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I Dream Of Jeannie: The Chair of Torture

Xodlirv

4th Level Green Feather
Joined
Apr 19, 2001
Messages
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I DREAM OF JEANNIE in THE CHAIR OF TORTURE
by XODLIRV

<img src=http://members.aol.com/dale4767/I-1.jpg>


“I can do it, Mother,” the dark-haired girl said, a sly look on her face. To all outward appearances, she seemed a very attractive young woman of about twenty-five years of age, with raven-black hair and catlike almond-shaped eyes. The only thing about her a casual observer might mark down as odd was her attire, an Arabian harem-girl outfit in shades of blue and green. But this was no ordinary woman, not by a long stretch. This girl was a genie; her name, of course, was Jeannie.
“Can you?” her mother asked, as they sat on cushions on the floor of the sumptuous parlor, sipping strong Persian tea from tiny silver cups. Jeannie’s mother, whose name was also Jeannie, looked very much like her daughter, except that her hair was gray and she had taken to wearing bifocal glasses. These were an affectation rather than a necessity, as a genie’s eyesight was, of course, flawless.
“I can,” the younger Jeannie said, grinning over her teacup. “Give me your permission, and I can make my errant sister renounce her master forever!”
The mother sighed. Her other daughter, a genie of golden blonde hair, had recently been freed from her long imprisonment by a new master, a young major in something called the “Air Force”, whatever that was. This alone would not have worried the mother, for masters grew old and died, and genies remained young forever. But her younger daughter had fallen in love with her new master, and that was something that troubled her greatly. If she were to marry this master, she would renounce her heritage forever, would begin to grow old. This had to be prevented, at all costs.
“I don’t know,” she said at last. “I love your sister, and would do anything to free her from the tender trap which she thinks is love. But what you suggest--my own daughter--!”
“There is no other way, Mother,” the younger Jeannie said. “You know what all genies fear; the one thing that can torture us, can bend our will and break our spirit.”
Her mother shivered a little. “I know all too well. Centuries ago, the evil Blue Djinn put me to that torture. How I endured it, I will never know.”
“It breaks my heart, too, to think of poor Jeannie undergoing such agony,” the raven-haired genie lied. “But it is for her own good! Remember, the Bara Kaa ends at midnight tonight!”
“Yes, the Bara Kaa,” the elder Jeannie said. This was a ritual period of waiting for a genie and a new master, measured in three mortal years. If, in that time, the genie renounced her master, swearing never to obey him again, all ties between them would be broken, and if the mortal master even set foot in the genie’s presence again, he would be destroyed. This was the great Hadji’s provision, to prevent a genie from being shackled to a cruel master.
The elder Jeannie took another sip of tea, then set down her cup and straightened her back, sitting tall and proud.
“Very well,” she said. “We shall do it. Make the preparations. I will send the message that will lure your sister into your clutches. Then, you may put her to the---the torture.” She choked on the last word.
“Mother, you shall not regret it!” her raven-haired daughter cried gleefully. “I will get her to renounce her master, and she shall be free of him forever!”
The young Jeannie poured herself another cup of tea, grinning wolfishly. And when my poor sister has renounced him, she thought to herself, the handsome Major Nelson shall be my eternal plaything!

