What You Can't See (?/f, 8 chapters)

This was the first story I ever wrote for the TMF, I'm glad to share it here!

What You Can't See

Chapter 1

Miss Victoria Gingers moved through the crowded hallways, carrying a stack of books and a folder she was careful not to let fall. The halls of St. Mary’s School for Girls were filled with students talking to friends and hurrying to make it to their next class on time, generally both. Miss Gingers forced her way gently through the sea of white blouses and plaid skirts, taking nearly two minutes to reach the door to her classroom just down the hall. As she did, she was perturbed. She still hadn’t been able to find her red-framed glasses, which she had lost two days ago. She wore her black frames now, almost as good a fit but not as familiar. They would have to do until he found her others, she could still see well enough to teach her classes in them.

Miss Gingers entered the classroom, first as always, and placed her books down on her desk, drawing a few charts on the board in preparation for lecture. In the next few minutes her students trickled in to the room, all sitting ordered and in their places when the bell rang with eager to please expressions on their faces.

“Good morning class,” Miss Gingers began, “I hope you’ve all done the readings for today. How many of you girls found it difficult?” Nearly all of the girls raised their hands. “Well,” Miss Gingers continued, “sonnets can sometimes take some work. Let’s begin with the Shakespearean sonnets we had at the beginning of your reading, and then eventually we’ll move into Victorian sonnets. Remember as I told you to think about how content differs, if not form.”

Miss Gingers wrote several sonnets on the blackboard, which she proceeded to fill with marks showing scansion. The students watched; she knew that many of them were not listening, and were only waiting for class to be over, but she was used to that. However, throughout lecture, she became increasingly aware of a slight physical discomfort. Something that felt like a light touch on her skin. As time passed, the touches became more prominent, and she could feel them mostly underneath her skirt. It was quite embarrassing, but when she set the girls to reading from their respective books for a minute she checked underneath her skirt with one hand to see if anything was out of place. As far as she could tell, it wasn’t.

The period went on, and Miss Gingers needed to fight for concentration more and more. It definitely felt like someone was brushing her there with something light, like a feather. But that was impossible, wasn’t it? It had to be all in her head. But this was slim consolation as she felt a soft, fluffy feather gently stroke her butt, just between her round, creamy buns. It continued to stroke her here, sliding up and down her ass, which was incredibly tender and ticklish. The students could see Miss Gingers becoming tense and less animated. She broke off in the middle of her sentences to close her eyes and take a deep breath to gather the willpower to continue.

“Umm, is something wrong, Miss Gingers?” asked one of her students as they watched her.

“What? No, nothing’s…umm…wrong.” Miss Gingers hurried over to her desk and sat down, crossing her legs and hoping that this would give her strength. “I’ll…tell you what,” she began, with a slightly trembling voice, “Since you’ve…been so good, I’d…mmmph…hehe…like to have you all…read your favorite poems for the class!” The students readily agreed, realizing this would be easier than listening to lecture. Miss Gingers looked up at the clock. Only six minutes to go. She might make it without losing control of herself.

The first student began reading one of the sonnets. The feather touches were still there, running up her crack, underneath her panties where she couldn’t get to them. Miss Gingers crossed her legs even more tightly, a slight grin appearing on her face. Some of the students noticed she was not blinking as much. She nervously reached for a pen and played with it between her thumb and forefinger. Five minutes. The next student began, but Miss Gingers was not even listening to her. What could be causing this? She clenched her buns together and bounced slightly in her chair. She began twirling the pen in her fingers more nervously. Four minutes. She had forgotten how ticklish she was on her ass, but this invisible feather was fully exploiting that fact, sliding up and down slowly and patiently, waiting to break her. Her eyes were even wider by now, and she realized she hadn’t blinked in the last two minutes. Her upper lip trembled but she bit her tongue. Three minutes.

“Do you think so, Miss Gingers?” asked one of her girls, obviously asking a question. Miss Gingers looked at the class nervously. She hadn’t even been paying attention! “Umm, yes, why yes I do, Jackie, thank you for bringing that up!” she answered hastily. She heard a few giggles around the classroom. She must have said the wrong thing, but at this point she didn’t even matter. Her foot tapped nervously, and she played so frantically with the pen that it flipped out of her fingers and dropped to the ground! Without thinking, she bent over to pick it up. As she leaned over, the feather began moving faster, sliding up and down her butt like a pendulum. She squealed quietly, and dropped the pen again. Leave it where it is, she thought. I’ll get it later. She sat back up and folded her hands very tightly. Two minutes.

Miss Gingers’ glasses began to slip off her nose, but again she did not try to stop them, afraid of what might happen. Her teeth were clenched in a very tight smile, and several of the students in the front row could see several tears forming in her eyes, trickling down her cheeks. Her foot tapped so quickly that her right high-heeled shoe flipped off and fell to the floor. Her ticklish skin continued to endure the sadistic brushes of the invisible feather, even crueler in the fact that it only moved up and down, up and down…it was driving her mad. Another of the students started to read in a slow, drawling voice, laboring over every word. “Damn her!” thought Miss Gingers in spite of herself. “Can’t she finish? Can’t this period be over? Why can’t they see I’m suffering!” Her glasses fell on her desk, where she left them. Beads of sweat trickled down her forehead, and she began to get very flushed, breathing heavily. Her other shoe flipped off as she tapped it wildly, leaving her in her stocking feet, without glasses, and madly twiddling her thumbs on her desktop. She looked at the clock and had to squint to see what it said. One minute.

Every half-second brought a new sweep of the feather between her buns. She had lasted this long, she could do it! She inhaled quickly and held her breath, in the hopes that this would give her the strength to finish the final minute. She moved her hand over her desk for something, anything, she could squeeze. Nothing. The students’ calm voices in the background spoke slowly, patiently, mocking her ticklish torment. She could no longer see the clock through her tear-filled eyes; the world around her was blurry. She heard the sound of backpacks being packed up. It must be almost time, she thought to herself.

“What about our homework, Miss Gingers?” asked one of the perky young voices from the desks.

“Mmmmphh…hehehe….no homework!!” Miss Gingers managed to blurt out, biting her tongue again as soon as she had said it to prevent the laughter from spilling out. The girls all around her cheered with delight. She waited for the bell, but continued to hear nothing. It was almost over for her, her buns could not take this kind of punishment. Any moment now the next brush of the feather would break her, causing her to erupt into shrieks of laughter, rolling down on the classroom floor, disgraced in front of all her students. She had to fight it, she told herself.

Then, Miss Gingers heard the sweetest sound she had ever heard in her life. The class bell sounded, and all her students got up and ran to the classroom door, eager to take their breaks. However, for once, they were not the first ones out. The moment the bell rang, Miss Gingers was up on her feet, bounding out the door as fast as she could run. She left both her shoes and her glasses behind, not even noticing. She pushed her way through any students in the hallway without any remorse, sprinting towards the faculty restroom with the strokes of the feather driving her onwards.

She reached the door, flung it open, locked it behind her, and ran into the restroom stall. She tore off her skirt and pantyhose in a second, sliding her panties just as quickly. She did not know why this would help but felt the need to do anything she could. And just as she was about to lean against the door and fall into the most intense round of hysterics she had ever experienced…it stopped. She froze for a moment. That horrible feather, that she had lived with for the last eternity, was gone. What had happened? She felt her bare behind with one hand. No clue as to what had happened. She stood there alone in the stall, with her bottoms pulled down, waiting for the feeling to return. But it did not. As far as she could tell, she was free. She pulled up her underwear and her skirt again, her mind filled with questions. What had she felt in that classroom? What had caused it? And most importantly, how could she make sure it never happened again?

Chapter 2

Lunchtime found a very nervous and self-conscious Victoria Gingers eating lunch by herself in one corner of the main lunch hall. Normally she sat with the other faculty, but now she felt the need to be alone, in case there was some sort of relapse. She ate slowly, with shifting eyes and drumming fingers. Her imagination played tricks on her, thinking every itch to be the feather come back to torture her more.

She did not notice anyone around her until a voice addressed her from behind. “Miss Gingers?” it said sweetly.

Miss Gingers turned around to see Marianne Thompson, one of the students in the school. Marianne was not in her class, so she did not know what she wanted with her. “Why hello, Marianne,” said Miss Gingers, regaining some composure. “What can I do for you?”

“I just wanted to see you,” smiled Marianne, “I heard you had a little trouble in your English class last period?” She stood perfectly at attention, wearing the school uniform of white blouse and plaid skirt. At any other time, Miss Gingers would have said she looked the model student. Today, in the light of recent events, her nerves were getting the best of her and something seemed vaguely threatening about her.

Miss Gingers blushed furiously as she heard this. The girls had already begun gossiping about her. And she thought she had hidden it; she should have known better. These girls were more perceptive than she gave them credit for, she just hoped this wouldn’t be all over the school soon. “Um, well, yes,” said Miss Gingers, “I had a few problems in the latter part of the class, but I assure you it’s nothing for you or any of your friends to worry about.”

Marianne sat down at the table next to her, which was odd because she did not have a lunch tray with her. “And you’re not worried about it happening again?”

Miss Gingers became slightly indignant. “Miss Thompson, I strongly encourage you to mind your own business.”

Just as she said this, Miss Gingers nearly choked on her drink. All her fears were realized as she felt the brush of the invisible feather on her ass, just as definite as the time during her last class. This was not her imagination this time. She gasped and one hand darted to her behind, where she held it without even thinking.

“Because after all, you never know what might set it off again.” Marianne smiled even more sweetly, but started at her unnervingly. Miss Gingers put down her drink and shuffled around in her seat, rolling her eyes and trying to ignore the sensations. Marianne never broke eye contact with her, which made her feel even more self-conscious. But her defenses had already been worn away by her ordeal during class, she did not have the willpower to maintain complete composure anymore. Luckily, the feather was moving slowly. It did not aim to break her like it did during class, only to tease her and interrupt her concentration. Miss Gingers shifted in her seat from one cheek to another, looking at Marianne with a tight-lipped, forced smile.

“I’m sorry, you’re right, it probably isn’t anything for me to worry about. But you know, people notice things. I just couldn’t help but ask, and see if there isn’t any way I could help make sure it doesn’t happen again?”

Miss Gingers stared at her. Under ordinary circumstances she might have reacted suspiciously, but her tickle-addled brain was focusing all its energy on resisting the soft feather nestled in the sensitive crack of her ass. As for now all she could do was keep her thoughts to her own problems.

Marianne giggled as she watched her teacher squirm in front of her. “It might happen far more frequently than you’d like if you don’t decide to do something about it. If I were you, I would really look into making it stop, before it gets…worse.” She accentuated this last word with a knowing grin.

