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Temple of the Torture Goddess — Part 5 (m/f; very brief f/m)

jmills

TMF Regular
Joined
Feb 24, 2006
Messages
244
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Presenting Part 5 of “Temple of the Torture Goddess” — the shortest chapter yet! Like the description says, it’s largely m/f, but there’s a little f/m towards the end.

Once again, I’d like to extend my sincere appreciation and gratitude to everyone who has followed along so far, and especially those who have left comments or sent me a private message. Even the simplest “nice job” means a lot.

Our story thus far…

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4

Now, let’s get to it…

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Temple of the Torture Goddess — Part 5

I was in the laundry a couple days later when work was interrupted by the arrival of several training mistresses and a complement of guards. Foxy was among them. They rounded us up, each training mistress selecting one or two slave-apprentices from the herd. I guessed the ones singled out were the charges of the trainers, since Foxy picked me. We were led out at the heels of our mistresses, my heart in my throat and my spine tingling in anticipation of another training session. But there was something unusual about this occasion — a group of about a dozen or so slave-apprentices were following us, escorted by guards. They seemed to have been selected randomly from the large group back in the laundry. It was quite a crowd that made its way up the stairs and through the corridors.

Up ahead of me, a slave-apprentice spoke to her trainer: “Please mistress, where are you taking us? What’s going on?”

“It’s your lucky day, slave,” the woman replied. “You’re to be given a ‘treat’.”

Foxy snorted, a corner of her lip curling. The other training mistress didn’t notice. “What did she mean by a ‘treat,’ mistress?” I said.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Foxy said. “But it’s not a ‘treat’ or a ‘reward,’ and you’ll do well to remember that. As far as you being ‘lucky,’ that depends. You should see it as an opportunity.”

“An opportunity, mistress?”

“Yes. An opportunity to show your mistress what you’ve learned about making a body suffer for the Goddess. Some slave-apprentices become too excited and eager when given an opportunity such as this, especially the first time. They forget what they’ve been taught, and let their lusty impulses get away from them. I trust you will not make that same mistake, slave.”

“Why so many of us, mistress?”

“Most of these slave-apprentices have been brought along merely to bear witness. Do not worry about them, slave. Worry about yourself.”

We arrived at a spacious, rectangular room on what I guessed was the temple’s ground level, the walls, ceiling and floor made of reddish stone. Arranged in a wide semi-circle were eight identical contraptions — they basically looked a bit like X frames, with two arms branching off a padded bench that leaned back at a slight angle. The other two struts for the legs jutted from the bench’s seat, and angled slightly upward. All were occupied, the women leaning back on the bench, legs spread wide and angled upward on the lower branches of the contraption, straps around their ankles. Their arms were similarly stretched out on the upper branches, straps around their wrists holding them in place. But for the skimpiest of bikini bottoms — hardly more than a strip of silky cloth held in place by strings — they were completely naked.

A priestess and several acolytes were already in the room when we were herded in. Foxy guided me over to one of the contraptions. I almost let out a gasp when I saw its occupant. It was Raisha.

My mind whirled. Was this a test? Was I being “paired up” with Raisha because Foxy was aware that we were friendly? Did my mistress know about what Raisha had done for me after my first taste of the pleasure whip? Somehow I didn’t think so; if Foxy was aware of it, she would have let me know. But even if this was pure coincidence, I was going to be forced to torture the only woman here I trusted, someone who had shown me kindness.

Maybe something of what I was feeling flashed across my face. Or maybe Raisha just guessed my thoughts. But as the Priestess called for attention and Foxy turned away, Raisha caught my eye and gave me a quick wink. I remembered something she had said to me in the laundry, when she had apologized for tickling me under Priestess Lafay’s orders: if our positions are ever reversed, you must do the same.

The Priestess was speaking. “Their mistresses felt that these sassy slave-apprentices before you have taken a few too many liberties,” she said. “They need a reminder of their station here. We thought we’d give some of you a chance.”

She continued: “But this is a challenge, slave-apprentices, not an excuse for you to indulge yourselves. Your mistresses will be watching closely. These women before you have been given a word. You must make them tell you their word before the sands run out. The first girl to confess gets three strokes of the whip. The punishment is the same for you if you make them come or pass out. But the first one of you to make your girl confess is exempt from having to serve at the tribute banquet in two days time. The penalty for failing to elicit a confession in the allotted time is left up to your mistress. You may begin now…”

Raisha waggled her eyebrows and flexed her toes at me. “The new one?” she said, loud enough for Foxy and anyone standing nearby to hear. “This shouldn’t be too tough. Come on, do your worst. Let’s see if you can make me give it up.”

