deck of cards on her bare belly and each senior girl drew from the deck. The winner would have her bound to her bed for exclusive tickling rights for the rest of the night. When the winning card was drawn, the Goth girl was again gang tickled to exhaustion so she would be easier to untie and transport upstairs to the rooms. As the pleading, sobbing girl was dragged upstairs, the gloating winners were congratulated with pats on the back and cries of "lucky stiff."
*****************************************************
There was no time to spare. Kathleen and a select few of the upperclasswomen of TKL were determined to put a stop to this little party that Agatha had planned over at Grayton Mansion. Six TKL members, including Kathleen, equipped with yards of rope, leather cuffs, gags, and other assorted bondage equipment, set out to pre-empt the Gothettes with a little surprise of their own.
They entered the estate through the back part of the campus, where it is darkest and less likely to be spotted by campus security. They sneaked around the back of the house in an effort to enter through a window. What they didn't expect was that Agatha and her girls were already there, and already inside.
Kathleen and her girls entered the house and went on patrol in search of the Gothettes. They could already hear the chanting and the bustling of the girls coming from down the dark corridors, although they could not exactly identify the way. In a short time, the girls had become lost, and though the sounds of giggling, raucous could be heard coming from all directions, the TKL girls could not find their way to the source of the noise, nor could they find their way out. Perhaps unwisely so, they decided to split up and go their separate ways in search for the exit.
The girls wandered aimlessly for nearly 30 minutes. Individually, they were all becoming very frightened by this time, and were now more concerned with getting out of there than they were with finding the Gothettes. Besides, there was no sound coming from the Goth girls in over 20 minutes.
Amy, TKL's Vice President had wandered down a hallway until she came to a dead end. She turned to go back from where she had come, but another wall was right in front of her, and now she could not go left, or right. She crouched down on her knees to see if there was a way to lift the wall from underneath. She couldn't see anything, but when she attempted to stand, she found she could not. The ceiling was now a mere 3 feet from the floor, and it was moving! The ceiling came down upon her slowly, inches at a time. She tried to gain more room, but she could not. She quickly lay on her back in an attempt to lift her legs to brace herself, but as soon as she lay down, the ceiling dropped to only inches above her, and she found she didn't have even enough room to turn over onto her stomach. No sooner had panic set in, than suddenly, a large slot opened at one end, and several hands reached in and grabbed her ankles. Amy screamed and tried to kick but she simply couldn't. She was pulled half way through, when the slot came down, this time, trapping her halfway in and halfway out. Amy was screaming for help, and then felt the hands unlacing her sneakers, and peeling off her socks. The hands suddenly began tickling her everywhere from her upper thighs to her feet. Amy laughed with absolute hysteria, begging for a mercy that simply wouldn't come.
Janet Heard Amy's screams and ran toward the sounds. Her rescue attempt would be cut terribly short, as the floor gave way, sending Janet plummeting down a metal chute. Janet slammed her palms against the sides of the slick, narrow tunnel as she fell. She came to an abrupt halt when the chute narrowed. She pulled her arms up to her chest, but the slim width of the tunnel because too narrow, and Janet found her arms were stuck up at her chest. She started yelling for help, when suddenly she heard someone doing something to the chute. A minute later, she was pulled from her position, still inside the chute. The section of tunnel that imprisoned Janet was lied on the floor. A small door opened at her waist. Janet could not see anything, but felt someone tugging her shirt out of her pants, and lifting it away from her tummy. Before Janet could even plead, she felt fingers tickling her hips and tummy. She struggled to lower her arms, but the tickling would not subside, and her frustration grew to alarming rates, and she sobbed loudly with laughter.
Dawn, a cute redhead who stood about 5 ft. tall in her stocking feet. Was running in any direction just to try to get away from whatever she was hearing coming after her. She ran toward a door at the end of a hallway. She opened the door, and found she was in a large, padded room. Moments later, another door on the far side of the room opened up and two large, muscular men walked in. They grabbed Dawn and pinned her down and began tickling her hips where she is the worlds most ticklish girl.
Paula was next on the list, and unseen ticklers who kept telling her that when they caught her they were going to tickle her to death chased her. She ran blindly in every direction, begging for them not to tickle her, but it was too late. Her screams would soon join the ranks of her friends as laughter of the damned.
Gina, a rather tall, full-bodied brunette with a rather busty frame, was captain of the volleyball team. She was a hard body who was quick, strong, and had a great deal of stamina. She moved step by step down a dark hallway, trying to rationalize the sounds of her girlfriends screaming. Suddenly, Gina found she was getting very dizzy, and suddenly could no longer support her own weight. She dropped to her knees and passed out. When she awoke, she found she in a large, oak-floored room, and was tied on the arch rack. She had been stripped to her underwear and bra, and was bent backwards over the sturdy, unyielding furniture. She could feel the wooden slats in the small of her back, prompting the accented curve of her spine. Her toes dangled about an inch from the floor. Although, unlike the story she had so often heard about, she was not just tied at the wrists and ankles, but rather, she was also strapped at the thighs and elbows.
