Hello TMF'ers
Here’s Part 2 of “Temple of the Torture Goddess.”
You can check out Part 1 here. A sincere and heartfelt “thank you” to everyone who read Part 1, and especially to anyone who commented.
For those of you who have stuck with the story, there’s a lot more action in Part 2, and the action is hotter.
But let’s get on with it…
-----------------------------------------------
Temple of the Torture Goddess — Part 2
The cell I woke to find myself in was small, a rickety cot the only piece of furniture. There was a bowl of food and something to drink laying on the stones near the heavy door, so I helped myself. I hadn’t been waiting long when the door opened and the two guards from last night entered. They chained my hands in front of me and lead me out of my cell.
“We’re taking you to High Priestess Sheena,” one of them said as we walked down a narrow corridor. “She’s the second most prominent priestess in the temple, second only to High Priestess Tanya. You are to speak only when spoken to, and you will address her as mistress. Understand?”
I said I did, and after a series of unremarkable hallways, they brought me to what seemed like a fairly large audience chamber, with high ceilings and large windows. Across from me was a short dais with a table on it; behind it sat a woman in a shimmering crimson robe, talking to another woman seated beside her. There were several other women in the room, including Priestess Lafay. She stood in front of the dais, apparently waiting for us.
As my guards took me over to stand next to Lafay, I couldn’t help but notice that there was clearly a hierarchy on display. Lafay wore the red robe I had seen her in last night; the woman at the table was dressed similarly. The guards wore the black leggings and matching haler tops, their hair pulled into tight pony tails. There were several women dressed in yellowish robes — I didn’t know who they might be — while still others were dressed in the silver/gray shorts and tops I had seen Raisha wearing the night before; I guessed these were servants of some kind. The woman at the center of the table wore a red robe, though her shade of red was a deep crimson, much darker and richer than the robes of Lafay and the other priestess.
I was also struck by the relative modesty of the clothes they all wore. The priestesses’ robes were long-sleeved and covered them from shoulder to ankles, with simple belts around their waists. The fabric clung to the women sometimes, especially when they moved, but only offered an enticing hint of the bodies underneath. There wasn’t much truly revealing about the outfits at all. The yellow garments worn by the other women were shorter, about knee length, and looked flimsier, but once again, they didn’t show off much. Even the guards and the servants, showing lots of curves in their tight leggings and chest-hugging halter tops, seemed dressed more for functionality than provocation, despite their bare midriffs.
The woman at the center of the table noticed us, and wrapped up her conversation with her companion. She stood up and walked to the edge of the dais in front of us. She was about medium height, with a dusky complexion and wavy dark, dark brown hair that fell past her shoulders. I guessed I was looking at Sheena.
“What’s this?” she said.
“He’s the one we captured in the orchard last night, High Priestess Sheena,” one of my guards answered.
“Ah, yes.” Sheena looked me over. “You say he’s not a thief?”
“He claims he’s not a thief or a spy, mistress,” Lafay said. “He says he meant to come here. He came to the temple from the forest across the lake but didn’t know how to gain entrance…”
“Yes, I remember.” Sheena smirked at me. “Supplicants typically present themselves at the main gate, not sneak into our orchard in the dark of night.”
“I beg your forgiveness, Mistress Sheena,” I said. “I didn’t know how to get in. I meant no offense…”
“You ate some of our melons?”
“Just two, Mistress. I was hungry after the journey.”
“Usually, thieves and trespassers such as yourself spend a short time with us,” Sheena said to me. “A very short time, maybe just an afternoon or a night, but it’s usually enough to ensure they don’t come creeping back. But you say you came here intentionally, to join our order.”
“Yes, Mistress, I…”
Sheena looked at the guards. “Did he bring us a gift?”
“No, Mistress.”
“No gift, stealing from our orchard, sneaking onto our land…”
“I didn’t know…”
“Obviously.” She turned to Lafay. “What’s your opinion?”
“I think he’s telling the truth,” she said. “His story didn’t change when he was put to the question, and no spy would have made such a bumbling attempt to sneak into the temple.”
“And what about his wish to join the Order?”
Lafay shrugged. “That’s not for me to decide, mistress. He’s extremely ticklish, but that in itself doesn’t necessarily disqualify him. I see no harm in giving him the opportunity. He would be just another slave-apprentice, after all. If he proves untrainable, we can always find some use for him.”
“True enough.”
“What… what’s a slave apprentice, Mistress?” I asked.
“It’s a chance to prove you’re sincere in your wish to become a devotee of Zyriss,” Sheena said. “If you show promise and we’re pleased, we’ll begin the proper training. It’ll also allow you to make up for stealing our fruit and not bringing us a gift.” She looked over her shoulder. “Foxy,” she called.
“Yes mistress.” I looked at the woman who had stepped forward. About 5’5” or 5’6”, she had straight, jet black hair that fell to her shoulders, the edges and bangs straight and symmetrical, seeming to frame her face in a rectangle. In another world, it would be called a “pagegirl” style. The dark, glossy hair created a striking contrast with her smooth, ivory skin. And, unlike the other women assembled here, there was a lot of that skin on display — below her trim waist she wore skin-tight stretch pants and shiny black boots that came up to mid-shin. But above the waist Foxy wore nothing at all. Her full, melon-sized breasts thrust out aggressively and looked impossibly firm for their size. They barely moved as she walked, immediately springing back into place after a single bounce.
“Will you oversee this new apprentice-slave’s training?” Sheena said.
“Of course, mistress,” Foxy said.
“Excellent. Where do you think we should start him out?”
“Mistress Wynne always needs extras in the laundry, mistress.”
“Very good. I leave him in your capable hands, then.”
