Greetings, everyone! I hope I haven't kept anyone waiting with this next installment. However, recently I've been busy working with Marauder on a project for MTJ Publishing that should turn out very well indeed once completed. But of course, I should never forget what I've started here, either. So enjoy as the story approaches the climactic finish!
"What You Can't See" - Chapter 7
by Kunzite
With the auditorium behind her, Miss Gingers began to break into a run. Several moments passed before the question arose of why she was pursuing Katie. She could answer with nothing definite, and yet deep within her was the undeniable feeling, less an idea than an instinct, that somehow Katie would lead her to the answers she had been seeking. Something about her first taste of revenge had fueled her with a drive and purpose that she did not question. She continued running through the halls, after Katie. Judging by the fact that she still had not caught up, she realized Katie must be running as well.
Suddenly, she realized that she had actually been following something more: in the distance, she heard the unmistakable sound of laughter, which she had unconsciously been running towards. But who was it? Perhaps a teacher; is that what Katie had escaped to do? Or maybe Marianne, who she had not seen in the auditorium, had been using this time to pursue her own ends. Miss Gingers quickened her pace when the definite realization dawned upon her that the victim might be Miss Sydney.
Turning yet another corner in the deserted hallways, Miss Gingers passed by the door to her office. The familiar sight awakened her from the single-minded quest to find her truant pupil to more practical ideas. Was it truly necessary to track her down on foot? It would be better to consult her schedule, find out Katie and Marianne’s last classes, and wait for them after school. Perhaps she could send a memo to the office requesting those two be called to her office after class. Deciding that this would be the better course of action, she opened her office door and went inside.
The force of the shock struck her all at once. Immediately, she was thrown out of her complacency by the sensation of unbearable tickling! Caught completely unprepared, it felt as though someone had stolen up behind her and suddenly plunged their fingers underneath her arms, tickling the bare skin of her underarms as though she were wearing nothing! Miss Gingers had neither time nor presence of mind to resist. Immediately, she fell on the floor of her office in a fit of hysterics, leaving the door half-open as she rolled across the floor shrieking with laughter, alternately clutching her sides and striking out with her hands against a tickler she knew was not even there.
The hands took no time to stroke her skin, but immediately began kneading and squeezing her sides, digging into her flesh with long, spindly fingers and sharp nails that elicited mad screams of laughter. It was as though some force was trying to teach her a lesson: that a moment’s lapse in vigilance could reduce her back to this helpless state. Miss Gingers made a few feeble attempts to fight off the tickling, but she was too far in its grasp. The fingers felt longer than possible, as though her entire chest was encapsulated beneath them. Like spiders’ legs, she felt every squeeze in a dozen places at once, scraping her underarms, pumping her ribs, and touching her breasts with tickling fingertips that robbed her of any power to fight back.
Miss Gingers howled with laughter as she thrashed about on the floor, her flailing limbs knocking over the visitors’ chair and banging against the sides of her desk, towering above her from her vantage point on the ground. All the memories of her powerlessness in class against the unseen tickling force came rushing back to her as she laughed hysterically, not even afraid that anyone might hear her. She reached up, trying to grab a hold of the edge of her desk, but the effort of raising herself off the ground only gave more opportunities to her tickler. For a moment she hung by her hands, halfway off the ground as the invisible finger gleefully ran all over her chest, digging into her most sensitive spots in a renewed attack to bring her back down. Her eyes blurred with tears, not only of laughter but of the effort to resist. But she knew it was a losing struggle. Only seconds later, her hands became too weak to maintain their grasp, and the tickling brought her falling back down to the ground with bouts of laughter louder than ever.
And yet her mind managed to focus on one thing as she howled and pleaded for mercy to deaf ears. What had brought this on? It had happened, she realized, when she came into her office. Her only hope, she thought, was to get out of here, or she was sure she would be tickled to death. But a few impotent grasps at the far-away desktop mad her realize that standing would be impossible. Her chest still shaking with laughter, Miss Gingers reached out before her and pulled herself across the floor, managing each time to crawl several feet before the tickling became too much, and she relapsed into minutes of uninterrupted hysteria. Every time the fingers became fiercer in their tickling, seeking out the most tender spots of her upper body and focusing more and more on her ticklish breasts. Every time she came closer to the door, covering almost all the distance left before she fell back down, degenerating into helpless muscle spasms and hysterical screams.