The door on the other side of the room opened, and in walked a dark figure. As the figure approached, the sturdy sounds of hard heels filled the room. The figure quickly came into view even though she appeared to be upside down to Gina, given her current position.
"Agatha! Screamed Gina. You fucking bitch! Let me off of this thing right now."
Agatha looked on with amusement. "Now why would I want to do that?"
She approached the helplessly arched Gina, and stood alongside her side.
"You know, that's a pretty rack of ribs you got there."
Gina stopped her onslaught of threats right then and there, and, realizing her predicament began to try and talk herself out of her situation, but nothing she said would do any good. Agatha walked alongside the bowed woman, running her fingers over her tummy and ribs as she did.
"Yes, I think I'm going to have fun with you." She sneered. Her blackened eyes and lips gave way to the whiteness of her eyes and teeth.
Without warning, Agatha kneeled down beside Gina, placed all of her fingers on both hands on either side of Ginas ribcage, and began tickling with earnest. As strong as she was, Gina's body could do nothing more than vibrate in place as her mouth shot open in abject ticklish horror. She screamed and laughed, unable to get out even the smallest plea for mercy, not that she would have received it anyway. Agatha tickled and tickled that girl without the slightest consideration for her suffering. Her fingers moved with dexterity and purpose, squeezing the very breath from Gina's lungs.
"AAAAA H A HA HA HA HA HA HA HA AAAAIAIIIIEEEE NO NO NO NO!! TAAYYKKKKET AWAYYYEEEE. STA HA HA HAAAPP! STOOPPP!! HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!"
Poor Gina was going mad. For someone as rib-ticklish as Gina, this position was worse than any nightmare she ever had. The fingers moved about her torso, tweaking and scraping the tender flesh, concentrating on the places that made Gina cry with laughter. Her toes pointed in search of the floor, for what purpose only she could know. Agatha abandoned her rib tickling and moved closer to the head of the rack, where Gina promised anything if the tickling would only stop. But Agatha was not finished with her just yet. With the sadistic pleasure of some medieval inquisitor, she placed her nails on the creases of Gina's elbows and began tickling her from her elbows, down, the backs of her upper arms to her armpits, and back. The journey was agonizingly slow both coming and going. Agatha repeated it over and over and over again, until Gina was so hoarse from screaming and laughing, that she was in threat of passing out.
Agatha stopped just short of a saving unconsciousness for Gina. As Gina panted and gasped with tickled exhaustion, she noticed she was staring at the back of a tall chair. Agatha walked over to the chair and spun it around so Gina could see well. There, sitting stuck in the chair was Kathleen. Her bare ass was stuck in the hole in the middle of the seat, and her body was covered with restraining straps. Kathleen had a large ball gag in her mouth, which Agatha promptly removed.
"Agatha! What the hell are you doing. Do you have any idea how much trouble you are going to be in if you don't let me out of this thing right now?" Her voice was strong and demanding.
Agatha reached for a small stool, and placed it behind the chair to which Kathleen was bound. As she sat down, facing the back of the chair. A wind began to blow outside. The shutters rattled against the house, and gas lamps that hadn't been used in over 100 years, flickered and then puffed into flames.
Kathleen was determined not to give in to this tricky girl. She moved her head as much as her headstrap would allow, addressing Agatha behind her.
"Who the hell do you think you are, Agatha?" She insisted.
Agatha moved her lips close to the ear of her captive and replied with a sickening smile on her face.
"Please. Call me Yvonne!"
The End
Another Halloween-appropriate story of mine.
Grayton's Gamut
By ShadowTklr
Grayton mansion has been the hub of many legends for over 120 years, the most popular of which surrounds the story of Mrs. Grayton. The year was 1950. Yvonne Marie Grayton was a stunningly beautiful woman of about 35 with long flowing black hair and deep-set green eyes. Her gracefully curvaceous and lofty frame was voluptuous and swayed as though she was being carried on a cloud whenever she walked. Anyone who met her, even for a moment, remembered her fondly.
Her husband, millionaire Stanley Grayton III was Grayton University's greatest benefactor, but was many times away on business in search of artifacts that he collected from ancient castles and houses of nobility. He was considered somewhat odd because of the types of things he collected - namely, torture devices from all over the world. The mansion contained an incredibly large display room that was home to the dastardly devices, most of which were painstakingly restored to their once-intended operating condition. Some were even restored and improved upon, donning additions that were either improvements or enhancements of the original design. Few could understand the appeal of such things, but he was a gentleman, and a very generous benefactor, so his eccentricities were considered relatively harmless. Many times when inquired to about his penchant for such distasteful contraptions, Mr. Grayton indicated that they were staunch reminders of the horrible past of this very location. He was referring of course, to the past that loomed like a cloud of disrepute over the very land that now held his home. It seems that Grayton mansion was once a 14th century asylum where many unspeakable atrocities took place. For years, people talked of the place being haunted by some kind of evil force, capable of possessing its inhabitants. No one took the stories too seriously, that is, until now.