Sheena dismissed us, and with a guard on either side of me and my hands still shackled in front, I followed Foxy’s firm, rolling buns out the way we had come. We passed several women in the wide hallway, mostly dressed in the uniforms of guards or servants, though I noticed one woman dressed somewhat like Foxy, with stretch pants and boots, but with a black halter top covering her chest. She was leading three women in servant’s outfits, and exchanged a nod with Foxy as they passed. I also saw a woman covered head-to-toe in a black robe, her head hidden by a cowl; she was striding down the hallway at the head of a group of four guards.
Foxy took me down a broad flight of steps; we passed a couple landings, and as we continued down, the gleaming marble walls were replaced by dark stone. We stopped at a landing, crossed a wide corridor, and continued our journey downwards on a ramp. The air grew hot, humid, and ahead of us I could hear what sounded like splashing, sloshing water echoing off the walls.
We emerged into a huge, vaulted chamber, the heat and humidity more pronounced. Through the steamy air of the room I could see probably five or six shallow, circular pools. In the center of each pool was a short, round column, maybe six or seven feet high. Wooden poles stuck out of the columns near the top, like spokes on a wheel. Women were standing in the pools, the water up to their knees, washing clothes, towels, sheets, and other items, then hanging them over the wooden “spokes” to dry.
A woman with long, straight black hair, dressed in stretch pants and a halter top, strode up to us. I noticed she had what looked like a short whip attached to a loop at her hip.
She looked me up and down. “A new one?” she said.
“He was captured in the orchard just last night,” Foxy said. “High Priestess Sheena has put me in charge of his training. We thought we’d start him down here.”
“I am Mistress Wynne,” she said to me. “I’m the overseer down here. You’ll do exactly as I say, and no funny business. Keep your hands to yourself.”
“Yes… mistress,” I said. I was lead over to one of the circular pools, my hands unshackled, Foxy and the guards left and I was told to get to work. I grabbed a handful of garments from a nearby basket, a brush, and began soaking and scrubbing as best I could.
I kept my head down as I worked, conscious that my arrival had been the object of some interest and not wanting to draw attention to myself. But I still managed to steal quick glances at the women around me, all dressed in the tight grey shorts and heavy duty bras I guessed were the servant’s outfits. I wasn’t the only one not wearing a shirt; a few of the girls had taken off their halter tops, probably due to the heat, though the women in my immediate vicinity were all fully dressed.
A few guards watched over us from the edges of the room or from the gallery that ran above the chamber along one wall. Several times I heard one of the guards or Mistress Wynne admonish a group of washers for talking, but hushed conversations seemed to go on anyway under cover of the noises of work — the slap of cloth against stone, the constant slosh and splatter of water — echoing around the room. The five women working in the same pool as I was certainly whispered about me, and I felt them sneaking looks at me, sizing me up.
I did my best to ignore them, to focus on washing, rinsing, ringing out and hanging up the garments I took from several large baskets near the pool. Though conscious of all the wet, scantily clad bodies near me, I managed not to let my eyes linger too long.
But I couldn’t help but be aware of my nearest neighbor, a particularly buxom blonde, a little on the short side, who seemed to be doing more than her fair share of whispering and snickering. Her heavy breasts strained against the confines of her bra, and little rolls of supple flesh bubbled out from the waist band of tight shorts that clung to her round, full buns and showed off her plump thighs.
She worked quite close to me, so close that we brushed against each other a few times. As I finished ringing out a garment, I turned to hang it from the pole above me, to see her doing the same thing. In the process, she knocked a few items I had just washed off the pole and back into the pool.
“Ooops! I’m sorry,” she said, grinning at me. “Looks like you’ll have to dry those again. Sorry for being so clumsy.”
I knew what was going on, so only dipped my head in acknowledgement and scooped up the soaking garments. She just stood there, grinning at me as if daring me to challenge her. I turned away, ringing out the cloth and slapping it on the stone lip of the pool.
A sharp, quick shriek from behind me made me start and spin around. The buxom blonde was still there, hands reaching behind her to cover her butt. The shriek had attracted Mistress Wynne and two guards. “What’s going on here?”
The blonde looked at me, a twinkle in her eyes. “He pinched my ass!”
I gaped. “What?! No! I…”
“I told you to keep your hands to yourself!” Wynne snapped, gesturing to the guards.
“No! I swear! I didn’t!” The guards had already grabbed my wrists, binding them together with the end of a rope. “I didn’t touch her!”
“He did!” the blonde said. “I didn’t do anything to him and he pinched my ass!”
The commotion had drawn a gaggle of women from the nearby pools. They gathered around, watching as the guards threw the other end of the rope over the “spoke” above me and hoisted my arms over my head, leaving me standing on the balls of my feet. The whole action had taken just a few moments. I continued to protest my innocence, but Mistress Wynne ignored me.
“Girls,” she said, “you have my permission to show this slave-apprentice what happens when you use your hands for something other than work.”
Giggling and squealing with excitement, the gaggle of women came towards me, six or seven pairs of hands reaching for my defenseless body. They surrounded me, pressing close, and their hands were everywhere, squeezing, tickling, fondling. I felt my shorts being pulled off as I vainly twisted and turned, trying to escape. I was already helpless with laughter, totally overwhelmed by their tickling finger on my belly, my thighs, my ribs and chest, my butt. Someone behind me grabbed my ankle and pulled it back, forcing me to balance on one foot while she worked my other sole over with what felt like a soft brush. Another hand caressed the back of my thighs and pinched the pad of flesh behind my knee. Yet another groped my buns…
And standing right in front of me, a self-satisfied little smirk on her face, was the buxom blonde vixen who had started the whole thing. Her fingers were plying my belly, right around my navel, but she wasn’t content to just tickle me — while one hand gave my stomach hell, the other was busy with my shaft, treating it to a quick caress every few seconds.
