Mastertank1
2nd Level Yellow Feather
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The Warlord Out Of Time Part 3: Joan has her turn.
A tickling/scifi novel by Mastertank1
The night after Ruby had witnessed Liel’s joyous interlude in the Warlord’s fungeon, it became Joan’s turn. Joan had been waiting for the Warlord to choose her again with a mixture of apprehension and longing.
When she had first been taken in the conflict between Gault and the local arm of the British Empire, she had absolutely hated to be tickled. She had three older sisters, who all used her extreme ticklishness against her to keep her under control. Since becoming Gault’s property, Joan had begun to associate tickling with pleasure. It still confused her.
Joanie was nearly as short as Ruby, standing only 5’2”. She was also the most proportionately slender of all the women in Gault’s harem. She was well toned and athletic, as all of Gault’s women were.
Despite her slender build, Joan possessed the feminine shape of a guitar, with a nicely rounded bottom tapering to a narrow waist before widening out to an inviting rib cage with small but well rounded firm breasts riding high on her chest. She had softly rounded shoulders and a long, elegant neck.
Joan’s face was a clear, smooth, long oval with sweetly feminine features of a very pleasing cast. Her complexion was pale with a very slight undertone of olivine hue. Her eyes were the deepest of deep jet blacks.
Joanie’s hair was a healthy, glossy black with reddish highlights, falling straight to her waist. Her feet were tiny, short even for so small a woman, but wide and with almost impossibly high arches. Her toes were like a row of little puffball mushrooms, tiny and exquisite.
Gault had given Joanie so much pleasure in their first three encounters that she still had trouble believing it. In her shy and unassuming manner, Joan was almost desperate to be pleasing to her new lord and master. Ruby, keenly observing as always, noted that when Joan had been told to prepare herself to be the Warlord’s companion for the night she had not prepared th layers of garments that Englishwomen of that time normally wore.
When they came to conduct her to Gault, Joan was wearing high heeled sandals on bare feet, and a mid thigh length tunic of very pale yellow silk. That was all. No other adornment or embellishment in the way of garments, nothing under the silk except Joan. Not trusting her ability to express her feelings verbally, this was her way of letting Gault know how eager she was for his attentions.
Consumed by curiosity, Ruby wondered what could make this shy young woman behave so boldly. She knew that Joan would share dinner with the Warlord, and then a long, leisurely drink with conversational accompaniment before the fire while the meal digested. Gault never let any of his concubines think she was no more to him than an attractive body and face, valued only for her looks.
He always spent time with his companion of the night before beginning sex play, and always took her to his bed to sleep by his side after sex. Most of the concubines opined that the evening leading up to sex and the rest of the night after gave them emotional pleasures every bit equal to the physical pleasures they got from the actual sex play.
The minority felt that the sex was so terrific, it completely outweighed the preliminaries and afters. On this matter, Joan was with the minority.
After having her own dinner, Ruby crept through the hallways to what had become her usual hiding place when she watched Gault at play with her concubine colleagues. She had timed her passage well; she had only been waiting in place a bare ten minutes when she heard Gault conducting Joan into the fungeon.
A bed of the type that the 20th century would call a sleep cube had been moved over in front of the fireplace. The structure was studded with fasteners and attachment points all over the inner surfaces of the four tall corner posts, the headboard, the footboard and the ceiling.
Because of her excessively sheltered upbringing, 30 year old Joan had the shy, awkward mannerisms of an adolescent. This caused Gault to treat her with a degree of gentleness and tenderness even greater than what he usually showed his lovers.
As Joan stood shyly before him, Gault sat on the edge of the bed and slowly unbuttoned her tunic, revealed her naked beauty. Tossing the tunic unerringly to hang over the back of a nearby chair, he paused for a few moments to savor the sight.
Pulling Joan towards himself by her waist, Gault let his left hand linger on the small of her back while his right index finger began wandering randomly over her taut belly. Joan began giggling at once, blushing as she did so and casting her glance downward. Gault tenderly lifted her chin with the tip of that same finger, then softly and sensually kissed her while teasing the ticklish flesh under her chin.
As on earlier occasions, the confusion of trying to eagerly respond to an exciting kiss while helplessly giggling from soft tickles deepened her blush and spread it down to the bottom of her sternum. Gault nibbled lightly on the lobe of Joan’s ear, then whispered; “Time now to bind you, my dear.”
Joan, with a barely suppressed eagerness, whispered back; “Yes, my lord. YES!”
The truth was that Joan felt more comfortable bound than she did free, in this situation. Bondage relieved her of any responsibility for what came next. It took away guilt. It freed her to react and respond as wildly as she longed to, to struggle and wriggle and squirm like a wild thing, completely unable to resist.