It was the harvest of 1950, and Grayton University's exclusive houses were gearing up for the much-awaited events of sorority pledging. Twelve girls were given the distinct honor of applying for membership here. Only 5 would be chosen, and to insure that the race wouldn't be too close, the upperclasswomen devised a series of daring challenges that would bring about the downfall of the weaker pledges within the weeklong trials. The challenges were called, Grayton's Gamut
At the same time, Yvonne Grayton was growing distant and was spending more and more time at home. Her husband's frequent and prolonged absences were to be targeted for blame in what appeared to be the progressive decline of his wife's otherwise polished and cheerful demeanor. She spent hours at a time in her husband's display room, talking to unseen people and returning conversation to unheard companions. Her graceful and proper etiquette was giving way to a highly charged sexual friskiness, the likes of which Stanley had never seen come so fluently from his somewhat prudish wife. Her disposition was becoming increasingly more unusual and even her treatment of the maids was quite bizarre. She was described by at least one of them to display wanton acts of sadistic mischief, dowsing lights and chasing them in the dark, or startling them and then threatening them with their jobs if they did not perform humiliating acts for her amusement. Their claim was that she was a woman possessed. With the exception of two part-time evening maids, all the others eventually resigned despite no visible prospects of alternative employment.
One dark, windy evening, during the final week of sorority initiations, a lovely young pledge was presented with the challenge that would insure her membership into Tu Kappa Lambda, Grayton's elite female aristocracy. What she had no way of knowing, was that her daring deed would soon introduce her to her worst fears, and some new ones that she never knew she had. For the eager pledge's task was to sneak into the Grayton mansion, undetected and retrieve the bedroom slippers of Mrs. Grayton from beneath her bed while she slept. The slippers had no intrinsic value, and the sorority girls weren't thieves. They just wanted something that would provide proof of her success, and epitomize the daring spirit that is so desired in TKL members. She was delivered to the rear of the mansion by three of her sisters, and coaxed into action.
The Sisters watched momentarily as the pledge sneaked into the house through a back window, and went about searching for the master bedroom. As soon as they were satisfied that she was well into the house, they began walking away. Suddenly the sisters heard a sound coming from within the house. It was the sound of people - women talking. It sounded like one woman was angry, perhaps scolding. The other sounds were much more subdued, almost submissive mewing of sorts, perhaps a heartfelt apology. The lead voice became sterner and more deliberate as the second voice became more urgent and quick paced. Fearing their newest pledge had just been discovered by Mrs. Grayton, the three girls made haste to distance themselves from the house, abandoning their charge for god-knows-what. As they turned the corner of the house, they heard the slightly distant vocal pitch slant upward sharply and then splinter into a tremendous shrill, followed by excruciating laughter. It was labored with the obvious weight of struggling pleas and panting, gasping cries. In an instant, the girls rushed off in escape of that house.
Several hours later, arriving unexpectedly early from his trip, Mr. Grayton entered quietly through a back door of his mansion. Upon entry, he heard screams of piteous laughter echoing from the chambers of his display room. The laughter he heard was not normal by any stretch of his experience, but rather was laden with the cackling, broken pitches of a woman gone insane. As he followed the screams down the narrow hallway, the laughter became clearer and louder. By this time, he was able to discern the sounds of tortured cries for mercy, amidst waves of gut wrenching laughter and shrieks of desperation. Whoever was attempting to plead was always drowned out by another bout of maniacal screeching laughter before their pitiful utterances could be completed. He moved quickly toward the din, fearing his wife may be in the hands of some psychotic fiend.
He rushed toward the oval brass doorknob that marked the entrance to his collection room, turned the knob and thrust his shoulder against the hardwood door. As the door swung open with a sweeping whoosh, Stanley Grayton nearly dropped to his knees at the sight that unfolded instantly before his horrified eyes. For there, before him, was a scene straight out of a medieval dungeon. Three women were helplessly restrained to apparatus that he had restored and collected. All three were scantily clad and bound in different positions.
The first woman who appeared to be catatonic, was draped like a human hammock, her wrists and ankles secured to the four corners of some rectangular frame that stood about eight feet off the floor. It resembled the framework to a large cube without sides, top, or bottom - just heavy wooden beams that outlined the frame. In the upper four corners were four, short chains that ended in padded leather cuffs, attached to the motionless woman's four limbs. Her head hung back, and her body sagged, suspended in such a way that her buttocks were merely inches from the floor. Between her toes were several short feathers.
Her face was turned toward the door, and frozen upon it was the expression of pure madness - a caricature of grinning fashioned in the most grotesque configuration. Her eyes remained wide open, as though a single moment of the pinnacle of her agony had been forever memorialized within them. Her mouth was wide and her lips were stretched in a pose of hollering, howling hell. Her limbs were taut and her ankles and wrists bruised from what Mr. Grayton could only deduce was her frighteningly passionate attempts at freedom. Her body quivered and spasmed in reflexive, intermittent jolts as a leg might react when the knee is struck with a physician's mallet.