But I hardly needed that extra bit of stimulation. Even as I howled with laughter, the relentless tickling and touching, the proximity of their bodies, was making me more and more aroused. The devilish wenches didn’t pause in their assault for a moment. Their fingers and hands danced all over me, making me twist in my bonds and stoking my lust until it threatened to boil over. Desperately I arched my back, thrusting my hips forward, hoping the blonde would stroke faster. For a few brief moments, I thought it might happen… when a shout from Wynne brought everything to halt.
“Okay, that’s enough, girls! I think he’s learned his lesson.”
“Awww!” With cries of disappointment, the women moved away, leaving me hanging there, groaning in frustration.
“We were hoping we’d get a turn,” said one of the girls in another pool.
“Back to work,” Mistress Wynne said. “Unless one of you wants to join him up there.”
Laughing, the girls went back to work while I hung there, naked, my body still trembling from their attack. I thought Wynne would let me down and make me return to work, but she left me to stew for a while longer, surrounded by the bevy of beauties washing clothes. Gazing on their wet and nearly naked bodies as they splashed about in the shallow pool was a torment all its own, especially in my wound up state. To make it worse, I wasn’t entirely left alone; the girls would occasionally treat my helplessly exposed body to a quick pinch or squeeze or tickle whenever they thought Wynne or the other guards weren’t looking — and they conveniently seemed occupied elsewhere most of the time.
I was eventually let down and returned to work. Unable to find my shorts, I was forced to go naked, and the quick little teases and tickles continued.
We were given a couple breaks to be fed, and when the shift ended, Foxy came to fetch me. I followed her out a different way than we had entered, and she led me down a series of wide tube-like passageways. “These are the corridors the servants and slave-apprentices often use to travel about the temple,” she said to me over her shoulder. In a while, we went through a heavy door and into another corridor, this one much different. Whereas before the walls had been curved, like a tunnel, here they were straight, the passage narrower, with walls, floor and ceiling made of dark stone. The light was dim, and I saw simple wooden doors at regular intervals. We stopped before one door. Foxy opened it and gestured for me to enter. “These are the slave-apprentices’ cells,” she said.
I went in, and she shut the door behind me. A single lantern cast a dim yellow glow over the room, but there wasn’t much to see — a plain rectangular room with stone walls, and a single narrow bed, not much more than a cot, against the wall on my right. A set of manacles on short chains hung from the wall on my left, a pair above at shoulder height for the arms, two below for the ankles.
A bowl of food and pitcher of drink had been left on the floor near the bed. As I sat on the cot and ate, I scanned the cell again, hoping I had somehow missed a pile of clothes tucked into a corner, but found nothing. Finished with my meal, and worn out by the eventful day, I lay down on the narrow bed and quickly drifted off to sleep…
I was woken during the night by the feeling of my arms being lifted over my head, the sensation of something encircling my wrists. Instinctively I tried to pull my arms down but found I couldn’t. A rattling sound accompanied my efforts. I knew what had happened before I fully came to — someone had chained my wrists over my head to the bed frame, and had already clicked another cuff over one of my ankles.
My eyes popped open. By the dim yellow light of the lantern I saw Foxy sitting next to me on the bed. Her back was to me, and I felt another band of some sort click into place around my free ankle. I gave an experimental tug, but knew she had cuffed my ankles to the bed frame near the bottom.
Foxy turned to face me. Her gaze traveled the length of my helpless, naked body, her expression completely blank and unreadable. Then, with one hand, she began lightly stroking my arm. I sucked in my breath, my body tensing. “What are you doing?”
“You are to address me as ‘Mistress’,” she said. Using both hands, she slowly dragged her fingernails down my arms into my armpits, pausing to scratch a few times, then continued down my sides, sending shivers up and down my body. Squirming, I gasped and spluttered, trying to fight back the giggles. Her hands moved down the length of me, her fingers beginning to move more, lightly spidering across my thighs, my waist, my stomach…
I giggled helplessly, rattling the bed as I wriggled. Her fingers danced up my chest to my nipples, and circled them slowly. scratching at them. “… ghee-hee-hee… F-fox-eehee… p-please… teeheehe…”
“I just told you to address me as ‘Mistress’.”
“S-sorry… hehehe… s-sorry M-m-mistress…” I gasped before a fit of giggling consumed me.
“Is this getting to you already, slave?”
“… eeeheehee… y-yess, m-mistress… tee-hee… I’m reeleeheehee… ticklish th-there…”
“But I’ve barely even started, slave.” With that she began to really tickle me, her merciless fingers dashing between my underarms, my stomach, my ribs. I writhed in uncontrollable laughter, struggling desperately as she leaned over me.
“…aahaahaaa… no!...hahaha...please stop!...aaaah...no!”
Foxy suddenly straddled my thighs and plunged her fingers into my ribs. I howled underneath her, my back arched, shaking with laughter. “…NAAAHAHAHA!… Missstresss STAAAHAHAHAPPP!… aaahahahaha…!”
She moved to other targets, digging her fingers in my underarms, pressing them into my sides and belly, pinching the agonizingly sensitive ridges of my hips. Between bursts of helpless laughter I begged her to stop. “Ohhh-ho-ho… aaaha-ha… m-merceee Mistresss… aahahaha… I c-c-an’t t-take anymore…!”
“But you don’t have a choice, slave,” Foxy said. “I am your mistress. You will take whatever I choose to give.”
But to my surprise, she stopped tickling me a few moments later. She stared down at me, her face impassive as I moaned and gasped underneath her. Then she turned around. Still straddling me, though now with her back towards me, she leaned over, showing off her butt accentuated by her tight pants. Her full, firm breasts pressed against my legs. I felt single fingernail flicked down the arch of my foot. I squealed. “Please Mistress! No!”