Helplessness, at Gault’s hands at least, was the sweetest sensation she had ever experienced. She cooperated happily as Gault positioned her face down on the bed.
Gault began by crossing Joan’s forearms behind her head. He then fastened each wrist to the opposite upper arm with two double loop leather cuffs. His next step was to place two straps attached to each other at right angles around the place where her forearms crossed. A third strap, snapped to the point where the first two crossed, went around her high, smooth forehead.
Then Gault took a straight wooden bar, just longer than Joan’s hips were wide, and fastened her slim, shapely ankles to leather cuffs at the ends. There was a brass ring attached to the crossed straps around her forearms, and a ringbolt protruded from the wood of the spreader bar just at the midpoint.
Gault took a long, narrow leather strap and threaded it through the ring and the bolt. Then he slipped the tongue end into the buckle on the opposite end and tightened it up. He continued to shorten the strap until Joan’s legs were forced to bend at the knees and then until her knees were lifted slightly off the bed. For the time being, he left her in this constrained but not uncomfortable position.
Gault moved Joan to the center of the bed, and sat next to her left hip. He reached out with both hands and started to tickle her naked buttocks with all ten fingers. In the space of about twenty seconds Joan went from smiling to grinning to giggling to chuckling to laughing out loud. At the same time she strained against her bondage really hard.
This was exactly why Joanie had been looking forward to this evening all week. It was why she preferred being bound for these sessions. The truth was that Joan loved the wicked sensations that forced her to laugh uncontrollably. She loved the helpless feeling, the loss of control, the desperate, irresistible urge to futilely struggle, to try to escape when she couldn’t.
Above all, she was addicted to the emotional charge it gave her. The feeling of being Gault’s plaything. The feeling of loving submission to the one man in existence whom she now believed she had been born to serve. The feeling that it was somehow right and good that he should dominate her, and that she should submit to him.
And then there was the arousal. Mustn’t forget the arousal! It started as soon as she was alone with him anywhere. It slowly grew as he conducted her into the fungeon. It flared up whenever he touched her, however casually, especially if the contact was bare skin to bare skin.
Unaware of the way the nanodoctor he gave her had attuned her to him, she thought that the way his touch seemed to awaken her senses was just natural attraction and affinity. When Gault actually tickled her, Joan felt incredible waves of arousal and pleasure alternate with the tickling sensations that drove her so wild.
Until Gault, tickling had always been unrelieved torture for Joan. Somehow, when he did it to her, tickling felt so hot and sexy and sweet Joan just couldn’t get enough. When she knew he was about to begin, she always dreaded the onset. Once he got started, she loved the sensations so much that she wanted him never to stop, even while feeling as though it would send her mad if went on for one second longer.
And so Joanie lay there and struggled, and laughed, and got desperately horny as Gault let his hands wander over her nude, bound form, wickedly tickling wherever they roamed. She also fell ever more deeply in love with her big, handsome tormenter with each passing moment.
After tickling Joan’s cute little ass for a few minutes, Gault switched to tickling her thighs. First the backs, then the inner sides. With one index finger he tickled her moist labia, which responded by growing steadily larger and wetter and by steadily increasing in sensitivity. The laughter provoked by this directly sexual tease had a sweet, merry sound to it.
Then, using all of his fingers again, Gault tickled Joan’s hips for a while. Next he reached under her body to tickle her belly. He switched up to tickle her neck for a while, then brought his hands down to tickle her ribs.
Joan’s ribs were one of her hot spots. She laughed really hard as his fingers played her ribs like a concertina, riding them as they expanded with fast-drawn deep breaths and contracted with the gales of involuntary merriment she expelled.
She could never have explained why in words, but Joan loved to be tickled like this. Then Gault’s hands started to glide up and down her smooth flanks. Oh, God, that tickled. She laughed even harder. She struggled even harder. She enjoyed even more.
Now, Gault moved on to one of three tickle spots Joan anticipated with the most intense fear and longing; he started to tease her defenselessly displayed armpits. Joan’s entire body convulsed with ticklish agony. Her torso strained to maximize her laughter. Her arousal increased beyond endurance. Her happiness soared.
The intensity of those sensations, as five fingers skillfully tormented each helpless underarm, was quite indescribable. Joan roared with laughter. The loss of control was simply delicious. And lord, how she wanted Gault’s cock up inside of her! Not yet, she knew. Gault would make her want him a lot more than she did now. She also knew that the more he delayed fulfilling her desire, the better it would be when he finally did.
After what seemed like both too long and not long enough, Gault moved on. He reclined alongside Joan, his knees near her head, and he started to tickle her feet. This was the second of her three wonderful/terrible places. Joan’s laughter became long wails of laughing despair as a single fingertip slid relentlessly up and down one tender sole, tickling and tickling and tickling.