“Jeannie?” Major Nelson called, walking into his kitchen. “Jeannie, are you home? Come out, I want to see you.”
Suddenly, accompanied by the familiar musical twang, Jeannie appeared in an eyeblink. She was beautiful, looking very much like her sister, only with hair as bright golden as hers was raven dark, and her harem costume was pink and red. She sat on the kitchen counter, her knees drawn up to her chest. One part of her harem costume was missing, however; her red slippers. Her creamy white feet were bare, and she was bending over her knees, applying scarlet polish to her toenails.
“Hello, Master,” she said sweetly. “I did not expect you home so soon.”
“Well, I was supposed to do a flight simulation today, but the equipment broke down,” he explained, walking up to the counter. “What are you doing, Jeannie?”
“It is something I saw in a fashion magazine,” Jeannie explained. “It seems the women of your country paint their toenails different colors, to make themselves more attractive.” Jeannie raised her right leg, holding her foot up for her master to see. “Do you like it, Master? The shade is called Fire Engine Red.”
“Very nice,” Major Nelson said appreciatively. Feeling playful, he reached out and scribbled his fingernails along Jeannie’s bare sole. Much to his surprise, she let out a loud shriek and jerked her foot away as if he had touched a hot coal to it.
“Jeannie, what’s wrong?” he asked, seeing the look of terror that had come over her face.
“Oh, Master,” she said, trembling, “I must ask you, please, never do that again!”
“I won’t, I promise!” Major Nelson said. “I’m sorry, Jeannie, it was just a little tickle.”
“Oh, you don’t understand, Master!” Jeannie said, trying to calm down. “Genies are the most ticklish creatures in the world! Pain cannot harm us; fire, knives, icy cold are all as nothing to us. But being tickled is the worst torture a genie can comprehend! It turns us into quivering masses of laughing jelly!”
“I’m sorry, Jeannie, I had no idea! I’ll never tickle you again, I promise.” Major Nelson put an arm around Jeannie’s shoulders and hugged her. She smiled, feeling safe and comfortable again.
“Thank you, Master,” Jeannie said warmly. “What did you want to see me about?”
“Oh, I almost forgot! You remember I was supposed to go over to Major O’Neill’s place for a poker game tonight?”
“I remember, Master,” Jeannie said.
“Well, it got called off. O’Neill’s wife went into labor this afternoon.”
“Oh, how awful!” Jeannie said, ruefully. “Has she been taken to the salt mines?”
Major Nelson chuckled. “Not that kind of labor, Jeannie. She’s going to have a baby.”
“Oh, a baby!” Jeannie brightened. “Why, that is wonderful news! Babies are the most wonderful magic in the world, Master!”
“They sure are,” Major Nelson agreed. “Anyway, that frees up my evening. How would you like to go to a movie tonight?”
Jeannie gasped in surprise. “You mean it, Master? You want to take me out to a movie?”
“Sure, you’ve been very good lately,” Major Nelson said. “You haven’t turned any of the girls I’ve looked at into chimps or anything in months. I think you deserve a reward.”
“Oh, thank you, Master, thank you!” Jeannie cried, throwing her arms around Major Nelson’s neck and covering his face with kisses. “Thank you so much! I will be the best date you ever had, I promise!”
“Take it easy, Jeannie!” Major Nelson half-heartedly protested. “Okay, I’m going to go back to the base for awhile, catch up on my paperwork. I’ll be home for dinner, and we’ll take in the movie afterwards, okay?”
“Okay, Master!” Jeannie agreed, grinning brightly. “I must decide what to wear! I will see you tonight!” Planting a final kiss on Major Nelson’s cheek, Jeannie blinked, and with the familiar musical twang, was gone.

Inside her bottle, Jeannie stood before a full-length mirror she had blinked into existence. She looked at her reflection in the mirror, studying a never-ending succession of outfits and hairstyles that she blinked onto herself. As she was admiring the seventeenth outfit, she heard a loud cawing noise coming from outside the bottle.
“Sayyad?” she asked, thinking she recognized the sound. She blinked herself out of the bottle, and reappeared in the living room, dressed once again in her pink and red harem-girl costume. A black raven sat perched on the back of the sofa; there was a tiny scroll of parchment tied around its leg.
“Sayyad, it is you!” Jeannie cried joyfully. Sayyad was her mother’s messenger raven. Jeannie had not seen him in a long time. “Do you have a message for me, Sayyad?”
The raven nodded its head affirmatively, and obediently held still as Jeannie untied the parchment. She unrolled it and read it aloud.
“My dear daughter, it has been too long since I saw you last. I have been foolish, allowing your new master to come between us. Please come to my winter home in Kuwait for afternoon tea. We have much to talk about. Warmest regards, Mother.”
Jeannie jumped up and down with glee. “Oh, Sayyad, this is wonderful! Could Mother be accepting Major Nelson at last? That would be perfect!” Jeannie perched on the sofa, her chin resting on her fists, and looked conspiratorially at the raven. “Major Nelson is going to be her son-in-law someday, you know.” The raven let out a caw. “Oh, he does not know it yet, but I shall convince him! Give me time, Sayyad!” Another caw. “Oh, that is awful, Sayyad! I do not wish to win his heart that way! My way is softer, more gentle.” Caw. “That is true,” Jeannie said, nodding her head. “But nothing worth doing was ever done quickly, was it?” Caw. “Oh, you are right! I must prepare to answer Mother’s summons! Her winter home in Kuwait? But it is already spring! Oh, but this is a special occasion, and requires a special location! I shall be there!” Jeannie folded her arms over her breast, blinked, and was gone. Sayyad the raven hid his head under a wing, ashamed of his role in the subterfuge.