She dragged all her nails up and down my helpless soles, sending me into a frenzy of hysterical laughter and screaming. “No-HOHOHOHO! STAHHPP! Naaahaaahaaaa!!!”
While the fingers of one hand scratched up and down my arches, the fingers of another tweaked my wriggling toes, sometimes squirming between them to torment the sensitive skin there. Shrieking with laughter, I could barely even beg. I threw my torso from side to side, tears of laughter trickling from the corners of my eyes.
When she finally stopped, it took me a few seconds to realize it. I felt her get off me and stand up. My head reeling and my body trembling, I gasped for breath. Foxy stood there just looking at me for a few moments, her face stern and impassive. Then she sat back down on the side of the bed again and began running one hand up and down my thigh.
“Please Mistress,” I groaned. “No more…” I spluttered and tittered as she lightly tickled my legs. The corner of her mouth curled up in a little sneer, and I realized it was the first time her face had shown any expression while she tortured me.
“Priestess Lafay said you seemed especially ticklish,” she said. “I think that was an understatement.”
I let out a sudden squeal and jumped as she squeezed my knees. Foxy went on: “I wanted to see for myself how ticklish you were, and where you were most ticklish…” Her tickling fingers fluttered up and down my thighs. “… but I think you’re ticklish everywhere, and you seem to respond to everything…” Her tickling turned into long strokes, making me moan. “Things might be very difficult for you, slave.”
Her hands moved up my thighs to my hips, then gently brushed across my swollen shaft. I groaned, straining upwards to meet her gentle touch, but her hands had already moved on, caressing my stomach and chest. “Ohhh… oh Mistress…”
“High Priestess Sheena has charged me with your training,” she said. “I demand strict obedience. Is that understood, slave?”
“… ohhh… yes…”
Her hands suddenly shot down to my legs and viciously attacked the excrutiatingly sensitive spot right above my knees. “Yes what, slave?!”
“AHAHAHA! YES MISTRESS! YESS MISTRESS!”
“Very good.” Her hands slid back up my body, caressing and lightly tickling once again. “You are very ticklish all over, but as my slave-apprentice you will learn to control your passions, both to endure the suffering that will be inflicted on you, and to increase the suffering you will inflict on others as a devotee of Zyriss.”
I moaned and writhed under her caresses, but my moans turned to giggles as she began lightly ticking my underarms. “…neehehehe… oh Mistress… eehehehee… please stop… I’m so t-ticklish… hee-hee-hee…” Her face remained impassive, expressionless, as she tormented me with light scratches in my underarms and down my sides, never staying in one spot for very long. She would work me up until my giggling started to edge into full-fledged laughter, and then dial back the tickling bit by bit until she was mostly caressing and rubbing me once again. After just a little bit of this treatment I could barely think straight.
“… ohhh… oh mistress…” I gasped as she brought me down from another tickling bout. “…wh-what are you doing…?”
“I told you, slave,” she said. “I’m making my own assessment of your sensitivity. I need to know what methods you might best respond to. You can also consider this the start of your training.”
“… uhhhhh… please Mistress… I’m so… ohhh… please show mercy …”
Again, that little sneer. “Mercy? What use do you imagine the Goddess of Torture has for mercy?”
“Ohhh… but please Mistress, I’m begging you,” I groaned. “I can’t take anymore of this… uhhh… what do you want from me?… I’ll do anything you want… I’ll tell you anything… yeepp!…” I gave a squeak as her fingertips fluttered over my waist. “… ooo-hoohoo… stop please Mistress…” I spluttered. “I g-give up… (teeheehee)… I’m really t-t-ticklish, okay?… I’ll b-bee a good s-slave, I swear… no more… heeheehe…”
“There is much about our order that you do not understand yet,” Foxy said. “What you’ll do for me means nothing to me. A true devotee of the goddess receives no pleasure from torturing you, no satisfaction in your submission. Her pleasure, her satisfaction, come from pleasing the goddess, and the goddess is pleased by your suffering. The more pronounced and prolonged your suffering, the more exquisite your torment, the more the goddess is pleased.”
“… eeeheehee… y-yes mistresss… heee-heehee…!” I didn’t really understand. It sounded as though Foxy was saying that she took no personal pleasure from tormenting me, or even experienced much emotion at all. It made no sense, though if the impassive look on her face was anything to go by, she was telling the truth. But either way, she was tickling me so much that puzzling out her meaning was impossible. I giggled and squirmed underneath her, ready to agree to anything that might stop the tickling.
Once more, she slowly brought me down, easing back on the intensity of her tickling little by little, but never taking her hands off me. She caressed me slowly, hands traveling up and down my sides, my hips, my thighs. Then, I felt her gently but firmly take me in her hand.
I cried out in surprise, raising my head up to look at her. “M-mistress…?” I gasped. Though terrified of what she might do to me next, I couldn’t stop my hips from also rising off the bed. She began to slowly stroke me in the same methodical manner that she had caressed me earlier. I groaned, my senses reeling.
“As a slave-apprentice, you will learn to tame the pleasure you feel tormenting others, just as you will learn to suppress your impulse to submit to the torments inflicted on you,” she said. “But until then, it does not serve my purposes to have a slave constantly distracted by their own appetites. So each night, I will give you what your body craves. But hear me, slave: I am the only one who may do this for you. Understood?”
“… ohhh… ohhh yes mistress…”
“Good. You will find this to be the extent of my mercy, slave.”
“…ohhh… oh thank you mistress… thank you… ohhh…”
As wound up as I was, it didn’t take long. “Sleep well, slave,” I heard her say as my cries reached a crescendo and blissful relief flooded through me, sending me into unconsciousness.
--------------------------------------------
Part 3 is right here, but before you go, check out the image of Mistress Foxy I commissioned from the inimitable Josh Flyn down the thread a bit.