Poor Joan. Happy Joan. She laughed and she laughed. She tried hard to stop but she couldn’t. She kept getting even more horny and wanting. Her lovely eyes filled up with yet unshed tears of mirth. Her tiny feet frantically wiggled, writhed and twitched.
Gault held her toes with the powerful fingers of one hand while he kept teasing her sole with the other hand’s index finger. That made it tickle even more. Joan was enduring a happy insanity. This was wonderful, yet it was terrible at the same time. It went on and on. It was highly debatable who was enjoying it more.
Then Gault cupped the top of that foot in one powerful hand while he played with her wildly wriggling toes with the other hand. This made her struggle and laugh more than ever. Gault considered this a lot of fun, and he kept it up for quite a while. Eventually, the laughter tears that had been gathering in Joan’s pretty eyes spilled over to trickle down her cheeks. That was a nonverbal signal Gault had been carefully watching for.
Gault seized Joan by her hips and rolled her over to lie on her back. With the weight of her own lower body bearing down on the wooden bar and with the tops of her feet pressing against the bed, Joan’s maddeningly ticklish feet were even more immobilized in this position. But, they were not Gault’s targets now.
As the tears began rolling down Joan’s cheeks, Gault leaned in and kissed them up one by one. He started to play with Joanie’s third hot spot, her sweet little breasts. These little orange sized hemispheres were almost as ticklish as her feet. They also produced a more intense sexual reaction.
As Joan bucked and twisted and joyfully laughed, Gault playfully asked her if she was ready to take him inside of herself. Truly, she had been ready for that some time ago. Since then she had passed beyond ready through eager to frantic.
Gault smiled down at his eager tickleslave. He untied the belt of his robe, shrugged the robe off and tossed it away. Then he entered Joan.
Joan, like Ruby, had been given the set of new primary erogenous zones that were standard equipment for Gault’s concubines. Entering her activated them. He waited in patient stillness, until about two minutes later he saw her facial expression change. He knew, from the descriptions provided by others of his concubines, that she was experiencing a growing wave of pleasure as the thousands of extra nerve endings inside her vagina came to life.
Joan was right on the brink of a truly towering climax. The slightest movement on her part or his would send her over that brink. With a wide, knowing grin, Gault reached down with both hands to tickle the sensitive undersides of Joanie’s tender little breasts.
Joanie exploded in laughter and movement. A split second later the orgasm detonated in the pleasure center of her brain. Gault kept on tickling, and Joan kept on laughing and bucking. Her orgasm lasted an incredibly long time and reached an amazing level of intensity.
When it peaked and subsided, Gault paused to let Joan breath. He waited about 90 seconds, and then began tickling her sides. He continued to tickle her sides till she came for the second time. He brought on her third climax by tickling her belly, her fourth by tickling her ribs, and her fifth by tickling her armpits.
Then Gault leaned forward. He let the weight of his upper body rest on Joan as he kissed her, now giving her a wave of sensation from the second of the extra primary erogenous zones he had equipped her with. For some reason, Joan simply adored the sensation of Gault’s massive upper body resting on top of her. Something primitive that had survived in her nature.
Now Gault reached down to tickle Joan’s helpless bare soles again. These had now been activated as the third and fourth new primary erogenous zones. With ten fingers maddeningly tickling all over her heels, the flats of her soles, the balls of her feet and her toes, and with all four of her new primary zones as well as her original ones all being stimulated at the same time, Joan went through a dozen powerful climaxes in rapid succession.
Gault finally moved his fingers to spiderdance in Joan’s high arches. Her entire body galvanized in a single endless orgasm. That triggered Gault’s climax, which in turn enhanced hers still further. He kept it up until her joyful, agonized ecstasy caused him to climax a second time.
Even in his post-orgasmic collapse, he took care to let most of his weight rest on his own arms and legs so as not to crush or hurt his tiny paramour. Joan, for her part, relished as much of his weight as he let rest upon her diminutive form. He rose, unbound her, dried them both on his robe, and carried her to his bed to sleep the night at his side.
The two lovers were about equally pleased with each other. Matthew Gault was just as happy in his ownership of Joan as she was happy to be owned by him.
Ruby, sensing the tenderness of these private moments, silently withdrew to her own chamber. She had much to think about. Oddly enough, she now found in herself the first stirrings of impatience for her own turn in Gault’s fungeon.
Now that was just crazy.
The thought of losing control to another person that completely was abhorrent and terrifying. Well, wasn’t it? Somehow, that thought seemed not to hold any abhorrence, nor any terror at all, so long as Gault would be that other person! Weird!
The End