Miss Gingers turned on her angrily, directing her own frustration outward in a way she would never have done normally. Marianne seemed to be almost insulting in her condescension. “Now listen here, Miss Thompson. I don’t know who you think you are or what gives you the right—“ Miss Gingers immediately knew this was the wrong thing to say. In a moment, the feather began to stroke more quickly, seemingly right on cue. She broke off her threats, and sat back down with the same look of repressed laughter. She had to choke back the giggles, and she blushed red with humiliation. The humiliation was not only of losing control, but suspecting that Marianne knew exactly what was happening underneath her skirt. The way she smiled at her seemed to convey complete knowledge of what she was going through.

“Those soft buns of yours really are very ticklish, aren’t they Miss Gingers?” Marianne asked. Miss Gingers looked at her in disbelief, wondering for a moment if she had even heard her correctly. She never would have expected a student to be so bold. But Marianne continued to look at her as though she had said nothing wrong, without fear of implicating herself. “I’ll bet you couldn’t take it for very long. After all, eight minutes in class and you were ready to fall apart.” She watched Miss Gingers chortle to herself and look around nervously. Miss Gingers knew that she was beaten, without even knowing how.

“But let’s talk about something else,” said Marianne. “Are you enjoying your lunch? I’ve already eaten, or I really would join you. Don’t you think the food is better than it was last week?” Miss Gingers was in no state to make small talk, and barely heard what she was saying. Marianne continued to talk about what she had for lunch for several minutes, but the tickling sensations made the time pass like hours. As tears welled up in her eyes, she had to take off her glasses to see properly, still hearing in the background Marianne’s voice perfectly relaxed, talking about soups and salads as if it were the most important topic in the world. She felt like Marianne was toying with her; she had to assert herself somehow. Finally, she gathered the strength to speak, reaching up to wipe the tears from her eyes.

“Is there…*gasp*…something I can…hehehe…help you with?” Miss Gingers spat out after several failed attempts.

Marianne’s face lit up, as if this were just what she had been waiting to hear. “Why yes, Miss Gingers, I thought you’d never ask. You see, I have a friend in your class, her name is Katie.”

Miss Gingers knew Katie. She never did any of her readings, turned in no homework, and was dangerously close to failing the class. But Miss Gingers only looked at Marianne and frantically nodded, afraid to say any more than she had to.

“Katie tells me that you’re not giving her a very good grade in your course, Miss Gingers, and that makes me really unhappy,” Marianne explained. “So I thought she and you could talk. For everyone’s good.” She flashed an innocent smile which Miss Gingers could barely see with her eyes squinted and fighting for control. Now the invisible feather was sliding all over her cheeks, tickling every inch of skin beneath the panty line. It knew exactly how to tickle her, focusing on the spots that made her squirm and snicker the most.

“So, it would really make me happy if you could talk to Katie next period, and tell her that you’ve changed your mind. Tell he that she doesn’t have to do the paper that’s coming up, and that you’re going to give her an A on all the work she’s turned in before. When you do that, I just have a hunch that you might not have to worry about any more…mishaps in class again.”

“But Katie…bad student...mmmphehehehe…doesn’t…do work…hahahahaha!!!” Miss Gingers managed to choke out. Both of her hands were on her behind, each one holding one of her ass cheeks, but it did no good. The feather had free reign underneath her clothes, teasing her skin and forcing out fresh giggles every time it touched a new spot.

Marianne looked at her with complete patience, not betraying any anger. “Miss Gingers, if you don’t do anything about this, things might somehow get even worse for you. I’m just concerned about you. Things might even spread to…other parts of your body.”

As she said this, the feather on her ass immediately disappeared. But a moment later, Miss Gingers felt something brushing against the soles of her feet. She looked at Marianne desperately, and kicked off her shoes, holding her stocking feet in each hand as though to protect herself. But it did no good. She felt the invisible feather softly stroking her soles, sliding across her arches and twirling over the balls of her feet. It was as though she wasn’t even wearing pantyhose. She looked up and laughed out loud in spite of herself. She immediately covered her mouth with both hands, looking around the lunchroom in case anyone had heard her.

“And if further accidents were to befall you in the middle of class, you might not be able to keep control of yourself next time.” Miss Gingers spat out muffled laughs into her hands, helplessly kicking her feet up and down beneath the table. She looked at Marianne and shook her head desperately, who smiled, but the tickling continued as torturously as ever.

“I knew you would be happy to help me. You’re always helping people! And in fact, the next time that I have something I need help with, I’m sure you’d be happy to do that for me too, won’t you?” She giggled. “You wouldn’t mind, would you?” As she asked, Miss Gingers felt the feather sliding between her toes, being pushed in and out of the ticklish spaces. Her eyes rolled back in her head and her laughs were clearly audible even through her hands. She never knew her feet were this ticklish! Her ticklish toes, trapped inside her pantyhose, wiggled fiercely but could not stop the tickling.

Marianne still sat next to her, with hands folded neatly, as calm as ever while Miss Gingers next to her kicked the bottom of the table with her feet and squealed like a little girl. Several people were now looking over at their table, wondering what could be making Miss Gingers act like this. “So you’re going to help Katie, aren’t you Miss Gingers?”

Miss Gingers nodded her head, not even thinking about the consequences. Marianne smiled with delight as she got up from the table. “Thank you Miss Gingers! I’m sure Katie will be very happy to hear that!” And with that she gave her teacher a kiss on the cheek and went skipping out of the lunchroom, leaving Miss Gingers alone at her table, giggling and writhing.

It was about ten seconds after Marianne left the lunchroom before the tickling stopped, but when it did, it ceased just like before. Miss Gingers looked around her. Several students were looking over at her table, and they giggled to themselves. Miss Gingers felt rising anger. She had been made a fool of again. She quickly collected her shoes underneath the table and threw away the rest of her lunch, not feeling very hungry. She strode out of the lunchroom angrily, wanting to be alone.

As she walked the hallway back to her office, her mind dwelt on Marianne. It was clear this girl had some kind of power over her, but what? Any theory that seemed to fit the facts sounded too ludicrous to even consider. And yet…she remembered back to her helplessness, where she knew Marianne could have made her promise anything, do anything, to make it stop. And Marianne knew it. She had to be behind this, but what could Miss Gingers do about it? Of one thing she was sure, however, she would see Katie next period, and the two of them would be having a talk.

Chapter 3

On any other day, Miss Gingers would have felt revitalized after lunch as she climbed the steps to her classroom to prepare for English class. Today, she dreaded the encounter that was to follow. Katie was in her next class, and is she had read Marianne’s insinuations correctly, she would have to be very careful to avoid a repeat of what had happened before lunch. She stopped midway up the stairs and braced her hands against her knees, closing her eyes and drawing a deep breath. She had to relax, she told herself. Simply talk to Katie, and everything can be worked out.

On the way up to the classroom, Miss Gingers stopped in the ladies’ room. While inside her stall she rearranged her clothing, especially her panties and stockings, which were uncomfortably out of place. As she left she looked at herself in the mirror. She was dressed as she normally was, with black glasses and her hair done up in a bun, with a white blouse, khaki skirt and tan pantyhose, wearing high-heeled shoes. She hoped that she looked as composed as always, because she certainly didn’t feel it right now.

Just as she stepped out of the restroom, Miss Gingers was surprised and unnerved to find Katie just outside. “Hello, Katie,” she said, trying to sound as casual as possible. Katie smiled and returned the greeting, looking at her teacher as though she were expecting something. “Oh, by the way, Katie,” said Miss Gingers hurriedly, “I would like to talk to you after class. I think that I’ve been…er…too hard on you in the past, and I’d like to talk about…well…raising your grade in my class.” She flashed a smile at her student, which felt dreadfully forced to her, but either Katie didn’t notice or didn’t care.

“Thank you Miss Gingers! I’ve been trying, I really have!” The insincerity with which she said this was palpable. She obviously knew she had not been trying, and her happiness was one of expectancy, not of surprise. “I’ll see you in class, thank you again!” Katie said, and went in the door to Miss Gingers’ classroom.

Miss Gingers followed, trying to avoid eye contact with Katie for the rest of the class period. She taught her lesson plan for the day, detailing literary structures and terms, but none of it seemed relevant to her. She could not get her mind off the questions at hand. How much did Katie know? And who was responsible for all this, her or Marianne?

But Katie was the foremost on her mind. Throughout the entire class, Katie stared at her, piercing her outer composure, seeing into her secret fear. She wished this class were over so she could give Katie what she wanted and then go home. But would that solve her problems? So far, her tickling had been seemingly whimsical, not punishment for her actions, but almost like intimidation, proving to her that she had no control over what happened. But she couldn’t think about that; she tried her best to concentrate on her lecture, and writing definitions and diagrams on the blackboard, while everyone but Katie copied them down.

Miss Gingers reached up to write on the blackboard, but as she did, she had to stop herself from gasping out loud in terror. She could feel it again, the invisible feather underneath her panties, mercilessly tickling between her buns. “No, please no, not now…” she whispered to herself under her breath. But there was no one to hear her. She paused for a moment, and realized the class was looking at her, waiting to copy down what she would write on the board next. She reached up and began writing. Gritting her teeth and determined to finish her lesson. But oh! it was hard with that feather stroking her ass! Her hand shook slightly, and her handwriting became noticeably more crooked. Normally, Miss Gingers wrote in perfectly aligned rows across the blackboard. Now, her writing was scrawled and crooked. She repeatedly fumbled with the chalk, and several students raised their hands asking what her writing said.

“J-j-just copy as b-best you c-can, class,” she stuttered as her knees trembled with the effort of remaining standing. She continued to write, and as she turned her back to the class she allowed herself to express a small measure of her torture with looks of anguish directed towards the blackboard, where no one could see.

But her unseen torturer had no intention of letting her off so easily. The invisible feather on her ass was joined by another sensation, one which almost made her cry with sheer helplessness when she felt it. Another feather was on her chest, stroking her ticklish breasts beneath her blouse. Miss Gingers leaned against the board for support, and her piece of chalk snapped in half. Why were they doing this to her?

She immediately turned around, and tried to continue talking. “N-now class, if you…mmmmmpphehehehe…turn to…p-p-page...hehe…next page.” She watched the class turn the pages in their books, not remembering to turn her own page, only thinking about her plight. “Now Julie, r-read about…hehehe…the feather—I mean the…the weather—and its effects on…” Miss Gingers could not finish her sentence, but hoped they knew what she was talking about. How she wished she could sit down at her desk, hide her torment and maybe give herself some support! But she had to remain at the blackboard, writing definitions that she did not even read herself, but copied rote and hoped that they were the ones she wanted.

There were two feathers on her chest now, one on each of her round, melon-shaped breasts. They brushed along the sides, slid between her cleavage, and teased her erect nipples, which she was sure had to be showing through her blouse by now. Although she dressed conservatively and few people would have guessed, Miss Gingers had very large breasts which the feathers were now taking advantage of. She never dreamed they would be used against her like this, in front of her entire class, tickled for some invisible observer’s amusement. She nearly reached up to grab her chest before she realized she was still in front of her class.