Here’s Part 2 of “Temple of the Torture Goddess.”
You can check out Part 1 here. A sincere and heartfelt “thank you” to everyone who read Part 1, and especially to anyone who commented.
For those of you who have stuck with the story, there’s a lot more action in Part 2, and the action is hotter.
But let’s get on with it…
-----------------------------------------------
Temple of the Torture Goddess — Part 2
The cell I woke to find myself in was small, a rickety cot the only piece of furniture. There was a bowl of food and something to drink laying on the stones near the heavy door, so I helped myself. I hadn’t been waiting long when the door opened and the two guards from last night entered. They chained my hands in front of me and lead me out of my cell.
“We’re taking you to High Priestess Sheena,” one of them said as we walked down a narrow corridor. “She’s the second most prominent priestess in the temple, second only to High Priestess Tanya. You are to speak only when spoken to, and you will address her as mistress. Understand?”
I said I did, and after a series of unremarkable hallways, they brought me to what seemed like a fairly large audience chamber, with high ceilings and large windows. Across from me was a short dais with a table on it; behind it sat a woman in a shimmering crimson robe, talking to another woman seated beside her. There were several other women in the room, including Priestess Lafay. She stood in front of the dais, apparently waiting for us.
As my guards took me over to stand next to Lafay, I couldn’t help but notice that there was clearly a hierarchy on display. Lafay wore the red robe I had seen her in last night; the woman at the table was dressed similarly. The guards wore the black leggings and matching haler tops, their hair pulled into tight pony tails. There were several women dressed in yellowish robes — I didn’t know who they might be — while still others were dressed in the silver/gray shorts and tops I had seen Raisha wearing the night before; I guessed these were servants of some kind. The woman at the center of the table wore a red robe, though her shade of red was a deep crimson, much darker and richer than the robes of Lafay and the other priestess.
I was also struck by the relative modesty of the clothes they all wore. The priestesses’ robes were long-sleeved and covered them from shoulder to ankles, with simple belts around their waists. The fabric clung to the women sometimes, especially when they moved, but only offered an enticing hint of the bodies underneath. There wasn’t much truly revealing about the outfits at all. The yellow garments worn by the other women were shorter, about knee length, and looked flimsier, but once again, they didn’t show off much. Even the guards and the servants, showing lots of curves in their tight leggings and chest-hugging halter tops, seemed dressed more for functionality than provocation, despite their bare midriffs.
The woman at the center of the table noticed us, and wrapped up her conversation with her companion. She stood up and walked to the edge of the dais in front of us. She was about medium height, with a dusky complexion and wavy dark, dark brown hair that fell past her shoulders. I guessed I was looking at Sheena.
“What’s this?” she said.
“He’s the one we captured in the orchard last night, High Priestess Sheena,” one of my guards answered.
“Ah, yes.” Sheena looked me over. “You say he’s not a thief?”
“He claims he’s not a thief or a spy, mistress,” Lafay said. “He says he meant to come here. He came to the temple from the forest across the lake but didn’t know how to gain entrance…”
“Yes, I remember.” Sheena smirked at me. “Supplicants typically present themselves at the main gate, not sneak into our orchard in the dark of night.”
“I beg your forgiveness, Mistress Sheena,” I said. “I didn’t know how to get in. I meant no offense…”
“You ate some of our melons?”
“Just two, Mistress. I was hungry after the journey.”
“Usually, thieves and trespassers such as yourself spend a short time with us,” Sheena said to me. “A very short time, maybe just an afternoon or a night, but it’s usually enough to ensure they don’t come creeping back. But you say you came here intentionally, to join our order.”
“Yes, Mistress, I…”
Sheena looked at the guards. “Did he bring us a gift?”
“No, Mistress.”
“No gift, stealing from our orchard, sneaking onto our land…”
“I didn’t know…”
“Obviously.” She turned to Lafay. “What’s your opinion?”
“I think he’s telling the truth,” she said. “His story didn’t change when he was put to the question, and no spy would have made such a bumbling attempt to sneak into the temple.”
“And what about his wish to join the Order?”
Lafay shrugged. “That’s not for me to decide, mistress. He’s extremely ticklish, but that in itself doesn’t necessarily disqualify him. I see no harm in giving him the opportunity. He would be just another slave-apprentice, after all. If he proves untrainable, we can always find some use for him.”
“True enough.”
“What… what’s a slave apprentice, Mistress?” I asked.
“It’s a chance to prove you’re sincere in your wish to become a devotee of Zyriss,” Sheena said. “If you show promise and we’re pleased, we’ll begin the proper training. It’ll also allow you to make up for stealing our fruit and not bringing us a gift.” She looked over her shoulder. “Foxy,” she called.
“Yes mistress.” I looked at the woman who had stepped forward. About 5’5” or 5’6”, she had straight, jet black hair that fell to her shoulders, the edges and bangs straight and symmetrical, seeming to frame her face in a rectangle. In another world, it would be called a “pagegirl” style. The dark, glossy hair created a striking contrast with her smooth, ivory skin. And, unlike the other women assembled here, there was a lot of that skin on display — below her trim waist she wore skin-tight stretch pants and shiny black boots that came up to mid-shin. But above the waist Foxy wore nothing at all. Her full, melon-sized breasts thrust out aggressively and looked impossibly firm for their size. They barely moved as she walked, immediately springing back into place after a single bounce.
“Will you oversee this new apprentice-slave’s training?” Sheena said.
“Of course, mistress,” Foxy said.
“Excellent. Where do you think we should start him out?”
“Mistress Wynne always needs extras in the laundry, mistress.”
“Very good. I leave him in your capable hands, then.”