With a musical twang, Jeannie appeared in her mother’s home in Kuwait. The parlor was furnished in classic Eastern luxury, with deep soft cushions and hanging incense burners.
“Mother!” Jeannie called excitedly. “Mother, I am here! It is Jeannie! Mother?”
Jeannie looked around the room, and spied a piece of parchment resting on a table. She picked it up and read it aloud.
“Dearest Jeannie, have gone to the market for some of that fig wine you love so much. Please make yourself at home until I return. Mother.” Jeannie grinned. “Oh, how thoughtful of Mother! I have not had fig wine in so long!” Jeannie looked around for a place to sit down until her mother returned. She spied a large, plush chair, thronelike in appearance, against one wall. This was new; Jeannie had not seen it before. She decided to try it. She walked over to it and sat down. It was very comfortable; the deep cushions seemed to sink and swell to snuggle her body in comfort. It was so comfortable, Jeannie stretched catlike in the chair, letting the cushions caress her entire body.
Suddenly, there was a musical twang, but of a lower pitch than Jeannie’s, more menacing. All of a sudden, the chair was not so comfortable at all! Jeannie’s arms were pinned high above her head by wooden manacles. Her ankles were locked into similar manacles, and lifted off the floor until her legs were straight out in front of her. She gasped, looking around in terror.
“Mother? Mother, what is this? What is going on? Mother!”
The low, menacing twang sounded again, and Jeannie’s dark-haired sister appeared in the room, grinning wickedly at her.
“Mother couldn’t make it today, dear sister,” she mocked. “But don’t worry, I’ll keep you amused.”
“Jeannie!” Jeannie gasped in terror. “Sister, what have you done? Let me go, please!”
“Of course I will, dear little sister,” the dark-haired Jeannie said, leaning in close to her sister. “As soon as you renounce Major Nelson as your master.”
Jeannie gasped. “The Bara Kaa! No, no I won’t! I won’t renounce him, ever!”
“Oh, but you will, little sister,” the dark Jeannie promised. She blinked, and with a menacing twang, a peacock feather appeared in her hand. “However long it takes, you will renounce him.”
The fair Jeannie stared at the feather in wide-eyed terror. “Sister, you wouldn’t! N-not that! It’s too cruel!”
“I know,” her sister giggled. “Just like me, isn’t it?”
“Oh Sister, please, please don’t tickle me! Anything but that! Please, I beg you--EEHEEK!!”
Jeannie’s plea ended in a shriek of laughter, for her sister had touched the wispy tip of the feather to her the bare underside of her left arm and was slowly dragging it up toward her wrist.
“My, but you’re a sensitive one, even for a genie,” the dark Jeannie smirked. “I’ve barely begun.”
“S-Sister, pleHEEze s-stop!” Jeannie tried to beg, trying to fight down the giggles that were forcing their way through her pouty lips. “I-I won’t renouHOUnce my M-MaHAHster, n-no matter whaHAt you doOO! OO! OOH, HAHAHAHAHA!!” Jeannie burst forth with robust laughter as her cruel sister quickened the pace of the feather, changing from a slow dragging to a quick whisking up and down her bare arm. Her sister grinned wolfishly down at her.
“Patience, my dear sister, patience,” she mocked. “If you’re so sure that nothing I can do will ever make you renounce Major Nelson, then it won’t bother you if I try everything I can think of, now will it?”
“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! S-Sister, plee-hee-heeze!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!”
The dark Jeannie switched from arm to arm, whisking the peacock feather up and down the sensitive skin of her fair sister. Jeannie squirmed in the chair, wriggling and writhing as much as she could, trying to avoid the plume, but it was no use. Everywhere the soft feather grazed her skin sent an electric jolt of tickling sensation through her slim little body, making her full round breasts heave in their silk confines.
Her evil sister grinned down at her all the while, and felt her own nipples growing firm and erect, sliding against their own silken sheathes as they grew. She was enjoying having her little sister at her mercy like this! Perhaps it would be better if she did not renounce Major Nelson; if she could keep her here forever, her own personal tickle slave!
After about fifteen minutes of tickling Jeannie’s arms, her sister stopped and withdrew the feather. “Ho hum,” she said exaggeratedly. “I grow bored with this.” She blinked, and the feather disappeared with a musical twang. She looked down at her sister, who lay back against the chair, gasping for breath. “Ready to give up yet, Sister?” she asked warmly.
The fair Jeannie stared up at her sister for a moment, her eyes wide with horror. Then she looked to the ceiling and began shouting.
