Morning Angel
TMF Expert
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- May 10, 2003
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The Punishment (F/F, F/M/F)
This story has a different feel from the few other things I've written. Hope you like it.
MA
****************************************
They look me up and down, both of them, no need to undress me with their eyes as I am already completely nude. He seats himself in an armchair near the low table on which my legs are firmly bound. I am kneeling upon the table, knees right at one edge, arms stretched high above me and wrists fastened together to a rope that hangs from the ceiling. I know he will remain at her side until she is done with me. He serves her, as do I. Her very presence commands servitude. She is tall with long, shapely legs, a million curves, large, full breasts. Her features are sensual and severe, her smirk alternating between playful and caustic. She is my mistress. And I have displeased her.
The transgression was slight, silly. In a moment of forgetfulness I thoughtlessly made a joke about her to one of her other slave girls. Mistress overheard, punished the other girl yesterday by alternately spanking her and making her ride a mechanical bull for hours until her ass and pussy were equally red and throbbing, but not letting her cum through the whole ordeal. I shudder at the thought, knowing that my punishment, though only an hour in length, will be far worse.
She walks over to me to cup my face in her hands, long black-painted nails playing with my earlobes. The table is at such a height that Mistress' face is level with mine, and she looks me straight in the eye as she speaks to me. “How shall I punish my naughty little slave this time?” she asks, voice low and teasing. She thinks for a minute, as if she doesn’t already know what my fate will be. We all know it’s just for show – she has planned this punishment days ago. Then, as my mistress traces one finger down the side of my face and softly strokes under my chin, her eyes light up and she says, to the room in general, “I wonder how ticklish this little girl is today.”
A blush fills my cheeks and I have to look down, my gaze leaving hers as the word ‘ticklish’ escapes her full lips. Softly she chuckles as her hands move slowly down spidering across my neck and shoulders. She knows that I long for the freedom to move her hands away, she revels in seeing me helpless before even a small annoyance such as this. I am not laughing yet, only struggling to keep from twitching my shoulders as the itching feeling grows unbearable. I steal a glance over at the armchair and see its occupant grinning. Catching my eye for a moment, he gives me an arrogant wink before returning his focus to my mistress’ fingers upon me. He approves of her technique – indeed, he was probably the one who told her how much light touches affect me.
But I cannot dwell on that thought for too long. Already Mistress has a look of impatient hunger in her eye, and her hands are moving further down, down, inching their way under my tightly stretched arms. Normally I would be nervous, as my underarms are particularly ticklish spots for me, and Mistress’ long black nails always seem to have a mind of their own when inflicting punishments upon me. But now, with an audience, such intimate touches to my naked, trembling body take me far beyond nervous. I am terrified.
Her face is still close to mine, and her eyes are alight with devious pleasure as she begins softly stroking under my arms, up and down. Even this light touch makes me giggle and blush and squint my eyes shut, and it only gets worse for me as she teasingly commands me: “Look at me, my ticklish little slave. Look at your mistress while she tickles you.” I try to open my eyes, but have to squeeze them shut and let out a squeal as Mistress digs into my ribs, clawing the sensitive flesh. I’m so very ticklish, so weak, and Mistress has little patience for weakness.
I expect her to raise her voice to me, but she is still in a playful mood, so instead she continues to tease me, saying “You can open your eyes for me, can’t you? What’s the matter, my bad little slave? You’re not ticklish, are you? Are you a ticklish little girl? Does it tickle you when I do this?” In my already-humiliated state she knows this ridiculous, over-the-top teasing is far more effective than yelling would be, and it has the added benefit (for her, anyway) of heightening my ticklishness. I’m giggling uncontrollably now, but somehow I manage to open my eyes for a moment and see Mistress lower her hands, in one quick flash, to my hips and start ferociously tickling me there. The unexpected change makes me shriek with laughter, and Mistress lets out a small self-satisfied moan at my reaction. Little signs like these tell me that she loves her work and takes a special delight in tickling her wayward slaves.
But lest I grow too accustomed to her tickling touch, my mistress walks her delicate hands around to my ass and delivers a firm spank to it. Ohhhh! The pain is sweet but sharp, and I gasp in surprise. Mistress laughs. “Naughty naughty,” she taunts as she continues spanking me. Suddenly she disappears from my sight, gracefully climbing onto the table behind me and returning her hands to my now-red bottom. I know what's coming, and before I can stop myself I cry “No!” Of course it only makes my mistress more determined to tickle me senseless, and her fingers spider across the abused flesh of my ass with incredible speed and dexterity. I can't take this, and I'm shaking my head from side to side and clenching every muscle in my body as I try in vain to escape the fiendish tickling. “Yes, yes, yes,” Mistress says, each harsh 'yes' punctuated by a squeezing tickle on either cheek. “The perfect way to punish my slave. What a cute little bottom,” she teases, “Bouncing and red and so ticklish. Such a silly place for a little slave girl to be ticklish, isn't it?”