“Miss Gingers, what does that word mean?” asked one of the girls, pointing to something she had written on the board. Miss Gingers turned around desperately, looking for the girl who asked the question from over the top of her glasses, which had slipped down to the tip of her nose. She quickly turned her gaze back to the blackboard to see exactly what it was she had written. But she couldn’t concentrate, the only thing she wanted to do right now was erupt into laughter.

“Well, it’s sort of, you see…” stalled Miss Gingers, praying for a way out of her predicament, “Um, can anybody…mmmphhehehehe…help her with that?” She finally asked through her clenched teeth. A sea of hands went up, she randomly pointed at one without knowing who it belonged to, and did not even listen as its owner recited some definition from the book. Even speaking this much took all of her willpower. She tearfully wished the feathers would stop tickling her breasts, which heaved with the effort she was expending.

And the other feather was still stroking her ticklish buns, well aware of how sensitive she was in there. She noticed her butt was wiggling involuntarily, and her breasts jiggled as her chest shook with every breath she tried to draw in. She tried to straighten herself up, but she could not summon the strength. Sweat was trickling down her skin, and her hair, normally tied up so neatly in a bun, was beginning to come loose as random strands fell across her forehead. But the breasts were even more ticklish, causing her to double over momentarily nearly every time they crossed her nipples. If she could have stopped it by tearing open her blouse and taking off her bra right there, she might have considered it. But she knew that would be futile, which made it all the more maddening.

Just when she thought her ordeal could not get any worse, with her breasts and her ass feathered to the limits of her endurance, something happened. Something which caused her concentration to snap for a moment, and a laugh to escape, which she quickly covered up by a fake, embarrassed cough. She averted her eyes from the class and looked down in horror. The feather on her ass moved down her legs, down to her thighs. Her soft, plump, milky white thighs, always covered by her modest skirt and her pantyhose, were now the targets for the invisible feather. Miss Gingers had never been tickled on her thighs before, and with the first stroke all her hopes of making it through the class period were dashed. It worked in concert with the two feathers on her breasts, drawing the same tight circles, stroking up and down, left and right in perfect harmony.

Before this moment, Miss Gingers had never known how ticklish her thighs were. Now she was about to find out, in front of thirty English students. She had to redouble her efforts just to remain standing, holding onto the chalk tray for support. She groped around blindly for the pointer, hoping to use it to steady herself, but it was all the way on the other side of the board. She could never walk that far! She had to think of something: she made fists with her hands, forcing herself to draw together what few lucid thoughts she had left. Her quivering legs could no longer support her. She edged over slowly to her desk, using the board for support…slowly…

Suddenly she lost her grip, and without anything to hold on to, her ticklish body folded beneath her and she fell to the ground! She heard her class giggling behind her, obviously finding this spectacle humorous. On the ground, the feathers were twice as intense, her legs kicked involuntarily and her chest ached with the effort of keeping the laughter in. With all her strength, she managed to pull herself back on her feet, dusting herself off and trying her best to look as though it had been an accident. She picked up another piece of chalk and laboriously tried to write the next definition on the board, praying it would get better…

But Miss Gingers was almost ready to black out with the titanic effort it took her to remain standing and writing on the board. The feathers were like something out of a nightmare, and she was certain that if she didn’t find relief soon, she would wet her panties in front of the entire class. The feather between her legs continued to tease her inner thighs and beyond, and as tightly as she held her legs together it was no defense. Sheer desperation was driving her thoughts now; she didn’t care if she finished the class, she only knew she had to find a way out of here now!

Her first thought was to go to the ladies’ room, but her students had seen her coming out just before class. It would look suspicious, but what choice did she have? She felt like all eyes were on her, all the girls were staring at her, secretly laughing at her. Especially Katie. Katie started at her from her back-row desk, pretending to be taking notes and following the text. But she continually kept her eye on Miss Gingers, and beneath her innocent veneer she knew exactly what was happening to her teacher. She felt Katie’s eyes drilling into her, coaxing her to give it up and surrender all her dignity.

Miss Gingers couldn’t take it any more, she didn’t care if the girls did find it suspicious. “I’ve got to go girls, finish your readings!” she blurted out in a single syllable, and without waiting for any questions, she shoved open the door and ran out of the room, cupping her breasts in both hands and sprinting towards the ladies’ room, giggling all the way. The feather on her thighs was rising farther up, reaching more and more tender areas, until…she had to get to safety before that happened!

She finally reached the ladies’ room, pushing open the doors and running to the stalls. The feather was more than halfway up her thighs, heading towards the most tender spot of all, and if it got there too soon…but that wouldn’t happen, she was here in the restroom. She turned the corner and complete, unmitigated despair hit her. She stalls were all full! Pairs of feet could be seen under each of the locked doors; there was no place to go! “NOOOOOOO!!” Miss Gingers cried, beating on one of the doors with her hand, praying it wasn’t true. But it was. Oh god, the feather was getting closer, she needed to go somewhere! She spun around and ran out of the restroom, running as fast as she could in high-heeled shoes back to her office, where she knew she would be safe.

Miss Gingers rounded corner after corner as her shoes clacked loudly on the stone floors, but she did not care who she was disrupting. The feather was just at the point where her buns met her thighs, soon it would go inwards…she was already near desperation. But finally, she turned a final corner and there was her office door, at the end of the hallway! Her heart shone with a ray of hope as she hurried towards this beacon, running inside and slamming and locking the door. No one was here!

Oh god, it was almost there, just teasing the edges of her lips. Miss Gingers threw herself on the carpeted floor, her hands grasping at the edge of her desk to support her. A stack of test papers on the desktop collapsed and fell in a pile on the ground, but she simply pushed them aside. She tore off her blouse and skirt in a moment, throwing them in a corner. She slid down her pantyhose so fast she might have torn them, but it didn’t seem to matter. Her round breasts, encased only in her flimsy bra, were bobbing and bouncing wildly, teased by the feathers which continued to stroke them. She got down on her hands and knees on the floor, with her bare ass in the air and her bra, now half-unfastened, dangling from her shoulders as her breasts hung freely. Both her hands darted to her waist to pull down her panties as if it were the most urgent thing she had ever had to do. But just before they reached there, it was already too late. The tip of the invisible feather finally reached her swollen clit.

It only took a moment. Miss Gingers had been teased for hours, but even her willpower could not stem the tides which rose up inside her. At the first touch of the feather between her legs, Victoria raised her head up in the air and her eyes rolled completely back in her head as the wave of a massive orgasm overtook her. She screamed aloud with a mixture of heated moaning and hysterical laughter which had been pent up for longer than she had though possible, and came harder than she ever had in her life. The touch of the feathers blurred with the sheer intensity of everything she felt at once. She stood there on her knees, almost naked and drenching her panties the carpet beneath her for nearly a full minute while the feathers finally finished the task they had set out to do. And then, it was all gone. No more tickling, all her energy spent, her world a blank. Victoria Gingers took one final gasp of air and collapsed on her office floor in the pile of scattered test papers with an expression of infinite relief.

Chapter 4

When Miss Gingers awoke in a heap of scattered papers in her office, it took her a moment to take stock of her surroundings and remember where she was and how she got there. In a moment, the torturous events of the day came back to her in a wave of remembrance, and she was immediately seized with the grip of panic as she realized she had no idea what the time was. How long had she been here? She wondered as she frantically searched for a clock. On her desk, a small timepiece proclaimed the time as 5:00 p.m. Her heart sank: she had been here all day, and school was long over by now. But thankfully, the class she had run out on had been her last for the day. Save for a few girls who were probably happy to have the last few minutes of the period to themselves, no one else knew she was gone.

Miss Gingers groped around for her glasses, which she finally found and put on. Things came into focus slightly more, and she was appalled to see the state she had left her office in. These black glasses did not fit as well as the red frames she had lost, but they were still sufficient to see the papers and books thrown about on the floor. She was about to tidy up, when she realized that she was wearing nothing but her underwear.

Miss Gingers got to her feet slowly, and with embarrassment reached around to gather her articles of clothing, cast off several hours ago. She also came to the realization that her panties were in no condition to be worn home, having borne the brunt of her unsealed frustration. Carefully, she stepped out of them and put them aside, replacing the rest of her clothing until she looked halfway presentable. As she took out a hand mirror and tried to fix her hair as best she could, her mind dwelt again on the events which had brought her here. She had agreed to do everything the girls had asked, why had they done this to her? As frightening as the thought was, the only conclusion she could some to was that they enjoyed it. They must enjoy tickling her sensitive body, somehow reaching underneath her clothing and abusing her most ticklish spots, slowly driving her insane…she involuntarily reached down and held her hands where it had been the worst; she could still almost feel the feathers caressing her skin. And after everything she had promised to Katie…

Her mind suddenly started as she said that name to herself. Katie! She had failed to meet her after class as she had promised to! Of course, Katie had to know the reason why, this could hardly come as a surprise to her. She had to know that Miss Gingers had no choice in the matter. Didn’t she?

Miss Gingers bundled up the test papers in her arms as she tried to clean up her office as best she could. As she tried to hide the evidence, she quickly put everything in its place and locked her office door behind her, walking to the parking lot. As she entered her car and began the drive home, she barely thought of what she was doing. At least she had Katie’s paper with her, she consoled herself as she drove up to her apartment and unlocked the door. She would barely read it before giving her an A, she decided. If this was what she earned through no resistance, she shuddered to think what a fight might earn her.

Inside her apartment, Miss Gingers’ eyes wearily perused the papers one after another, giving each one a cursory reading. But her mind was elsewhere. Specifically, on the events of the day. She cringed to remember how helpless she had been, how the tickling had broken her will. It all seemed to terrible to imagine, especially the prospect that tomorrow might be the same, and the next day, and the next…

Halfway through the stack, she came to Katie’s paper, which she quickly read while preparing to mark it perfect. But Miss Gingers could not help but notice something strange: namely, there had been effort put into this. Not much, mind you, and not nearly enough for high marks, but still it appeared that Katie had thought moderately before writing this. Why would she have even bothered if she knew she could rely on blackmail? Perhaps she expected her teacher to fight? But no, just the thought of having to…

She shut her eyes and swallowed hard, her pen slipping out from between her fingers as she did. She needed sleep right now, more than anything else. Work could wait, she told herself as she changed out of her clothes, donning a thin light blue silk nightshirt over her bra and panties. Wearily, she moved the papers to one side and climbed into bed. Don’t think about anything, she told herself, simply empty your mind of thoughts…

At first, she slept dreamlessly. But without the vigilance of her conscious mind to stay relaxed, images of tickling surreptitiously began to work their way into her dreams. She saw images of inescapable feathers chasing after her, disconnected scenes where her assailants slid underneath her clothing and tickled her to madness. She tossed and turned on her pillow, giggling in her sleep. An onlooker might have thought she was having a pleasant dream, with the smile she wore on her face. Little would they have known what was truly happening inside her mind. As the dreams became more violent, the tickling became more real. Audible laughs began to emerge from her mouth as she slept, and her muscles twitched as though in reaction to being touched. Finally, it became too much, and the mists of sleep left her head as she darted awake.