“Mother! Mother, where are you? Please, come to my rescue! I am being tickled to death! Mother!”
Her sister laughed cruelly. “You silly girl,” she said. “Mother won’t help you. She lured you into this trap, you empty-headed ninny!”
Jeannie stared at her sister in terror. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “No, it can’t be! Mother wouldn’t!”
“Oh, but Mother would,” the dark Jeannie said. “She doesn’t want you wasting your life with Major Nelson any more than I do. It was easy to talk her into helping me trap you, to get you to give him up!” Jeannie paused, letting her words sink in. “And now, unless you’re ready to renounce him, it’s back to work for me.” Her fair sister stared at her in horror, but bit her lower lip and said nothing.
“Very well,” the dark Jeannie said, resignedly. She blinked again, and with a musical twang, a soft purple cushion appeared on the floor in front of Jeannie’s trapped feet. “Let’s see if this is still your worst spot, as it was when you were a child.”
The fair Jeannie shook her head rapidly as her sister sank down onto the cushion. “Sister, no! Please! Tickle my arms again if you must, but not my feet! Not there!”
The dark Jeannie only giggled maliciously as she grasped Jeannie’s left slipper firmly by the heel. Jeannie tried to scrunch up her toes, to keep the slipper on, but her sister pulled it off in one deft move. The right slipper followed, and Jeannie’s trapped, helpless feet were completely bare. Her sister pursed her lips and blew cold air onto Jeannie’s naked toes; reflexively they wiggled in the breeze. The dark Jeannie giggled at the reaction, and held up her fingernails for her sister to see. She had filed them to sharp points, and painted them a pearly, opalescent blue. Jeannie whimpered when she saw them; the thought of what they could do to her poor, helpless feet! She squeezed her eyes shut and turned her head away, unable to watch. But she felt it as her sister placed the points of her fingernails against her soft, round heels. Slowly her sister drew her fingernails up her soles, drawing lines of fire through her nerves as they traveled. Jeannie clamped her lips tightly and struggled to hold in the laughter; little squeaks and whimpers escaped her lips as her sister’s fingernails glided up her impossibly-sensitive soles. When they reached the base of her toes, she could hold it in no longer; a shriek of laughter burst from her lips. The dark Jeannie, encouraged by her sister’s laughter, began to scribble her fingernails rapidly all over the bottoms of Jeannie’s feet. The fair Jeannie threw back her head and laughed robustly, her high, musical laughter filling the chamber.
“HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! OH! OH! OH, HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!”
“That’s it, laugh for your sister,” the dark Jeannie taunted. “Oh, but I’m forgetting your tender little toes, my sister. We can’t have that, now, can we?” The dark Jeannie gently reached out with thumb and index finger, seized the biggest toe of her sister’s left foot, and began wiggling it back and forth.
“This little camel went to the bazaar...this little camel stayed home...”
The golden-haired Jeannie could only laugh and laugh, but her face stung with the humiliation of her older sister playing with her toes, as she had done when they were children!
“This little camel had glazed dates...this little camel had none...”
Jeannie squeezed her eyes shut as tightly as she could, tears trickling from them. She remembered all too well how the game ended!
“And this little camel went ‘hui, hui, hui’ all the way home!” On the “hui, hui, hui” sound, the raven-haired Jeannie scrabbled her fingernails all over Jeannie’s sole, sending another shriek of laughter echoing through the chamber.
The dark Jeannie grinned as her blue-lacquered fingernails skittered all over the bottoms of her sister’s feet. Jeannie’s helpless, agonized laughter was the sweetest music to her ears. She felt herself growing warmly moist in her most private place.
She continued tickling Jeannie’s feet for another twenty minutes. Then, with a final stroke of her index fingernail up Jeannie’s arch, she stopped. Jeannie lay slumped in the chair, hanging limply from the manacles that held her wrists high above her head, gasping for breath. Her creamy-complected face was flushed bright red from laughing; her golden-colored hair was matted with sweat.
The raven-haired Jeannie rose from the cushion on the floor, and walked up to her sister’s face. She gently cradled Jeannie’s chin in her fingers, and tilted her face up to look into her eyes.
“Make it easy on yourself, my sister,” she said kindly. “You know I will tickle you and tickle you until you would do anything to make it stop. Why not spare yourself more agony? Renounce your master!”
