Chapter Two: Maid’s Day Off
By a coincidence that was perhaps not too surprising given the nature of the regime that now ruled over Unknown University, Janice Adams wasn’t the only one facing the terrors of terminal tickling torment that afternoon.
“What do you think you’re DOING?!” Sandy Vernon cried. “Let me GO, you BITCH!”
Dagmar Frost chuckled and shook her head. “That’s a pretty snotty attitude on your part, young lady. Considering your position, I mean.”
“Dean Stanley will FIX you!” Sandy yelled. “Just you WAIT!”
Dagmar sighed and smiled. “Sandy, Sandy, Sandy!” she scolded. “The boss is out of town, remember? She won’t be back for a week. Which leaves us PLENTY of time for fun and games. . .”
Dressed in her short-skirted maid’s uniform, Dagmar gazed down at her prisoner. Sandy was naked on her back, stretched out on a padded table. Her ankles were strapped together at one end; her wrists at the other. The svelte servant drank in the sight of Sandy’s corn-colored hair, beautiful face, perfectly shaped breasts, trim waist, taut belly, long legs and exquisitely formed feet with pink-painted toenails. It was like having a multi-course gourmet dinner laid out for one’s enjoyment.
For Dagmar, such precious moments had been few and far between following her humiliating fall from power. Since then she had labored as a menial domestic in Margaret Stanley’s employ, forced to wear this ridiculous maid’s uniform (which did show off her trim legs and figure to excellent advantage) and suffer the indignities of serving at the beck and call of a woman she once thought she’d ruined.
What made it worse for Dagmar was her obsessive attraction to Margaret Stanley. The buxom brunette starred in her late-night masturbation fantasies, haunted her dreams, and distracted her days. Deep in her heart, the svelte servant craved the position enjoyed by those fortunate few who formed Margaret’s inner circle—such as Janice Adams, her treacherous former secretary, now Margaret Stanley’s confidential assistant.
Gradually, however, as the shock of her downfall wore off, the old cunning that had once taken Dagmar to the heights of power reasserted itself. The svelte servant began plotting ways and means of improving her situation. To depose Margaret was, of course, unthinkable. But it might be possible to eliminate the competition. And as a tasty little bonus, Dagmar would savor the delicious pleasures of revenge. . .
Thoughts of revenge were never very far from Dagmar’s mind. She dreamed of having Janice Adams at her mercy in payment for the sexy secretary’s treason. She teased herself with daydreams of payback for all the slights and insults she’s received from tarts and strumpets like Sandy Vernon. And now, it was time to take the first step along the road of revenge.
Sandy Vernon was about to be chased out of Margaret Stanley’s inner circle.
As the buxom brunette’s housemaid, Dagmar was well placed to keep tabs on the activities of the favored inner circle. The svelte servant watched, listened and waited. And finally her patience was rewarded with a hint that Sandy Vernon was seeing someone on the side.
Though Margaret looked indulgently upon dalliances between and among her intimates, even encouraging them in some cases, she had an ironclad rule against unsanctioned relationships with outsiders. The security of her position depended upon discipline and secrecy. It simply would not do for some in the know—someone like Sandy Vernon, for instance—to take up with unauthorized persons. For who knew what words might be let slip in the throes of ticklish passion?
Thus for Dagmar to encompass Sandy’s ruin, it would only be necessary to learn the particulars of the long-legged vixen’s illicit affair. And how better to obtain that information than from the luscious lips of the two-timing tramp herself? It was an ironic fact that the svelte servant was genuinely indignant on Margaret’s behalf. She considered it positively outrageous that anyone would cheat on the buxom brunette.
Her plan perfected, it was only necessary for Dagmar to lure the long-legged vixen into the trap she’d prepared. A trip to the basement on some pretext, followed by the quick administration of a knockout drug, took care of that detail. And Margaret Stanley’s basement was admirably equipped for the interrogation that Dagmar had in mind. . .