How long it was before her fingertips touched at last the wooden surface of the door and pushed it open a few mere inches, she did not know. But finally reaching her goal gave her one final burst of strength. With all her energy, she threw herself through the opening of the door, and found herself at last lying on the hallway floor.
Just as quickly, the tickling was gone. Miss Gingers took several minutes before she was strong enough to stand, and even then she was afraid to at first, afraid the fingers were only mocking her and would wait until she stood up before bringing her back down again effortlessly. But at last, she found herself standing, and safe for the moment.
What had happened? she thought to herself. Had there been something about her office? But places had never seemed to matter when the tickling came. Whoever was responsible, Katie or Marianne, must have seen he going in there and aimed to stop her. They had certainly succeeded. If that was what was waiting for her inside her office, Miss Gingers would never have gone back in there again. They obviously wanted her to follow. And so she did.
It was only when Miss Gingers began brisk walk, which in only a few seconds became a full, undisguised run, did she realize what state the tickling had left her in. She was still panting, and running took nearly all her remaining breath away. In addition, she noticed the first several buttons of her blouse were open, probably torn open in a futile attempt to protect herself without realizing it. This exposed the top of her bra, which although still fastened, was clearly lacking in the strength she required now. Her ample breasts bounced freely as she ran down the school corridors and her chest heaved with the effort of exertion. It did not even cross her mind what would happen if she met up with a student or another teacher. She could only hope the announcement in the auditorium was still going on. But then she thought of Katie, who was no longer there, and her pursuit. Where could Katie have gone? She had lost the scent of the trail, and needed to consider her options. Miss Gingers allowed herself to stop and catch her breath.
Just as quickly, like a pursuer who was seconds away from catching her, the tickling suddenly caught up with her. Suddenly there was a feeling of two hands firmly grabbing her abut the waist and squeezing her buns, causing her to shriek out loud in the empty, echoing hallway. At the same time, there came the feeling of feathers, many of them, stroking and wriggling inside her panties, where they knew she was the most ticklish. Miss Gingers laughed in spite of herself, and broke out into a run again, as though she could outrace her pursuer. She nearly sprinted now, only trying to cover distance. As she ran, she had the feeling of leaving the hands behind. And yet the feathers remained with her, as though they were just behind her at all times, pursuing her like a wild animal. Every time she slowed or took a corner without thinking, she could feel the tips of the feathers closing the distance, stroking between her cheeks and sliding up and down her upper thighs, which mingled with stress produced a warm, tingling sensation between her legs. Even as she ran, she wondered whether or not to simply dash for the restroom as before, and brace herself for the fullness of the assault. But somehow, she realized that her tickler did not want hr to slow down, as she had in her office. The forces wanted her to continue running, guided only by instinct instead of thought. She was being led somewhere.
She did not even notice where she was going: sights passed by her unfocused eyes in a blur. Doors, windows, unrecognizable objects of all sorts were left behind as she sped down the hallways, at first not knowing how she even knew the way. But when she finally ignored her intellect, she felt what was driving her on. It was sound: that first sound of laughter that had first prompted her on, she had in fact never lost. Somewhere ahead of her, there was a sound of wild, unrestrained laughter, broken words, shrill pleas for mercy. In her heightened state of awareness, Miss Gingers could hear it more clearly than she would have thought possible. It must be the room where the girls are in, she thought. But who was being tickled? Was it her friend Miss Sydney, or was it some new victim that the girls had turned to, unsatisfied with the two of them? Miss Gingers ran even faster, feeling that the answers were even closer, not daring to stop. The tickling force was only steps behind her, and she could not afford a delay. With a new sense of purpose and direction, Miss Gingers ran on, allowing herself to be guided only by sound and feeling. She was not at all frightened, only a sense of urgency reigned.
And then, before she knew where she was, she found herself at a stop. But no tickling ensued. Miss Gingers required several moments to collect herself, and realized that she had run nearly halfway across the school. She was standing outside the office of Miss Catherine Sydney, and it was clearly from inside that the laughter was issuing. The girls had caught up with Catherine after all! Without even knowing what she would do once she got inside the room, Miss Gingers threw open the door and ran inside.