The second woman was blindfolded, and strapped to an arch-rack, given its name because of the unnatural arch imposed upon the victim when placed upon it. The rack itself, arched in a convex bow with wooden slats that ran along it from front to back as though a railroad track had been bent in an upward semi-circle. The woman was strapped only at the wrists and ankles in a position that resembled a back bend, with her hands nearly touching the floor at one end and her toes touching the floor at the other. Her ribcage and hips were acutely thrust upward, allowing for the visible protrusion of each and every rib beneath her smooth, sweat-glistened skin. She was panting and moaning, as though she had just undergone some tremendous physical exertion. She twitched with chirping, yelping giggles as though she fearfully anticipated the unwelcome, but inevitable next touch of whatever it was that was no longer there.
In the middle of the other two women, sat the young brunette, strapped in a sturdy chair, once used to imprison victims for roasting. She appeared to be perhaps 20 or 21 years of age with an athletic build. She wore an oversized TKL sorority shirt, but was otherwise naked. She had leather restraints at her head, neck, upper arms, wrists, waist, lap, knees, and ankles. The chair was high enough that her feet would not touch the floor, thereby giving her no leverage by which to push her body upward. The chair resembled an electric chair in design, but had a large hole in the seat through which her ass gently protruded. Her body sagged slightly in the chair as though her ass were stuck in the hole. The Lap strap was tightly cinched high across her upper thighs making it impossible for her to lift her ass out of the hole.
The woman was screaming with wild, frenzied abandon. It was a mixture of frustrated agony and uncontrollable laughter - the kind that is so strong, it causes your body to erupt in seizing guffaws. She twisted and pulled, gripping the armrests with her fingers before fanning them outward in want for something to grab. Her feet, clad in Yvonne's slippers flapped up and down, causing the backs of the slippers to slap against the fleshy flat part of the girl's heels, then twisted circularly with curled toes. Her head bobbed up and down, pressed helplessly in place by the leather strap that stretched across her forehead. Each upward jolt would press the skin on her forehead and give her eyes a squeezed appearance.
The reason for such unyielding reaction was that seated behind the chair on a low stool, was Yvonne. She was using her unusually long nails to tickle the bare ass cheeks, anus, and backs of the upper thighs of her frenzied victim through the seat hole. She giggled softly in sadistic contrast to the almost painful howling laughter emitting from the tired vocal chords of her young captive. Yvonne's hands whisked with painstaking calculation, poking the very points of her abnormally sharpened talons into the soft, highly sensitive flesh of the girl's ass, and then dabbling them playfully along the crack of her ass toward the tailbone, tickling the electrified surface nerves for the most violent responses.
Yvonne would taunt the girl every so often.
"So, you like my slippers? They're yours. But don't drop them. All that toe wriggling is going to make you lose them, and you know what happens when you do that, don't you? Hmmmm? Tickle tickle tickle tickle." She cooed.
The girl was beyond hysterical. Her eyes were rotating in their orbits, focusing in on nothing. Yvonne was keeping herself out of visual range of the girl, taunting her repeatedly, and alternating between which ear she would whisper into. The girl scoured the area in front of her with her eyes, then rolled them back momentarily before she squinted them shut with great might. Tears spilled out of the corners of her swollen, reddened eyes. Her mouth contorted in maddened expressions that looked like facial exercises she was once taught in her drama classes. Her words were incomprehensive, broken pleas that were the result of her inability to concentrate on any one thought long enough to make sense.
"HHHAAAAIIIIEEEEEEE HA HA HA HA HA NO MO-HO HAHAHAHA BEEE PLEEEZEE I-I-I GAAWWWDDDD DOOONNN DOOOOOO HAHAHA HA HA HA HA HA HAAAAA!!!!!!"
Stanley stood dumbstruck at the sight. He could not believe what he was seeing, and yet time seemed to stand still for him. By all means he should have reacted already, but his legs wouldn't move. He was literally frightened into paralysis. His mouth would not move, and his fingertips became numb. All he could do was just look on with his mouth agape.
Yvonne looked over to notice him, momentarily stopping her insane tickling of the girl. A wickedly cruel smile slithered across her face as she noticed his expression. She turned her attention back to the girl, who was by now, pleading incessantly with what little breath she had in her short respite. At the foot of the chair, lay one empty slipper, inadvertently sprung from the girl's foot during one of her more violent eruptions. Yvonne merely tittered gleefully.
"Awwww. Poor little slipper thief. You wanted them soooo badly. I give them to you and you cast them to the floor? I think you deserve to be punished." Her mirthful giddiness bubbled over the top of her words.
"PLEEEZEE DON'T DO THIS ANYMORE. NO MORE TICKLING! NO MORE TICKLING! I'LL LEAVE! I'M SORRY! I'LL DO ANY-WHAT? WHA? GOD NO!! PLEASE DON'T TICKLE MY FEET! KEEP THE SLIPPERS! KEEEEE HEE HE HE HE HE HA HA HA HA HA HAAAIIIEEEEE HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!"