Jeannie faltered for a moment; her lips silently began to form the words. But then she clamped her lips shut tightly, and shook her head from side to side.
Her dark sister sighed, and threw up her hands. “Very well,” she said. “Let us see why you always keep your navel hidden!”
She reached down, hooked her index finger inside the waistband of Jeannie’s harem pants, and yanked them down, exposing the deep dish of her navel. Jeannie stared down at her in wide-eyed horror, as the undulating claws of her right hand moved closer and closer to the soft, flat skin of her stomach.
“Here come the tickle fingers,” the dark Jeannie mocked in a high, singsong voice. Very slowly, she inched her fingers closer and closer to Jeannie’s stomach. Finally her nails grazed her sister’s flat belly, scribbling across the taut skin like a daddy longlegs. A burst of staccato giggles exploded from Jeannie’s lips as the nails grazed her skin. Electric jolts of tickling sensation shot through her stomach; the taut muscles quivered madly with laughter. After a few moments of random, frenzied scribbling, her sister began to use just her index fingernail on Jeannie’s stomach. She started drawing a wide, slow circle around the perimeter of Jeannie’s belly. With every rotation, the circle drew tighter and tighter. Finally she was circling the very rim of Jeannie’s navel, causing her giggling to rise to fever pitch. The dark Jeannie glanced at her sister over her shoulder, winked at her, and dipped her fingernail into Jeannie’s navel. Jeannie threw back her head and howled with laughter as the very tip of the nail probed and scraped the impossibly-tender inner bowl of her belly button. Her mouth was a wide-open “O”, and laughter poured from it in a never-ending stream.
The dark Jeannie’s left hand strayed to the front of her own garment as her right hand tickled her sister’s belly button. Her soft fingertips grazed the tips of her nipples, stiff and erect behind their sheaths of silk. She moaned softly as her fingertips brushed the silk across her nipples; she closed her eyes, and tickled Jeannie’s belly button faster, as she pinched her own nipple between thumb and index finger. Jeannie was oblivious to it, her eyes clouded by tears, her ears filled with the sound of her own frenzied laughter.
Finally, the dark Jeannie stopped tickling her sister’s navel. She stood beside the torture chair, her fists on her hips, and stared down at Jeannie. “You are the most stubborn genie I have ever seen,” she said coldly. “I have been tickling you for an hour, and you do not break! Why, even our great-aunt Jeannie did not last so long, when put to the torture! Why do you not renounce your master?”
Jeannie blinked away her tears, and looked up at her sister with all the pain of her torment written on her face. “I love him,” she said simply.
The dark Jeannie’s heart was nearly moved by this. But she quickly shook her head, and her face resumed its icy glare. “Very well,” she said. “The torture will continue, until you do renounce him!” Jeannie’s sly grin returned. “However, there are so many ticklish places on your little body, I believe I need some help to exploit them all.” Jeannie folded her arms across her chest, and blinked. With a dark musical twang, another genie appeared in the room. This one was just as beautiful as the others. Her skin was the color of milk chocolate, her hair long and curly; her harem garments were in two shades of orange.
The golden-haired Jeannie stared at the newcomer in horror. “Cousin Jeannie!” she gasped. “Oh no, you could not have turned against me too?”
“You do not want to live a slave, bound to a mortal,” the chocolate-skinned Jeannie said. “I am here to help you see the error of your ways.”
The dark-haired Jeannie blinked again, and with the foreboding twang, another genie appeared. She had hair the color of flame, and wore harem garments mostly white trimmed in yellow; and, of course, was as beautiful as the others. She was grinning as wolfishly as the dark Jeannie.
“Jeannie!” the blonde Jeannie gasped, recognizing her big sister’s old friend from their school days. “W-what are you doing here?”
“I’m here to tickle you, of course,” the redheaded Jeannie said. “Your sister told me of her plan, and it sounds like so much fun!”
Jeannie stared up at the other three with undisguised horror. Being tickled by one genie was torture, unendurable torture! She had withstood it because of her love for her master; but--three at once?
“Come, my friends,” the dark Jeannie said. “Let us make the little one see the light! Come, come and tickle!”
The chocolate-skinned Jeannie sank down onto the cushion in front of Jeannie’s trapped feet. The redheaded Jeannie crept around behind her chair of torment. Jeannie’s sister knelt beside her, next to her tender stomach.
“Begin!” the dark Jeannie cried. With that, the redheaded Jeannie began gently teasing Jeannie’s armpits, her fingernails lightly stroking the tender flesh there.
