laughter_n_love
TMF Regular
- Joined
- Nov 2, 2001
- Messages
- 293
- Points
- 0
Ms. Roarke was sliding on her favorite toe ring when she heard sound of twin props outside steadily growing louder. With one last look in the full-length mirror to make sure her knee-length Polynesian dress was wrinkle free and her open-toed sandals were appropriately matched, she turned and threw open the shutters, her eyes turned skyward. She spotted the plane at the exact moment she heard the ringing of the bell, a sound that confirmed what she already knew. She headed out to the top of the porch stairs to await her driver. A moment later, she was joined by a slightly out of breath Pierce, her diminutive colleague who was, as always, dressed in a white suit with a black tie. "The plane is here," he said in his squeaky, nasally voice.
"Thank you for letting me know, Pierce," she said, nodding in the direction of the sea plane that could plainly be seen descending for it's water landing just over the tree line. Pierce flustered a bit at having stated the obvious, which he was prone to do.
The pair boarded an open air car to make the short drive down to the reception area. They arrived just as the plane was taxiing up towards the dock. Standing side by side at the end of the walkway that lead up from the pier, they waited for the plane to come to a full stop before either spoke again. "Smiles, everyone, smiles!" Ms. Roarke encouraged, flashing her own brilliant smile at each of the staff members assembled to greet the passengers. The effect was infectious, as it always was during these moments.
A woman dressed rather conservatively for a tropical paradise was the first to disembark the plane. "Boss, who is that woman?" Pierce asked. The woman appeared uncomfortable with the greeters showering her with affection and giving her a fresh lei.
"That is Paula Gladstone, a struggling author who has come to Fantasy Island to find the inspiration that will help cure her writer's block and make her a success."
"What kind of books does she write?" Pierce asked. He wasn't much of a reader.
"Romance novels, Pierce, the kind that people who do not have much passion or excitement in their own daily lives read to experience the sort of escapism that makes them feel alive. But unfortunately, Miss Gladstone's novels have yet to hit the mark."
Pierce lit up at the idea that Miss Gladstone was going to experience an inspirational whirlwind romance here on Fantasy Island. But then his face clouded over. "But Boss, if she falls in love on the island, will she want to go home again?"
Ms. Roarke winked down at her colleague. "Oh, I think she'll be inspired enough to get back home to start writing again." Pierce was left confused, but that was customary.
A handsome young man who looked more than comfortable being the center of attention stepped off the plane next. If anything, he was overly friendly with the greeters, making a few of them uneasy with his casual and familiar treatment of them as they welcomed him to Fantasy Island. "Who is he? He acts like a movie star." Pierce observed.
"That is because he is a movie star. That is Jack Gallows, one of the most sought after leading men in Hollywood, and he's not yet even 25 years old."
Pierce's eyebrows cocked in surprise. "So young to already be so successful. He must lead quite the life."
"Oh yes! Young Mr. Gallows indeed enjoys his excesses. As the expression goes, it is his world, and we are all just here for him."
Something in Ms. Roarke's tone told Pierce that perhaps she was speaking tongue-in-cheek. "And what is his fantasy?" he asked, not sure he wanted to hear the answer.
Ms. Roarke's mouth grew tight lipped, an unusual occurrence on her normally smiling visage. "It seems that even a man of Mr. Gallow's influence cannot always acquire everything his heart desires. His fantasy is to be joined by 5 women, all for his private enjoyment."
"An orgy?" Pierce could hardly believe Ms. Roarke would grant such a lewd fantasy.
"Something like that," Ms. Roarke replied, and at the thought, her radiant smile returned to its rightful place.
Ms. Roarke and Pierce each accepted a mimosa from one of the female staffers and raised their glasses towards their guests, who were both now facing them. Ms. Roarke raised her glass in a toast, inciting everyone else to follow suit. "Welcome," she said, "to Fantasy Island!"
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Paula was lounging on the beach wearing a conservative 1-piece bathing suit (with the accompanying skirt) and mostly hiding her face from the sun when Ms. Roarke and Pierce strolled up in her direction. It appeared that Pierce, who was at least three steps behind Ms. Roarke as they along the beach, was staring at his boss's bare feet as she walked with her sandals held in one hand. Ms. Roarke joined Paula on her over-sized beach towel while Pierce seemed interested in having a peek at her own bare feet, which made her feel even more self conscious about lying out in just a swim suit (with the accompanying skirt).
"Working on your tan, Miss Gladstone?" Ms. Roarke asked. Given her bathing suit was hardly risqué, Paula wondered if she was being sarcastic.
"No, just trying to enjoy the weather." She sipped on her straw and finished her pina colada, the second one she'd already drained in less than 30 minutes of laying out. The little man staring at her toes creeped her out a bit. She really didn't like attention being focused on her feet.
The empty glass did not escape Ms. Roarke's attention. "Miss Gladstone, please try to relax. You are on Fantasy Island, where there is nothing to be uptight about."
"Yes, well, you were very vague on how you planned on fulfilling my fantasy. I'm a bit stressed about the whole thing. Not only do I not know what to expect, but what if it doesn't work? What if I can't come up with a book idea that will sell after this? My dream on being the next Nora Roberts or Danielle Steele is riding on this!" As she spoke, Paula got more and more exasperated, almost to the point of having a panic attack.
Ms. Roarke turned to Pierce and issued him an order that not only sounded well rehearsed, but quite out of place from her smiling, benevolent countenance. "Quickly, rub Miss Gladstone's feet!"
Paula's eyes shot up in alarm at this. The last thing she wanted was the little man touching her, especially her feet. "No, really, that's not necessssssssoooooooh...."
Pierce moved with a speed that belied his short stature. No sooner has his orders been issued than he was kneeling at Paula's feet, lifting both her feet in his small hands and pressing his tiny thumbs deeply into her soles. The effect was near instantaneous, as waves of pleasure raced up her nervous system and put her mind in a happy place. Her eyes dropped shut and her body turned to jelly as those tiny little thumbs pressed all the right buttons along the bottoms of her feet. "Oh...oh my.....that feels.....wonderful...." Her feet were highly sensitive to begin with, but she couldn't ever remember a man...or even half a man...touching them like this before. It was heavenly, but also fraught with peril. A smile of contentment washed over her features, but all the while she knew how quickly it could all turn wrong. If Pierce only knew.
She could almost hear Ms. Roarke's smile through her closed eyes. "Yes. Pierce here is a master when it comes to feet." Paula cracked open her eyes to find that Pierce's smile at this praise stretched from ear to ear.
Though she didn't want to admit it, the foot massage had taken away all the tension that had been building up over this trip. When she spoke, gone was the shrill tone of panic that had been there before. "Can you at least...mmmm....tell me when my fantasy will begin?" Pierce had taken to rubbing her toes, and Paula was ready to turn into a puddle right there on the beach towel. Normally, anyone touching her feet would have caused a very different reaction. Pierce was indeed a master. Thank God he didn't know.
"Every guest's experience is unique, Miss Gladstone. The best answer I can offer is that inspiration comes from places we rarely expect to find it." Paula frowned at this vague answer, but with what Pierce was doing with her feet, she was too relaxed to vocalize an objection. But then Ms. Roarke did say something that truly upset her. "Come, Pierce. Let us leave Miss Gladstone. We have other guests to attend, and she...she must be on the lookout for her inspiration." Pierce's little thumbs abandoned her feet, causing Paula to visibly pout. She suspected Ms. Roarke was mocking her a bit, but the woman was so cryptic, it was hard to tell. Nevertheless, a moment later, she and the best foot masseur in the world were leaving her alone once again on the beach. Already her feet was missing the unusual attention.
"Excuse me," said a voice from the opposite direction from where Ms. Roarke and Pierce departed. Paula had to shield her eyes from the sun to see who was addressing her, but she couldn't make out his features with the sun almost directly behind him. "I couldn't help but notice that your foot massage ended abruptly. Would you like me to continue it for you?"