Sheena dismissed us, and with a guard on either side of me and my hands still shackled in front, I followed Foxy’s firm, rolling buns out the way we had come. We passed several women in the wide hallway, mostly dressed in the uniforms of guards or servants, though I noticed one woman dressed somewhat like Foxy, with stretch pants and boots, but with a black halter top covering her chest. She was leading three women in servant’s outfits, and exchanged a nod with Foxy as they passed. I also saw a woman covered head-to-toe in a black robe, her head hidden by a cowl; she was striding down the hallway at the head of a group of four guards.
Foxy took me down a broad flight of steps; we passed a couple landings, and as we continued down, the gleaming marble walls were replaced by dark stone. We stopped at a landing, crossed a wide corridor, and continued our journey downwards on a ramp. The air grew hot, humid, and ahead of us I could hear what sounded like splashing, sloshing water echoing off the walls.
We emerged into a huge, vaulted chamber, the heat and humidity more pronounced. Through the steamy air of the room I could see probably five or six shallow, circular pools. In the center of each pool was a short, round column, maybe six or seven feet high. Wooden poles stuck out of the columns near the top, like spokes on a wheel. Women were standing in the pools, the water up to their knees, washing clothes, towels, sheets, and other items, then hanging them over the wooden “spokes” to dry.
A woman with long, straight black hair, dressed in stretch pants and a halter top, strode up to us. I noticed she had what looked like a short whip attached to a loop at her hip.
She looked me up and down. “A new one?” she said.
“He was captured in the orchard just last night,” Foxy said. “High Priestess Sheena has put me in charge of his training. We thought we’d start him down here.”
“I am Mistress Wynne,” she said to me. “I’m the overseer down here. You’ll do exactly as I say, and no funny business. Keep your hands to yourself.”
“Yes… mistress,” I said. I was lead over to one of the circular pools, my hands unshackled, Foxy and the guards left and I was told to get to work. I grabbed a handful of garments from a nearby basket, a brush, and began soaking and scrubbing as best I could.
I kept my head down as I worked, conscious that my arrival had been the object of some interest and not wanting to draw attention to myself. But I still managed to steal quick glances at the women around me, all dressed in the tight grey shorts and heavy duty bras I guessed were the servant’s outfits. I wasn’t the only one not wearing a shirt; a few of the girls had taken off their halter tops, probably due to the heat, though the women in my immediate vicinity were all fully dressed.
A few guards watched over us from the edges of the room or from the gallery that ran above the chamber along one wall. Several times I heard one of the guards or Mistress Wynne admonish a group of washers for talking, but hushed conversations seemed to go on anyway under cover of the noises of work — the slap of cloth against stone, the constant slosh and splatter of water — echoing around the room. The five women working in the same pool as I was certainly whispered about me, and I felt them sneaking looks at me, sizing me up.
I did my best to ignore them, to focus on washing, rinsing, ringing out and hanging up the garments I took from several large baskets near the pool. Though conscious of all the wet, scantily clad bodies near me, I managed not to let my eyes linger too long.
But I couldn’t help but be aware of my nearest neighbor, a particularly buxom blonde, a little on the short side, who seemed to be doing more than her fair share of whispering and snickering. Her heavy breasts strained against the confines of her bra, and little rolls of supple flesh bubbled out from the waist band of tight shorts that clung to her round, full buns and showed off her plump thighs.
She worked quite close to me, so close that we brushed against each other a few times. As I finished ringing out a garment, I turned to hang it from the pole above me, to see her doing the same thing. In the process, she knocked a few items I had just washed off the pole and back into the pool.
“Ooops! I’m sorry,” she said, grinning at me. “Looks like you’ll have to dry those again. Sorry for being so clumsy.”
I knew what was going on, so only dipped my head in acknowledgement and scooped up the soaking garments. She just stood there, grinning at me as if daring me to challenge her. I turned away, ringing out the cloth and slapping it on the stone lip of the pool.
A sharp, quick shriek from behind me made me start and spin around. The buxom blonde was still there, hands reaching behind her to cover her butt. The shriek had attracted Mistress Wynne and two guards. “What’s going on here?”
The blonde looked at me, a twinkle in her eyes. “He pinched my ass!”
I gaped. “What?! No! I…”
“I told you to keep your hands to yourself!” Wynne snapped, gesturing to the guards.
“No! I swear! I didn’t!” The guards had already grabbed my wrists, binding them together with the end of a rope. “I didn’t touch her!”
“He did!” the blonde said. “I didn’t do anything to him and he pinched my ass!”
The commotion had drawn a gaggle of women from the nearby pools. They gathered around, watching as the guards threw the other end of the rope over the “spoke” above me and hoisted my arms over my head, leaving me standing on the balls of my feet. The whole action had taken just a few moments. I continued to protest my innocence, but Mistress Wynne ignored me.
“Girls,” she said, “you have my permission to show this slave-apprentice what happens when you use your hands for something other than work.”
Giggling and squealing with excitement, the gaggle of women came towards me, six or seven pairs of hands reaching for my defenseless body. They surrounded me, pressing close, and their hands were everywhere, squeezing, tickling, fondling. I felt my shorts being pulled off as I vainly twisted and turned, trying to escape. I was already helpless with laughter, totally overwhelmed by their tickling finger on my belly, my thighs, my ribs and chest, my butt. Someone behind me grabbed my ankle and pulled it back, forcing me to balance on one foot while she worked my other sole over with what felt like a soft brush. Another hand caressed the back of my thighs and pinched the pad of flesh behind my knee. Yet another groped my buns…
And standing right in front of me, a self-satisfied little smirk on her face, was the buxom blonde vixen who had started the whole thing. Her fingers were plying my belly, right around my navel, but she wasn’t content to just tickle me — while one hand gave my stomach hell, the other was busy with my shaft, treating it to a quick caress every few seconds.