“AAAHH!” Jeannie shrieked. “Oh no, not there! N-not under my arms, please!”
“Oh, you don’t like it there, hm?” the redhead teased, her fingernails gently undulating in the smooth hollows. “Does it tickle, little Jeannie?”
Before Jeannie could answer, her dark-skinned cousin began running her fingernails up and down Jeannie’s bare soles. Her body convulsed in the chair, as if shocked by electricity. The tickling sensations assaulted her from two fronts at once, sending uncontrollable laughter pouring from her throat.
“HAHAHAHAHAHA!! OH! OH! OH, HAHAHAHAHAHA!” she laughed, her head thrashing back and forth, droplets of sweat flung out into the chamber.
Jeannie’s sister waited until the other two had begun their assault, before putting her own hand in. She placed one hand on either side of Jeannie’s waist, and began gently digging in and out of her tender rib cage. Jeannie’s tight little behind bounced up and down on the cushioned chair, as her entire body was wracked with convulsions of laughter. The fingernails scribbling under her arms and across the bottoms of her feet were like millions of tiny ants crawling all over her tender skin, exposing every nerve to the most unbearable stimulation. Her sister’s fingers played her ribs like piano keys, sending jolt after jolt of tickles through her body.
“HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! Plee-hee-heeze!! HAHAHAHAHA!! P-please, sta-ha-hap!” Jeannie begged between bursts of laughter.
“You know how to get us to stop,” the redheaded Jeannie mocked, as she drew tiny circles in Jeannie’s armpits with her index fingernails.
“Oh, but she loves her master,” Jeannie’s sister teased, as she squeezed Jeannie’s ribs. “I wonder...does she love him this much?” Still tickling her sister’s ribs, the dark Jeannie bent her head down. The very tip of her tongue slowly traced the inner rim of Jeannie’s navel, before her entire tongue plunged deep into the hyper-sensitive belly button. Jeannie’s shrieks of laughter reached a new pitch, echoing madly through the chamber.
“A wonderful idea, Jeannie,” the dark-skinned one smiled. “She does look as though she would taste delightful.” The chocolate-skinned Jeannie gently held the toes of Jeannie’s right foot back, stretching her sole taut. She then began gently nibbling along Jeannie’s arch, her pearly-white teeth gently grazing the taut skin, tickling much worse than even her sharp fingernails had. Jeannie howled with laughter, cool tears running down her hot-flushed face.
The tickling went on and on, Jeannie could not tell how long. The redheaded Jeannie tickled under her arms, often changing strokes to keep Jeannie from becoming inured to it even slightly. Her index fingernails traced circles and stars and figure eights in the smooth hollows of Jeannie’s armpits; all ten of her nails scribbled madly against the tender skin like hyperactive spiders; she lightly brushed the backs of her nails against the very center of Jeannie’s armpits.
The dark-skinned Jeannie tickled her poor, helpless feet masterfully. She held Jeannie’s toes immobile as her ivory teeth nibbled along her arches. Her tongue darted in and out between Jeannie’s toes, horribly tickling the sensitive webbing of skin between each pair. Her fingernails raked up and down the bottoms of Jeannie’s feet, drawing lines of fire wherever they touched. Her nails gently probed the insteps of Jeannie’s feet, tenderly tickling the toe cleavage.
Jeannie’s sister was worst of all. She alternated from slow, methodic tickling to wild, all-out assault. She placed her thumbs on the tender creases where Jeannie’s legs joined her hips, and lightly but firmly rubbed back and forth. This sent the most undeniable waves of tickling agony surging through Jeannie’s poor body. She moistened her lips with her tongue, placed them on Jeannie’s flat stomach, and blew loud, wet raspberries. She gently bit Jeannie’s rib cage, taking light little nips with her teeth. Her fingernails spider-walked up and down Jeannie’s sides, poking and prodding between each pair of ribs.
Through it all, Jeannie laughed and laughed and laughed. Her stomach hurt from laughing so much. Every inch of bare skin on her body was covered with goose pimples. Her golden-blonde hair, usually as soft and luxurious as spun gold, was damp with sweat. It had come loose from her traditional fez, her head had thrashed about so much, and hung in limp wet strands down to her shoulders. Tears filled her eyes, and she tasted the salty sting of them as they ran into the corners of her mouth. And through it all, she continued to laugh, laugh, laugh!!
“She’s taking more tickling than I would have thought possible for a genie,” the redheaded one commented, as she drew large, loopy figure-eights in Jeannie’s underarms.