Paula felt her skin crawling. Not only had this stranger been watching her from afar, but he also seemed to know that she had been enjoying the foot rub. She squinted at the man, whose outline cut a very unimposing figure. If she had to guess, he was middle-aged, out of shape, and balding. Granted, she had initially balked at the idea of Pierce touching her feet and been wrong about that, but she was certain she wanted no part of this man anywhere near her. "No thanks," she said in a very definitive and dismissive tone. "I'm all set."
The man's tone sounded a bit hurt. "But you were enjoying it so much." More shivers along her skin. "I'm just offering..."
"The lady said no thank you," came another voice, deep and powerful and with a bit of an accent, this time from behind her. Paula turned and beheld a godlike creature of masculinity, fully lit up by the rays of the sun. He had long, flowing blond hair, a physique that told of years upon years spent working out hard in gyms, and a face of sculpted lines that framed piercing blue eyes. He looked like he stepped off the cover of a romance novel, and suddenly Paula understood.
She hopped up off the towel, now wishing she had worn a two piece, even if her body couldn't hold a candle to his. Ignoring the beach troll, she turned to face him, being so bold as to place one of her hands on his chest to feel how ridiculously powerful the muscle was underneath. "Thank you," she said somewhat breathlessly, almost adding 'my hero'.
The man smiled down at her and then looked menacing beyond her at the beach troll. Paula glanced over her shoulder, almost coyly, as she imagined a heroine might look on a book cover, to see that the beach troll accepted his rejection with slumping shoulders and a slow shuffling off away from them. She looked back towards her savior, her face lit up like a school girl being asked to dance. "I'm Paula," she said, her hand still resting on his chest where she liked it.
"I am Florian," he said, the accent thick, and his words coming out almost like being spoken by a computer. "That man will not bother you again, because if he does, I will tear off his arms and shove them up his ass."
Paula's moment of euphoria began to topple. What did he just say? And why did it sound like he was reading lines off a bad script?
"Umm, I'm sure that won't be necessary. I think he got the message." Paula tried to recapture that earlier feeling of being starstruck by eying his washboard abs, going as far as using her other hand to touch them as well. He was like a piece of iron wherever she touched. She couldn't remember ever having seen a more beautiful man before in her life. She wasn't sure one existed.
"He had better, or I''ll put my fist into his skull and squeeze his little brain until it pops like a balloon filled with brain juice." Florian's breathtaking blue eyes blazed at this idea.
Paula tried...she really tried...but with every idiotic, robotic word that came out of his mouth, the illusion of his perfection dispelled more and more. He looked like a god among men, but after that, she found him.....reprehensible. Reluctantly, and with a heavy-hearted sigh, she dropped her hands from his chiseled frame and stepped back. "Yes, I'm sure you could too. Well, thank you again, Florian." she said, giving one last look to his body and wishing he might just not talk any more. She began to gather her things on the beach.
"Would you like to join me for a protein shake?" he asked, flexing his pectorals and giving his head a small shake so his hair floated in the breeze.
"No...no thank you. I must be getting back." Paula hurried off away from him as fast as she she could manage without appearing to actually run.
She didn't stop until she was back in her room, where she raided the mini-bar for a drink. The day was still young, but now that her 'inspiration' had appeared and been beyond wanting, all of her fears returned to her once again. Florian the Moron looked exactly the man she had hoped to find here on Fantasy Island, but the disappointment of who he was beyond the looks was soul-crushing. She just wanted to drink and forget this whole nightmare. It wouldn't change the fact that her dream of becoming a romance novelist were shattered, but it might at least dull the pain for a moment. Still in her one-piece bathing suit (with the accompanying skirt), and with the midday sun streaming in through her open back windows, she passed out on her bed, a small collection of empty single serving bottles lined up on the nightstand.
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Jack Gallows responded to the knock at the door to his suite wearing only a pair of boxer shorts and an open silk robe. He loved this tropical weather when it was warm enough to wear next to nothing and show of his lean, muscular frame. If there was time before his orgy, he planned on doing some nude sunbathing on the lanai. He opened the door to find Ms. Roarke and her little buddy standing there. Her eyes ran up and down his figure, as did the eyes of most women. Still, it never failed to please him. "Ms. Roarke. Pouch. C'mon on in!"
"Pierce," Pierce angrily corrected, following Ms. Roarke into the suite.
"I trust everything is to your liking, Mr. Gallows?" Ms. Roarke asked. He noticed her eyes kept returning to his crotch, where he already had a semi-bulge going on.
"Oh yeah. And do you like what you see?" he asked, taking her hand and placing it directly into his manhood. "And feel?" He was so often surrounded by fan-girls that this particular come-on worked with surprising frequency. It didn't take much encouragement from him to sneak an eager-to-please girl into his trailer or hotel room this way.
Ms. Roarke did not disappoint him. With a practiced hand, she began to stroke and knead the hardness that was growing between his legs. Pierce stood by, mouth agape, but he said nothing, and Jack barely remembered he was still in the room. With just a bit of caressing, she had taken him from semi-hard to full blown erection, which stood out like a tent in the front of his boxers. "Very impressive, Mr. Gallows. I see you are ready for your fantasy to begin already. Shall I?"
It takes a ballsy guy to act disappointed when a gorgeous woman is stroking his cock, but that is how Jack managed to sound when he responded. "Well, only if you've got 4 friends planning on joining us." He didn't come all the way to Fantasy Island to get a hand job, no matter how hot Ms. Roarke was.
"Five actually, and here they are." As if on cue, five Polynesian girls clad only in string bikinis entered the suite. The last one in line carried a tiny pack on her back. They each tipped their head in greeting to Ms. Roarke as they physically and literally took him out of her hand and escorted him towards his king-sized, four poster bed.
Jack smirked in satisfaction. The five girls might have been sisters, so much alike they all appeared to him. Tanned skin, dark hair, dark eyes, smooth, curvaceous bodies. They were very different from the blond bimbo stereotype with which he was beyond familiar in LA, but different was okay in this case. He was going to have all five of them, a fantasy come true, so why not fulfill that fantasy with women who were a breath of fresh air to him.
"Enjoy yourself, Mr. Gallows," Ms. Roarke called after them, but he barely heard her. He also failed to notice that Pierce was handing her antibacterial hand sanitizer which she used liberally.
Ms. Roarke and Pierce left the suite, leaving Jack alone with his five beauties. He had such plans for them, and expected them to follow his directions. In addition to having his manhood buried at all times in one hole or another, he expected to bear witness to some serious girl-on-girl action, so they had better be ready to follow orders. "Okay, ladies, here's how it's going..."
They cut him off by shoving back on his own bed. One of the grabbed his boxers and slipped them over his erection and off his ankles. Another was pushing the robe off his shoulders. They rest were keeping him distracted by attacking him with their hands and lips. A tongue explored his mouth. Another slurped on his cock. He felt his hand being guided to a breast. A tongue slid across his waxed chest. It was almost too much, all at once, but he did ask for five, and this is what five felt like.
"Girls," he managed to say, but it was again cut off. One of the girls had slipped off her bikini bottom and straddled head head, filling his view and his senses with her shaved young pussy. The mouth slurping on his cock was joined by a hand massaging the base, and he wondered if they would have him cumming before things even got started. Okay, new plan: he'd let them make him cum, and then he'd take over the action. He reached for the ass of the girl on his face to pull her lips closer to his mouth, but he found the others were keeping his hands busy for him with various body parts he couldn't describe. So he licked as best he could, enjoying her taste almost as much as the mouth and hand working on his cock. Closing his eyes, he began to really enjoy Fantasy Island.
It's unsurprising that he failed to notice that while he licked a pussy and has his cock sucked, the others were cuffing him to his own bed. There was much to keep him distracted, and being tied up for these five women wasn't exactly what he had planned, but he wasn't above a bit of kink. This could be fun too.
As soon as he was snuggly secured to the four corners of his bed, presumable from cuffs brought in that little pack, the mouth and hand stroking his cock disappeared. He couldn't see why, as there was still a young girl straddling his face, but he assumed any moment the mouth would be replaced by one of their tight pussies. But after a few seconds, when no attention at all was paid to his cock, he stopped licking the girl riding his face. "What's going on?"
"Make me cum, Bitch," she said, the first words any of them had spoken to him. The others, all outside his field of vision, got a good laugh at this.