Yvonne kneeled at the feet of the shrieking, clawing girl, pulled the remaining slipper from her soft, twitching feet, and proceeded to rake her bare soles with the very tips of her fingernails, applying only enough pressure to maintain a steady, wracking volume of sobbing laughter. The girl tried desperately to look down, to capture even a glimpse of Yvonne's eyes in the hopes that she could translate her unbearable suffering through a pitiful look, but the strap kept her head steady and her eyes were forced to look ahead. The tickling continued until the girl lost consciousness in a wave of capitulating tremors.
Yvonne was institutionalized as a result of what was called a psychotic break. Almost from the moment she was removed from that house, she appeared to have no memory of the events, and acted and professed to be completely normal in every way. Her stay at the asylum would be no better. Many of the nurses that worked at the asylum had children that attended Grayton University, and they looked quite unfavorably at the likes of Yvonne for what she had done to one of its students.
Often, despite her repeated claims that she was possessed, the nurses tortured her in the same, insidious way she had tortured those women that night. She would be placed in 10 point bondage and tickled by several nurses for long periods while she shrieked and cried with helpless laughter. It seemed the nurses never grew tired of their little late-night games, inventing new and more sadistic ways of tickling poor Yvonne to madness. Unfortunately for Yvonne, she was more than hyper ticklish, and during one such game of straight jacket and gang tickle, she fatally passed away. Of course no one ever admitted the cause of death, but some people knew the truth.
Mr. Grayton, as a condition of his will, upon his own death had bequeathed the mansion to the college that he had so dearly loved. Since then, the mansion has sat unoccupied and lonely, a monument to a horror that has become as much a part of the surrounding town's heritage as the University itself.
To this day, people still claim to hear the desperate cries of laughter coming from the depths of the long abandoned mansion. Over the years, more than a few young sorority women have told tales of being abducted by unseen captors, and taken to the unholy house.
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…So, all of you who hear my voice tonight may wish to conspire with one another in disregard of the fears that well inside you when in its presence. However, be forewarned that what is real does not go away simply because you refuse to believe in it…"
Katherine Richards, President of Grayton University's elite sorority, Tu Kappa Lambda, eaves drops on the small gathering from the bushes. She notices the evenings keynote speaker is Agatha Buchner. Now, every college has its freaks, but Agatha is the queen of the freaks, and also the President of her rival sorority, or gang, the "Gothettes."
Although, TKL members have been prohibited from using Grayton mansion as a part of their Grayton Gamut, that has never stopped the Gothettes from commemorating the happenings there. But tonight will be different. Tonight will be the first time in 50 years that anyone from G.U. has actually returned to the house. Tonight, the Gothettes plan to bring Yvonne back
Agatha G. Buchner sways woefully as she continues her tale of horror, disseminating it to the group of girls who have gathered in memory of that fateful night, exactly 50 years ago. Her black, drooping blouse cascades awkwardly over her wiry frame, overlapping the waist band of what used to be pants, but are now simply ill-fashioned strips of tattered black cloth, covering black net stockings that descend to obscurity into the tops of dull black military boots. Her hair is a mass of black, shiny Medusa-esque strands all in seeming conflict with one another as to their position on her head. Her face, pale from so many applications of the lightest foundation, looks like a display head that belongs in the window of a piercing shop. Silver, titanium studs protrude from 5 different places on each ear, another one appears to have been thrust through her eyebrow, a small silver ring loops through the lower part of one nostril, and a silver chain connects it to one of the studs in her right ear. A ball-tipped pin juts out from behind her lower lip, equally distanced between the lip and her chin, and behind her black lipstick covered lips, lies another ball-tipped pin set through her tongue. Her eyes, mere slits, as though too sensitive even for the darkness, don black pastel eye shadow - a direct contrast to the paleness of her skin. As she speaks, she slips her long, black-lacquer-tipped fingers through her hair causing the multitude of silver bracelets on her wrist to jostle noisily like a small box of eating utensils.
Dull white candles adorn the right hand of every girl, their short fluttering flames gently consuming the shaft atop which they sit, sending droplets of liquid wax piggy-backing over one another on their descent to the flat, aluminum base.
The girls are near motionless in the dark, on the thick grass that lines the surface of nearly every square acre of the enormous college campus. Their location was ideal for this type of gathering. It was secluded, well off the beaten path normally covered by any of the campus security. No field lights, spotlights, or security lights break its darkness. However, perhaps best of all, was its proximity to the Grayton estate - the very subject of so many late-night spook stories, and no less the target of this night's ceremonies.
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A cold laggardly breeze descends from the starry skies, swishing hollowly over the peaked clay roof shingles of the Grayton Mansion, swooping through the darkened branches of oak trees that line the elongated and overrun garden path. It glides through the links of the 12-foot fence that separates the estate's borders from the college grounds. Targeting the small group of gathered women, it languishes momentarily about the shoulders and hair of each as if the very breeze were inhaling their sweet scent. The girls, ever mindful of their waning candles' light, shelter the ragged flames with an open palm as they listen intently to the story, line by captivating line.