Her voice pierces me to the bone, fights with the relentless tickling for my attention. She moves her hands down and around again, squeezing all the most ticklish places on my thighs and teasing me, “Oh yes, I know how ticklish you are down here.” Her fingers move with a startling agility towards my pussy, tickling all the way around it, and producing a lone agonized moan from me in between pants of laughter. I glance over at the armchair and see that the man seated in it has adopted Mistress' smirk and is bestowing it upon the body I can no longer control. I wish he wasn't here to witness my shame, to see how helplessly ticklish I am. He clearly loves seeing my mistress' absolute power over me, watching her as she makes me scream and shake in my bonds with a single touch. Oh, but she is wicked. Her hands are back under my arms, tickling from behind me, and her hot breath in my ear laughing at me tickles too – insult to injury. If I wasn't so well restrained I would be hitting the ceiling, and Mistress is well aware of this. As it is I'm twisting and writhing with the little room I have, desperate to get away from her merciless tickling. I don't know how much more I can take. My struggling begins to lessen and my laughter is growing silent, interrupted only by the occasional faint squeal.
When Mistress seats herself down upon the table at my feet I know that all is lost. There is no way I can endure her long, sharp nails on my soles and snaking around my toes without slipping into madness or unconsciousness. Beginning with my right foot she bends my toes back with her left hand and goes to work with her right, scribbling up and down my sole and reaching in between my toes and over the ball of my foot. She switches feet, torturing my left foot just as fiendishly as she did my right. It's too much, way too much for me to handle, and with my last ounce of energy I open my mouth and scream hoarsely in one last act of defiance. Mistress looks up, momentarily satisfied.
Now I am past the point of pleading and struggling. I am beaten, broken, and Mistress knows that I will accept whatever she wishes to do to me now. If I still had strength to speak, and if Mistress were to permit it, I would cry, “Own me! My body and soul are yours, I deserve to be punished and I need to feel your cruelty forcing laughter from me, forcing sobs and pleas and twisting my body in all directions against my bonds. Tease me and tickle me to your black heart's content, Mistress, exercise full dominion over me tonight.” But I don't need to say it. My downcast eyes speak volumes.
Mistress walks away from me and over to the armchair where He has been the whole time, watching with pleasure and not a little impatience. She whispers in his ear, explaining to him the part he is to have in my punishment. At first his eyes light up, and he gazes at me with hunger and playfulness, but as Mistress continues a trace of fear briefly shadows his face. By the time my mistress steps back to examine him, however, he has regained his composure and he says in a steely voice: “I will comply.”
As he silently disrobes Mistress explains to me the final phase of my shaming. Her accomplice for the evening will be tied naked to a hard-backed chair, his face level with my most intimate parts, and will be ordered to pleasure me orally. I will not be permitted to gyrate, moan or show any signs of pleasure unless Mistress orders it, and he will not be permitted to stop unless at Mistress' direct command. However, Mistress will be controlling both of us, and when she tickles me I may move as much as my bonds permit (not a great deal, but still enough to dislodge my pussy from the face pleasuring it). Similarly, Mistress will also tickle her assistant, and while he is laughing he will be unable to properly pleasure me. In this way Mistress can frustrate me almost constantly while getting to alternate between tickling two victims at once until she lets me orgasm and my punishment is finished. I don't even widen my eyes as she tells me this. I don't tremble or say a word in protest. I am entirely subservient to my mistress' wishes now, and since this is what my mistress wishes, I too will comply.
He is bound to the chair and the torture begins.
Mistress walks over to my right side, which is his left, places her left hand on my right hip and her right hand on his left ribs and goes at it, tickling furiously, sending both of us into hysterics. I can hear his gasps and his sweet laughter rising in a beautiful counter melody to my own, I can see him frantically shaking his head, trying to hold onto some form of self-control and failing, just as I am. Mistress effortlessly finds that one perfect extra-ticklish spot in any area she tickles that drives her victims mad, and we are feeling the full effects of her skill.
She releases him from her torturous grip and climbs onto the table, straddling my legs to tickle my back and sides from behind me. He fights to keep his mouth between my legs, as if hoping to avoid Mistress' tickling through obedience. The task is made all but impossible as I can't help but squirm while Mistress tickles my sensitive flesh. Suddenly she stops and I am forced into immobility as the kissing and lapping at my pussy resumes. I don't dare show any sign that it affects me, although the familiar lips, tongue and stubble never fail to ignite passion within me. It takes all my strength but I manage to hold on until Mistress places her hands at his neck and gently spider-tickles him until his head is forced up and thrashing as he tries in vain to stop her tickles. Back and forth between us, it feels like an eternity of teasing and tickling and sudden stops and surprise attacks, and by the end of it my nerves are shot. Just when I think I will have to cum or pass out, Mistress gives me a short pause while she frees her assistant's arms from their bondage to the chair,and instructs him to tickle me while bringing me to orgasm. He doesn't stop to question this unexpected gift, but brings his hands up to caress and tickle my hips while working me into a frenzy with his tongue.
Before he can fully exploit his newfound freedom, though, his voice rips through the air with a loud yelp. Mistress is lying at his bound feet licking and sucking on his toes, one by one, and it tickles more than he can bear. She raises her head just long enough to taunt him with the words: “I'm going to keep sucking on these tasty, ticklish toes here until my little slave cums, so the longer you take the longer you suffer. And from the looks of it, the longer you suffer the longer you'll take.” Mistress giggled cruelly and went back to work, enveloping first one set of toes, then the other, in her mouth. His fingers are clenched into my sides enough to hurt, and it is only my small cry of pain that brings him back to the task at hand. Still laughing helplessly, he returns his mouth to my mound and his hands to my hips in frenzied tickles that immediately cause an eruption of giggles from me. Thankfully, this time around I can help him, and I try to match my squirms to his mouth so that I can bring us all some relief. He is in agony as Mistress adds gentle finger-scratching to the tickling his feet are already receiving from her mouth, but somehow he keeps pleasuring me, and despite, or maybe aided by his tickling, I feel myself getting closer and closer to orgasm.
With a joyous cry I am thrust over the edge. My bliss goes on and on, as intense in its pleasure as the tickling and denial were in their torture. I finally start to come back to Earth, and Mistress smiles. “Your punishment is now over,” she says. Her smile grows into a smirk. “The next hour is just for fun.” And as my eyes widen Mistress nods to the man at my mound, and he starts afresh licking and burying his face in my soaking and oversensitive pussy. My mistress is at my side, gently tickling under my arm and ribs, and swallowing the first of my endless giggles in a delicious kiss...
This story has a different feel from the few other things I've written. Hope you like it.
MA
****************************************
They look me up and down, both of them, no need to undress me with their eyes as I am already completely nude. He seats himself in an armchair near the low table on which my legs are firmly bound. I am kneeling upon the table, knees right at one edge, arms stretched high above me and wrists fastened together to a rope that hangs from the ceiling. I know he will remain at her side until she is done with me. He serves her, as do I. Her very presence commands servitude. She is tall with long, shapely legs, a million curves, large, full breasts. Her features are sensual and severe, her smirk alternating between playful and caustic. She is my mistress. And I have displeased her.
The transgression was slight, silly. In a moment of forgetfulness I thoughtlessly made a joke about her to one of her other slave girls. Mistress overheard, punished the other girl yesterday by alternately spanking her and making her ride a mechanical bull for hours until her ass and pussy were equally red and throbbing, but not letting her cum through the whole ordeal. I shudder at the thought, knowing that my punishment, though only an hour in length, will be far worse.
She walks over to me to cup my face in her hands, long black-painted nails playing with my earlobes. The table is at such a height that Mistress' face is level with mine, and she looks me straight in the eye as she speaks to me. “How shall I punish my naughty little slave this time?” she asks, voice low and teasing. She thinks for a minute, as if she doesn’t already know what my fate will be. We all know it’s just for show – she has planned this punishment days ago. Then, as my mistress traces one finger down the side of my face and softly strokes under my chin, her eyes light up and she says, to the room in general, “I wonder how ticklish this little girl is today.”
A blush fills my cheeks and I have to look down, my gaze leaving hers as the word ‘ticklish’ escapes her full lips. Softly she chuckles as her hands move slowly down spidering across my neck and shoulders. She knows that I long for the freedom to move her hands away, she revels in seeing me helpless before even a small annoyance such as this. I am not laughing yet, only struggling to keep from twitching my shoulders as the itching feeling grows unbearable. I steal a glance over at the armchair and see its occupant grinning. Catching my eye for a moment, he gives me an arrogant wink before returning his focus to my mistress’ fingers upon me. He approves of her technique – indeed, he was probably the one who told her how much light touches affect me.
But I cannot dwell on that thought for too long. Already Mistress has a look of impatient hunger in her eye, and her hands are moving further down, down, inching their way under my tightly stretched arms. Normally I would be nervous, as my underarms are particularly ticklish spots for me, and Mistress’ long black nails always seem to have a mind of their own when inflicting punishments upon me. But now, with an audience, such intimate touches to my naked, trembling body take me far beyond nervous. I am terrified.
Her face is still close to mine, and her eyes are alight with devious pleasure as she begins softly stroking under my arms, up and down. Even this light touch makes me giggle and blush and squint my eyes shut, and it only gets worse for me as she teasingly commands me: “Look at me, my ticklish little slave. Look at your mistress while she tickles you.” I try to open my eyes, but have to squeeze them shut and let out a squeal as Mistress digs into my ribs, clawing the sensitive flesh. I’m so very ticklish, so weak, and Mistress has little patience for weakness.
I expect her to raise her voice to me, but she is still in a playful mood, so instead she continues to tease me, saying “You can open your eyes for me, can’t you? What’s the matter, my bad little slave? You’re not ticklish, are you? Are you a ticklish little girl? Does it tickle you when I do this?” In my already-humiliated state she knows this ridiculous, over-the-top teasing is far more effective than yelling would be, and it has the added benefit (for her, anyway) of heightening my ticklishness. I’m giggling uncontrollably now, but somehow I manage to open my eyes for a moment and see Mistress lower her hands, in one quick flash, to my hips and start ferociously tickling me there. The unexpected change makes me shriek with laughter, and Mistress lets out a small self-satisfied moan at my reaction. Little signs like these tell me that she loves her work and takes a special delight in tickling her wayward slaves.
But lest I grow too accustomed to her tickling touch, my mistress walks her delicate hands around to my ass and delivers a firm spank to it. Ohhhh! The pain is sweet but sharp, and I gasp in surprise. Mistress laughs. “Naughty naughty,” she taunts as she continues spanking me. Suddenly she disappears from my sight, gracefully climbing onto the table behind me and returning her hands to my now-red bottom. I know what's coming, and before I can stop myself I cry “No!” Of course it only makes my mistress more determined to tickle me senseless, and her fingers spider across the abused flesh of my ass with incredible speed and dexterity. I can't take this, and I'm shaking my head from side to side and clenching every muscle in my body as I try in vain to escape the fiendish tickling. “Yes, yes, yes,” Mistress says, each harsh 'yes' punctuated by a squeezing tickle on either cheek. “The perfect way to punish my slave. What a cute little bottom,” she teases, “Bouncing and red and so ticklish. Such a silly place for a little slave girl to be ticklish, isn't it?”
Her voice pierces me to the bone, fights with the relentless tickling for my attention. She moves her hands down and around again, squeezing all the most ticklish places on my thighs and teasing me, “Oh yes, I know how ticklish you are down here.” Her fingers move with a startling agility towards my pussy, tickling all the way around it, and producing a lone agonized moan from me in between pants of laughter. I glance over at the armchair and see that the man seated in it has adopted Mistress' smirk and is bestowing it upon the body I can no longer control. I wish he wasn't here to witness my shame, to see how helplessly ticklish I am. He clearly loves seeing my mistress' absolute power over me, watching her as she makes me scream and shake in my bonds with a single touch. Oh, but she is wicked. Her hands are back under my arms, tickling from behind me, and her hot breath in my ear laughing at me tickles too – insult to injury. If I wasn't so well restrained I would be hitting the ceiling, and Mistress is well aware of this. As it is I'm twisting and writhing with the little room I have, desperate to get away from her merciless tickling. I don't know how much more I can take. My struggling begins to lessen and my laughter is growing silent, interrupted only by the occasional faint squeal.
When Mistress seats herself down upon the table at my feet I know that all is lost. There is no way I can endure her long, sharp nails on my soles and snaking around my toes without slipping into madness or unconsciousness. Beginning with my right foot she bends my toes back with her left hand and goes to work with her right, scribbling up and down my sole and reaching in between my toes and over the ball of my foot. She switches feet, torturing my left foot just as fiendishly as she did my right. It's too much, way too much for me to handle, and with my last ounce of energy I open my mouth and scream hoarsely in one last act of defiance. Mistress looks up, momentarily satisfied.
Now I am past the point of pleading and struggling. I am beaten, broken, and Mistress knows that I will accept whatever she wishes to do to me now. If I still had strength to speak, and if Mistress were to permit it, I would cry, “Own me! My body and soul are yours, I deserve to be punished and I need to feel your cruelty forcing laughter from me, forcing sobs and pleas and twisting my body in all directions against my bonds. Tease me and tickle me to your black heart's content, Mistress, exercise full dominion over me tonight.” But I don't need to say it. My downcast eyes speak volumes.
Mistress walks away from me and over to the armchair where He has been the whole time, watching with pleasure and not a little impatience. She whispers in his ear, explaining to him the part he is to have in my punishment. At first his eyes light up, and he gazes at me with hunger and playfulness, but as Mistress continues a trace of fear briefly shadows his face. By the time my mistress steps back to examine him, however, he has regained his composure and he says in a steely voice: “I will comply.”
As he silently disrobes Mistress explains to me the final phase of my shaming. Her accomplice for the evening will be tied naked to a hard-backed chair, his face level with my most intimate parts, and will be ordered to pleasure me orally. I will not be permitted to gyrate, moan or show any signs of pleasure unless Mistress orders it, and he will not be permitted to stop unless at Mistress' direct command. However, Mistress will be controlling both of us, and when she tickles me I may move as much as my bonds permit (not a great deal, but still enough to dislodge my pussy from the face pleasuring it). Similarly, Mistress will also tickle her assistant, and while he is laughing he will be unable to properly pleasure me. In this way Mistress can frustrate me almost constantly while getting to alternate between tickling two victims at once until she lets me orgasm and my punishment is finished. I don't even widen my eyes as she tells me this. I don't tremble or say a word in protest. I am entirely subservient to my mistress' wishes now, and since this is what my mistress wishes, I too will comply.
He is bound to the chair and the torture begins.
Mistress walks over to my right side, which is his left, places her left hand on my right hip and her right hand on his left ribs and goes at it, tickling furiously, sending both of us into hysterics. I can hear his gasps and his sweet laughter rising in a beautiful counter melody to my own, I can see him frantically shaking his head, trying to hold onto some form of self-control and failing, just as I am. Mistress effortlessly finds that one perfect extra-ticklish spot in any area she tickles that drives her victims mad, and we are feeling the full effects of her skill.
She releases him from her torturous grip and climbs onto the table, straddling my legs to tickle my back and sides from behind me. He fights to keep his mouth between my legs, as if hoping to avoid Mistress' tickling through obedience. The task is made all but impossible as I can't help but squirm while Mistress tickles my sensitive flesh. Suddenly she stops and I am forced into immobility as the kissing and lapping at my pussy resumes. I don't dare show any sign that it affects me, although the familiar lips, tongue and stubble never fail to ignite passion within me. It takes all my strength but I manage to hold on until Mistress places her hands at his neck and gently spider-tickles him until his head is forced up and thrashing as he tries in vain to stop her tickles. Back and forth between us, it feels like an eternity of teasing and tickling and sudden stops and surprise attacks, and by the end of it my nerves are shot. Just when I think I will have to cum or pass out, Mistress gives me a short pause while she frees her assistant's arms from their bondage to the chair,and instructs him to tickle me while bringing me to orgasm. He doesn't stop to question this unexpected gift, but brings his hands up to caress and tickle my hips while working me into a frenzy with his tongue.
Before he can fully exploit his newfound freedom, though, his voice rips through the air with a loud yelp. Mistress is lying at his bound feet licking and sucking on his toes, one by one, and it tickles more than he can bear. She raises her head just long enough to taunt him with the words: “I'm going to keep sucking on these tasty, ticklish toes here until my little slave cums, so the longer you take the longer you suffer. And from the looks of it, the longer you suffer the longer you'll take.” Mistress giggled cruelly and went back to work, enveloping first one set of toes, then the other, in her mouth. His fingers are clenched into my sides enough to hurt, and it is only my small cry of pain that brings him back to the task at hand. Still laughing helplessly, he returns his mouth to my mound and his hands to my hips in frenzied tickles that immediately cause an eruption of giggles from me. Thankfully, this time around I can help him, and I try to match my squirms to his mouth so that I can bring us all some relief. He is in agony as Mistress adds gentle finger-scratching to the tickling his feet are already receiving from her mouth, but somehow he keeps pleasuring me, and despite, or maybe aided by his tickling, I feel myself getting closer and closer to orgasm.
With a joyous cry I am thrust over the edge. My bliss goes on and on, as intense in its pleasure as the tickling and denial were in their torture. I finally start to come back to Earth, and Mistress smiles. “Your punishment is now over,” she says. Her smile grows into a smirk. “The next hour is just for fun.” And as my eyes widen Mistress nods to the man at my mound, and he starts afresh licking and burying his face in my soaking and oversensitive pussy. My mistress is at my side, gently tickling under my arm and ribs, and swallowing the first of my endless giggles in a delicious kiss...
... very cute, thanks!
As for encores, we shall see what the future holds.....