"Now wait just a seco....." he began to protest. Usually, he was the one using that phrase with his hand in the hair of a girl on her knees before him. Who did they think they were to talk to him like that?
And that's when they began to tickle him.
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Paula awoke to find tape being placed over her mouth and around her head. Her eyes flew open in alarm, but she was slow, still in a stupor of sorts, and totally disoriented. She reacted, but not in any way that helped her, and before she knew it, her mouth was effectively gagged by several layers of duct tape.
"Hhhhhhhhhhhhhhmmpph!" she cried, trying to call out for help, but it was beyond muffled. Her scream barely extended beyond the walls of her bedroom, completely unheard by anyone who might be outside of her suite.
Her attacker wasn't done yet. She was being rolled onto her stomach. Her arms were being forced behind her back. There was more tape, first around her wrists, and then tightly around her upper arms. She winced and struggled, but it was all happening so fast. She'd never experienced anything like this, nor was she at all trained in self defense. Add in her slow reaction times, and she was about as easily to subdue as anyone might ever be expected to be. Before she really registered what was going on, she was gagged with her arms taped behind her.
"Mmmmmmppppphhhhh!" she screamed again, now more alert, but as before, equally ineffective and unheard. This couldn't really be happening to her, could it? Fear washed over her, causing the hairs on her arms to stand up and goosebumps to break out all over. Her heart thundered in her chest.
Her attacker had switched around to work on her legs. The tape was being wound around her ankles. She had tried to kick them free, but the attacker simply slid down her legs until there was no kicking room left for her. Once her ankles were effectively wrapped in tape, more was applied just below her knees. This was a nightmare. Tears flowed freely from her eyes. She screamed again and again, each time growing weaker and more hoarse. She knew it was a waste of time, but it was her only form of recourse. It was the only way she could release her frustration.
She'd never felt so helpless in all her life. She couldn't move. She couldn't talk. Adrenaline rushed through her body. Her heart felt like it might leap out of her chest. And her attacker wasn't even done.
Paula felt her legs being bent at the knees, her ankles being bent back towards her ass. More tape was applied. She died inside. She was being hogtied. How humiliating. To be trussed up like some kind of farm animal. When she stopped hearing the tape unwinding and the pressure taken off her legs, they stayed right where they were, bent at the knee. She tried to roll, the only movement really left to her, but her attacker robbed her of that too. Paula felt her own knees trapped between the knees of her attacker, and that kept her legs in place, though her upper body twisted a bit uselessly from side to side. She was utterly helpless, and scared out of her wits. What was happening? Why would someone tape her like this?
She didn't have long to wait to find out the answers to her questions, as fingernails began to dance over the soles of her upturned feet.
It took a full second for Paula to register what was happening. Her brain hadn't been prepared for this. And then that part of the brain that registers tickling kicked into action and she exploded in laughter. Her feet flailed, trying to find relief, but relief was only temporary. The nails working on her soles couldn't be avoided for more than a split second, and so it dawned on Paula what all the tape bondage was about at the same time that she realized there was no way for her to escape the tickling. She was being tickled tortured, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
Unfortunately for Paula, she was insanely ticklish on her feet.
One of the reasons she had felt so uncomfortable with Pierce eying and then touching her feet was that she had a real phobia about her feet being touched, and the reason she had this phobia is because of how unbearably ticklish they were. Pierce had managed to rub her without tickling, the danger of that had lurked the whole time his hands were on her. This was entirely different. Now she was being purposely tickled, while tied up, but someone who clearly intended this from the start. That thought alone sent her spiraling.
She howled into the tape gag, her eyes first bulging out of their sockets before slamming tightly closed. Her toes curled tightly, hoping to block out the torturous sensations by wrinkling up her soles, but it was only the most marginal of victories, as her attacker's nails flew over the wrinkles as easily as over smooth skin. There was no relief to be found in...in anything. Nothing she did helped. Nothing she did could save her. The tickling fingernails scrambled over her feet again and again and again, and she could not stop them or avoid them. What she could do is laugh. And laugh. And laugh. And laugh until it hurt to laugh. And then laugh until the tears leaked freely from her eyes and her voice gave out completely. And still the torture continued.
Her attacker had managed to get fingernails under and in between her toes, and this only ratcheted up the her torment to new extremes. Paula flopped around, a taped up tickle toy that had been reduced to silent laughter. Silence filled the room where her muffled screams and laughs had once dominated.
And that's why her attacker finally spoke. "I knew you were going to be ticklish. When I saw how you smiled when that little man rubbed your feet, I just knew." It was the man from the beach. The beach troll. Paula's stomach flipped in fear. It all made a sort of sense, but now how she regretted they way in which she so utterly rejected him. She was reaping what she sowed.
The beach troll moved onto new tactics. He was using his mouth on her toes, first licking the tips, and then outright sucking on her toes. It tickled, but it also felt strangely good, and Paula experienced another wave of shame at actually enjoying some part of this. As she lay there, hogtied, exhausted both mentally and physically, she allowed herself to enjoy the feel of the loathsome man's mouth sucking on her toes. She told herself she'd hate herself for it later, but in that moment, after all she'd been through, she granted herself this small reprieve.
The man gave her soles a fresh working over with his nails while his mouth suckled, and Paula reacted all over again, now finding both the pleasure and the torture mixed together. It was a heady concoction, one for which she had no precedent to process. How could something feel good and torturous at the same time? It was impossible, and yet, as her soles twitched in protest and her toes willingly parted to accept his lips, she was in the throes of that very thing. She couldn't comprehend it, other than to know how aware she was of everything about being in that moment.
The beach troll continued. "I just love tickling ticklish feet. And yours are so super ticklish. And to think I never would have if I hadn't seen the little guy rubbing yours. But you know what they say...inspiration comes from places we rarely expect to find it."
If Paula thought she was swooning earlier from initially meeting Florian, if she thought she was experiencing an out of body experience as the prospect of meeting her romantic muse, it was nothing to the revelation that dawned on her in that moment. The beach troll had just used the exact words used by Ms. Roarke, a coincidence she refused to believe was a coincidence at all. Paula had come to Fantasy Island to find inspiration to write books for people who were trapped in their mundane lives that lacked passion, fire, and excitement. She had assumed that meant yet another steamy romance novel to titillate all the bored housewives and mommies out there, but she had assumed wrong. After all, what was more thrilling, pulse-pounding, and nerve-tingling than being kidnapped, bound, and tickle tortured to within an inch of your sanity? What she was experiencing, right now, was way more extreme than any love affair she might have had. Her body was alive in ticklish agony. Her mind was afire in ticklish hell. This was an experience that would stay with her the rest of her life. This was the stuff of which bestsellers were made.
The beach troll must have been a mind reader, because as Paula was having her epiphany, he'd decided he'd had enough. He gave her soles one last tickle that made her jump one last time and then he was off her, off the bed, and out the window through which he had come in. She lay there, still taped, still suffering the residual after effects from all the tickling, fully aware of how every nerve ending in her body felt like it was high alert. In her mind, as she waited for a maid to discover her and free her, she began to write a novel in her head about the Mommy Next Door who gets abducted by a kidnapper with a secret fetish.
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Jack flopped around as much as he could, but given there was a woman riding his face and others lying strategically across different parts of his body, that wasn't hardly at all. Fingernails seemed to be attacking him everywhere, all at once. It was an overload his brain couldn't handle. He screamed "STOP!" a few times, or at least he thought he didn't but they didn't stop, so maybe he just imagined it. What he didn't imagine though was being tickled on the bottoms of both of his feet, along both of his sides, and between his legs, all at the same time. That part was all too real to him.
He thrashed, laughing like a madman, but still they tickled him. His feet had always been ticklish, and were he not tied and pinned down, he surely would have kicked at anyone who tried to tickle them. His sides were sensitive, but normally side tickles are brief or lead to a tickle fight. Never before had his been relentlessly tickled with no way for him to retaliate or escape. But it was what was happening between his legs where things were the worst. He religiously manscaped, so there wasn't a hair to be found anywhere on his body from the neck down, and that included his cock and balls. What he didn't know was how this lack of protective hair left his shaft and scrotum exposed and sensitive to tickling. The tickles on his sides made him twist. The tickles on his feet made him struggle and try to kick. But the tickles in his groin made him scream in laughter.