The breeze suddenly shifts back in their faces with great thrust, the force of which extinguishes each and every candle, causing a small chorus of startled female gasps, as it zooms back hastily toward the dividing fence. As if by some predetermined signal, all twelve heads turn in unison toward the direction of the fleeing wind, their vision attempting to hone through the darkness, staring intently, until a looming shadow comes into view, the mansion's haunting silhouette that stands seemingly in wait for the wind's welcome return.
An inconspicuously small, but gratifying smile forms at the corners of the dark female figure's mouth. Her statuesque form stands alongside the house, obscured in the dark recesses of its shadows. Its shudders yawn and creak in embrace of the caressing wind. She stands as though planted firmly, staring through blaring green eyes. Her pupils narrow as she bows her head cautiously toward the flickering light, glancing up through her long, upper lashes at the dispersing group. Then quietly, pouting her lips, she blows out the unscathed flame, turns and disappears into the blackness behind the trees.
**************************************************************
Kathleen rushes back to her house to tell the other girls about Agatha's plan. They all conspire to ambush the girls, and have a little rival sorority fun with them before they report them to college security. As they sit around in the den discussing their plans, the front door bursts open and two TKL members enter, carrying a squirming, squealing body wrapped tightly in a sheet. The two girls are laughing and panting as they drag the kicking, cussing baggage into the den and deposit her on the floor at the feet of the TKL group. The only thing protruding from the sheet roll is a pair of feet clad in black fish net stockings and large, clunky square heeled black shoes.
"My my. What have we here? Kathleen smirks as she nears the quivering package." She looks up at the two TKL girls who brought her in.
"We caught this one sneaking around the back of our house with this!" One of the girls dumps the contents of a brown paper bag on the floor next to the rolled up girl. It is two cans of black spray paint. Kathleen smiles broadly, and sits back on the couch. The sisters all giggle mischievously.
"Now, I wonder what a little Goth bitch was doing at our house with black spray paint?" She prods the buttocks of the trapped girl with the toe of her loafers. She is rewarded with a slew of screaming profanity that lasts 2 full minutes. The girls all sit back and smile. Kathleen raises her hand to her chin for a moment and contemplates her next move.
"You know girls, its been a long time since we had a Goth girl snack." She exclaims excitedly. The girls erupt in laughter and excitement. "Prepare her then." Kathleen commands as she retires upstairs to get changed for the festivities.
In a few minutes she returns with her sisters who all congregate in the den. All the girls are dressed in scant silk nighties and slippers. If there is one thing that Gothettes hate, its this cutesy, ruffled girlie stuff. There are few things more humiliating than being bound helpless and ridiculed by the likes of these bitches.
Kathleen looks over at four girls standing by the kitchen door.
"Is our hero ready, girls?" She asks cutely.
"She put up quite a struggle, so we weren't able to get the trimmings on, but she's ready to be served." Exclaimed one of the girls, smiling broadly.
"Well that's okay, we can garnish her afterward. What are we waiting for? Bring her out here!"
The room dissolves in frantic giggles as the four girls go into the kitchen and re-emerge carrying the Goth girl on their shoulders. She has been strapped to a long, thin board with her hands pulled high over her head. She is fastened at the wrists, forehead, elbows, chest, waist, knees and ankles. She is still fully dressed. Kathleen smiles and rubs her hands together.
"She looks really yummy, but shes still all wrapped up. How are we going to enjoy her with all that, that stuff on her? Oh well girls, let's make her a little more appetizing, shall we?"
With that, five girls sit next to each other on the couch, and the Goth girl is placed across all of their laps. She is screaming and threatening them all. They just look down at her and giggle, then immediatley begin tugging and unzipping and unlacing. They pull off her shoes, tear open her stockings to reveal her soft bare feet. They use pinking sheers to cut her pant legs from cuff to crotch, leaving the material opened to expose her legs. They cut open her shirt down the middle from navel to just under her breats, and open the flaps of newly cut material. One of the girls grabs a fistful of material at the armpit, and cuts a large hole in each one, exposing the smooth skin of her armpits.
Five more girls each grab folding chairs and sit opposite the five girls on the couch, with the Goth girl firmly bound and helpless between them all. As though a moment of complete terror had overtaken the Gothette, she began to plead.
"No! don't! Not that!" She looks pleadingly over at Kathleen. "I'll do anything, just don't say it! Don't say it! I'm begging you!"
Kathleen snickers and moves closer to the girl. You had your chance. You were going to deface our house. No, little dark one, I think you have this coming.
The girl begins to struggle frantically for freedom. "Don't say it! Don't say it! Please!"
The 10 women left their hands up in the air wiggling their fingers over the trapped and exposed Goth girl. Kathleen's smile suddenly turns stone cold serious. She looks one more time into the eyes of the Goth girl who is still pleading for mercy. "Oh god! I'm begging you. Please don't say it!"