But I hardly needed that extra bit of stimulation. Even as I howled with laughter, the relentless tickling and touching, the proximity of their bodies, was making me more and more aroused. The devilish wenches didn’t pause in their assault for a moment. Their fingers and hands danced all over me, making me twist in my bonds and stoking my lust until it threatened to boil over. Desperately I arched my back, thrusting my hips forward, hoping the blonde would stroke faster. For a few brief moments, I thought it might happen… when a shout from Wynne brought everything to halt.
“Okay, that’s enough, girls! I think he’s learned his lesson.”
“Awww!” With cries of disappointment, the women moved away, leaving me hanging there, groaning in frustration.
“We were hoping we’d get a turn,” said one of the girls in another pool.
“Back to work,” Mistress Wynne said. “Unless one of you wants to join him up there.”
Laughing, the girls went back to work while I hung there, naked, my body still trembling from their attack. I thought Wynne would let me down and make me return to work, but she left me to stew for a while longer, surrounded by the bevy of beauties washing clothes. Gazing on their wet and nearly naked bodies as they splashed about in the shallow pool was a torment all its own, especially in my wound up state. To make it worse, I wasn’t entirely left alone; the girls would occasionally treat my helplessly exposed body to a quick pinch or squeeze or tickle whenever they thought Wynne or the other guards weren’t looking — and they conveniently seemed occupied elsewhere most of the time.
I was eventually let down and returned to work. Unable to find my shorts, I was forced to go naked, and the quick little teases and tickles continued.
We were given a couple breaks to be fed, and when the shift ended, Foxy came to fetch me. I followed her out a different way than we had entered, and she led me down a series of wide tube-like passageways. “These are the corridors the servants and slave-apprentices often use to travel about the temple,” she said to me over her shoulder. In a while, we went through a heavy door and into another corridor, this one much different. Whereas before the walls had been curved, like a tunnel, here they were straight, the passage narrower, with walls, floor and ceiling made of dark stone. The light was dim, and I saw simple wooden doors at regular intervals. We stopped before one door. Foxy opened it and gestured for me to enter. “These are the slave-apprentices’ cells,” she said.
I went in, and she shut the door behind me. A single lantern cast a dim yellow glow over the room, but there wasn’t much to see — a plain rectangular room with stone walls, and a single narrow bed, not much more than a cot, against the wall on my right. A set of manacles on short chains hung from the wall on my left, a pair above at shoulder height for the arms, two below for the ankles.
A bowl of food and pitcher of drink had been left on the floor near the bed. As I sat on the cot and ate, I scanned the cell again, hoping I had somehow missed a pile of clothes tucked into a corner, but found nothing. Finished with my meal, and worn out by the eventful day, I lay down on the narrow bed and quickly drifted off to sleep…
I was woken during the night by the feeling of my arms being lifted over my head, the sensation of something encircling my wrists. Instinctively I tried to pull my arms down but found I couldn’t. A rattling sound accompanied my efforts. I knew what had happened before I fully came to — someone had chained my wrists over my head to the bed frame, and had already clicked another cuff over one of my ankles.
My eyes popped open. By the dim yellow light of the lantern I saw Foxy sitting next to me on the bed. Her back was to me, and I felt another band of some sort click into place around my free ankle. I gave an experimental tug, but knew she had cuffed my ankles to the bed frame near the bottom.
Foxy turned to face me. Her gaze traveled the length of my helpless, naked body, her expression completely blank and unreadable. Then, with one hand, she began lightly stroking my arm. I sucked in my breath, my body tensing. “What are you doing?”
“You are to address me as ‘Mistress’,” she said. Using both hands, she slowly dragged her fingernails down my arms into my armpits, pausing to scratch a few times, then continued down my sides, sending shivers up and down my body. Squirming, I gasped and spluttered, trying to fight back the giggles. Her hands moved down the length of me, her fingers beginning to move more, lightly spidering across my thighs, my waist, my stomach…
I giggled helplessly, rattling the bed as I wriggled. Her fingers danced up my chest to my nipples, and circled them slowly. scratching at them. “… ghee-hee-hee… F-fox-eehee… p-please… teeheehe…”
“I just told you to address me as ‘Mistress’.”
“S-sorry… hehehe… s-sorry M-m-mistress…” I gasped before a fit of giggling consumed me.
“Is this getting to you already, slave?”
“… eeeheehee… y-yess, m-mistress… tee-hee… I’m reeleeheehee… ticklish th-there…”
“But I’ve barely even started, slave.” With that she began to really tickle me, her merciless fingers dashing between my underarms, my stomach, my ribs. I writhed in uncontrollable laughter, struggling desperately as she leaned over me.
“…aahaahaaa… no!...hahaha...please stop!...aaaah...no!”
Foxy suddenly straddled my thighs and plunged her fingers into my ribs. I howled underneath her, my back arched, shaking with laughter. “…NAAAHAHAHA!… Missstresss STAAAHAHAHAPPP!… aaahahahaha…!”
She moved to other targets, digging her fingers in my underarms, pressing them into my sides and belly, pinching the agonizingly sensitive ridges of my hips. Between bursts of helpless laughter I begged her to stop. “Ohhh-ho-ho… aaaha-ha… m-merceee Mistresss… aahahaha… I c-c-an’t t-take anymore…!”
“But you don’t have a choice, slave,” Foxy said. “I am your mistress. You will take whatever I choose to give.”
But to my surprise, she stopped tickling me a few moments later. She stared down at me, her face impassive as I moaned and gasped underneath her. Then she turned around. Still straddling me, though now with her back towards me, she leaned over, showing off her butt accentuated by her tight pants. Her full, firm breasts pressed against my legs. I felt single fingernail flicked down the arch of my foot. I squealed. “Please Mistress! No!”