What she saw inside was indeed the scene of a merciless tickling. But it was not Marianne who was the tickler. It was not even Katie. It was Miss Sydney.
"What You Can't See" - Chapter 7
by Kunzite
With the auditorium behind her, Miss Gingers began to break into a run. Several moments passed before the question arose of why she was pursuing Katie. She could answer with nothing definite, and yet deep within her was the undeniable feeling, less an idea than an instinct, that somehow Katie would lead her to the answers she had been seeking. Something about her first taste of revenge had fueled her with a drive and purpose that she did not question. She continued running through the halls, after Katie. Judging by the fact that she still had not caught up, she realized Katie must be running as well.
Suddenly, she realized that she had actually been following something more: in the distance, she heard the unmistakable sound of laughter, which she had unconsciously been running towards. But who was it? Perhaps a teacher; is that what Katie had escaped to do? Or maybe Marianne, who she had not seen in the auditorium, had been using this time to pursue her own ends. Miss Gingers quickened her pace when the definite realization dawned upon her that the victim might be Miss Sydney.
Turning yet another corner in the deserted hallways, Miss Gingers passed by the door to her office. The familiar sight awakened her from the single-minded quest to find her truant pupil to more practical ideas. Was it truly necessary to track her down on foot? It would be better to consult her schedule, find out Katie and Marianne’s last classes, and wait for them after school. Perhaps she could send a memo to the office requesting those two be called to her office after class. Deciding that this would be the better course of action, she opened her office door and went inside.
The force of the shock struck her all at once. Immediately, she was thrown out of her complacency by the sensation of unbearable tickling! Caught completely unprepared, it felt as though someone had stolen up behind her and suddenly plunged their fingers underneath her arms, tickling the bare skin of her underarms as though she were wearing nothing! Miss Gingers had neither time nor presence of mind to resist. Immediately, she fell on the floor of her office in a fit of hysterics, leaving the door half-open as she rolled across the floor shrieking with laughter, alternately clutching her sides and striking out with her hands against a tickler she knew was not even there.
The hands took no time to stroke her skin, but immediately began kneading and squeezing her sides, digging into her flesh with long, spindly fingers and sharp nails that elicited mad screams of laughter. It was as though some force was trying to teach her a lesson: that a moment’s lapse in vigilance could reduce her back to this helpless state. Miss Gingers made a few feeble attempts to fight off the tickling, but she was too far in its grasp. The fingers felt longer than possible, as though her entire chest was encapsulated beneath them. Like spiders’ legs, she felt every squeeze in a dozen places at once, scraping her underarms, pumping her ribs, and touching her breasts with tickling fingertips that robbed her of any power to fight back.
Miss Gingers howled with laughter as she thrashed about on the floor, her flailing limbs knocking over the visitors’ chair and banging against the sides of her desk, towering above her from her vantage point on the ground. All the memories of her powerlessness in class against the unseen tickling force came rushing back to her as she laughed hysterically, not even afraid that anyone might hear her. She reached up, trying to grab a hold of the edge of her desk, but the effort of raising herself off the ground only gave more opportunities to her tickler. For a moment she hung by her hands, halfway off the ground as the invisible finger gleefully ran all over her chest, digging into her most sensitive spots in a renewed attack to bring her back down. Her eyes blurred with tears, not only of laughter but of the effort to resist. But she knew it was a losing struggle. Only seconds later, her hands became too weak to maintain their grasp, and the tickling brought her falling back down to the ground with bouts of laughter louder than ever.
And yet her mind managed to focus on one thing as she howled and pleaded for mercy to deaf ears. What had brought this on? It had happened, she realized, when she came into her office. Her only hope, she thought, was to get out of here, or she was sure she would be tickled to death. But a few impotent grasps at the far-away desktop mad her realize that standing would be impossible. Her chest still shaking with laughter, Miss Gingers reached out before her and pulled herself across the floor, managing each time to crawl several feet before the tickling became too much, and she relapsed into minutes of uninterrupted hysteria. Every time the fingers became fiercer in their tickling, seeking out the most tender spots of her upper body and focusing more and more on her ticklish breasts. Every time she came closer to the door, covering almost all the distance left before she fell back down, degenerating into helpless muscle spasms and hysterical screams.