“She is indeed brave,” the dark-skinned one said, as she gently tickled the tender undersides of Jeannie’s toes.
“We will break her yet,” Jeannie’s sister promised, as her index fingernail traced the inner rim of Jeannie’s navel. “Isn’t that right, sister dear? You can’t hold out forever, love or no love! Can you? Hm? Can you?”
“How rude, not to answer your sister!” the redhead scolded mockingly. “You need to learn your manners!” And with that, she began rapidly scribbling her fingernails all over Jeannie’s armpits, sometimes drifting to the sides of her neck.
For long minutes more, Jeannie did not know how long, the tickling continued, and she continued to laugh. Finally, she could stand it no more.
“STOP! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! Oh, I beg you, sta-ha-hap!” she cried.
“Do you really want us to stop?” her sister asked, as she pinched Jeannie’s rib between her thumb and index finger. “You know what to say. Will you say it?”
Jeannie’s mouth was a silent, gaping maw; she could no longer draw enough breath to laugh audibly. But she nodded her head vigorously.
“Cease!” her sister cried. “She concedes!” She scrambled to her feet, as did the dark-skinned Jeannie. The redheaded one came around from behind the chair. They stood together, looking down at the golden-haired Jeannie. Their victim lay slumped in the chair of torture, wheezing for breath, taking it in great ragged gulps. Her breasts heaved with the effort of breathing.
“Say the words, Sister,” the dark-haired one encouraged. “You know what you have to say. Say it, and be free!”
Jeannie looked up at them, saw them gazing down at her with anxious expressions on their faces. She swallowed once for courage, then looked up at the ceiling, drew in a deep breath, and cried out.
“Hadji!” she screamed. “Hadji, help me! Please, Hadji, save me from this torture!”
The other three Jeannies gasped in terror. Hadji, the master of all genies! And Jeannie was one of his favorites! They tried to flee, but it was too late. With a loud gong-strike, Hadji appeared in their midst. To outward appearances, he was an innocuous little man with a thin frame and a bushy beard. But the fire that burned in his eyes could not be mistaken.
“What is this?” he demanded, outrage loud in his voice. “What has happened here? Speak, my child!”
“Oh great Hadji, we--“ Jeannie’s sister began.
“SILENCE!” Hadji barked, thunder in his voice. A tiny squeak of terror escaped the dark-haired Jeannie’s throat. “When I want you to speak, I will ask you!” Hadji’s gaze turned to the golden-aired Jeannie, still slumped weakly in her chair of torture, and he spoke softly, in a warm, avuncular voice. “Speak, my child. What has happened here? What have they done to you?”
“Oh great Hadji,” Jeannie began. “They were trying to make me renounce my master! They--they were tickling me, and they would not stop unless I renounced him.”
“So?” Hadji demanded, the fury back in his voice. “I did not decree the Bara Kaa for evil genies to torture one of their own into renouncing a master she is happy with!” He turned to the other three. “You have earned my wrath, you errant genies! You shall be punished! SO!” With that he clapped his hands together, and the three Jeannies vanished with a loud gong-clang. Hadji turned again to the fair Jeannie. Another clap of his hands and gong-clang, and the torture chair vanished, leaving Jeannie standing on her feet. She immediately fell to her knees, clutching Hadji’s hand in gratitude.
“Oh, thank you, great Hadji!” she effused. “Thank you, thank you! Such torture they put me through! I do not know how I survived it!”
Hadji gently put his hand under Jeannie’s chin and tilted her face up to his. “Love, my child. Love got you through it. I only wish you had thought to call on me before.”
“What will happen to them, great Hadji?” Jeannie asked, as she got to her feet.
“They are being punished, in a manner befitting their crime,” Hadji explained. “Look.” He held out his hand, and a crystal ball suddenly appeared in it. Jeannie peered into the ball, and gasped at what she beheld. Her dark-haired sister and her two co-conspirators were in some desert, buried in the sand, with only their heads and bare feet sticking out. Tall, muscular guards, wearing only turbans and loincloths, poured a mixture of milk and honey onto their soles, which was immediately licked off by goats tethered close to their feet. No sooner was the last drop of honey licked off then the guards poured a fresh supply onto their feet. Their feet twitched and flailed madly, their toes wiggling like cobras in a snake-charmer’s basket, but there was no escape from the goats’ tongues. They wailed with laughter, their heads thrashing from side to side in the sand.
“How--how long will you punish them, great Hadji?” Jeannie asked.
“Until I feel they have learned their lesson,” Hadji explained.