And now, where to begin? The svelte servant’s eyes kept straying to Sandy’s bare, wiggling feet. Dagmar stepped to the end of the table and perched herself on a stool. Her face was now level with the long-legged vixen’s tender soles.
“What are you going to DO?!” Sandy shrilled. She thrashed and bucked in a futile attempt to slip her bonds. “Wait! WAIT! Just tell me what you WANT!”
“In good time, young lady, all in good time,” Dagmar whispered. With one hand, she grabbed the big toe of Sandy’s left foot and bent it back. With the other, she began stroking the long-legged vixen’s delightfully silken sole. . .
“EEEEEEYAAAAAA-HAA-HAAAAH-HAA-HAA-HAA!!!” Sandy screamed. Her naked body writhed and twisted on the table in response to the intense ticklish sensations that shot up her leg. “AAH-HAA-HAA-HAA-AAH-HAA-HAA-HAA!!!”
“You have SUCH pretty feet,” Dagmar observed as she trailed her nails up and down Sandy’s sole. “Why, I could just tickle them all NIGHT. . .”
“HIIIIEEEE-HEE-EEE-HEE-EEE-HEE-HEE-HEE-HEE!!!” Sandy howled. “EEE-HEE-HEE-HEE-EEE-HEE-HEE-HEE!!!”
“Don’t you LOVE the way I pamper your feet?”
BWAAAAAA-HAA-HAA-HAA!!! AAH-HAA-HAA-AAH-HAA-HAA-HAA!!! HAA-HAA-AAH-HAA-AAH-HAA-HAA-HAA!!!”
The hysterical hilarity continued for many minutes. Dagmar switched back and forth between Sandy’s feet, subjecting heels, soles and arches to merciless tickling. The long-legged vixen laughed, and laughed, and LAUGHED until her face was bright pink and her bare body was damp with a cold, delicate sweat.
As Dagmar tormented her helpless victim, she found herself more and more fascinated by the sight of Sandy’s wiggling feet and twitching toes. She sighed as the thought of licking those sweet, defenseless soles and sucking those cute toes stole over her mind. Her nipples extended themselves and a naughty, joyous thrill pulsed low in her belly.
Sandy gasped, then sobbed with relief, when the foot tickling suddenly ceased. She lay on the table, gasping for breath, unable to see what Dagmar was up to. In fact, the svelte servant was climbing hastily out of her maid’s uniform. In moments, she had stripped down to her scanty black panties, garter belt, stockings and high heels. Kicking the clothes and stool out of the way, she knelt at Sandy’s feet.
“Oh no! PLEASE no!” the long-legged vixen cried. “I couldn’t STAND any more.”
Dagmar didn’t bother to reply. Instead, she leaned forward on her knees and took Sandy’s left big toe into her mouth.
“Oh!!!” Sandy moaned. “Oh God it TICKLES!!! Oh PLEASE!!!”
But what it was, exactly, that the long-legged vixen wanted was far from clear. Instead of laughing, she moaned. Instead of writhing in ticklish torment, she struggled to spread her legs. The sensations that now coursed through her body were still excruciating, but now they made her nipples stiffen and kindled an urgent, lustful sensation in her loins.
Dagmar spent a good ten minutes sucking Sandy’s toes. Then she parted them to explore with her tongue the tender spaces in between.
“AAAAH-AAAAH!!!” Sandy moaned as jolts of ticklish pleasure shot up her long legs. AAAAH YESSSS!!!”
“Want me to STOP?” Dagmar inquired in a rather breathless voice.
“Oh YES!” the long-legged vixen cried. “Oh NO! Oh PLEASE!!!”
The svelte servant took that as a heartfelt request to continue, but after another ten minutes of kissing and licking she felt that it was time to move on. Sandy was enjoying this too much—and that was not exactly the object of the exercise. Not without regret, Dagmar stood and stepped to the side of the table. She looked down at her prisoner. Sandy was flushed; her breathing was shallow and rapid. She was still trying to get her legs apart.
Dagmar smiled.