She dragged all her nails up and down my helpless soles, sending me into a frenzy of hysterical laughter and screaming. “No-HOHOHOHO! STAHHPP! Naaahaaahaaaa!!!”
While the fingers of one hand scratched up and down my arches, the fingers of another tweaked my wriggling toes, sometimes squirming between them to torment the sensitive skin there. Shrieking with laughter, I could barely even beg. I threw my torso from side to side, tears of laughter trickling from the corners of my eyes.
When she finally stopped, it took me a few seconds to realize it. I felt her get off me and stand up. My head reeling and my body trembling, I gasped for breath. Foxy stood there just looking at me for a few moments, her face stern and impassive. Then she sat back down on the side of the bed again and began running one hand up and down my thigh.
“Please Mistress,” I groaned. “No more…” I spluttered and tittered as she lightly tickled my legs. The corner of her mouth curled up in a little sneer, and I realized it was the first time her face had shown any expression while she tortured me.
“Priestess Lafay said you seemed especially ticklish,” she said. “I think that was an understatement.”
I let out a sudden squeal and jumped as she squeezed my knees. Foxy went on: “I wanted to see for myself how ticklish you were, and where you were most ticklish…” Her tickling fingers fluttered up and down my thighs. “… but I think you’re ticklish everywhere, and you seem to respond to everything…” Her tickling turned into long strokes, making me moan. “Things might be very difficult for you, slave.”
Her hands moved up my thighs to my hips, then gently brushed across my swollen shaft. I groaned, straining upwards to meet her gentle touch, but her hands had already moved on, caressing my stomach and chest. “Ohhh… oh Mistress…”
“High Priestess Sheena has charged me with your training,” she said. “I demand strict obedience. Is that understood, slave?”
“… ohhh… yes…”
Her hands suddenly shot down to my legs and viciously attacked the excrutiatingly sensitive spot right above my knees. “Yes what, slave?!”
“AHAHAHA! YES MISTRESS! YESS MISTRESS!”
“Very good.” Her hands slid back up my body, caressing and lightly tickling once again. “You are very ticklish all over, but as my slave-apprentice you will learn to control your passions, both to endure the suffering that will be inflicted on you, and to increase the suffering you will inflict on others as a devotee of Zyriss.”
I moaned and writhed under her caresses, but my moans turned to giggles as she began lightly ticking my underarms. “…neehehehe… oh Mistress… eehehehee… please stop… I’m so t-ticklish… hee-hee-hee…” Her face remained impassive, expressionless, as she tormented me with light scratches in my underarms and down my sides, never staying in one spot for very long. She would work me up until my giggling started to edge into full-fledged laughter, and then dial back the tickling bit by bit until she was mostly caressing and rubbing me once again. After just a little bit of this treatment I could barely think straight.
“… ohhh… oh mistress…” I gasped as she brought me down from another tickling bout. “…wh-what are you doing…?”
“I told you, slave,” she said. “I’m making my own assessment of your sensitivity. I need to know what methods you might best respond to. You can also consider this the start of your training.”
“… uhhhhh… please Mistress… I’m so… ohhh… please show mercy …”
Again, that little sneer. “Mercy? What use do you imagine the Goddess of Torture has for mercy?”
“Ohhh… but please Mistress, I’m begging you,” I groaned. “I can’t take anymore of this… uhhh… what do you want from me?… I’ll do anything you want… I’ll tell you anything… yeepp!…” I gave a squeak as her fingertips fluttered over my waist. “… ooo-hoohoo… stop please Mistress…” I spluttered. “I g-give up… (teeheehee)… I’m really t-t-ticklish, okay?… I’ll b-bee a good s-slave, I swear… no more… heeheehe…”
“There is much about our order that you do not understand yet,” Foxy said. “What you’ll do for me means nothing to me. A true devotee of the goddess receives no pleasure from torturing you, no satisfaction in your submission. Her pleasure, her satisfaction, come from pleasing the goddess, and the goddess is pleased by your suffering. The more pronounced and prolonged your suffering, the more exquisite your torment, the more the goddess is pleased.”
“… eeeheehee… y-yes mistresss… heee-heehee…!” I didn’t really understand. It sounded as though Foxy was saying that she took no personal pleasure from tormenting me, or even experienced much emotion at all. It made no sense, though if the impassive look on her face was anything to go by, she was telling the truth. But either way, she was tickling me so much that puzzling out her meaning was impossible. I giggled and squirmed underneath her, ready to agree to anything that might stop the tickling.
Once more, she slowly brought me down, easing back on the intensity of her tickling little by little, but never taking her hands off me. She caressed me slowly, hands traveling up and down my sides, my hips, my thighs. Then, I felt her gently but firmly take me in her hand.
I cried out in surprise, raising my head up to look at her. “M-mistress…?” I gasped. Though terrified of what she might do to me next, I couldn’t stop my hips from also rising off the bed. She began to slowly stroke me in the same methodical manner that she had caressed me earlier. I groaned, my senses reeling.
“As a slave-apprentice, you will learn to tame the pleasure you feel tormenting others, just as you will learn to suppress your impulse to submit to the torments inflicted on you,” she said. “But until then, it does not serve my purposes to have a slave constantly distracted by their own appetites. So each night, I will give you what your body craves. But hear me, slave: I am the only one who may do this for you. Understood?”
“… ohhh… ohhh yes mistress…”
“Good. You will find this to be the extent of my mercy, slave.”
“…ohhh… oh thank you mistress… thank you… ohhh…”
As wound up as I was, it didn’t take long. “Sleep well, slave,” I heard her say as my cries reached a crescendo and blissful relief flooded through me, sending me into unconsciousness.
--------------------------------------------
Part 3 is right here, but before you go, check out the image of Mistress Foxy I commissioned from the inimitable Josh Flyn down the thread a bit.
Last edited:
