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The Threshold

Loquei

TMF Novice
Joined
Nov 20, 2003
Messages
56
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I started this story a good couple of years ago and posted the first three parts, but never finished it with one thing in life and another.

Finally, tonight, I have finished- so the writing style in four and five may be a little different to one, two and three.

See what you think.

Part one- /m (no tickling yet)

The Threshold part one

Threshold

I sat in the car as the rain drummed down on the windows. The front of the house stared back at me- its block paved driveway leading up to the front porch, an isolated stone brick structure recently added by the owner.

I could not park in the drive, nor could I park in front of it. I had to make do with whatever space the pavement allowed a few yards away. The rain never ceased its hammering, rattling fingers on the window that blurred the vision within seconds. No lights were on in the house despite the murk of the winter’s day. All about me the road lay drenched in the winter’s rain- a typical English wet January day.

Ghostly flickering lights emanated from some of the houses, front windows revealing pictures of normal life within. They had families, wrapped up against the cold or dressed for the central heating, watching television or reading. The first weekend after New Year was a let down for many. Nothing to do, no-where to go, all the gifts of Christmas played with and now put away.

But not me. I was here for other reasons.

My punishment lay inside that house.

In truth, I could not decide if my heart hammered as fast as the rain beat upon my windscreen as I sat and waited, the engine growing cold. Every ounce of me screamed to leave the car, to run to the porch and seek shelter within, yet I knew what would happen once I stepped foot over that threshold.

My punishment would begin.

I had made a bet and lost. The price if I had won? Well, that hardly matters now. All that does matter concerns the price I had to pay now that I had lost.

As a man raised to take my punishment, I resolved to surrender myself for the duration, and opened the car door. I locked it from within- to avoid having to stand outside and lock the car whilst getting wet- and sat ready to leap onto the pavement and sprint for the door.

Could I sprint? Knowing what awaited me inside? I had no choice. The fact that I had made the bet was tantamount to my resolve to go through with it, no matter what the outcome. And what fear stayed me inside my car as I sat, door open to the pavement and rain splashing through the gap?

I was ticklish all over. I loved the idea of being tied up and dominated, tickled, teased, driven insane by a woman’s fingers, but at the same time, I feared the loss of control more than anything. Whilst I have no problem with personal nudity- I often walk around my house naked (being a single guy can have that advantage) and I prefer to go barefoot, I must confess to a thrill of fear at being restrained and undressed against my will. To know that I am at the mercy of another, and that they know the truth of my greatest weakness- that I am ticklish in just about every part of my body where skin meets the open air.

To know that the moment I stepped foot inside that house, my fate would belong to someone else, terrified me more than I could say. I breathed. Once, twice, three times, then accepted my fate

With a heart pounding against my ribs, I stepped from the car and slammed the door in the rain. Moving in a fast walk I reached the porch, tried the handle, and I wondered if for a second she would not be here. The handle turned and I paused, a fraction of a moment whilst rain rattled on the fabric of my coat, the cold of the winter’s day a furnace compared to the cold ball of fear that settled in my stomach.

The floor beyond was tiled. Shoes stacked up on one side, an umbrella stand, a rack for coats. One showed dark patches of moisture- she had been out recently. The door beyond that led to the house was on the latch, so I pushed it in. Laminate wooden floor stretched throughout the L shaped hall and up the stairs that I could barely see around the corner. I stepped in, closing the porch door behind me and leaving the rain beyond the glass of the windows. I removed my coat and hung it up before stepping across the doorway.

“Hello?” I called, “It’s me!”.

“You there? Good” her voice, slightly husky without a trace of an accent, came from somewhere on the ground floor. “Hang your coat up” called.

“Already have” I responded, closing the inside door.

“Lock the door will you?” she asked.

“Okay” my response was hesitant. Why was she asking me to lock the door? The symbolism of placing myself in a prison was not lost. Footsteps came down the hall and she appeared- loose t-shirt, blue jeans, feet in open backed slippers that showed her bare heels. In her hands was a blindfold.

“Stand against the wall” she ordered and I turned to face the smooth plaster wall, painted white with a slight maroon pattern picked out. “Spread your legs, arms wide, head back!” she ordered. The ordeal had begun, and my heart was slightly calmer now. The fear was still there, but the ordeal had begun. There was no turning back. I had hoped to discuss a safe word, but something told me she would not accept any limitations.

As my head came back, the sound of her movement came closer and I let my ears tell me of her movements. She kicked off her slippers and placed one bare foot in the back of my knee, forcing me to the ground with a grunt. Cool, long fingered hands pulled the blindfold around my eyes and tied it secure at the back of my head. The blindfold was a good one- no light entered, and only my imagination filled in the blanks that my eyes could not. My hands were pulled behind my back, one at a time until the wrists crossed, the backs of my hands resting on the cheeks of my posterior. A rustle of fabric, and the coarseness of rope circled my wrists, pulling tight in the first knot before the rope wrapped around my limbs repeatedly before the final tie.

“Now, I can’t have you wearing shoes in my house, can I?” she asked. Whilst kneeling, I felt fingers search underneath my left foot for the laces. A pull and tug of the fabric and the shoe was pulled loose. The right shoe fared the same and she turned me away from the wall and pushed me face downwards to the wooden floor. I fell heavily, but expected nothing less. Now prone, she lifted my left foot and eased the shoe from me, placing it neatly on one side.

“During your time here” she began, “you will call me ‘Miss’, answer all questions promptly, and respond when you are ordered. Is that understood?”

“Yes, miss” I said as she dropped my left foot and raised my right. With a soft exclamation of sound, the right shoe was pulled from my foot.

“Any deviation, and you will be punished. Whilst your main punishment is to be tickling, I am not averse to spanking also. Is that understood?” her voice was calm, reasonable, almost like an adult chiding a minor.

“Yes, miss”.

“Then there’s only one more thing left to do, isn’t there?” she asked.

“What’s that?” I asked.

With a crack, her hand landed securely across my backside, making me jump.

“Sorry, Miss. I meant to say, What’s that, Miss?” my response was instant, even though the impact did not hurt.

“It’s time we had your socks off” she said, and bent my left leg at the knee to bring my foot up. Cool fingers probed inside the fabric and glided between my slightly hairy leg and the material of the sock before the tips crunched, held onto the fabric, and began to slide the sock up my ankle, and over my heel. I did not resist- this was inevitable. There was only the hopelessness of a prisoner surrendering to his fate as she released her hold on my sock as it slid over the bulge of my heel and rested on the instep of the foot. Her fingers touched my toes, clenched, softened to release their grip of the toes and instead fasten on the fabric, and with a gentle yet unyielding pressure, pulled outwards. The sock stretched forward from its point of contact until, inevitably, the friction could no longer hold the sock in place and it unravelled down the length of my foot before sliding forwards. Inch by inch it revealed more of my skin until it popped off the ball of the foot to hang limp in her hand.

My left foot was placed back down and the right leg raised. This time, she was not so gentle. The fabric was pulled up, over the heel, and stripped from the foot with a suddenness I was not expecting.

“Now, you will go barefoot for your entire time here, and surrender yourself to be tickled on request…or even when I don’t request it” she said, and I could tell she was smiling.

I could not object. I had lost the bet, crossed the threshold, and now the ordeal had begun.



(part two in a minute)
 
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