“It’s time we had a talk,” she said, placing a hand on Sandy’s heaving breast. The long-leg vixen gasped and shivered in response to this intimate touch. “I would like to know, young lady, who you’ve been seeing.”
Sandy’s eyes widened with genuine terror. “What do you mean?” she faltered. “No one.”
“Come, come,” Dagmar chided. She tweaked Sandy’s rigid nipple. “We both know that you’ve been fooling around on Dean Stanley. The only question is with whom? Someone unauthorized, I daresay.”
“Oh PLEASE!” Sandy sobbed. “She’d be FURIOUS if she found out!”
“Yes, I’ve no doubt that she would.” The svelte servant chuckled. “And as we know, Margaret Stanley has ways and means of punishing those who betray her.”
“Ohmygod PLEASE promise me that you won’t tell!”
“Now why should I promise ANYTHING to a cheating little TART like you?” Dagmar shook her head. “No, Sandy, here’s how it’s going to be. You tell ME who your girlfriend is, and I won’t tell Dean Stanley about this. As long as you’re a good girl, that is.”
“Oh, but I CAN’T!”
“Can’t you? Goodness gracious, but what might I do to change your MIND?” And Dagmar’s hand moved from Sandy’s breast to her tender, smoothly shaven armpit!
“GAAAAHAAAA-AAH-HAA-HAA-HAA!!!” the long-legged vixen screeched. “AAH-HAA-AAH-HAA-AAH-HAA-HAA-HAA!!!”
“Let’s see if we can’t discover your MOST ticklish spot,” Dagmar whispered. “Is it HERE?” she asked, stroking Sandy’s hollows with her keen nails.
“HIIIEEEE-HEE-HEE-EEE-HEE-HEE-HEE!!!” Sandy shrieked. “HEE-HEE-HEE-EEE-HEE-HEE-HEE-EEE-HEE!!!”
“Or is it HERE?” Dagmar suggested, shifting her tickling fingers to Sandy’s exposed ribs.
“OOOOH-HO!!! OOOOH-HO!!! OOOOH-HO-HO-OOOOH-HO-HO-HO!!!”
“Poor Sandy! She is SO ticklish!”
“YAAAAAAAA-HAA-HAA-AAH-HAA-AAH-HAA-HAA-HAA-HAA!!!”
That’s right,slut—LAUGH for me!!”
“EEE-HEE-HEE-HEE-EEE-HEE-HEE-HEE!!!”
“So are you ready to TELL?” the svelte servant asked, transferring her ticklish attentions to Sandy’s convulsing belly. “I just might stop TICKLING you if you tell me what I want to know!”
The long-legged vixen wiggled frantically as Dagmar probed her belly button with a well-honed fingernail. Her sides ached from nonstop laughter. Her corn-colored hair, damp with sweat, was plastered around her pink, contorted face. Sandy was horribly conscious of the fact that moment by moment, tickle by tickle, her resistance was crumbling. She knew that soon, she would break down and spill her guts to the demanding Dagmar.
That moment arrived when the svelte servant’s hand strayed lower to explore the sensitive skin just above the curly thatch between Sandy’s thighs. Laughing and weeping, she wiggled her hips and tried once more in vain to spread her legs.
“Aha!” Dagmar exclaimed. “I think we found the spot!” Gently, with a single finger, she began to explore among the crisp curls that peeked from between Sandy’s pressed-together thighs. “THIS is where you want to be tickled, isn’t it?”
“Oh YES!” the long-legged vixen cried. “Oh PLEASE!”
“So are you ready to tell me what I want to know?” Dagmar asked.
Sandy’s hips gyrated under the svelte servant’s teasing caress. She clamped her mouth shut in one final, futile effort to keep herself from blurting out her shameful secret.
“Maybe I should go back to tickling your ARMPITS,” Dagmar threatened.
That did it for Sandy. The prospect of further tickle torture was just too much for her. “All RIGHT!” she squealed. “I’ll TELL! I’ll tell you EVERYTHING!”
“That’s a good girl,” Dagmar cooed. She bent down. “Just whisper the name into my ear. Then we’ll see about your reward. . .”