Her feet were sticking up right in front of me, elevated to a little under the height of my chest. I stroked my fingers up and down the length of her arches. Raisha’s toes curled and her legs jerked, rattling the contraption. Her head fell back; low, throaty laughter tumbled out of her. “Naaa-haaahaahaa… hah-hah-hah-hah… ha-ha-hahaha…!”

By now, laughter and giggles filled the room as the slave-apprentices went to work on their victims. I continued to stroke Raisha’s arches and spider-tickle her soles. Her laughter didn’t change, a deep, steady chuckle that shook her whole body, jouncing her breasts and making her belly heave. I left her feet and slid my hands upwards, massaging her firm calves, making my way up to what I hoped was a sweet spot behind her knees.

“Very good, slave,” I heard Foxy say. “Look for weakness…”

Foxy’s words were drowned out by a burst of laughter from Raisha. My hands were on her knees, pinching and squeezing the tops, tickling the backs. “Naaahaahahaha! Nahahaha!

“Oooo, ticklish knees,” I said. “Maybe you’re not so tough as you thought. I think you’re already ready to tell me.”

“You’ll have to do better than that!” Raisha cried through her laughter.

“Oh, I can do much better,” I said. “I’ve barely started.”

When I started squeezing her supple thighs I was rewarded with another sudden spike of laughter. She heaved against the restraints, bouncing on the seat despite the restraints. The higher I crept on her thighs, the more out of control her constant cackling seemed to become. Pinching the soft flesh of her upper inner thighs sent her into fits. “… naaahahahaha!… staaahaahaahaappp…! … aahaahaahaha…! no-ho-ho-ho…!” She fell back, overcome by a bout of silent laughter that made her whole body shake.

“What’s your word?” I said. “Tell me.”

She roused herself enough to shout a “no” at me. “Yooo c-can’t ma-mayk mee…! hahaha…! Yoo cahnt mayk mee…!… aaahaahaahaa…!” But her defiance couldn’t completely hide the fact that tickling her inner thighs was really getting to her; I feared she would break if I kept it up too much longer. There was still time left, and still much more of Raisha’s lovely body to explore, so after a few more moments on her thighs my hands shot up to her underarms.

I pressed my fingers into her smooth hollows, making rapid circles. Caught by surprise, Raisha’s eyes popped open. “Yaaahaahaa…! ohh-hohohoh…!” The sudden switch also earned me an approving comment from Foxy.

I tickled down her ribs and sides, then tickled back up to her underarms, over and over, pressing into her skin with pumping fingers. When I hit a new spot Raisha’s laughter would surge in volume though not in pitch, her body would give a sudden, violent jerk in the bonds. But then she would return to that steady, throaty laugh that just seemed to tirelessly roll out of her and shake her all over. That I was tickling her crazy I had no doubt, but I was reminded of what she had said to me, how her capacity to take a lot of tickling was what had impressed the priestesses. It was encouraging; I could avoid looking lenient in Foxy’s eyes by tickling Raisha as vigorously as I needed to, while at the same time there was a strong chance that another girl would break before Raisha came or passed out or even suffered too horribly.

My eyes flickered to the sand dial. The half-way point was rapidly approaching. I slid my hands underneath her bobbling breasts, right at the base where they met her ribs. Raisha roared as I dug in. She whipped her hair back and forth and arched her back.

“Come on,” I said. “Let’s hear it. Tell me.”

“… aaahaahaahaaha…! N-NEVV-EERR…! … naaahahahahaha…!

The loud clang broke through the cacophony of the room. I slowed my fingers a bit and looked up, hopeful, as a slave-apprentice triumphantly claimed victory. “Bell,” she cried over the gasps and giggles of the tormented girls. “She told me her word. It’s bell.”

“She lied to you,” her trainer mistress said. “You’re not done yet…”

A dozen different kinds of raucous laughter filled the room once more. My hands squeezed up and down Raisha’s sides, from her underarms to her waist. “…ha-ha-ha-ha-ha…! … it’s rock… hahaha! … r-rawwkk…! … stahp… I t-told yoo…! N-now stahhpp!…”

“I don’t think so…” I sang.

“Very good,” I heard Foxy say. “You can tell she’s a tough one. She wouldn’t give up so easily. She’ll try to trick you, but don’t make the same mistake as your fellow slave-apprentice and waste precious moments. But I think you’ve already found your victim’s biggest weakness; now exploit it.”