With a ceremonious wave of her hand, Kathleen exclaims. "DIG IN GIRLS!"
In what can only be described as the human equivalent of a super nova, the Gothette literally explodes with mindless cackling as all ten girls dig their fingers into her exposed flesh at every possible entry point. Two are down at her feet, tickling her heels and the balls of her feet, as they flex spasmodically. Two more are caressing her calves with the tips of their nails, as two are kneading her thigh muscles, just above the knees, and two girls are vibrating the pads of their fingers into the soft tissue between her lower and upper ribcage. Lastly, the remaining two girls are tickling her from her armpits to her neck and ears. The room is alive with the sounds of screaming laughter, interwoven with the taunting melodious chants of so many girls reciting tickly sounds.
"STA HA HA H AHAAAAAPPPP! NO UGHHHA HA HA HA HA HA HA HAAAA HAH HAH HAH HAHAAAA NNGGGGHHHH OOOOOHHOHOHOHOHOHOHO HAHA HA HAAAA!"
Fingers wiggled everywhere for what seemed like an eternity. The Gothette looked up through the endless tears pouring from her eyes to see the blurry images of sadistic, feminine faces smiling down at her. Not one of them had an ounce of compassion. Not one of them, seeing her obvious tormented reaction to a particular technique would stave herself off for even a moment. Instead, they all showed an increased excitement at the hell they were putting her through. When they were finished gang-tickling her, they placed a deck of cards on her bare belly and each senior girl drew from the deck. The winner would have her bound to her bed for exclusive tickling rights for the rest of the night. When the winning card was drawn, the Goth girl was again gang tickled to exhaustion so she would be easier to untie and transport upstairs to the rooms. As the pleading, sobbing girl was dragged upstairs, the gloating winners were congratulated with pats on the back and cries of "lucky stiff."
*****************************************************
There was no time to spare. Kathleen and a select few of the upperclasswomen of TKL were determined to put a stop to this little party that Agatha had planned over at Grayton Mansion. Six TKL members, including Kathleen, equipped with yards of rope, leather cuffs, gags, and other assorted bondage equipment, set out to pre-empt the Gothettes with a little surprise of their own.
They entered the estate through the back part of the campus, where it is darkest and less likely to be spotted by campus security. They sneaked around the back of the house in an effort to enter through a window. What they didn't expect was that Agatha and her girls were already there, and already inside.
Kathleen and her girls entered the house and went on patrol in search of the Gothettes. They could already hear the chanting and the bustling of the girls coming from down the dark corridors, although they could not exactly identify the way. In a short time, the girls had become lost, and though the sounds of giggling, raucous could be heard coming from all directions, the TKL girls could not find their way to the source of the noise, nor could they find their way out. Perhaps unwisely so, they decided to split up and go their separate ways in search for the exit.
The girls wandered aimlessly for nearly 30 minutes. Individually, they were all becoming very frightened by this time, and were now more concerned with getting out of there than they were with finding the Gothettes. Besides, there was no sound coming from the Goth girls in over 20 minutes.
Amy, TKL's Vice President had wandered down a hallway until she came to a dead end. She turned to go back from where she had come, but another wall was right in front of her, and now she could not go left, or right. She crouched down on her knees to see if there was a way to lift the wall from underneath. She couldn't see anything, but when she attempted to stand, she found she could not. The ceiling was now a mere 3 feet from the floor, and it was moving! The ceiling came down upon her slowly, inches at a time. She tried to gain more room, but she could not. She quickly lay on her back in an attempt to lift her legs to brace herself, but as soon as she lay down, the ceiling dropped to only inches above her, and she found she didn't have even enough room to turn over onto her stomach. No sooner had panic set in, than suddenly, a large slot opened at one end, and several hands reached in and grabbed her ankles. Amy screamed and tried to kick but she simply couldn't. She was pulled half way through, when the slot came down, this time, trapping her halfway in and halfway out. Amy was screaming for help, and then felt the hands unlacing her sneakers, and peeling off her socks. The hands suddenly began tickling her everywhere from her upper thighs to her feet. Amy laughed with absolute hysteria, begging for a mercy that simply wouldn't come.
Janet Heard Amy's screams and ran toward the sounds. Her rescue attempt would be cut terribly short, as the floor gave way, sending Janet plummeting down a metal chute. Janet slammed her palms against the sides of the slick, narrow tunnel as she fell. She came to an abrupt halt when the chute narrowed. She pulled her arms up to her chest, but the slim width of the tunnel because too narrow, and Janet found her arms were stuck up at her chest. She started yelling for help, when suddenly she heard someone doing something to the chute. A minute later, she was pulled from her position, still inside the chute. The section of tunnel that imprisoned Janet was lied on the floor. A small door opened at her waist. Janet could not see anything, but felt someone tugging her shirt out of her pants, and lifting it away from her tummy. Before Janet could even plead, she felt fingers tickling her hips and tummy. She struggled to lower her arms, but the tickling would not subside, and her frustration grew to alarming rates, and she sobbed loudly with laughter.