By a coincidence that was perhaps not too surprising given the nature of the regime that now ruled over Unknown University, Janice Adams wasn’t the only one facing the terrors of terminal tickling torment that afternoon.
“What do you think you’re DOING?!” Sandy Vernon cried. “Let me GO, you BITCH!”
Dagmar Frost chuckled and shook her head. “That’s a pretty snotty attitude on your part, young lady. Considering your position, I mean.”
“Dean Stanley will FIX you!” Sandy yelled. “Just you WAIT!”
Dagmar sighed and smiled. “Sandy, Sandy, Sandy!” she scolded. “The boss is out of town, remember? She won’t be back for a week. Which leaves us PLENTY of time for fun and games. . .”
Dressed in her short-skirted maid’s uniform, Dagmar gazed down at her prisoner. Sandy was naked on her back, stretched out on a padded table. Her ankles were strapped together at one end; her wrists at the other. The svelte servant drank in the sight of Sandy’s corn-colored hair, beautiful face, perfectly shaped breasts, trim waist, taut belly, long legs and exquisitely formed feet with pink-painted toenails. It was like having a multi-course gourmet dinner laid out for one’s enjoyment.
For Dagmar, such precious moments had been few and far between following her humiliating fall from power. Since then she had labored as a menial domestic in Margaret Stanley’s employ, forced to wear this ridiculous maid’s uniform (which did show off her trim legs and figure to excellent advantage) and suffer the indignities of serving at the beck and call of a woman she once thought she’d ruined.
What made it worse for Dagmar was her obsessive attraction to Margaret Stanley. The buxom brunette starred in her late-night masturbation fantasies, haunted her dreams, and distracted her days. Deep in her heart, the svelte servant craved the position enjoyed by those fortunate few who formed Margaret’s inner circle—such as Janice Adams, her treacherous former secretary, now Margaret Stanley’s confidential assistant.
Gradually, however, as the shock of her downfall wore off, the old cunning that had once taken Dagmar to the heights of power reasserted itself. The svelte servant began plotting ways and means of improving her situation. To depose Margaret was, of course, unthinkable. But it might be possible to eliminate the competition. And as a tasty little bonus, Dagmar would savor the delicious pleasures of revenge. . .
Thoughts of revenge were never very far from Dagmar’s mind. She dreamed of having Janice Adams at her mercy in payment for the sexy secretary’s treason. She teased herself with daydreams of payback for all the slights and insults she’s received from tarts and strumpets like Sandy Vernon. And now, it was time to take the first step along the road of revenge.
Sandy Vernon was about to be chased out of Margaret Stanley’s inner circle.
As the buxom brunette’s housemaid, Dagmar was well placed to keep tabs on the activities of the favored inner circle. The svelte servant watched, listened and waited. And finally her patience was rewarded with a hint that Sandy Vernon was seeing someone on the side.
Though Margaret looked indulgently upon dalliances between and among her intimates, even encouraging them in some cases, she had an ironclad rule against unsanctioned relationships with outsiders. The security of her position depended upon discipline and secrecy. It simply would not do for some in the know—someone like Sandy Vernon, for instance—to take up with unauthorized persons. For who knew what words might be let slip in the throes of ticklish passion?
Thus for Dagmar to encompass Sandy’s ruin, it would only be necessary to learn the particulars of the long-legged vixen’s illicit affair. And how better to obtain that information than from the luscious lips of the two-timing tramp herself? It was an ironic fact that the svelte servant was genuinely indignant on Margaret’s behalf. She considered it positively outrageous that anyone would cheat on the buxom brunette.
Her plan perfected, it was only necessary for Dagmar to lure the long-legged vixen into the trap she’d prepared. A trip to the basement on some pretext, followed by the quick administration of a knockout drug, took care of that detail. And Margaret Stanley’s basement was admirably equipped for the interrogation that Dagmar had in mind. . .
And now, where to begin? The svelte servant’s eyes kept straying to Sandy’s bare, wiggling feet. Dagmar stepped to the end of the table and perched herself on a stool. Her face was now level with the long-legged vixen’s tender soles.