“Jeannie?” Major Nelson called, as he walked through the living room of his home. “Jeannie, are you here?”
With the familiar musical twang, Jeannie appeared behind him. She was dressed in a conservative navy-blue dress, with white gloves and white pumps. She smiled as he turned around, startled.
“I am here, Master,” she said joyfully. “We are still going to the movie, are we not?”
“Of course, Jeannie,” Major Nelson said. “Wow, you look great! Is that a new dress?”
“It is just something I blinked on,” Jeannie said. “What movie will we see, Master?”
“Well, we have a choice,” Major Nelson said. “There’s a new James Bond picture at the Odeon, or a comedy at the Rialto. I’ve heard good things about both, actually. What are you in the mood for?”
“Oh, Master, could we see the James Bond movie?” Jeannie asked, thinking to herself, I’ve done enough laughing for one day!
THE END
 
Can't sleep....I dream of Jeanie....Can't sleep...I Dream of Jeanie....can'tsleepidreamofjeaniecan'tsleepidreamofjeaniecan'tsleep...
 
Great story. I loved the description of the tickling. I always wanted to see Barbara Eden get tickled to death, running around in those harem clothes!
 
Xodlirv

Your work never ceases to amaze me. I am not a big fan of celebrity tickling fiction. However this was exceptional.

Bravo!
 
Great Story

I really enjoyed this story!
 
I loved this story Xodlirv. It was full of detail and very well written. I have always thought Jeannie would make a good subject for a tickle story. I hope you are planning a sequel. Thanks for the story,I will make it a point to look for more of your stories in the future.
 
man i would like to get my hands on barbara eden so is so ticklish :wow: :wow: :firedevil :firedevil :dogpile: :dogpile: :xpulcy:
 
Like all good stories, we feel this one improves with age and has it ever!
Love,
Heather and Anna
 
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