How long it was before her fingertips touched at last the wooden surface of the door and pushed it open a few mere inches, she did not know. But finally reaching her goal gave her one final burst of strength. With all her energy, she threw herself through the opening of the door, and found herself at last lying on the hallway floor.
Just as quickly, the tickling was gone. Miss Gingers took several minutes before she was strong enough to stand, and even then she was afraid to at first, afraid the fingers were only mocking her and would wait until she stood up before bringing her back down again effortlessly. But at last, she found herself standing, and safe for the moment.
What had happened? she thought to herself. Had there been something about her office? But places had never seemed to matter when the tickling came. Whoever was responsible, Katie or Marianne, must have seen he going in there and aimed to stop her. They had certainly succeeded. If that was what was waiting for her inside her office, Miss Gingers would never have gone back in there again. They obviously wanted her to follow. And so she did.
It was only when Miss Gingers began brisk walk, which in only a few seconds became a full, undisguised run, did she realize what state the tickling had left her in. She was still panting, and running took nearly all her remaining breath away. In addition, she noticed the first several buttons of her blouse were open, probably torn open in a futile attempt to protect herself without realizing it. This exposed the top of her bra, which although still fastened, was clearly lacking in the strength she required now. Her ample breasts bounced freely as she ran down the school corridors and her chest heaved with the effort of exertion. It did not even cross her mind what would happen if she met up with a student or another teacher. She could only hope the announcement in the auditorium was still going on. But then she thought of Katie, who was no longer there, and her pursuit. Where could Katie have gone? She had lost the scent of the trail, and needed to consider her options. Miss Gingers allowed herself to stop and catch her breath.
Just as quickly, like a pursuer who was seconds away from catching her, the tickling suddenly caught up with her. Suddenly there was a feeling of two hands firmly grabbing her abut the waist and squeezing her buns, causing her to shriek out loud in the empty, echoing hallway. At the same time, there came the feeling of feathers, many of them, stroking and wriggling inside her panties, where they knew she was the most ticklish. Miss Gingers laughed in spite of herself, and broke out into a run again, as though she could outrace her pursuer. She nearly sprinted now, only trying to cover distance. As she ran, she had the feeling of leaving the hands behind. And yet the feathers remained with her, as though they were just behind her at all times, pursuing her like a wild animal. Every time she slowed or took a corner without thinking, she could feel the tips of the feathers closing the distance, stroking between her cheeks and sliding up and down her upper thighs, which mingled with stress produced a warm, tingling sensation between her legs. Even as she ran, she wondered whether or not to simply dash for the restroom as before, and brace herself for the fullness of the assault. But somehow, she realized that her tickler did not want hr to slow down, as she had in her office. The forces wanted her to continue running, guided only by instinct instead of thought. She was being led somewhere.
She did not even notice where she was going: sights passed by her unfocused eyes in a blur. Doors, windows, unrecognizable objects of all sorts were left behind as she sped down the hallways, at first not knowing how she even knew the way. But when she finally ignored her intellect, she felt what was driving her on. It was sound: that first sound of laughter that had first prompted her on, she had in fact never lost. Somewhere ahead of her, there was a sound of wild, unrestrained laughter, broken words, shrill pleas for mercy. In her heightened state of awareness, Miss Gingers could hear it more clearly than she would have thought possible. It must be the room where the girls are in, she thought. But who was being tickled? Was it her friend Miss Sydney, or was it some new victim that the girls had turned to, unsatisfied with the two of them? Miss Gingers ran even faster, feeling that the answers were even closer, not daring to stop. The tickling force was only steps behind her, and she could not afford a delay. With a new sense of purpose and direction, Miss Gingers ran on, allowing herself to be guided only by sound and feeling. She was not at all frightened, only a sense of urgency reigned.
And then, before she knew where she was, she found herself at a stop. But no tickling ensued. Miss Gingers required several moments to collect herself, and realized that she had run nearly halfway across the school. She was standing outside the office of Miss Catherine Sydney, and it was clearly from inside that the laughter was issuing. The girls had caught up with Catherine after all! Without even knowing what she would do once she got inside the room, Miss Gingers threw open the door and ran inside.
What she saw inside was indeed the scene of a merciless tickling. But it was not Marianne who was the tickler. It was not even Katie. It was Miss Sydney.
PLEASE hurry with the next chapter!!!
