isurrender
TMF Poster
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- Nov 13, 2015
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I read about this book from a thread in the Tickling Discussion. I bought a used copy from Amazon for $2 plus shipping. The author, Ted Mark, died in 2004. Lancer Books, the publisher, went bankrupt in 1973.
Here are some excerpts, starting with page 1. I may get tired of typing, but will come back at a later date to post more excerpts.
**************
"Ha-ha-ha-ha-ho-ho-ho-ho-hee-hee-hee-ha-ha-ha!"
"Why did you kill our man in Manila, Mr. Victor?"
"ha-ha-hee-ha-ho," I replied.
"Who betrayed us to you?" the Voluptuous and naked bust inflated impatiently with the question.
"Hee-hee-ho-ho-ha." I didn't know the answer anyway and it didn't matter that I was laughing too hard to speak.
"Who is the traitor to our organization?" The exotic upside down face of the Maltese beauty twisted savagely.
"Ho-ho-hee-hee-ha-ha-ho!" I was running out of breath from the agony of my laughter.
"Who was your contact in S.M.U.T.?"
"Uh-ha-ha-ha-uh-ha-uh-ha-ha-ha-ha!" I went of on another uncontrollable spasm of giggling.
She stepped away then to give me time to get over it. Now I had an upside-down view of her full figure. There was a black half-slip covering the bottom portion to the knees. The sunlight shining from the window behind her made it transparent, though, and her lissome legs were completely visible. The slip hugged sleek, tall-girl hips and then angled in to a quite narrow waist. Above the waist, as I mentioned, she was naked. Large breasts swayed like ripe melons--melons still on the vine, but ready for plucking--and her green eyes glittered with a perverse sort of enjoyment as she waited for me to stop laughing. She smoothed back her long hair. It had fallen over her olive-skinned features--a sultry, Latin sort of face--in the course of her provoking my laughter. She set it right with her left hand.
In her right hand she still held the long goose feather. I forced myself to keep laughing so she's hold off using it again. It wasn't easy, because my ribs ached awfully. Partly they ached from the laughing, and partly from the muscle straining position I was forced to assume.
It really was one helluva position. I was standing but bent over so that my hands were touching my ankles. Each hand was tied to the corresponding ankle. And my legs had been spread wide apart so that my calves could be laced to a pair of bed posts in such a way that I could neither squat nor straighten up.
This particular position served another purpose. It left the most intimate part of my anatomy clearly exposed from the rear. It was this dangling sac which my tormentor had been so delicately stroking with the goose feather. A byproduct of the pose was that I could see her clearly--although upside-down--through my parted legs. And her face told me she was enjoying the exquisite torture to the point where it was becoming more important to her than getting answers to the questions she was posing. It didn't matter, though, because my mind was truly as bare of answers.
When I had taken my clothes off just a short time before, I'd certainly never anticipated this. This Maltese cat had looked as if she might scratch, if I strayed just the proper erogenous zone, but I sure hadn't figured her to truss me up like a turkey and start tickling me to death. How could I have known what she had in mind when she plucked that tail-feather from a live--and then suddenly lively--goose?
...She'd lured me in a very unusual way. She'd squirted milk at me from the udder of a Maltese goat.
****
The story than goes into a flashback about how this guy works for a spy organization. He's the man from O.R.G.Y. He was in Malta. His cover story was studying the agriculture of the island. Then this woman squirts milk on him and invites him inside to clean his shirt. Her name is Domino.
***********
When she turned back to me, Domino seemed somehow transformed. She no longer had the serious mien of a farm girl with mundane tasks to perform. Rather her expression was kittenish, a sort of "school's out" attitude that anticipated an afternoon of fun. And the way she chucked me under the chin with the goose feather said she was eager for the fun to begin.
Of necessity, I was sprawled on the bed. There was only 1 chair in the room, a severe, straight-backed piece of furniture, and it was already occupied--by a bidet. So Domino had to kneel beside me to inaugurate the featherly chin-tickling.
Being ticklish, I automatically grabbed her wrist to make her stop. I hadn't grabbed very hard, and I hadn't meant to pull her toward me, but she sprawled over me as if I'd deliberately yanked her off balance. Her face was very close to mine, the lips parted, the eyes half closed. The quick way she was breathing confirmed the invitation.
I kissed her. It was a long, deep kiss, and it ended only when she started teasing me with that damn goose feather again. I tried to wrench it from her grasp, but she pulled it away giggling. Another grab on my part, and then we were wrestling on the bed.
Domino held the quill to her breasts, and so that's where I grabbed. She laughed again, excitedly, as my hands moved over her breasts. She wasn't wearing any bra under the harsh wool of her dress, and I could feel the warmth of her flesh. I let my hands linger there and was rewarded by the hard-straining feel of her breast tips growing rigid.
Now she tickled the back of my neck with the feather again. I held her hand at a safe distance, and with my other hand pushed the long black skirt up over the heavy stocking until I could see the quivering flesh above their tops. She grew quiet when my hand moved higher. Her thighs parted obligingly as I brushed the half slip out of the way and found she wasn't wearing any panties either...