“What are you going to DO?!” Sandy shrilled. She thrashed and bucked in a futile attempt to slip her bonds. “Wait! WAIT! Just tell me what you WANT!”
“In good time, young lady, all in good time,” Dagmar whispered. With one hand, she grabbed the big toe of Sandy’s left foot and bent it back. With the other, she began stroking the long-legged vixen’s delightfully silken sole. . .
“EEEEEEYAAAAAA-HAA-HAAAAH-HAA-HAA-HAA!!!” Sandy screamed. Her naked body writhed and twisted on the table in response to the intense ticklish sensations that shot up her leg. “AAH-HAA-HAA-HAA-AAH-HAA-HAA-HAA!!!”
“You have SUCH pretty feet,” Dagmar observed as she trailed her nails up and down Sandy’s sole. “Why, I could just tickle them all NIGHT. . .”
“HIIIIEEEE-HEE-EEE-HEE-EEE-HEE-HEE-HEE-HEE!!!” Sandy howled. “EEE-HEE-HEE-HEE-EEE-HEE-HEE-HEE!!!”
“Don’t you LOVE the way I pamper your feet?”
BWAAAAAA-HAA-HAA-HAA!!! AAH-HAA-HAA-AAH-HAA-HAA-HAA!!! HAA-HAA-AAH-HAA-AAH-HAA-HAA-HAA!!!”
The hysterical hilarity continued for many minutes. Dagmar switched back and forth between Sandy’s feet, subjecting heels, soles and arches to merciless tickling. The long-legged vixen laughed, and laughed, and LAUGHED until her face was bright pink and her bare body was damp with a cold, delicate sweat.
As Dagmar tormented her helpless victim, she found herself more and more fascinated by the sight of Sandy’s wiggling feet and twitching toes. She sighed as the thought of licking those sweet, defenseless soles and sucking those cute toes stole over her mind. Her nipples extended themselves and a naughty, joyous thrill pulsed low in her belly.
Sandy gasped, then sobbed with relief, when the foot tickling suddenly ceased. She lay on the table, gasping for breath, unable to see what Dagmar was up to. In fact, the svelte servant was climbing hastily out of her maid’s uniform. In moments, she had stripped down to her scanty black panties, garter belt, stockings and high heels. Kicking the clothes and stool out of the way, she knelt at Sandy’s feet.
“Oh no! PLEASE no!” the long-legged vixen cried. “I couldn’t STAND any more.”
Dagmar didn’t bother to reply. Instead, she leaned forward on her knees and took Sandy’s left big toe into her mouth.
“Oh!!!” Sandy moaned. “Oh God it TICKLES!!! Oh PLEASE!!!”
But what it was, exactly, that the long-legged vixen wanted was far from clear. Instead of laughing, she moaned. Instead of writhing in ticklish torment, she struggled to spread her legs. The sensations that now coursed through her body were still excruciating, but now they made her nipples stiffen and kindled an urgent, lustful sensation in her loins.
Dagmar spent a good ten minutes sucking Sandy’s toes. Then she parted them to explore with her tongue the tender spaces in between.
“AAAAH-AAAAH!!!” Sandy moaned as jolts of ticklish pleasure shot up her long legs. AAAAH YESSSS!!!”
“Want me to STOP?” Dagmar inquired in a rather breathless voice.
“Oh YES!” the long-legged vixen cried. “Oh NO! Oh PLEASE!!!”
The svelte servant took that as a heartfelt request to continue, but after another ten minutes of kissing and licking she felt that it was time to move on. Sandy was enjoying this too much—and that was not exactly the object of the exercise. Not without regret, Dagmar stood and stepped to the side of the table. She looked down at her prisoner. Sandy was flushed; her breathing was shallow and rapid. She was still trying to get her legs apart.
Dagmar smiled.
“It’s time we had a talk,” she said, placing a hand on Sandy’s heaving breast. The long-leg vixen gasped and shivered in response to this intimate touch. “I would like to know, young lady, who you’ve been seeing.”