Her eyes opened abruptly, as though she had been awakened forcefully. At first she hoped she was still dreaming, that what she was feeling now was not real. But there seemed no way to wake up now, no way to escape what was now unmistakably the soft, tickling touch she knew so well, teasingly brushing across her chest.

It was back, here to haunt her sleep, to provide her with unimaginable ticklish nightmares. Not even in her own bed was she safe. She could feel it more keenly now, the sliding across her ribs which provoked the forced, tight-lipped smile, try as she might to suppress it. But it was different, stronger, forcing her to giggle in only a matter of seconds. It was not invisible feathers which tickled her now, but fingernails: sharp, tapered, cruel fingernails which slid across her ribs, underneath her nightgown. They slithered across the ticklish surface of her chest, tickling around her breasts, with more unseen fingers dipping into her underarms, making her eyes water. Miss Gingers could not take it, and darted upright in her bed.

Or she thought she did. She was surprised and disoriented to see she had not moved. She tried to sit up again, and to her horror found she was unable to do so! It were as though she had lost control of her body, or as though the invisible fingers brought with them unseen bonds, strong as steel, to tie her down to the bed! Desperately she tried to raise her arms, only for the sake of seeing them move. But they remained still as stone, weighted to her sides with not even a finger able to lift off the mattress! She began to breathe faster, and tossed her head from side to side, which mercifully she could still move. Neither legs nor arms would answer her, and she remained motionless on her bed as the fingers began to tickle her.

Suddenly, he felt a squeeze on her sides which caused her to laugh aloud. It was quickly joined by others, as multiple hands began to grasp her sides and mould them beneath their fingertips, from her breasts down to her waist. Miss Gingers began to giggle wildly, and tried to arch her back, but could not. “Aaaahehehehehe!! Oh no! Please! Stop! I can’t move!! Hehehehehe!! Oh god, somebody help me!!” Her eyes widened as she realized the helplessness of her position: alone, in darkness where nobody could hear her cries, unable to move an inch, her tickler was without limits. In a moment, yet another pair of ethereal hands joined its brothers, manifesting themselves right in her underarms. Her arms were lowered and at her side, but for these invisible hands, it was no different than if her hands had been tied above her head.

“Aaahahahahahaha!! No! Please!!” Miss Gingers’ shrill laugh echoed throughout her empty bedroom as in her mind she kicked frantically. But the bedsheets held an unbreakable vise over her body as underneath the invisible hands squeezed and kneaded her ribs with a strength that was frightening. Underneath her arms, the hands there traced tiny circles on her tender skin, spiraling outwards and then in again in a maddening cycle. The sheer helplessness of her situation made Miss Gingers shriek even louder as tears flowed freely down her cheeks, her only method of release. It was so unfair, lying here in her own bed, tickled beyond her limits and unable to do anything about it! And every second it seemed a new pair of hands joined the others. It was only a few minutes before the unthinkable occurred.

“Oh no! Not my feet!!” shrieked Miss Gingers as she felt two, ghostly hands materialize at the foot of the bed. They held her toes between their fingertips, pinching them gently and wriggling between her toes, causing her to scream in terror. “Oh no! Not THEHEHEHEHERE!!” The hands spent no time at gentle teasing, as they mercilessly moved down to scrape the length of her bare feet. Not even her toes could move an inch as the nails slid down on their interminable journey, aided by the legions of hands which continued to tickle her sides and squeeze her breasts relentlessly.

Trapped inside the prison of her own body, Miss Gingers was quickly losing her perception of reality. She began to see visions of giggling schoolgirls atop her bed, each one with their hands buried inside their teacher’s reclining body, gleefully tickling every crevice of her body they could seek out. There were hands over every inch of her body, but worst by far were the one pair who kept her feet all to themselves. They slid up and down her arches, making swirling patterns over the ticklish balls of her feet, and torturing every toe individually, while they remained completely still to receive their punishment.

Miss Gingers was laughing so hard that the world was spinning around her. As the hands on her feet found particularly ticklish niches just above her heels, she did not even notice when she lost control and wet her bed in the midst of hysteria. The hands did not stop for a moment, squeezing, prodding, invading her body and robbing her of her sanity. More than anything else, she needed to move, to escape, to end this nightmare…

Desperately welling up in the depths of her mind, a loud voice began surfacing. It screamed to get away, to summon the strength to break away from her captor. Miss Gingers did not even think about it, she acted by instinct alone. Before she knew what she was doing, she opened her mouth with one, piercing scream and suddenly, every muscle in her body worked in unison and wrenched her from the bed!

Tangled in the sweat-laden bedsheets, her body threw itself from the mattress, landing on the floor with a loud thump and bringing down a collection of papers and books. Still writhing, she thrashed about in the mass of bedsheets, bringing a glass on the nightstand to the ground which shattered loudly. Then, suddenly, she stopped, and took stock of her surroundings. The hands were gone. Her body was moving again. Somehow, she had gotten out of the bed.

Miss Gingers lay there on the floor for several seconds, neither moving nor saying anything. Her mind tried to sort out what had happened. Was it her who had broken away? Or did they suddenly stop?

After nearly a minute, Miss Gingers got up off the ground. Not bothering to remake her bed, she walked into the kitchen, not saying anything, her head hung and her steps slow and hesitating. With a shaking hand she reached into her cupboard and retrieved her coffee. Spilling some on the counter as a result of her shaking hands, she still managed to pour coffee into the coffee maker. As the machine began to gurgle softly, she went to find her mug, and sat down silently at the kitchen table as the machine began its preparations. Tonight would be longer than she had anticipated.

Chapter 5

It was not without some consternation that Miss Victoria Gingers entered the front doors of St. Mary’s School for Girls the next morning, tempered by a long, sleepless night. She had stayed awake far into the early hours of the morning: each time she felt ready to fall asleep and allowed her concentration to lapse, the tickling returned to make her start awake. She spent most of the night pacing, trying with all her effort to stay awake and stave off the tickling. Although she was tired now, she entertained no thoughts of going to sleep.

As Miss Gingers walked through the hallway to her classroom, her thoughts focused on herself, not only on her ordeal of last night but also what she could expect today in school. She looked down at her feet and walked as swiftly as she could, wasting no time in the hallways where another episode could be most embarrassing. She was walking so quickly, she did not notice the other figure until she had bumped into it.

Miss Gingers was knocked back a few steps, and the papers she was holding fell from her hands into a heap on the floor. She apologized to whomever she had hit, and only after she had gathered her papers again did she look up to see who she had hit. Miss Catherine Sydney, one of the mathematics teachers as St. Mary’s, was sitting on the floor where she had fallen in their collision.

Miss Gingers wondered why she remained on the ground when she had nothing to pick up. But her astute eye picked up several signs which, on any other day, she might not have noticed. Miss Sydney wore a large, forced grin on her face, and looked as though he was trying hard not to laugh, even though no one was around her except for Miss Gingers. Her body trembled slightly, and tears trickled down her cheeks. She tried to get up on her feet, but every time she did, she only collapsed again under her own weight, giggling gently. She had lost one of her shoes on the ground, and Miss Gingers saw that her exposed foot was wriggling as though it were being tickled furiously. Her toes in particular danced in all directions, and her knees shook every time she tried to straighten her legs.

Miss Gingers reached down to offer a hand to Miss Sydney and help her to her feet. She had to use all of her strength to pull Catherine to her feet, as she was incapable of exerting any effort except to hold in the laughter she was fighting. As soon as she was standing, Miss Sydney quickly put on her other shoe, and with a very hurried, “Thank you,” as her back was already turned, Miss Sydney dashed off in the direction of the ladies’ room.

Miss Gingers followed her, standing just outside the door to see if her intuitions were true. She did not have to listen hard to hear the sounds from within: the slamming of a stall door, followed by wild laughs mixed with moans and shrieks, and what sounded like feet kicking against the stall door. Miss Gingers walked away before Catherine had time to emerge. It appeared that she was not alone, she mused to herself. A thought both comforting and frightening.

* * * * *

It was not until later in the day, ad both of them were walking towards the weekly faculty meeting, that Miss Gingers saw Miss Sydney again. Miss Sydney walked out of her classroom door just as Miss Gingers was passing it. The two of them walked down the hall towards the meeting room together in silence. As they saw each other, they shared only a mute glance, continuing to walk together without sharing a spoken word, but both understanding each other on a far deeper level. To the casual onlooker, both of them would have looked equally nervous.

As they entered the meeting room and took their seats, Miss Gingers sat down at the table, directly across from Miss Sydney. She looked around the room briefly, surrounded by all the teachers at the school, with the headmaster at the head of the table. Such a public place, she knew this would be the ideal place for her assailant to strike again. And yet, almost as soon as she had this thought, she nearly jumped in her chair as the hands penetrated her defenses for just as long as it took to gently squeeze her ribs, then disappeared. Miss Gingers stiffened noticeable in her chair. She would have to remain completely alert.

For the first few minutes, it looked as though she might succeed. The headmaster, far too fond of listening to the sound of his own voice, mostly cared for positive affirmations that everything was going well. All Miss Gingers had to do was mindlessly agree with everything, and concentrate her energies on fighting off the tickling. Every time the fingers were just about the brush across her skin, she felt it just a moment before, and somehow pushed it away.

Miss Sydney, across the table, was enjoying slightly less control over her situation. Miss Gingers saw the all-too-noticeable signs of a losing struggle that she herself must have exhibited yesterday in class. Miss Sydney continually shuffled her feet, and in a few minutes had lost both her shoes on the ground. She could see her tightly pursed lips trembling dangerously, forced into a grin. Miss Sydney’s chest heaved up and down, and her arms held tightly down to her sides told Miss Gingers that Marianne was quite probably invading Miss Sydney’s underarms right now. Miss Gingers couldn’t guess how long Catherine could hold out, especially since she looked ready to laugh at any minute. If she was anywhere near as ticklish as Miss Gingers was, somehow it seemed like it wouldn’t be long enough.

“And what do you think, Victoria?” asked the headmaster suddenly, shaking her out of her musings. “Any suggestions?”

Miss Victoria turned to the head of the table unconsciously, and just as she did her own problems arose again. That single lapse of concentration was all the hands required to return, and begin scribbling across her ticklish tummy. She almost giggled for a moment, but gathering all her strength, she sucked in her stomach, and tried to fight it off…

“Um, and that would be, suggestions for…?” she asked hopefully. Every time she talked, the hands gained more ground, now sliding out to squeeze her sides, traveling up, just below her underarms. She couldn’t let them get in there, she told herself. She had to fight it, concentrating all her mental energies on protecting herself.

“Are you listening, Victoria? We’re discussing fundraising options to support the new wing. I’ve been told that you had some suggestions?”

It was true, she thought. At least she had them at one time in the past. But the headmaster was expecting a response, and she tried to remember what it was she had to say, only letting her attention wander for a moment. But a moment was all she needed to lose all the ground she had so painstakingly gained. The second her attention was divided, she felt the hands slide up to her underarms, wriggling inside the newly won area and becoming stronger by the second.

“Um, I…still working on…mmmphh…discuss later…” Miss Gingers managed to respond, stifling her giggles. Every word she said took her attention away from the pressing battle, and every time she spoke the tickling became more intense. Already the fingers were sliding up and down the ticklish hollows, stopping in the exact center where she was the most ticklish of all to dig softly into her skin and pinch it gently. Her arms tightened to her sides like vice grips, but she knew no movement of her body could protect her, only concentration. She picked up a pencil and squeezed it between her fingers, trying to focus her strength.

From across the table, Miss Gingers head the sound of a chair shifting. She looked across to see Miss Sydney, shifting uncomfortably in her seat with a look on her face that was seconds away from an outburst of laughter. She tried to put her shoes back on, but this effort apparently only weakened her. In a moment, her kicking feet had pitched her shoes off again. One of them struck Miss Gingers in the leg underneath the table, and in that moment of distraction the hands suddenly changed their tactics, each finger wiggling up and down separately. The unfocused tickling broke through her concentration, and caused Miss Gingers to giggle aloud.

“Is something funny, Victoria?” asked the headmaster as he continued to outline plans for construction. Miss Gingers looked up desperately, holding her breath and praying she would not be forced to talk. With a feeble smile, she shook her head silently, the only communication she dared try.

Across from her, Miss Sydney continued to squirm, but somehow managed to fight off the laughter. Miss Gingers felt like all eyes were on her now. Suddenly, she felt the kicking underneath the table stop. Miss Sydney’s eyes widened, and she suddenly held both her hands down on her chair for support. Miss Gingers only had a moment to guess what was afflicting her before she, too, could feel it. Deep down in her seat, she felt the most frightening sensation of all, one which she knew she could not resist. Inside her panties she felt the touch of the single feather dancing up and down, capable of tickling her to madness.

Miss Gingers almost gasped, and like Miss Sydney her hands darted down to her seat for support. She had to fight it, she could fight it, she repeated to herself. She focused only on her own body, forgetting about the room, only knowing that she had to make the tickling disappear. Slowly, the fingers in her underarms faded from pinches to caresses, then gentle touches intermittently, and then finally, nothing. She focused then on the feather, still there and stroking her ticklish buns, beneath her clothing where she could not get to it even if it were real. She tried, she desperately tried to make it vanish…

“And so, are we in agreement?” came the headmaster’s voice from the head of the table. Involuntarily her attention was diverted only for a second, but in that second she had already lost. Miss Gingers could have cried when she realized what she had done. She felt the feather now, more keenly than ever. Every sweep up and down in those tender, concealed recesses robbed her of another ounce of control. Slowly, maddeningly, the feather brushed up and down, as confident as a foe who already knew that it had won. Miss Gingers knew she was hopelessly ticklish there, and every fresh caress caused a new tear to trickle down her cheek and her grin to broaden by another half-inch.

Miss Gingers heard a sound from across the table as a chair was pulled back hastily. “Sorry…restroom,” said the voice of Miss Sydney, who like her was afraid to speak for fear the effort would break her. Without further apologies, she legged it out the door, her bare feet making no sound as both her shoes had been left underneath the table.

Miss Gingers cursed herself for not thinking of this sooner. Did it matter what people thought? She quickly stood up, biting her tongue and trying to force down the tickling sensations underneath her skirt. She began to run towards the door, making the excuse of visiting the ladies’ room herself, when she heard the headmaster’s voice.

“Can you wait a moment, Victoria? We don’t want this meeting to completely fall apart. Now, please everybody turn your attention to one of three proposed plans for entrances to the new wing.”

Miss Gingers sat back down, frantic. She needed to leave soon! With every sweep, the feather dipped continually lower, reaching more ticklish regions each time which required all her composure to fight. She sat still, trying to look as though she was interested, while inside she screamed for release. She felt the tickling feather slide farther and farther down, and she knew where it was headed. She had to get out of here before it was too late! But how? The pencil she held between her fingers snapped in two without her even realizing it. She fumbled around for another pencil, anything to relieve the tension, but she found nothing.

Miss Gingers’ eyes widened even more, and she let out a nearly silent yelp the next moment. She felt the feather slide all the way down to the bottoms of her cheeks, and push itself slowly through her legs, brushing against her inner thighs and softly tickling her swollen clit. Miss Gingers bit her lip, and grasped the edges of the table with both her hands. Her entire body trembled, both from the unbelievably intense tickling this caused, and all the repressed tension it was coaxing out, one kiss at a time.

The feather pushed itself all the way through her thighs, and then began to pull itself back, repeating the endless, mind-racking journey in reverse. Miss Gingers’ knuckles grew white as she grasped the table edges with all her might. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and the only sound she could hear was her own racing pulse. When would Miss Sydney get back? She had to wait until then, but could she? Already, between her legs she felt a slowly spreading damp spot on her panties, where the feather was showing its handiwork. She didn’t think that she could weather this torture. Would she have to lose all control here, in front of everyone? As terrible as that thought was, it was nothing to enduring this torture for even another minute.

Suddenly, the doors opened, and Miss Gingers could have shouted for joy. Miss Sydney was coming back into the conference room. It didn’t matter whether she left now or not. Miss Gingers leapt to her feet and dashed out the room, not even bothering to mention where she was going. From behind her, she heard the voice of the headmaster, asking what had happened to decency.

Miss Gingers dashed down the hallway, ready if necessary to return to her office for a repeat performance of yesterday. She ran to the nearest ladies’ room and ran into the stall. It was deserted.

The first thing to catch her attention was that someone had been here minutes before. There were clearly signs of an accident: someone had achieved release only moments before getting into position. Miss Gingers, however, could only think of herself. Pulling down her skirt and underwear in a motion that she had learned so well these last few days, she bent over the toilet, and for one moment she closed her eyes and allowed herself to stop fighting.

That single moment was all she required. For the second time in two days, that feather between her legs pushed Miss Gingers over the edge of climax. Without all of her will to hold it in, that deluge broke through, and for a moment Miss Gingers forgot about everything: the meeting, the tickling, everything wiped clean by the waves of pure pleasure coursing through her body, intensified by their captivity for so long. She had no idea how long she was in the stall, only that it felt like an eternity, and every moment the sensations became more intense than anything she could have imagined.

And then, gasping for air, Miss Gingers looked around and replaced her clothing. It was gone: the feather, the fingers, again driven away by the force of her orgasm. Miss Gingers shyly realized everything that had happened in retrospect. She went to the mirror and splashed her face with cold water, and then opened the restroom door.

Just outside, waiting for her, was someone she knew. Miss Sydney stood facing the door, waiting for her to emerge. She looked at Miss Gingers with an expression of total understanding.

“We should talk,” she said simply.

Chapter 6

Miss Gingers stared at Catherine Sydney in silence for a moment. She was struck with astonishment, but not at her colleague, whose request she should have seen coming. Miss Gingers instead felt amazement and almost shame that she had not thought to go to Miss Sydney first. She had seen that they shared the same predicament, and yet she had failed to realize that this could have a positive result for both of them, now that they had this point of commonality. Miss Gingers feverishly extended her hand to Miss Sydney’s, and without a word the two of them walked down the hallway to Miss Sydney’s office. Both of them knew that the meeting was technically still in progress, but neither one cared.

It was only when both of them had walked through the office door and Miss Sydney had shut and licked it behind them, checking twice to ensure that they were completely alone, that the latter leaned with her back on the door and turned to Miss Gingers and began to speak.

“I saw it,” she said with a hint of remorse, which surprised Miss Gingers, “I saw it all. I knew what was happening to you, but I was too frightened to come to you before now. You see, you must know that the same thing has been happening to me.”

Miss Gingers nodded. She had been at the meeting.

“It’s been happening to me for almost two weeks,” said Miss Sydney, sitting down and showing signs of both mental and physical exhaustion. “I’m sure you know that it’s Marianne and Katie who are behind this. They came to me earlier in the week and made…demands.” She swallowed hard. “I’ve done everything they asked, but sometimes they do this to me, just for fun, just to see if I can hold out. I don’t know how much longer I can take it…” A tear welled up in her eye as Miss Gingers imagined she was reliving her experience. Miss Gingers, too, could not repress her own fear. The thought that at any moment, those fingers might be back to tickle her to the limits of her endurance and she could do nothing about it…but wait, she thought. She could do something about it, she realized, something which she had just discovered.

“I…I’ve found that it might be possible to fight it,” said Miss Gingers uncertainly. She had had little success in fighting it, but at least it was theoretically possible.

Miss Sydney looked at her with an expression of great surprise. “You did?” she looked incredulous, as though wanting very much to believe it, but still skeptical. “I’ve just been able to fight it off, in the last day or two. I can try to focus on pushing it away, and it sort of works, but the moment you cease to give it your full attention, it all comes raging back, almost worse than before.” She breathed heavily, remembering her trials. “It’s almost so small a hope that it might be better not to have it at all. But then, it took me this long to be able to do it, and you’ve done it in only a day. Do you suppose it’s possible…?”

Miss Gingers knew what she was going to ask: whether it might be possible to learn to fight it off, not only for a while but permanently. She felt a vague feeling of disappointment. Somehow, unfairly, she had expected Miss Sydney to have all the answers, to provide an immediate solution to her problem. The knowledge that she only knew as much as Miss Gingers herself was a letdown, but at the same time she felt herself drawn closer to her fellow teacher, who had been through even more than she. “I hope we can,” she said at last. “I’ll never forget that first time it came to me, I knew right then that I would do anything…anything to make it stop.” She trembled slightly, and needed to brace herself against the desk.

Miss Sydney nodded. “I know. It was like that with me. But the worst thing was when I…I actually…turned them down.” She hung her head. “I told those two girls I wouldn’t do what they wanted me to. I was punished.”

Miss Gingers was almost afraid to ask. “How?”

Miss Sydney gulped. “It was in the middle of class, and it all came to me at once. Fingernails slithering across my feet, scraping underneath my toes. Hands grasped my sides and tickled them until I was afraid I had no more breath left. Brushed dusted my breasts until I was sure that I would have to tear off my shirt right there to make it stop. But the worst was…’ She looked at Miss Gingers, and placed a hand down by her thigh. “Inside my panties. I never knew how ticklish I was in there. That one feather tortured me for hours! Even when I ran out of the classroom and went to my office, it still wouldn’t stop. If you had only seen me there, rolling on the ground, laughing like a madwoman, praying for it to stop as though anyone could hear me…it was the most harrowing experience of my life. I even had to gag myself so that my laughter wouldn’t bring anyone to see me. But it lasted for so long…”

Miss Sydney said nothing for a moment. Her eyes went down to the carpet, presumably at the spot she had fallen during her punishment in this very room. “But they kept it going. Even after that feather brought me to orgasm right here on the floor, it didn’t stop. It happened again, and again, I was trapped in utter timelessness, until finally, I passed out. I thought it would have happened more quickly. But it didn’t. I stayed awake for every moment of it, even though by the end of it, I didn’t even know who I was. But after that day, I knew I could never hope to fight them. So I did everything they asked me to: a few grades, and I thought it would be over. But it isn’t.”

Miss Gingers nodded. She, herself, had come to the same conclusion. No amount of capitulation would appease these girls, so long as they held absolute power like this and could use it at a whim. “Is there anything we can do?” asked Miss Gingers hopefully.

Miss Sydney was silent for a moment. “I don’t know,” she said at last, draining away what little hope Miss Gingers had allowed herself to harbor. “But one thing is certain. You told me that you’ve been able to fight off the sensations?” Miss Gingers nodded. “Then maybe, just maybe, there might be hope. For now, all we can do is to try and protect ourselves, to get better at this kind of defense.” She looked at Miss Gingers, and her expression conveyed that she was sorry she could not do more. “I know how urgent this is. Believe me, I know more than anyone. But we have to do this, and we have to help each other.” Miss Gingers nodded again. For a while, they did not even need to talk; everything was communicated by their expressions, almost identical and yet with the subtle differences of the individuals. For the first time in days, there was hope.

* * * * *

It was later in the day, with Miss Sydney’s words still in her mind, that Miss Gingers saw Katie and Marianne again. Or at least, she assumed that she did: the entire school was gathered in the auditorium for a public announcement concerning the prospect of a new building for St. Mary’s. As Miss Gingers took her seat, she looked over the seas of uniformed girls: all identical from her vantage-point in the dimly lit room, any of them suspect. There as a vague murmur of girls’ voices as they talked to each other in undertones before the announcement began. Miss Gingers scanned the rows, looking for the perpetrators. Intellectually, she knew this made no difference. If they wanted to tickle her, knowing where they were would be fruitless. But something drove her to look.

It was just as the first administrator came on stage to quiet the audience and begin speaking that Miss Gingers laid eyes on Katie. She was sitting in the same row as Miss Gingers, only a few seats down. She started with unpleasant surprise. Somehow, she felt more threatened. She almost imagined that she could feel the tickling beginning already, those fingers running up and down her skin, systematically working the laughter out as they never failed to do…

Miss Gingers gasped suddenly. It was real! Not merely the work of an overactive imagination, but those ethereal fingers just as she had felt them before, had touched her. Nothing followed for several seconds. Had it been real, after all? She tried to tell herself that it would not happen, that she had been on edge, that was all. But as though to mock her vain attempts at composure, she felt it once again. The fingers quickly slithered down the bottoms of her feet, not stopping as they usually did, but making quick, surreptitious movements as though in an attempt to catch her off guard. Miss Gingers pushed her high-heeled shoes into the ground and bit her lip, trying to work out the composure to fight it off. She had done it before, she told herself…

But in a moment they were back, twice as intense as before! She had been preparing for it, but the quick tickle had slipped in past her defenses. It was like trying to anticipate a blow while blindfolded. Miss Gingers nearly let out an audible laugh as the fingers slid down her soles from toe to heel, as if trying to prove that her defenses were powerless. Miss Gingers looked over at Katie, sitting quietly in her seat looking directly forwards at the stage. Somehow Miss Gingers knew it was her. And yet, she was not concentrating at all. The terrible thought entered Miss Gingers’ mind that perhaps she had been able to defend because the attacks had not been careful. Perhaps, if Katie concentrated as hard as she herself was focusing now, she could have Miss Gingers down on the floor, screaming with laughter in front of the entire school and unable to stop.

It came back, slower now. The fingers took their time sliding down her soles, as though they had nothing to be afraid of. They made a quick sweep up her arches, and then down them again, moving up and down the shapely curves with the regularity of a pendulum. Miss Gingers gripped the sides of her seat, and her high-heeled shoes began to dangle slightly off the edges of her trembling feet. She tried to fight it, but every time she almost had pushed it back, the hands came forwards again with a surprise attack against an unknown weak spot that broke her concentration again. How could she fight someone who knew her ticklish feet so well?

While the hand on her left foot continued sliding across her arches, suddenly the right hand tired of this game, and slid up above the balls of her feet. It went all the way up to just beneath her clenched toes, wiggling underneath them and inside the tender spaces between them as well. Her right foot kicked involuntarily, and her right shoe fell off. What did she concentrate on now? It was like there were two attackers, each one with a different mind, and she could only concentrate on one. When she fought to protect her toes, it seemed as if no spot on her feet was as ticklish as her arches. When she moved to her arches, the slightest touch underneath her toes turned her muscles to jelly.

Miss Gingers’ left shoe fell off as well, leaving her in her stocking feet as she struggled to contain the laughter. Both hands took random, erratic paths across her soles, the patterns never repeating, so she never knew what to expect. She choked down her laughter, as the glaring stage-lights of the auditorium produced a spectral blur against the tears welling up in her eyes. She couldn’t lose control here, not in front of the entire school! Miss Gingers had nightmare visions about being broken where she sat, reduced to a laughing mass of tickled nerves, brought to a screaming orgasm here in front of all the students of the school. She knew she couldn’t let that happen, and yet it seemed more threatening with every passing minute.

With sweat trickling down her forehead, Miss Gingers tried again to focus. But these hands knew every ticklish spot on her feet, slithering from one to another without mercy, sometimes soft and teasing, other times harder and more intense, but always seemingly the worst technique for that spot! Miss Gingers looked over again and saw Katie, still looking forwards. She looked at Katie’s dangling feet in black strapped shoes, sitting there as still as the rest of her while Miss Gingers writhed under the tickling of her soles. It wasn’t fair, she told herself, Katie had no idea what she had put Miss Gingers through, she had no idea of the fears she had faced, and she never would. Sitting there with an oblivious smile on her face, tickling her teacher’s feet until she couldn’t take it any more. The single, momentary vision of Katie here as everything that Miss Gingers was not aroused in her something beyond the need for self-defense. A flush of anger passed through her, as her eyes focused on Katie’s dangling feet.

And then, for a moment, all sensation stopped. It was not as though the tickling had stopped; somewhere in the back of her mind she knew it was continuing. But she felt nothing. She stood beside herself, and felt as though she had stepped out in a direction she never knew existed. Unhampered by any obstacle, she felt herself travelling forwards, not thinking but fueled only by the anger of her predicament. She moved towards Katie, and in a moment she felt Katie’s shoes. But they seemed insubstantial: she moved through them, to a pair of white cotton socks, and through them as well, until somehow, she knew that she was looking at Katie’s bare feet. She was still sitting in her chair, and yet she could feet the warmth of Katie’s bare feet somehow. She did not stop to think about how she had done this, only instinct drove her forwards. And before she knew what she was doing, Miss Gingers reached out with a mental projection of her hand and tickled the soles of these bare feet.

And now, the tickling actually did stop. Miss Gingers started, almost so that she lost her ethereal connection. But she focused on it, she continued to feel the soles of Katie’s feet. She looked over at Katie. She was no longer looking forwards. A terrified look of self-consciousness was plastered on her face, as well as a frantic desire to leave the room. Miss Gingers smiled, and she tickled again.

Katie, immediately kicked her feet up against the chair in front of her. She wore an enormous, forced grin and looked as though she were about to break into laughter at any moment. Now Miss Gingers knew what she had looked like, those many times in front of the blackboard when it had been her in Katie’s place. With an inward smile, she stroked Katie’s bare feet, not cruelly but with the firm and steady air of an instructor who was teaching someone a hard-won lesson. Up and down the ticklish feet, she felt the toes wiggling madly underneath her touch, constrained by the shoes and socks which posed no problem to her tickling. With smooth and steady motions, she stroked her mental fingernails across the flesh of her soles, whose warmth and soft texture she could feel as if her real hands were touching it.

Suddenly, Katie leapt up from her seat. Miss Gingers did not stop her gentle ministrations, however. Katie clearly did not care about being censured, but without a word dashed out of the room. Other teachers no doubt assumed she was going to the restroom, but Miss Gingers knew better. She looked around the room at the doors, and her suspicious were confirmed. A figure she identified immediately as Marianne was getting up from her seat, making a hasty withdrawal from the room as well. The two of them were doubtless going to regroup.

Miss Gingers could feel her hold on Katie’s feet weakening as distance was put between them. The connection felt less real with every meter put between them. Finally, she pulled back. Miss Gingers sat up in her chair just in time to see Marianne running out the door behind her friend. Miss Gingers stood up from her seat. It was with composure that she had not felt in days that she strode out the doors of the auditorium after the two. She would get to the bottom of this.

Chapter 7

With the auditorium behind her, Miss Gingers began to break into a run. Several moments passed before the question arose of why she was pursuing Katie. She could answer with nothing definite, and yet deep within her was the undeniable feeling, less an idea than an instinct, that somehow Katie would lead her to the answers she had been seeking. Something about her first taste of revenge had fueled her with a drive and purpose that she did not question. She continued running through the halls, after Katie. Judging by the fact that she still had not caught up, she realized Katie must be running as well.

Suddenly, she realized that she had actually been following something more: in the distance, she heard the unmistakable sound of laughter, which she had unconsciously been running towards. But who was it? Perhaps a teacher; is that what Katie had escaped to do? Or maybe Marianne, who she had not seen in the auditorium, had been using this time to pursue her own ends. Miss Gingers quickened her pace when the definite realization dawned upon her that the victim might be Miss Sydney.

Turning yet another corner in the deserted hallways, Miss Gingers passed by the door to her office. The familiar sight awakened her from the single-minded quest to find her truant pupil to more practical ideas. Was it truly necessary to track her down on foot? It would be better to consult her schedule, find out Katie and Marianne’s last classes, and wait for them after school. Perhaps she could send a memo to the office requesting those two be called to her office after class. Deciding that this would be the better course of action, she opened her office door and went inside.

The force of the shock struck her all at once. Immediately, she was thrown out of her complacency by the sensation of unbearable tickling! Caught completely unprepared, it felt as though someone had stolen up behind her and suddenly plunged their fingers underneath her arms, tickling the bare skin of her underarms as though she were wearing nothing! Miss Gingers had neither time nor presence of mind to resist. Immediately, she fell on the floor of her office in a fit of hysterics, leaving the door half-open as she rolled across the floor shrieking with laughter, alternately clutching her sides and striking out with her hands against a tickler she knew was not even there.

The hands took no time to stroke her skin, but immediately began kneading and squeezing her sides, digging into her flesh with long, spindly fingers and sharp nails that elicited mad screams of laughter. It was as though some force was trying to teach her a lesson: that a moment’s lapse in vigilance could reduce her back to this helpless state. Miss Gingers made a few feeble attempts to fight off the tickling, but she was too far in its grasp. The fingers felt longer than possible, as though her entire chest was encapsulated beneath them. Like spiders’ legs, she felt every squeeze in a dozen places at once, scraping her underarms, pumping her ribs, and touching her breasts with tickling fingertips that robbed her of any power to fight back.

Miss Gingers howled with laughter as she thrashed about on the floor, her flailing limbs knocking over the visitors’ chair and banging against the sides of her desk, towering above her from her vantage point on the ground. All the memories of her powerlessness in class against the unseen tickling force came rushing back to her as she laughed hysterically, not even afraid that anyone might hear her. She reached up, trying to grab a hold of the edge of her desk, but the effort of raising herself off the ground only gave more opportunities to her tickler. For a moment she hung by her hands, halfway off the ground as the invisible finger gleefully ran all over her chest, digging into her most sensitive spots in a renewed attack to bring her back down. Her eyes blurred with tears, not only of laughter but of the effort to resist. But she knew it was a losing struggle. Only seconds later, her hands became too weak to maintain their grasp, and the tickling brought her falling back down to the ground with bouts of laughter louder than ever.

And yet her mind managed to focus on one thing as she howled and pleaded for mercy to deaf ears. What had brought this on? It had happened, she realized, when she came into her office. Her only hope, she thought, was to get out of here, or she was sure she would be tickled to death. But a few impotent grasps at the far-away desktop mad her realize that standing would be impossible. Her chest still shaking with laughter, Miss Gingers reached out before her and pulled herself across the floor, managing each time to crawl several feet before the tickling became too much, and she relapsed into minutes of uninterrupted hysteria. Every time the fingers became fiercer in their tickling, seeking out the most tender spots of her upper body and focusing more and more on her ticklish breasts. Every time she came closer to the door, covering almost all the distance left before she fell back down, degenerating into helpless muscle spasms and hysterical screams.

How long it was before her fingertips touched at last the wooden surface of the door and pushed it open a few mere inches, she did not know. But finally reaching her goal gave her one final burst of strength. With all her energy, she threw herself through the opening of the door, and found herself at last lying on the hallway floor.

Just as quickly, the tickling was gone. Miss Gingers took several minutes before she was strong enough to stand, and even then she was afraid to at first, afraid the fingers were only mocking her and would wait until she stood up before bringing her back down again effortlessly. But at last, she found herself standing, and safe for the moment.

What had happened? she thought to herself. Had there been something about her office? But places had never seemed to matter when the tickling came. Whoever was responsible, Katie or Marianne, must have seen he going in there and aimed to stop her. They had certainly succeeded. If that was what was waiting for her inside her office, Miss Gingers would never have gone back in there again. They obviously wanted her to follow. And so she did.

It was only when Miss Gingers began brisk walk, which in only a few seconds became a full, undisguised run, did she realize what state the tickling had left her in. She was still panting, and running took nearly all her remaining breath away. In addition, she noticed the first several buttons of her blouse were open, probably torn open in a futile attempt to protect herself without realizing it. This exposed the top of her bra, which although still fastened, was clearly lacking in the strength she required now. Her ample breasts bounced freely as she ran down the school corridors and her chest heaved with the effort of exertion. It did not even cross her mind what would happen if she met up with a student or another teacher. She could only hope the announcement in the auditorium was still going on. But then she thought of Katie, who was no longer there, and her pursuit. Where could Katie have gone? She had lost the scent of the trail, and needed to consider her options. Miss Gingers allowed herself to stop and catch her breath.

Just as quickly, like a pursuer who was seconds away from catching her, the tickling suddenly caught up with her. Suddenly there was a feeling of two hands firmly grabbing her abut the waist and squeezing her buns, causing her to shriek out loud in the empty, echoing hallway. At the same time, there came the feeling of feathers, many of them, stroking and wriggling inside her panties, where they knew she was the most ticklish. Miss Gingers laughed in spite of herself, and broke out into a run again, as though she could outrace her pursuer. She nearly sprinted now, only trying to cover distance. As she ran, she had the feeling of leaving the hands behind. And yet the feathers remained with her, as though they were just behind her at all times, pursuing her like a wild animal. Every time she slowed or took a corner without thinking, she could feel the tips of the feathers closing the distance, stroking between her cheeks and sliding up and down her upper thighs, which mingled with stress produced a warm, tingling sensation between her legs. Even as she ran, she wondered whether or not to simply dash for the restroom as before, and brace herself for the fullness of the assault. But somehow, she realized that her tickler did not want hr to slow down, as she had in her office. The forces wanted her to continue running, guided only by instinct instead of thought. She was being led somewhere.

She did not even notice where she was going: sights passed by her unfocused eyes in a blur. Doors, windows, unrecognizable objects of all sorts were left behind as she sped down the hallways, at first not knowing how she even knew the way. But when she finally ignored her intellect, she felt what was driving her on. It was sound: that first sound of laughter that had first prompted her on, she had in fact never lost. Somewhere ahead of her, there was a sound of wild, unrestrained laughter, broken words, shrill pleas for mercy. In her heightened state of awareness, Miss Gingers could hear it more clearly than she would have thought possible. It must be the room where the girls are in, she thought. But who was being tickled? Was it her friend Miss Sydney, or was it some new victim that the girls had turned to, unsatisfied with the two of them? Miss Gingers ran even faster, feeling that the answers were even closer, not daring to stop. The tickling force was only steps behind her, and she could not afford a delay. With a new sense of purpose and direction, Miss Gingers ran on, allowing herself to be guided only by sound and feeling. She was not at all frightened, only a sense of urgency reigned.

And then, before she knew where she was, she found herself at a stop. But no tickling ensued. Miss Gingers required several moments to collect herself, and realized that she had run nearly halfway across the school. She was standing outside the office of Miss Catherine Sydney, and it was clearly from inside that the laughter was issuing. The girls had caught up with Catherine after all! Without even knowing what she would do once she got inside the room, Miss Gingers threw open the door and ran inside.

What she saw inside was indeed the scene of a merciless tickling. But it was not Marianne who was the tickler. It was not even Katie. It was Miss Sydney.

Chapter 8

Victoria Gingers stood in the doorway of Catherine Sydney’s office in a state of momentary shock. She had entered the office expecting to see Catherine being tickled, but all her expectations were immediately disillusioned. Miss Sydney sat behind her desk, with a look of confident, emotionless control on her face. At the foot of her chair was Marianne. A pair of black shoes and cotton socks lay on the floor beside her, obviously hers as her bare feet were lying in Miss Sydney’s lap. Miss Sydney’s long fingernails danced across her upturned soles, causing the girl to scream and wail with laughter. She clawed the carpet with her hands trying to pull herself away from her teacher’s grasp, but to no avail. Somehow, her legs remained perfectly motionless, as though held in an invisible vise. Her feet remained on Miss Sydney’s lap, who did not even bother to hold them there. All ten of her fingers were occupied in tickling her student’s soles.

Marianne was laughing far too hard to even notice Miss Gingers enter the room. And for a few moments, it looked as though Miss Sydney did not, either. She kept at her task with full attention, and did not look up. Miss Gingers stood in the doorway speechless, not sure what to do. However, it was Catherine who first broke the silence.

“I had less time than I realized, Victoria,” she said enigmatically. “If I’d really known you could have done as much as you can after only a few days, I never would have trusted this to chance. It seems my girls didn’t do as well as I had hoped. No matter though. Some punishment should help to motivate them in the future. This isn’t the first time I’ve had to resort to such measures.” She looked down at Marianne again, lost in the depths of complete hysteria. No intelligible sounds could be heard through her screams of laughter as Miss Sydney’s nails stroked and scratched her bare soles.

“Y..your girls?” Miss Gingers asked at last. “You mean you knew about this all along?”

Miss Sydney smiled unsettlingly. “Of course I knew, I was the one who told them to go after you. None of this was their idea. Not that they wanted to, mind you. They needed a little persuasion first. I’m sure you’re aware of this sort of, shall we say, projection of the mind? You’re only aware of the most superficial level of it, triggered by instinct. I discovered long ago the ability to focus the mind like this. I used it against these girls, Katie and Marianne. Both of them had it too, but they discovered it by accident. They had no way to defend against me. When I told them what to do, they had no choice.”

“Then, it was you all along?” Miss Gingers asked, scarcely ready to believe it even now. “Everything that happened?”

Miss Sydney shook her head condescendingly, as though explaining something simple that it gave her a sense of superiority to expound upon, as though talking to a child. “No, Victoria, those first several times in class or in the lunchroom, that was Katie and Marianne. I told you both of them had the ability, simply not on my level. Of course, I told them what to do. But during the faculty meeting? The girls had nothing to do with that. That was me, acting on you. Of course, I had to pretend I was being tickled as well, so you wouldn’t suspect.” As she spoke, she took to raking her fingernails up and down Marianne’s feet in slow, steady motions. Each sliding motion across the tender flesh caused another scream to issue from the girl’s mouth.

Miss Gingers straightened herself up, beginning to feel indignation now that her shock had worn off. It was beginning to dawn on her just how she had been manipulated and deceived. “And if all this is true, how do I know that you’re telling me the truth even now?” Miss Gingers asked.

Miss Sydney smiled at her attempt at confrontation. “You’re right, words are untrustworthy. Perhaps I should supply you with more proof.” As she spoke, Miss Gingers jumped as she felt something. Her composure began to melt away, and she started shifting uncomfortably as a grin appeared on her face that she tried to fight. There it was again, unmistakable, that invisible feather sliding up and down inside her panties, stroking between her soft buns where she was the most ticklish. She tried to stifle the giggles, ad fight it off, but it was too strong. It was as though every time she had fought it off before, it had been intentionally weak, meant for her to defeat. All of a sudden her momentary strength vanished as her ticklishness was brought to light.