Foxy could only be talking about Raisha’s thighs. I knew I would have to return to that spot — Foxy would notice if I didn’t, and find it suspicious — but I was hoping to put it off as long as possible. I wasn’t sure how much even Raisha could stand. But Foxy was watching. The sands were well past the halfway mark, and the woman next to us was screaming for mercy — she sounded like she would break soon. Raisha just needed to hold out longer than her.

My fingers attacked her inner thigh. I clamped on to the particularly soft, fleshy spot high up, where leg meets torso, squeezing rapidly. My other hand grabbed her jiggling breast, going to work with vibrating fingers. Raisha bellowed with laughter, thrashing on the device. For the first time, I heard a tinge of hysteria in her booming laughter. "Aaa-haa-haa-haa-haa-haa! Aaaa-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Sttahhhaaahhhpp! No-hohohoho!

“Just tell me the word,” I said.

“Naaahaa-hahaha!… I k-k-k-kahahaha…!” She seemed to be trying to say something, but her body was too racked with laughter. “Sttaaahpp! STAHPP!! YOU GOTTA STAAAAHHPP!… WAAAHAAAHAAAAAA…!” With an explosive cry Raisha arched her back and trembled all over, a look of exquisite agony on her face. She seemed frozen in her arch for several moments before she flopped back down on the bench, her cry of pleasure trailing off.

I stared in shock and horror as I realized what had happened. Foxy shouted. The guards were upon me, pulling me away from Raisha. My arms were forced above my head, manacles fastened around my wrists. I was hauled up, suspended by my wrists from the ceiling. My toes barley touched the floor. The guards stripped me. Foxy approached, uncoiling the pleasure whip, a sneer on her face…

The other slave-apprentices watched as I was given my three lashes. They laughed and jeered at my screams and helpless writhing. I must have passed out after the third stroke, because I remember nothing until I was tossed into one of the washing pools in the laundry. This time, there was no Raisha or anyone else to sooth me, especially since, by making Raisha come, I had ended the challenge and deprived anyone of exemption from having to serve at the tribute banquet. Exhausted from my ordeal, I stumbled through the rest of my short shift as best I could.

As usual, Mistress Foxy came to me in my cell that night. She tickled me mercilessly. As I writhed and bucked on the small bed, she looked down on me dispassionately, her face betraying no trace of amusement or lust or even anger.

“Do you know where you went wrong today, slave-apprentice?” she asked.

I was laughing too hard to answer; even forming a coherent thought was beyond me.

“You failed to read your subject’s responses correctly,” Foxy went on. “It was obvious that the girl’s thighs were her weakness, but instead of adjusting your method, you went right in for a full attack. You forgot that the object was to get her to tell you the word, not to make her come. And you forgot that, I’m sure, because you were enjoying yourself too much.”

I managed to screech out a “sorry” as I howled.

Foxy continued: “A true devotee of the goddess take no pleasure in torture, only in pleasing the goddess. You must learn to control your impulses. Still, I’ll concede that you started out well, and that you made your subject suffer.”

I blurted out a thank you. Foxy’s lip curled upward in a little sneer. “Don’t be too proud of yourself, slave-apprentice,” she said. “It doesn’t take that much skill to make a bimbo like that scream with laughter. But you may not be completely hopeless… if you learn to control yourself. Do you understand, slave-apprentice?”

“…yes! Yes! … ahhahahahahah…!”

She kept tickling me, the walls of my small room reverberating with my shrieks and screams, and it was a long while before she finally granted me mercy.
---------------------------------

Part 6 is right here, but before you go, check out the image I commissioned of bound and helpless Raisha from the amazing Einom down the thread a bit.
 
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Hello all you good people on the TMF. Is anyone up for a little “visual supplement” for this installment of “Temple of the Torture Goddess”?

If you prefer to leave this sort of thing up to your imagination, stop here.

Also, if your sensibilities are shocked by an image of a curvaceous, nearly naked beauty strapped to a bondage device, go no further.

But if not…

As I said in parts 1, 2, and 3, I reached out to several artists on the TMF and elsewhere to commission images for some (not all) of the chapters of “Temple of the Torture Goddess.” Most of these are portraits of characters. I didn’t ask the artists to read the section; mostly I gave them a short description of what I was looking for, and we went from there.

This amazing image of Raisha comes from an artist named Einom. He told me he doesn’t post here on the TMF (I believe someone has posted some of his stuff in the “art” section; don’t quote me on that), but he is definitely one of us. Those of you not familiar with his work should check out his deviantart page. Hell, even if you know his stuff, you should check it out again.

Here’s his take on the lovely Raisha. Yes, she has a stunning body and looks absolutely mouth-watering, but it’s her defiant little smirk that really gets me. He captured her attitude perfectly.

Raisha hi res.jpg
 
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