Sandy’s eyes widened with genuine terror. “What do you mean?” she faltered. “No one.”
“Come, come,” Dagmar chided. She tweaked Sandy’s rigid nipple. “We both know that you’ve been fooling around on Dean Stanley. The only question is with whom? Someone unauthorized, I daresay.”
“Oh PLEASE!” Sandy sobbed. “She’d be FURIOUS if she found out!”
“Yes, I’ve no doubt that she would.” The svelte servant chuckled. “And as we know, Margaret Stanley has ways and means of punishing those who betray her.”
“Ohmygod PLEASE promise me that you won’t tell!”
“Now why should I promise ANYTHING to a cheating little TART like you?” Dagmar shook her head. “No, Sandy, here’s how it’s going to be. You tell ME who your girlfriend is, and I won’t tell Dean Stanley about this. As long as you’re a good girl, that is.”
“Oh, but I CAN’T!”
“Can’t you? Goodness gracious, but what might I do to change your MIND?” And Dagmar’s hand moved from Sandy’s breast to her tender, smoothly shaven armpit!
“GAAAAHAAAA-AAH-HAA-HAA-HAA!!!” the long-legged vixen screeched. “AAH-HAA-AAH-HAA-AAH-HAA-HAA-HAA!!!”
“Let’s see if we can’t discover your MOST ticklish spot,” Dagmar whispered. “Is it HERE?” she asked, stroking Sandy’s hollows with her keen nails.
“HIIIEEEE-HEE-HEE-EEE-HEE-HEE-HEE!!!” Sandy shrieked. “HEE-HEE-HEE-EEE-HEE-HEE-HEE-EEE-HEE!!!”
“Or is it HERE?” Dagmar suggested, shifting her tickling fingers to Sandy’s exposed ribs.
“OOOOH-HO!!! OOOOH-HO!!! OOOOH-HO-HO-OOOOH-HO-HO-HO!!!”
“Poor Sandy! She is SO ticklish!”
“YAAAAAAAA-HAA-HAA-AAH-HAA-AAH-HAA-HAA-HAA-HAA!!!”
That’s right,slut—LAUGH for me!!”
“EEE-HEE-HEE-HEE-EEE-HEE-HEE-HEE!!!”
“So are you ready to TELL?” the svelte servant asked, transferring her ticklish attentions to Sandy’s convulsing belly. “I just might stop TICKLING you if you tell me what I want to know!”
The long-legged vixen wiggled frantically as Dagmar probed her belly button with a well-honed fingernail. Her sides ached from nonstop laughter. Her corn-colored hair, damp with sweat, was plastered around her pink, contorted face. Sandy was horribly conscious of the fact that moment by moment, tickle by tickle, her resistance was crumbling. She knew that soon, she would break down and spill her guts to the demanding Dagmar.
That moment arrived when the svelte servant’s hand strayed lower to explore the sensitive skin just above the curly thatch between Sandy’s thighs. Laughing and weeping, she wiggled her hips and tried once more in vain to spread her legs.
“Aha!” Dagmar exclaimed. “I think we found the spot!” Gently, with a single finger, she began to explore among the crisp curls that peeked from between Sandy’s pressed-together thighs. “THIS is where you want to be tickled, isn’t it?”
“Oh YES!” the long-legged vixen cried. “Oh PLEASE!”
“So are you ready to tell me what I want to know?” Dagmar asked.
Sandy’s hips gyrated under the svelte servant’s teasing caress. She clamped her mouth shut in one final, futile effort to keep herself from blurting out her shameful secret.
“Maybe I should go back to tickling your ARMPITS,” Dagmar threatened.
That did it for Sandy. The prospect of further tickle torture was just too much for her. “All RIGHT!” she squealed. “I’ll TELL! I’ll tell you EVERYTHING!”
“That’s a good girl,” Dagmar cooed. She bent down. “Just whisper the name into my ear. Then we’ll see about your reward. . .”