Dawn, a cute redhead who stood about 5 ft. tall in her stocking feet. Was running in any direction just to try to get away from whatever she was hearing coming after her. She ran toward a door at the end of a hallway. She opened the door, and found she was in a large, padded room. Moments later, another door on the far side of the room opened up and two large, muscular men walked in. They grabbed Dawn and pinned her down and began tickling her hips where she is the worlds most ticklish girl.
Paula was next on the list, and unseen ticklers who kept telling her that when they caught her they were going to tickle her to death chased her. She ran blindly in every direction, begging for them not to tickle her, but it was too late. Her screams would soon join the ranks of her friends as laughter of the damned.
Gina, a rather tall, full-bodied brunette with a rather busty frame, was captain of the volleyball team. She was a hard body who was quick, strong, and had a great deal of stamina. She moved step by step down a dark hallway, trying to rationalize the sounds of her girlfriends screaming. Suddenly, Gina found she was getting very dizzy, and suddenly could no longer support her own weight. She dropped to her knees and passed out. When she awoke, she found she in a large, oak-floored room, and was tied on the arch rack. She had been stripped to her underwear and bra, and was bent backwards over the sturdy, unyielding furniture. She could feel the wooden slats in the small of her back, prompting the accented curve of her spine. Her toes dangled about an inch from the floor. Although, unlike the story she had so often heard about, she was not just tied at the wrists and ankles, but rather, she was also strapped at the thighs and elbows.
The door on the other side of the room opened, and in walked a dark figure. As the figure approached, the sturdy sounds of hard heels filled the room. The figure quickly came into view even though she appeared to be upside down to Gina, given her current position.
"Agatha! Screamed Gina. You fucking bitch! Let me off of this thing right now."
Agatha looked on with amusement. "Now why would I want to do that?"
She approached the helplessly arched Gina, and stood alongside her side.
"You know, that's a pretty rack of ribs you got there."
Gina stopped her onslaught of threats right then and there, and, realizing her predicament began to try and talk herself out of her situation, but nothing she said would do any good. Agatha walked alongside the bowed woman, running her fingers over her tummy and ribs as she did.
"Yes, I think I'm going to have fun with you." She sneered. Her blackened eyes and lips gave way to the whiteness of her eyes and teeth.
Without warning, Agatha kneeled down beside Gina, placed all of her fingers on both hands on either side of Ginas ribcage, and began tickling with earnest. As strong as she was, Gina's body could do nothing more than vibrate in place as her mouth shot open in abject ticklish horror. She screamed and laughed, unable to get out even the smallest plea for mercy, not that she would have received it anyway. Agatha tickled and tickled that girl without the slightest consideration for her suffering. Her fingers moved with dexterity and purpose, squeezing the very breath from Gina's lungs.
"AAAAA H A HA HA HA HA HA HA HA AAAAIAIIIIEEEE NO NO NO NO!! TAAYYKKKKET AWAYYYEEEE. STA HA HA HAAAPP! STOOPPP!! HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!"
Poor Gina was going mad. For someone as rib-ticklish as Gina, this position was worse than any nightmare she ever had. The fingers moved about her torso, tweaking and scraping the tender flesh, concentrating on the places that made Gina cry with laughter. Her toes pointed in search of the floor, for what purpose only she could know. Agatha abandoned her rib tickling and moved closer to the head of the rack, where Gina promised anything if the tickling would only stop. But Agatha was not finished with her just yet. With the sadistic pleasure of some medieval inquisitor, she placed her nails on the creases of Gina's elbows and began tickling her from her elbows, down, the backs of her upper arms to her armpits, and back. The journey was agonizingly slow both coming and going. Agatha repeated it over and over and over again, until Gina was so hoarse from screaming and laughing, that she was in threat of passing out.
Agatha stopped just short of a saving unconsciousness for Gina. As Gina panted and gasped with tickled exhaustion, she noticed she was staring at the back of a tall chair. Agatha walked over to the chair and spun it around so Gina could see well. There, sitting stuck in the chair was Kathleen. Her bare ass was stuck in the hole in the middle of the seat, and her body was covered with restraining straps. Kathleen had a large ball gag in her mouth, which Agatha promptly removed.
"Agatha! What the hell are you doing. Do you have any idea how much trouble you are going to be in if you don't let me out of this thing right now?" Her voice was strong and demanding.
Agatha reached for a small stool, and placed it behind the chair to which Kathleen was bound. As she sat down, facing the back of the chair. A wind began to blow outside. The shutters rattled against the house, and gas lamps that hadn't been used in over 100 years, flickered and then puffed into flames.
Kathleen was determined not to give in to this tricky girl. She moved her head as much as her headstrap would allow, addressing Agatha behind her.
"Who the hell do you think you are, Agatha?" She insisted.
Agatha moved her lips close to the ear of her captive and replied with a sickening smile on her face.
"Please. Call me Yvonne!"
The End
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