"I said make me cum, Bitch," the girl looming over him repeated. "You don't get a break until you make me cum."
Jack heard the words, though they took a moment to sink in. These girls were going to keep tickling him until he got off the one on his face. But how could he be expected to perform oral sex on her with the others tickling the shit out of him?
He tried. It was the lifeline they had thrown him, so he grasped at it with both figurative hands. Still laughing until his tanned face was bright red, he did his best to stimulate her with his tongue. The hands along his sides danced everywhere now over his upper body, seeking out new spots to torture. The two girls at his feet were pulling back on his toes so they could snake their nails under them. And the girl between his legs was lightly tickling the tip of his cock at the same time as his balls, both stimulating and torturing him at the same time. His eyes pleaded with the girl looming over him, but there was no pity in her face. "Come on. Lick that pussy like you mean it, Bitch."
Jack tried harder. His chest began to hurt from all the laughing, but still he tried. He found it difficult to draw in breaths between licking her and laughing his head off, but still he tried. His body began to ache from muscle fatigue from all the struggling, but still he tried. He buried his laughing face into her pussy, hoping the vibrations from his own tortured laughter would add to her stimulation. He lapped at her sex, flicking his tongue as fast as he could over her clit as best as could amid all the distractions. She frustrated him by moaning, grinding into his mouth, and then pulling away. "I'm not ready yet," she taunted.
He screeched in frustration, his cock throbbing with both the need for release and the need to stop being tickled. Eventually she lowered herself again, and Jack redoubled his efforts, determined to lick her pussy so good that she would be forced to let him bring her off. It was his only hope.
He succeeded. She ground her hips into his face, moaning and climaxing hard on top of him. He looked up to see her tweaking her own nipple and staring at the ceiling, lost in the throes of her own release. At once, all the hands torturing him ceased, except for one light hand that kept a slow, almost imperceptible stroking going of his cock. He whined, glad to be free of the torturous tickling, but kept on the edge of his own orgasm way longer than he liked. "Please!" he croaked. "Let me cum!"
The girls all seemed to this this was funny. Then, like some kind of kinky Chinese fire drill, they all switched spots. A new hairless young pussy was positioned over his face. A new hand took up the maddening teasing of his cock. New bodies lay across his legs to keep his bound ankles still. "No. You make me cum, Bitch," the girl on his face said. It was like starting all over again.
Jack thrashed like crazy at this. They couldn't be doing this to him. It was madness. Utter madness. Fingers attacked him again, just like before, and just like before, he howled in protest before succumbing to forced laughter. Whoever was between his legs thought licking his shaft while tickling his balls would be fun, and it would have been, if he knew it would lead to eventually orgasming. But they apparently had no intention of letting him cum. Instead, they were going to sit on his face, one by one, and have him make them cum, all the while tickle torturing him.
He had no choice. The only way to end this madness was to play their game. Like a good little Bitch, he went to work on licking pussy number two.
.....
By the time the fifth girl took up her spot on his face, Jack was nearly broken. His tongue was numb. His skin was on fire. His cock was engorged to the point of pain. He no longer had any fight left in him. His body only twitched and reacted of it's own accord now. There was nothing he could do to stop his muscles firing spasmodically in response to the ticklish stimuli, which made him feel like a puppet on strings being manipulated by another. He had been reduced to tears. He had begged, especially after he'd gotten the second girl off and his cock felt like it was going to explode. If they would just let him cum, he'd pleaded, he'd do whatever they wanted. But they had just laughed at him and rotated spots again.
The last girl looked down at him, her pussy hovering of his mouth. "I'm ticklish too. That's why they are going to tickle me while you make me cum, Bitch. I can't cum while I'm being tickled."
The nails once again attacked Jack on all sides, and though his body reacted in the fight-or-flight way in which it does, it was his heart that suffered the most. He began to lick at her her pussy with his sore tongue, but already she was giggling and squirming above him. Someone must have been tickling her feet while she rode him. He'd never get her off like this.
.....
After several hours of being tickled and teased, and after he'd finally managed to give each of the five girls an orgasm, even the ticklish fifth one, they all took turns giving his cock a good bye kiss and then they left him.
Jack lay on his bed, still tied, still naked, with his spirit broken, and his engorged cock still unsatisfied. At least he wasn't being tortured anymore. In that respect, things had improved considerably.
He was surprised to open his eyes to find Ms. Roarke sitting on the bed beside him. She'd entered his suite and joined him on the bed as silent as a mouse. His head rolled toward her, but he was still too hoarse and weak to speak. He wasn't sure what to say to the architect of his undoing, especially considering he was still tied up and naked.
"So how was your fantasy, Mr. Gallows? Was having five girls all to yourself what you expected?"
He shook his head from side to side. Of this he was certain.
Ms. Roarke's hand found his cock, much as it had earlier in the day. "Shall I?" she asked, repeating the same question from before. He nodded with as much enthusiasm as he could muster, given all he'd been through. She stroked him, not in the teasing, never-let-me-cum sort of way the girls had, but in a more purposeful way that would give him what he needed most. And it didn't take long. Four, maybe five strokes along his shaft and he came like never before. The orgasm was so built up, so powerful, that ribbons of his own jism struck him in the face and covered his chest. Much like he'd done to many a fan-girl, he gave himself a facial.
She was wiping her hand on his thigh as she spoke. "Sometimes, too much of a good thing is not such a good thing, wouldn't you agree, Mr. Gallows? Sometimes, less is more."
Jack nodded, finally getting the message, and then he passed out.
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A tropical storm was on the horizon as the guests prepared to board the plane that would take them away from Fantasy Island. Ms. Roarke and Pierce stood at the end of the pier, waiting for each car to arrive, as they always did at this point in the week. Pierce held a white, closed umbrella in one hand. The color matched his suit.
The first car to arrive carried Paula Gladstone. She was a bundle of enthusiastic energy, like a child awaiting those final moments before finally being allowed to open Christmas presents. She gave Ms. Roarke a mock look of anger before embracing her in a feisty hug. "I should be angry with you, but I'm not!"
Ms. Roarke chuckled and allowed Miss Gladstone to manhandle her. "Eager to start writing again, Miss Gladstone?" Pierce looked dumbfounded. Was this really the same woman who had arrived a week ago?
"Oh yes! If I had known what was gonna happen, I would have brought my laptop with me. I'd have the book half done already!" She poked her brain. "But it's already written up there."
"I'm so very pleased to hear it."
Miss Gladstone turned and gave Pierce a kiss on the cheek, which made him blush. "That's for setting everything in motion." He had no idea what he'd done, but he wasn't about to complain about getting kissed.
She turned to Ms. Roarke again. "And do please give the other gentleman my...umm...my thanks I guess." She blushed, but she didn't care. What had happened had happened, and it had changed her life for the better.
"Florian?"
"Oh no...the other one."
"Ahh, Trevor. Yes, I shall indeed."
With that, Paula Gladstone turned and headed for the plane.
"Boss, she found the inspiration she was looking for?" Pierce asked, still wondering what he had done to help.
"Oh yes, Pierce. Miss Gladstone discovered there is more than one way for a person to feel truly alive. I expect she will write a very successful book upon her return."
"Do you think I will be in it?" Pierce asked, a childlike look of hope upon his face.
"You may at that," Ms. Roarke said, ruffling his hair. Just then, the car transporting Jack Gallows arrived.
He stood in front of Ms. Roarke looking rather humbled. "Look, I get it now. I was...I am...a douche bag. But I've seen the error of my ways. You won't catch me acting like that any more."
Ms. Roarke tipped her head in his direction. "So glad to hear it, Mr. Gallows. And I'm sure your fans...the people who hold you in such high regards...will be glad to hear that too."
A tinge of embarrassment reached his cheeks. "Yeah, well, I'm going to be treating those people a lot nicer from now you. You can believe me that!" He turned and offered Pierce a fist bump. "Hit me, Pouch!"