****
I'll finish the chapter later in the week.
Here are some excerpts, starting with page 1. I may get tired of typing, but will come back at a later date to post more excerpts.
**************
"Ha-ha-ha-ha-ho-ho-ho-ho-hee-hee-hee-ha-ha-ha!"
"Why did you kill our man in Manila, Mr. Victor?"
"ha-ha-hee-ha-ho," I replied.
"Who betrayed us to you?" the Voluptuous and naked bust inflated impatiently with the question.
"Hee-hee-ho-ho-ha." I didn't know the answer anyway and it didn't matter that I was laughing too hard to speak.
"Who is the traitor to our organization?" The exotic upside down face of the Maltese beauty twisted savagely.
"Ho-ho-hee-hee-ha-ha-ho!" I was running out of breath from the agony of my laughter.
"Who was your contact in S.M.U.T.?"
"Uh-ha-ha-ha-uh-ha-uh-ha-ha-ha-ha!" I went of on another uncontrollable spasm of giggling.
She stepped away then to give me time to get over it. Now I had an upside-down view of her full figure. There was a black half-slip covering the bottom portion to the knees. The sunlight shining from the window behind her made it transparent, though, and her lissome legs were completely visible. The slip hugged sleek, tall-girl hips and then angled in to a quite narrow waist. Above the waist, as I mentioned, she was naked. Large breasts swayed like ripe melons--melons still on the vine, but ready for plucking--and her green eyes glittered with a perverse sort of enjoyment as she waited for me to stop laughing. She smoothed back her long hair. It had fallen over her olive-skinned features--a sultry, Latin sort of face--in the course of her provoking my laughter. She set it right with her left hand.
In her right hand she still held the long goose feather. I forced myself to keep laughing so she's hold off using it again. It wasn't easy, because my ribs ached awfully. Partly they ached from the laughing, and partly from the muscle straining position I was forced to assume.
It really was one helluva position. I was standing but bent over so that my hands were touching my ankles. Each hand was tied to the corresponding ankle. And my legs had been spread wide apart so that my calves could be laced to a pair of bed posts in such a way that I could neither squat nor straighten up.
This particular position served another purpose. It left the most intimate part of my anatomy clearly exposed from the rear. It was this dangling sac which my tormentor had been so delicately stroking with the goose feather. A byproduct of the pose was that I could see her clearly--although upside-down--through my parted legs. And her face told me she was enjoying the exquisite torture to the point where it was becoming more important to her than getting answers to the questions she was posing. It didn't matter, though, because my mind was truly as bare of answers.
When I had taken my clothes off just a short time before, I'd certainly never anticipated this. This Maltese cat had looked as if she might scratch, if I strayed just the proper erogenous zone, but I sure hadn't figured her to truss me up like a turkey and start tickling me to death. How could I have known what she had in mind when she plucked that tail-feather from a live--and then suddenly lively--goose?
...She'd lured me in a very unusual way. She'd squirted milk at me from the udder of a Maltese goat.
****
The story than goes into a flashback about how this guy works for a spy organization. He's the man from O.R.G.Y. He was in Malta. His cover story was studying the agriculture of the island. Then this woman squirts milk on him and invites him inside to clean his shirt. Her name is Domino.
***********
When she turned back to me, Domino seemed somehow transformed. She no longer had the serious mien of a farm girl with mundane tasks to perform. Rather her expression was kittenish, a sort of "school's out" attitude that anticipated an afternoon of fun. And the way she chucked me under the chin with the goose feather said she was eager for the fun to begin.
Of necessity, I was sprawled on the bed. There was only 1 chair in the room, a severe, straight-backed piece of furniture, and it was already occupied--by a bidet. So Domino had to kneel beside me to inaugurate the featherly chin-tickling.
Being ticklish, I automatically grabbed her wrist to make her stop. I hadn't grabbed very hard, and I hadn't meant to pull her toward me, but she sprawled over me as if I'd deliberately yanked her off balance. Her face was very close to mine, the lips parted, the eyes half closed. The quick way she was breathing confirmed the invitation.
I kissed her. It was a long, deep kiss, and it ended only when she started teasing me with that damn goose feather again. I tried to wrench it from her grasp, but she pulled it away giggling. Another grab on my part, and then we were wrestling on the bed.
Domino held the quill to her breasts, and so that's where I grabbed. She laughed again, excitedly, as my hands moved over her breasts. She wasn't wearing any bra under the harsh wool of her dress, and I could feel the warmth of her flesh. I let my hands linger there and was rewarded by the hard-straining feel of her breast tips growing rigid.
Now she tickled the back of my neck with the feather again. I held her hand at a safe distance, and with my other hand pushed the long black skirt up over the heavy stocking until I could see the quivering flesh above their tops. She grew quiet when my hand moved higher. Her thighs parted obligingly as I brushed the half slip out of the way and found she wasn't wearing any panties either...
****
I'll finish the chapter later in the week.