“Do you recognize this?” Miss Sydney smiled as she watched Victoria squirm and smile more and more against her will. “I’ve been merciful in the past, and made it stop after a while, but I could continue for hours. It might give you a taste of what Katie and Marianne have gone through.” At the mention of Marianne’s name, she looked down again at her pupil, and seemed to rethink her lazy tickling. She returned to randomly sliding across the soles, scraping and flicking her nails against the ticklish surfaces every which way, which renewed Marianne’s laughter and raised the level to even louder than before.

“Mmmph…hehehe…But…why did you…hehehe…do this…mmmphehehe?” Miss Gingers asked as the soft plume rose and fell with gentle, billowing motions in the recesses where she could not defend herself.

Miss Sydney smiled, not ceasing her tickling of Marianne or Victoria. “Because you have the ability too, Victoria,” she answered. “If I didn’t stop you now, you might learn to use it even better than I can. And then where would I be? At your mercy instead of you at mine? No, I won’t allow that. Now that you’ve proved you can reach out and touch others, as these two girls inadvertently showed me they could, I’m afraid I’ll have to…show you the dangers of using that ability.”

With Marianne’s laughter echoing in her ears, Miss Gingers felt as though she was faced by insurmountable opposition. Her knees trembled with the effort of remaining standing as the feather continued to coax the laughter out of her. Her upper lip quivered, and she needed to brace herself against the edge of the desk for support. Watching the girl on the floor howl and beat the ground in utter helplessness as Miss Sydney made sport of her ticklish feet made her confidence ebb even more. “But…hehehe…how did you…?”

“How did I know you had the ability too?” Miss Sydney finished for her, in much less time than it took for Miss Gingers to speak. “More than sheer guesswork. Even if you can’t use the power, if you have the latent ability to harness it, someone with the real gift can feel it in their person whenever they see you. I always knew something felt awry about you, Victoria, whenever I was around you I felt it. But I had to be sure. Another thing you doubtless don’t know is that someone with the ability leaves a kind of residual power on things they use closely for long periods of time. Things like clothing, for instance.”

“My glasses!” Miss Gingers said in an epiphany. Her red-framed glasses that she had discovered missing yesterday morning, that was what had happened to them! She hadn’t lost them as she had convinced herself, they were stolen!

“Yes, it was me,” Miss Sydney smiled. “Then I became quite sure. And now, Victoria, I know that I can’t let you go. I’m going to have to teach you preemptively what happens if you ever cross paths with me, or ever disobey me from now on.”

At that moment, it was as though something took control of Miss Gingers’ entire body. This was nothing like the gentle teasing she had felt before, she wasn’t being tickled, she was being pulled forwards! Before she was even able to respond, the invisible forced knocked her off her feet, pulling her legs up in front of her. Miss Gingers fell to the ground, and held on to the carpet trying to fight back, but the force pulled her up to the foot of Miss Sydney’s chair. Miss Sydney smilingly discarded Marianne’s feet and picked up her colleague’s. The girl wasted no time, but immediately ran out of the room as fast as she could. In another moment, both of her high-heeled shoes were on the ground, and Miss Gingers’s stocking feet were in Miss Sydney’s lap.

“Let me go!” she shrieked, kicking ad thrashing. Rather, she tried to kick, but it was as if her entire lower body had gone numb. But numb was not correct: she could still feel her legs perfectly, but they would not move, as though in a vice. Miss Sydney only grinned, holding her feet in her lap by the power of her mind, not allowing them to move an inch. It was as though she were purposely delaying the inevitable only to see Miss Gingers’ response. But this lasted all too short a time. Catherine reached out with her long, crimson fingernails, and playfully ran them along Miss Gingers’ feet.

The ethereal touches from afar she had thought to be worse than any tickling could ever be. But now, the moment those tapered nails slid over her soles, the sensations amplified by her nylons, it was like nothing she had ever experienced. The first touch widened her eyes and sent a shock through her entire body, dissipating every ounce of her courage. “Hahahahaha!! No, please, Catherine, don’t!!” she squealed, looking up at the malicious face and the curled fingers, who had it in their power to tickle her to death. Catherine listened to her please, not considering them but drinking them in with relish as though they fueled her desire for more. The cruel fingers tickled her soles again, faster this time and for enough time to make Miss Gingers completely break down.

“YAAAHAHAHAHAHA!! NOOOOO!! NOT THE FEET!!!” Miss Gingers screamed as her upper body thrashed about in all directions. Her arms grasped and swung at empty air, and she threw her head back and forth trying to escape the quick, almost lazy tickling of her feet. But below her waist, she could not move at all. Her feet remained subserviently in Miss Sydney’s lap, not moving an inch, held there by some fantastic power. Catherine knew that her targets were not moving. She did not even hold them still, but now used all ten of her fingers to slide up and down the stocking feet before her. The silky surfaces allowed her to slide in smooth, rounded patterns effortlessly, sometimes drawing large circles and other times quickly wriggling her fingers on a spot that produced even more laughter than usual. She barely noticed how much she was enjoying herself, channeling all of her energy to making her tickling as torturous as possible.

“Kootchie kootchie koo!” she teased as her nails flew over Miss Gingers’ feet, blinding her with tears, “You think you can fight me? Go on then, save yourself, save your little ticklish feet!” She laughed with pleasure, not realizing until this moment the degree to which she was enjoying herself. She rubbed her thighs together as a feeling of inner warmth welled up inside her, and she was sorely tempted to use one of her hands for alternate purposes. But no, she needed all ten fingers to make her torture complete.

Miss Gingers howled and rolled on the floor, trying desperately to remember how she had managed to fight Catherine’s control before. Could she even do it? But the nails on her soles tickled so much, she couldn’t even think straight for more than a few seconds at a time before her mind was emptied and filled with screaming laughter. More than anything else, she needed to move her feet, she needed to escape this horrible torture!

Miss Sydney gleefully continued her tickling, but in a moment started back in surprise. Completely unexpectedly, one her the feet in her lap had momentarily curled. It could not move, and immediately returned to its original position, but she knew what this meant. “So, Victoria, you’re trying to fight me? Not bad, but you know you can’t win. But I won’t stop you! Come on, try again!” she laughed at Miss Gingers’ inability to even respond to her taunt, so lost was she in the throes of ticklish agony. Every scrape across her nyloned feet sent her tumbling deeper and deeper into total hysteria, and she was enjoying every moment of it. She didn’t want it to end, and the warmth welling up inside her was beginning to make her noticeably wet.

It looked as though Miss Gingers had already lost. Hopelessly thrashing and babbling in her ticklishness, unable to speak, and blinded by her tears, Miss Sydbey was making full use of the ticklish feet before her to rob Victoria of any senses she might have had. But deep within her tortured mind, there remained on reservoir of intelligence. It focused all her remaining strength into one final, desperate gambit for freedom before it, too surrendered to the horrible tickling.

Everything happened far too fast for Miss Sydney to even react. The feet in her lap suddenly wrenched themselves from her grasp, and in the same moment struck her in the chest, knocking her back off her chair. As she fell to the ground she looked up to see Miss Gingers getting to her feet and running over to the spot where she had fallen. There was a look on her face unlike anything she had even seen on Miss Gingers before. A pure purposefulness, directed towards one goal. For a moment Catherine tried to pull her feet back, afraid that Miss Gingers was going to make a dive for them and do the same thing to her. But she did not move, only looking down at her. And a moment later, it began.

It felt as though a hundred invisible feathers had suddenly materialized next to Miss Sydney’s skin. They appeared everywhere at once, stroking her breasts, sliding up and down her underarms, gently feathering her inner thighs and tickling beneath her panties, in all directions at once. But the worst was on her feet. Every inch of her soles was assaulted by the touch of feathers, sliding up and down her arches, circling the balls of her feet, and a different feather sliding between her toes all at once. The sudden shock of it was unbearable. Miss Sydney opened her mouth intending to speak, but all that escaped was a scream of laughter.

Miss Gingers stood above her, saying nothing. She looked down at Catherine, and on her face there was a look of complete mastery. It was as though she commanded everything that happened to her. But Catherine had no hope of fighting back. She was being tickled in places she never knew she was sensitive in before. She madly pulled at her clothing, trying to remove it, to get underneath where the feathers were tickling her to madness. Her shoes flew to the other side of the room, striking the walls as she kicked them off and leaving black marks where they hit. Miss Sydney tore off her blouse and skirt and Desperately rolled over, beating the ground with her hands. She did not even know where to protect herself. Every nerve in her body was aflame, and even a she lay in her bra and panties she was unable to protect herself at all.

Perhaps if Miss Sydney had been aware of what she was doing, she would have realized the futility of it. But She was completely unused to being tickled, especially like this. For the first time she was made aware of the extent of true tickle torture, inflicted by the still calm Miss Gingers, looming over her and watching her suffering with almost cold pleasure. It was now more than ever that she felt the warmth between her legs, being brought forth now by the feathers inside her panties. Her most sensitive skin was being assaulted, and she was powerless to resist here more than anywhere. She pulled at her panties, trying to get them off, but her hands could not even remain focused enough to do this. With her panties still half-on, and the rest of her clothing removed except for her bra, Miss Sydney felt more vulnerable than she had ever been before. She wanted release, but oh! she needed a different kind of release as well, she needed it desperately more with every passing second as she became wetter with every feather stroke.

And it was impossible to resist. With a scream even louder than anything that had come before, the teasing touches of the feather between her legs brought forth all the pent-up passion and aggression, the forces that no longer had any means to inflict themselves on others. She lay writhing on the floor as the juices flowed like a stream, the tickling not stopping for a moment but keeping the gates open all the time. The feathers all over her body prevented a single conscious thought from diluting the moment: all she felt was the pure intensity of passion. And after her lungs were empty of air and her mind could take no more, she collapsed on the floor of her office, barely breathing but completely drained of energy.

Miss Gingers stood silently over her sleeping frame for a few moments, pondering what had happened. She felt more powerful, more in control than she had ever felt before. She felt as though the previous days of victimization had only served to make her stronger. She now knew, looking down on her unconscious tickler, that she had it within her power to overcome anything. And the feeling filled her with a quiet tranquility she had not felt for a long time. She turned without a word to leave the office, collecting her shoes and leaving everything else as it was. As she shut the door behind her, she could not doubt that the future looked promising.

Epilogue

It came as a disappointment to the St. Mary’s community that Miss Catherine Sydney, teacher of Mathematics at St, Mary’s School for Girls, handed in her resignation yesterday. The school is at this time unable to offer any explanation for her sudden decision, only citing in her letter that certain tensions and conflicts of interest made it preferable that she move on. The first to express her sympathy was Miss Victoria Gingers, English teacher and acquaintance to Miss Sydney. She only said that she had known Miss Sydney well, and while she will be missed, we must trust that her reasons were of a personal nature, even if we are unaware of them. After all, we must learn to fully respect even what we can’t see.

8 fantastic chapters - thoroughly enjoyed reading them