Pierce returned the fist bump but did not not bother to correct the man this time. As the actor headed for the plane, he asked Ms. Roarke. "Boss, what is a douche bag?"
Ms. Roarke opened her mouth to answer, but then closed it and just chuckled to herself. A few drops of the incoming tropical shower began to fall, so she looked at Pierce expectantly.
He opened his white umbrella with a flourish and pointed at the dark clouds in the sky. "The rain! The rain!"
"Thank you for letting me know, Pierce," she said, nodding in the direction of the sea plane that could plainly be seen descending for it's water landing just over the tree line. Pierce flustered a bit at having stated the obvious, which he was prone to do.
The pair boarded an open air car to make the short drive down to the reception area. They arrived just as the plane was taxiing up towards the dock. Standing side by side at the end of the walkway that lead up from the pier, they waited for the plane to come to a full stop before either spoke again. "Smiles, everyone, smiles!" Ms. Roarke encouraged, flashing her own brilliant smile at each of the staff members assembled to greet the passengers. The effect was infectious, as it always was during these moments.
A woman dressed rather conservatively for a tropical paradise was the first to disembark the plane. "Boss, who is that woman?" Pierce asked. The woman appeared uncomfortable with the greeters showering her with affection and giving her a fresh lei.
"That is Paula Gladstone, a struggling author who has come to Fantasy Island to find the inspiration that will help cure her writer's block and make her a success."
"What kind of books does she write?" Pierce asked. He wasn't much of a reader.
"Romance novels, Pierce, the kind that people who do not have much passion or excitement in their own daily lives read to experience the sort of escapism that makes them feel alive. But unfortunately, Miss Gladstone's novels have yet to hit the mark."
Pierce lit up at the idea that Miss Gladstone was going to experience an inspirational whirlwind romance here on Fantasy Island. But then his face clouded over. "But Boss, if she falls in love on the island, will she want to go home again?"
Ms. Roarke winked down at her colleague. "Oh, I think she'll be inspired enough to get back home to start writing again." Pierce was left confused, but that was customary.
A handsome young man who looked more than comfortable being the center of attention stepped off the plane next. If anything, he was overly friendly with the greeters, making a few of them uneasy with his casual and familiar treatment of them as they welcomed him to Fantasy Island. "Who is he? He acts like a movie star." Pierce observed.
"That is because he is a movie star. That is Jack Gallows, one of the most sought after leading men in Hollywood, and he's not yet even 25 years old."
Pierce's eyebrows cocked in surprise. "So young to already be so successful. He must lead quite the life."
"Oh yes! Young Mr. Gallows indeed enjoys his excesses. As the expression goes, it is his world, and we are all just here for him."
Something in Ms. Roarke's tone told Pierce that perhaps she was speaking tongue-in-cheek. "And what is his fantasy?" he asked, not sure he wanted to hear the answer.
Ms. Roarke's mouth grew tight lipped, an unusual occurrence on her normally smiling visage. "It seems that even a man of Mr. Gallow's influence cannot always acquire everything his heart desires. His fantasy is to be joined by 5 women, all for his private enjoyment."
"An orgy?" Pierce could hardly believe Ms. Roarke would grant such a lewd fantasy.
"Something like that," Ms. Roarke replied, and at the thought, her radiant smile returned to its rightful place.
Ms. Roarke and Pierce each accepted a mimosa from one of the female staffers and raised their glasses towards their guests, who were both now facing them. Ms. Roarke raised her glass in a toast, inciting everyone else to follow suit. "Welcome," she said, "to Fantasy Island!"
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Paula was lounging on the beach wearing a conservative 1-piece bathing suit (with the accompanying skirt) and mostly hiding her face from the sun when Ms. Roarke and Pierce strolled up in her direction. It appeared that Pierce, who was at least three steps behind Ms. Roarke as they along the beach, was staring at his boss's bare feet as she walked with her sandals held in one hand. Ms. Roarke joined Paula on her over-sized beach towel while Pierce seemed interested in having a peek at her own bare feet, which made her feel even more self conscious about lying out in just a swim suit (with the accompanying skirt).
"Working on your tan, Miss Gladstone?" Ms. Roarke asked. Given her bathing suit was hardly risqué, Paula wondered if she was being sarcastic.
"No, just trying to enjoy the weather." She sipped on her straw and finished her pina colada, the second one she'd already drained in less than 30 minutes of laying out. The little man staring at her toes creeped her out a bit. She really didn't like attention being focused on her feet.
The empty glass did not escape Ms. Roarke's attention. "Miss Gladstone, please try to relax. You are on Fantasy Island, where there is nothing to be uptight about."
"Yes, well, you were very vague on how you planned on fulfilling my fantasy. I'm a bit stressed about the whole thing. Not only do I not know what to expect, but what if it doesn't work? What if I can't come up with a book idea that will sell after this? My dream on being the next Nora Roberts or Danielle Steele is riding on this!" As she spoke, Paula got more and more exasperated, almost to the point of having a panic attack.
Ms. Roarke turned to Pierce and issued him an order that not only sounded well rehearsed, but quite out of place from her smiling, benevolent countenance. "Quickly, rub Miss Gladstone's feet!"
Paula's eyes shot up in alarm at this. The last thing she wanted was the little man touching her, especially her feet. "No, really, that's not necessssssssoooooooh...."
Pierce moved with a speed that belied his short stature. No sooner has his orders been issued than he was kneeling at Paula's feet, lifting both her feet in his small hands and pressing his tiny thumbs deeply into her soles. The effect was near instantaneous, as waves of pleasure raced up her nervous system and put her mind in a happy place. Her eyes dropped shut and her body turned to jelly as those tiny little thumbs pressed all the right buttons along the bottoms of her feet. "Oh...oh my.....that feels.....wonderful...." Her feet were highly sensitive to begin with, but she couldn't ever remember a man...or even half a man...touching them like this before. It was heavenly, but also fraught with peril. A smile of contentment washed over her features, but all the while she knew how quickly it could all turn wrong. If Pierce only knew.
She could almost hear Ms. Roarke's smile through her closed eyes. "Yes. Pierce here is a master when it comes to feet." Paula cracked open her eyes to find that Pierce's smile at this praise stretched from ear to ear.
Though she didn't want to admit it, the foot massage had taken away all the tension that had been building up over this trip. When she spoke, gone was the shrill tone of panic that had been there before. "Can you at least...mmmm....tell me when my fantasy will begin?" Pierce had taken to rubbing her toes, and Paula was ready to turn into a puddle right there on the beach towel. Normally, anyone touching her feet would have caused a very different reaction. Pierce was indeed a master. Thank God he didn't know.
"Every guest's experience is unique, Miss Gladstone. The best answer I can offer is that inspiration comes from places we rarely expect to find it." Paula frowned at this vague answer, but with what Pierce was doing with her feet, she was too relaxed to vocalize an objection. But then Ms. Roarke did say something that truly upset her. "Come, Pierce. Let us leave Miss Gladstone. We have other guests to attend, and she...she must be on the lookout for her inspiration." Pierce's little thumbs abandoned her feet, causing Paula to visibly pout. She suspected Ms. Roarke was mocking her a bit, but the woman was so cryptic, it was hard to tell. Nevertheless, a moment later, she and the best foot masseur in the world were leaving her alone once again on the beach. Already her feet was missing the unusual attention.
"Excuse me," said a voice from the opposite direction from where Ms. Roarke and Pierce departed. Paula had to shield her eyes from the sun to see who was addressing her, but she couldn't make out his features with the sun almost directly behind him. "I couldn't help but notice that your foot massage ended abruptly. Would you like me to continue it for you?"
Paula felt her skin crawling. Not only had this stranger been watching her from afar, but he also seemed to know that she had been enjoying the foot rub. She squinted at the man, whose outline cut a very unimposing figure. If she had to guess, he was middle-aged, out of shape, and balding. Granted, she had initially balked at the idea of Pierce touching her feet and been wrong about that, but she was certain she wanted no part of this man anywhere near her. "No thanks," she said in a very definitive and dismissive tone. "I'm all set."
The man's tone sounded a bit hurt. "But you were enjoying it so much." More shivers along her skin. "I'm just offering..."
"The lady said no thank you," came another voice, deep and powerful and with a bit of an accent, this time from behind her. Paula turned and beheld a godlike creature of masculinity, fully lit up by the rays of the sun. He had long, flowing blond hair, a physique that told of years upon years spent working out hard in gyms, and a face of sculpted lines that framed piercing blue eyes. He looked like he stepped off the cover of a romance novel, and suddenly Paula understood.
She hopped up off the towel, now wishing she had worn a two piece, even if her body couldn't hold a candle to his. Ignoring the beach troll, she turned to face him, being so bold as to place one of her hands on his chest to feel how ridiculously powerful the muscle was underneath. "Thank you," she said somewhat breathlessly, almost adding 'my hero'.
The man smiled down at her and then looked menacing beyond her at the beach troll. Paula glanced over her shoulder, almost coyly, as she imagined a heroine might look on a book cover, to see that the beach troll accepted his rejection with slumping shoulders and a slow shuffling off away from them. She looked back towards her savior, her face lit up like a school girl being asked to dance. "I'm Paula," she said, her hand still resting on his chest where she liked it.
"I am Florian," he said, the accent thick, and his words coming out almost like being spoken by a computer. "That man will not bother you again, because if he does, I will tear off his arms and shove them up his ass."
Paula's moment of euphoria began to topple. What did he just say? And why did it sound like he was reading lines off a bad script?
"Umm, I'm sure that won't be necessary. I think he got the message." Paula tried to recapture that earlier feeling of being starstruck by eying his washboard abs, going as far as using her other hand to touch them as well. He was like a piece of iron wherever she touched. She couldn't remember ever having seen a more beautiful man before in her life. She wasn't sure one existed.
"He had better, or I''ll put my fist into his skull and squeeze his little brain until it pops like a balloon filled with brain juice." Florian's breathtaking blue eyes blazed at this idea.
Paula tried...she really tried...but with every idiotic, robotic word that came out of his mouth, the illusion of his perfection dispelled more and more. He looked like a god among men, but after that, she found him.....reprehensible. Reluctantly, and with a heavy-hearted sigh, she dropped her hands from his chiseled frame and stepped back. "Yes, I'm sure you could too. Well, thank you again, Florian." she said, giving one last look to his body and wishing he might just not talk any more. She began to gather her things on the beach.
"Would you like to join me for a protein shake?" he asked, flexing his pectorals and giving his head a small shake so his hair floated in the breeze.
"No...no thank you. I must be getting back." Paula hurried off away from him as fast as she she could manage without appearing to actually run.
She didn't stop until she was back in her room, where she raided the mini-bar for a drink. The day was still young, but now that her 'inspiration' had appeared and been beyond wanting, all of her fears returned to her once again. Florian the Moron looked exactly the man she had hoped to find here on Fantasy Island, but the disappointment of who he was beyond the looks was soul-crushing. She just wanted to drink and forget this whole nightmare. It wouldn't change the fact that her dream of becoming a romance novelist were shattered, but it might at least dull the pain for a moment. Still in her one-piece bathing suit (with the accompanying skirt), and with the midday sun streaming in through her open back windows, she passed out on her bed, a small collection of empty single serving bottles lined up on the nightstand.
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Jack Gallows responded to the knock at the door to his suite wearing only a pair of boxer shorts and an open silk robe. He loved this tropical weather when it was warm enough to wear next to nothing and show of his lean, muscular frame. If there was time before his orgy, he planned on doing some nude sunbathing on the lanai. He opened the door to find Ms. Roarke and her little buddy standing there. Her eyes ran up and down his figure, as did the eyes of most women. Still, it never failed to please him. "Ms. Roarke. Pouch. C'mon on in!"
"Pierce," Pierce angrily corrected, following Ms. Roarke into the suite.
"I trust everything is to your liking, Mr. Gallows?" Ms. Roarke asked. He noticed her eyes kept returning to his crotch, where he already had a semi-bulge going on.
"Oh yeah. And do you like what you see?" he asked, taking her hand and placing it directly into his manhood. "And feel?" He was so often surrounded by fan-girls that this particular come-on worked with surprising frequency. It didn't take much encouragement from him to sneak an eager-to-please girl into his trailer or hotel room this way.
Ms. Roarke did not disappoint him. With a practiced hand, she began to stroke and knead the hardness that was growing between his legs. Pierce stood by, mouth agape, but he said nothing, and Jack barely remembered he was still in the room. With just a bit of caressing, she had taken him from semi-hard to full blown erection, which stood out like a tent in the front of his boxers. "Very impressive, Mr. Gallows. I see you are ready for your fantasy to begin already. Shall I?"
It takes a ballsy guy to act disappointed when a gorgeous woman is stroking his cock, but that is how Jack managed to sound when he responded. "Well, only if you've got 4 friends planning on joining us." He didn't come all the way to Fantasy Island to get a hand job, no matter how hot Ms. Roarke was.
"Five actually, and here they are." As if on cue, five Polynesian girls clad only in string bikinis entered the suite. The last one in line carried a tiny pack on her back. They each tipped their head in greeting to Ms. Roarke as they physically and literally took him out of her hand and escorted him towards his king-sized, four poster bed.
Jack smirked in satisfaction. The five girls might have been sisters, so much alike they all appeared to him. Tanned skin, dark hair, dark eyes, smooth, curvaceous bodies. They were very different from the blond bimbo stereotype with which he was beyond familiar in LA, but different was okay in this case. He was going to have all five of them, a fantasy come true, so why not fulfill that fantasy with women who were a breath of fresh air to him.
"Enjoy yourself, Mr. Gallows," Ms. Roarke called after them, but he barely heard her. He also failed to notice that Pierce was handing her antibacterial hand sanitizer which she used liberally.
Ms. Roarke and Pierce left the suite, leaving Jack alone with his five beauties. He had such plans for them, and expected them to follow his directions. In addition to having his manhood buried at all times in one hole or another, he expected to bear witness to some serious girl-on-girl action, so they had better be ready to follow orders. "Okay, ladies, here's how it's going..."
They cut him off by shoving back on his own bed. One of the grabbed his boxers and slipped them over his erection and off his ankles. Another was pushing the robe off his shoulders. They rest were keeping him distracted by attacking him with their hands and lips. A tongue explored his mouth. Another slurped on his cock. He felt his hand being guided to a breast. A tongue slid across his waxed chest. It was almost too much, all at once, but he did ask for five, and this is what five felt like.
"Girls," he managed to say, but it was again cut off. One of the girls had slipped off her bikini bottom and straddled head head, filling his view and his senses with her shaved young pussy. The mouth slurping on his cock was joined by a hand massaging the base, and he wondered if they would have him cumming before things even got started. Okay, new plan: he'd let them make him cum, and then he'd take over the action. He reached for the ass of the girl on his face to pull her lips closer to his mouth, but he found the others were keeping his hands busy for him with various body parts he couldn't describe. So he licked as best he could, enjoying her taste almost as much as the mouth and hand working on his cock. Closing his eyes, he began to really enjoy Fantasy Island.
It's unsurprising that he failed to notice that while he licked a pussy and has his cock sucked, the others were cuffing him to his own bed. There was much to keep him distracted, and being tied up for these five women wasn't exactly what he had planned, but he wasn't above a bit of kink. This could be fun too.
As soon as he was snuggly secured to the four corners of his bed, presumable from cuffs brought in that little pack, the mouth and hand stroking his cock disappeared. He couldn't see why, as there was still a young girl straddling his face, but he assumed any moment the mouth would be replaced by one of their tight pussies. But after a few seconds, when no attention at all was paid to his cock, he stopped licking the girl riding his face. "What's going on?"
"Make me cum, Bitch," she said, the first words any of them had spoken to him. The others, all outside his field of vision, got a good laugh at this.
"Now wait just a seco....." he began to protest. Usually, he was the one using that phrase with his hand in the hair of a girl on her knees before him. Who did they think they were to talk to him like that?
And that's when they began to tickle him.
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Paula awoke to find tape being placed over her mouth and around her head. Her eyes flew open in alarm, but she was slow, still in a stupor of sorts, and totally disoriented. She reacted, but not in any way that helped her, and before she knew it, her mouth was effectively gagged by several layers of duct tape.
"Hhhhhhhhhhhhhhmmpph!" she cried, trying to call out for help, but it was beyond muffled. Her scream barely extended beyond the walls of her bedroom, completely unheard by anyone who might be outside of her suite.
Her attacker wasn't done yet. She was being rolled onto her stomach. Her arms were being forced behind her back. There was more tape, first around her wrists, and then tightly around her upper arms. She winced and struggled, but it was all happening so fast. She'd never experienced anything like this, nor was she at all trained in self defense. Add in her slow reaction times, and she was about as easily to subdue as anyone might ever be expected to be. Before she really registered what was going on, she was gagged with her arms taped behind her.
"Mmmmmmppppphhhhh!" she screamed again, now more alert, but as before, equally ineffective and unheard. This couldn't really be happening to her, could it? Fear washed over her, causing the hairs on her arms to stand up and goosebumps to break out all over. Her heart thundered in her chest.
Her attacker had switched around to work on her legs. The tape was being wound around her ankles. She had tried to kick them free, but the attacker simply slid down her legs until there was no kicking room left for her. Once her ankles were effectively wrapped in tape, more was applied just below her knees. This was a nightmare. Tears flowed freely from her eyes. She screamed again and again, each time growing weaker and more hoarse. She knew it was a waste of time, but it was her only form of recourse. It was the only way she could release her frustration.
She'd never felt so helpless in all her life. She couldn't move. She couldn't talk. Adrenaline rushed through her body. Her heart felt like it might leap out of her chest. And her attacker wasn't even done.
Paula felt her legs being bent at the knees, her ankles being bent back towards her ass. More tape was applied. She died inside. She was being hogtied. How humiliating. To be trussed up like some kind of farm animal. When she stopped hearing the tape unwinding and the pressure taken off her legs, they stayed right where they were, bent at the knee. She tried to roll, the only movement really left to her, but her attacker robbed her of that too. Paula felt her own knees trapped between the knees of her attacker, and that kept her legs in place, though her upper body twisted a bit uselessly from side to side. She was utterly helpless, and scared out of her wits. What was happening? Why would someone tape her like this?
She didn't have long to wait to find out the answers to her questions, as fingernails began to dance over the soles of her upturned feet.
It took a full second for Paula to register what was happening. Her brain hadn't been prepared for this. And then that part of the brain that registers tickling kicked into action and she exploded in laughter. Her feet flailed, trying to find relief, but relief was only temporary. The nails working on her soles couldn't be avoided for more than a split second, and so it dawned on Paula what all the tape bondage was about at the same time that she realized there was no way for her to escape the tickling. She was being tickled tortured, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
Unfortunately for Paula, she was insanely ticklish on her feet.
One of the reasons she had felt so uncomfortable with Pierce eying and then touching her feet was that she had a real phobia about her feet being touched, and the reason she had this phobia is because of how unbearably ticklish they were. Pierce had managed to rub her without tickling, the danger of that had lurked the whole time his hands were on her. This was entirely different. Now she was being purposely tickled, while tied up, but someone who clearly intended this from the start. That thought alone sent her spiraling.
She howled into the tape gag, her eyes first bulging out of their sockets before slamming tightly closed. Her toes curled tightly, hoping to block out the torturous sensations by wrinkling up her soles, but it was only the most marginal of victories, as her attacker's nails flew over the wrinkles as easily as over smooth skin. There was no relief to be found in...in anything. Nothing she did helped. Nothing she did could save her. The tickling fingernails scrambled over her feet again and again and again, and she could not stop them or avoid them. What she could do is laugh. And laugh. And laugh. And laugh until it hurt to laugh. And then laugh until the tears leaked freely from her eyes and her voice gave out completely. And still the torture continued.
Her attacker had managed to get fingernails under and in between her toes, and this only ratcheted up the her torment to new extremes. Paula flopped around, a taped up tickle toy that had been reduced to silent laughter. Silence filled the room where her muffled screams and laughs had once dominated.
And that's why her attacker finally spoke. "I knew you were going to be ticklish. When I saw how you smiled when that little man rubbed your feet, I just knew." It was the man from the beach. The beach troll. Paula's stomach flipped in fear. It all made a sort of sense, but now how she regretted they way in which she so utterly rejected him. She was reaping what she sowed.
The beach troll moved onto new tactics. He was using his mouth on her toes, first licking the tips, and then outright sucking on her toes. It tickled, but it also felt strangely good, and Paula experienced another wave of shame at actually enjoying some part of this. As she lay there, hogtied, exhausted both mentally and physically, she allowed herself to enjoy the feel of the loathsome man's mouth sucking on her toes. She told herself she'd hate herself for it later, but in that moment, after all she'd been through, she granted herself this small reprieve.
The man gave her soles a fresh working over with his nails while his mouth suckled, and Paula reacted all over again, now finding both the pleasure and the torture mixed together. It was a heady concoction, one for which she had no precedent to process. How could something feel good and torturous at the same time? It was impossible, and yet, as her soles twitched in protest and her toes willingly parted to accept his lips, she was in the throes of that very thing. She couldn't comprehend it, other than to know how aware she was of everything about being in that moment.
The beach troll continued. "I just love tickling ticklish feet. And yours are so super ticklish. And to think I never would have if I hadn't seen the little guy rubbing yours. But you know what they say...inspiration comes from places we rarely expect to find it."
If Paula thought she was swooning earlier from initially meeting Florian, if she thought she was experiencing an out of body experience as the prospect of meeting her romantic muse, it was nothing to the revelation that dawned on her in that moment. The beach troll had just used the exact words used by Ms. Roarke, a coincidence she refused to believe was a coincidence at all. Paula had come to Fantasy Island to find inspiration to write books for people who were trapped in their mundane lives that lacked passion, fire, and excitement. She had assumed that meant yet another steamy romance novel to titillate all the bored housewives and mommies out there, but she had assumed wrong. After all, what was more thrilling, pulse-pounding, and nerve-tingling than being kidnapped, bound, and tickle tortured to within an inch of your sanity? What she was experiencing, right now, was way more extreme than any love affair she might have had. Her body was alive in ticklish agony. Her mind was afire in ticklish hell. This was an experience that would stay with her the rest of her life. This was the stuff of which bestsellers were made.
The beach troll must have been a mind reader, because as Paula was having her epiphany, he'd decided he'd had enough. He gave her soles one last tickle that made her jump one last time and then he was off her, off the bed, and out the window through which he had come in. She lay there, still taped, still suffering the residual after effects from all the tickling, fully aware of how every nerve ending in her body felt like it was high alert. In her mind, as she waited for a maid to discover her and free her, she began to write a novel in her head about the Mommy Next Door who gets abducted by a kidnapper with a secret fetish.
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Jack flopped around as much as he could, but given there was a woman riding his face and others lying strategically across different parts of his body, that wasn't hardly at all. Fingernails seemed to be attacking him everywhere, all at once. It was an overload his brain couldn't handle. He screamed "STOP!" a few times, or at least he thought he didn't but they didn't stop, so maybe he just imagined it. What he didn't imagine though was being tickled on the bottoms of both of his feet, along both of his sides, and between his legs, all at the same time. That part was all too real to him.
He thrashed, laughing like a madman, but still they tickled him. His feet had always been ticklish, and were he not tied and pinned down, he surely would have kicked at anyone who tried to tickle them. His sides were sensitive, but normally side tickles are brief or lead to a tickle fight. Never before had his been relentlessly tickled with no way for him to retaliate or escape. But it was what was happening between his legs where things were the worst. He religiously manscaped, so there wasn't a hair to be found anywhere on his body from the neck down, and that included his cock and balls. What he didn't know was how this lack of protective hair left his shaft and scrotum exposed and sensitive to tickling. The tickles on his sides made him twist. The tickles on his feet made him struggle and try to kick. But the tickles in his groin made him scream in laughter.
"I said make me cum, Bitch," the girl looming over him repeated. "You don't get a break until you make me cum."
Jack heard the words, though they took a moment to sink in. These girls were going to keep tickling him until he got off the one on his face. But how could he be expected to perform oral sex on her with the others tickling the shit out of him?
He tried. It was the lifeline they had thrown him, so he grasped at it with both figurative hands. Still laughing until his tanned face was bright red, he did his best to stimulate her with his tongue. The hands along his sides danced everywhere now over his upper body, seeking out new spots to torture. The two girls at his feet were pulling back on his toes so they could snake their nails under them. And the girl between his legs was lightly tickling the tip of his cock at the same time as his balls, both stimulating and torturing him at the same time. His eyes pleaded with the girl looming over him, but there was no pity in her face. "Come on. Lick that pussy like you mean it, Bitch."
Jack tried harder. His chest began to hurt from all the laughing, but still he tried. He found it difficult to draw in breaths between licking her and laughing his head off, but still he tried. His body began to ache from muscle fatigue from all the struggling, but still he tried. He buried his laughing face into her pussy, hoping the vibrations from his own tortured laughter would add to her stimulation. He lapped at her sex, flicking his tongue as fast as he could over her clit as best as could amid all the distractions. She frustrated him by moaning, grinding into his mouth, and then pulling away. "I'm not ready yet," she taunted.
He screeched in frustration, his cock throbbing with both the need for release and the need to stop being tickled. Eventually she lowered herself again, and Jack redoubled his efforts, determined to lick her pussy so good that she would be forced to let him bring her off. It was his only hope.
He succeeded. She ground her hips into his face, moaning and climaxing hard on top of him. He looked up to see her tweaking her own nipple and staring at the ceiling, lost in the throes of her own release. At once, all the hands torturing him ceased, except for one light hand that kept a slow, almost imperceptible stroking going of his cock. He whined, glad to be free of the torturous tickling, but kept on the edge of his own orgasm way longer than he liked. "Please!" he croaked. "Let me cum!"
The girls all seemed to this this was funny. Then, like some kind of kinky Chinese fire drill, they all switched spots. A new hairless young pussy was positioned over his face. A new hand took up the maddening teasing of his cock. New bodies lay across his legs to keep his bound ankles still. "No. You make me cum, Bitch," the girl on his face said. It was like starting all over again.
Jack thrashed like crazy at this. They couldn't be doing this to him. It was madness. Utter madness. Fingers attacked him again, just like before, and just like before, he howled in protest before succumbing to forced laughter. Whoever was between his legs thought licking his shaft while tickling his balls would be fun, and it would have been, if he knew it would lead to eventually orgasming. But they apparently had no intention of letting him cum. Instead, they were going to sit on his face, one by one, and have him make them cum, all the while tickle torturing him.
He had no choice. The only way to end this madness was to play their game. Like a good little Bitch, he went to work on licking pussy number two.
.....
By the time the fifth girl took up her spot on his face, Jack was nearly broken. His tongue was numb. His skin was on fire. His cock was engorged to the point of pain. He no longer had any fight left in him. His body only twitched and reacted of it's own accord now. There was nothing he could do to stop his muscles firing spasmodically in response to the ticklish stimuli, which made him feel like a puppet on strings being manipulated by another. He had been reduced to tears. He had begged, especially after he'd gotten the second girl off and his cock felt like it was going to explode. If they would just let him cum, he'd pleaded, he'd do whatever they wanted. But they had just laughed at him and rotated spots again.
The last girl looked down at him, her pussy hovering of his mouth. "I'm ticklish too. That's why they are going to tickle me while you make me cum, Bitch. I can't cum while I'm being tickled."
The nails once again attacked Jack on all sides, and though his body reacted in the fight-or-flight way in which it does, it was his heart that suffered the most. He began to lick at her her pussy with his sore tongue, but already she was giggling and squirming above him. Someone must have been tickling her feet while she rode him. He'd never get her off like this.
.....
After several hours of being tickled and teased, and after he'd finally managed to give each of the five girls an orgasm, even the ticklish fifth one, they all took turns giving his cock a good bye kiss and then they left him.
Jack lay on his bed, still tied, still naked, with his spirit broken, and his engorged cock still unsatisfied. At least he wasn't being tortured anymore. In that respect, things had improved considerably.
He was surprised to open his eyes to find Ms. Roarke sitting on the bed beside him. She'd entered his suite and joined him on the bed as silent as a mouse. His head rolled toward her, but he was still too hoarse and weak to speak. He wasn't sure what to say to the architect of his undoing, especially considering he was still tied up and naked.
"So how was your fantasy, Mr. Gallows? Was having five girls all to yourself what you expected?"
He shook his head from side to side. Of this he was certain.
Ms. Roarke's hand found his cock, much as it had earlier in the day. "Shall I?" she asked, repeating the same question from before. He nodded with as much enthusiasm as he could muster, given all he'd been through. She stroked him, not in the teasing, never-let-me-cum sort of way the girls had, but in a more purposeful way that would give him what he needed most. And it didn't take long. Four, maybe five strokes along his shaft and he came like never before. The orgasm was so built up, so powerful, that ribbons of his own jism struck him in the face and covered his chest. Much like he'd done to many a fan-girl, he gave himself a facial.
She was wiping her hand on his thigh as she spoke. "Sometimes, too much of a good thing is not such a good thing, wouldn't you agree, Mr. Gallows? Sometimes, less is more."
Jack nodded, finally getting the message, and then he passed out.
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A tropical storm was on the horizon as the guests prepared to board the plane that would take them away from Fantasy Island. Ms. Roarke and Pierce stood at the end of the pier, waiting for each car to arrive, as they always did at this point in the week. Pierce held a white, closed umbrella in one hand. The color matched his suit.
The first car to arrive carried Paula Gladstone. She was a bundle of enthusiastic energy, like a child awaiting those final moments before finally being allowed to open Christmas presents. She gave Ms. Roarke a mock look of anger before embracing her in a feisty hug. "I should be angry with you, but I'm not!"
Ms. Roarke chuckled and allowed Miss Gladstone to manhandle her. "Eager to start writing again, Miss Gladstone?" Pierce looked dumbfounded. Was this really the same woman who had arrived a week ago?
"Oh yes! If I had known what was gonna happen, I would have brought my laptop with me. I'd have the book half done already!" She poked her brain. "But it's already written up there."
"I'm so very pleased to hear it."
Miss Gladstone turned and gave Pierce a kiss on the cheek, which made him blush. "That's for setting everything in motion." He had no idea what he'd done, but he wasn't about to complain about getting kissed.
She turned to Ms. Roarke again. "And do please give the other gentleman my...umm...my thanks I guess." She blushed, but she didn't care. What had happened had happened, and it had changed her life for the better.
"Florian?"
"Oh no...the other one."
"Ahh, Trevor. Yes, I shall indeed."
With that, Paula Gladstone turned and headed for the plane.
"Boss, she found the inspiration she was looking for?" Pierce asked, still wondering what he had done to help.
"Oh yes, Pierce. Miss Gladstone discovered there is more than one way for a person to feel truly alive. I expect she will write a very successful book upon her return."
"Do you think I will be in it?" Pierce asked, a childlike look of hope upon his face.
"You may at that," Ms. Roarke said, ruffling his hair. Just then, the car transporting Jack Gallows arrived.
He stood in front of Ms. Roarke looking rather humbled. "Look, I get it now. I was...I am...a douche bag. But I've seen the error of my ways. You won't catch me acting like that any more."
Ms. Roarke tipped her head in his direction. "So glad to hear it, Mr. Gallows. And I'm sure your fans...the people who hold you in such high regards...will be glad to hear that too."
A tinge of embarrassment reached his cheeks. "Yeah, well, I'm going to be treating those people a lot nicer from now you. You can believe me that!" He turned and offered Pierce a fist bump. "Hit me, Pouch!"
Pierce returned the fist bump but did not not bother to correct the man this time. As the actor headed for the plane, he asked Ms. Roarke. "Boss, what is a douche bag?"
Ms. Roarke opened her mouth to answer, but then closed it and just chuckled to herself. A few drops of the incoming tropical shower began to fall, so she looked at Pierce expectantly.
He opened his white umbrella with a flourish and pointed at the dark clouds in the sky. "The rain! The rain!"
