Hello good TMF’ers
The laugh-filled epic “Temple of the Torture Goddess” continues with Part 11 — a kinda shortish installment, largely f/m, but there are some f/f descriptions as well — in which our hapless (lucky?) narrator finds himself part of an especially devious training session, and once again tries the patience of stern Mistress Foxy…
Just to recap…
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
Part 9
Part 10
Many, many thanks are due to those who have read it, left a comment, or contacted me via private message. Even a simple “nice one!” does wonders.
An image I commissioned follows the story below. Now, let’s get to it…
-------------------------------------------
Temple of the Torture Goddess — Part 11
After our time out in the fields and orchards, we resumed our usual routine back in the laundry. Two or three days went by; Foxy came for her usual nightly visits, but she didn’t seem to treat me any more harshly than she had before the tomato fight had landed me in the stocks.
I was busy in the laundry, carrying a large basket of folded sheets, when a topless slave-apprentice came scurrying around a corner and crashed into me. I lost my grip on the basket, a few sheets tumbling out onto the wet flagstones.
“Hey! Watch where you’re going…”
The girl didn’t apologize. She was busy rapidly squeezing herself into her bra, casting anxious glances over her shoulder. “You better make yourself scarce,” she said breathlessly. “They’re rounding some of us up, and the Mistress of Alchemy is with them…”
She dashed off, hoping to hide away among the hanging laundry and shadowy corners of the big chamber. I grabbed the basket and headed towards the nearest trough with the aim of ducking behind the thick pillar… and practically ran right into Mistress Foxy. “Put that down and come with me,” she commanded.
I did as she told me and followed her through the chamber towards one of the exits, joining several other slave apprentices, mistresses, and guards headed the same way. They lined us up against the wall of the wide corridor outside the laundry chamber. Sessilia, the Mistress of Alchemy, was there along with her two acolytes, each holding a small wooden box with a number of small, neatly organized vials inside.
Mistress Foxy approached me. She held up a small vial. “Drink,” she said. I only got a brief glimpse of the cloudy liquid inside before she held my head back and tipped it down my throat. Whatever it was had no taste at all, and went down easily. I saw the guards and trainers giving the other girls similar vials. A few girls resisted; one of these was Darlene, the tallish, dark-haired trouble-maker. It took four guards to make her swallow the stuff. I found myself next to her as they marched us down the corridors. “What was that stuff they made us drink?” I asked her, my voice pitched low. I could definitely feel a slight tingling along my nerves, and my face felt warm. One of the girls with us had particularly fair skin, and I noticed a pink flush spreading along her throat and cheeks.
“It’s called Piper’s Sugar,” she said, a snarl in her voice. “It’s this powder they make from the seeds of some plant. It basically… well, whatever arousal you feel while being tickled, it cranks that arousal up by about a gajillion percent.”
I groaned. “What are they going to do to us?”
“Who knows?” she snorted. “One thing’s for sure: these bimbos are going to make us beg for an orgasm…”
“Quiet slave!” a guard snapped, giving Darlene a swot on her fleshy backside. Darlene just sneered.
The room they brought us to was pretty simple — brick walls, a high ceiling, a couple arched windows; a number of padded benches with tall poles on the ends were the only “furniture” in the place. Priesstess Lafay was there again, waiting with her group of acolytes. The guards forced us to lay on our backs on the padded benches. Our wrists were locked into cuffs, keeping our arms at our sides. Our legs were lifted straight up, ankles fastened into small horizontal stocks so that the soles of our feet faced the ceiling. Darlene resisted as they fastened her to the bench next to me. I heard a moan from another woman down the line.
“Acolytes, these slaves have been given a dose of Piper’s Sugar,” Priestess Lafay said. “You’re all familiar with its effects. There is a sand glass in front of you. Before the sands run out, you must make your slave say ‘make me come.’ But… you are only allowed to touch their feet.”
Another moan, a slight whimper, from a couple of the slaves. The priestess went on. “Slaves, if you say ‘make me come,’ you will get what you want… eventually. After you get three lashes from the pleasure whip. Acolytes, failure — or violating the rules — will also earn you three lashes. You may begin.”
I sucked in my breath as I saw the acolyte who had gotten me — it was Marla, the slim blonde with the “fiery nature,” at least according to Lafay. Marla leaned over me. She gave her fingers a little flex, and then slowly began scraping her nails along the arches of my feet. I knew it would tickle, but I didn’t expect it to feel so good. I yelped in surprise, my eyes wide. “… ooohoohoo… ahhh …” I gasped, shaking my head.
Beside me, Darlene gurgled and gave a deep, rich chuckle. The girl on the other side of me giggled and gasped. “… ooo… ooo-hoohoohoo… ooo mistress… that feels so nice…” she tittered.
“It can feel even nicer,” said the acolyte ticking her. “All you have to do is say ‘make me come’.”
“… oh, but I like this, mistress… I don’t want it to stop… I want you to keep going… mmm…”
I knew just how she felt. The sensations Marla’s fingertips and nails were inflicting on the bottoms of my twitching feet were wonderful, like waves of tickly pleasure gently washing from my soles, down my legs, and throughout the rest of my body. I chuckled and moaned, wanting nothing more than for the feeling to go on and on. The other slaves were experiencing the same thing. The giggles and cries and titters filling the room weren’t the hysterics of torture but the noises that came from being tickled affectionately and playfully. Even feisty Darlene seemed to give into the feeling, her eyes closed and a huge smile on her face as she groaned. “… ohhh, that’s it, sugar…” she said with a husky chuckle. “… make me suffer for the goddess…”
Mistress Marla may have had a reputation as a hothead, but there was nothing hurried about the way she was tickling the bottoms of my feet. She stroked and scratched my arches with methodical patience, tracing random patterns, giving a little extra attention to whatever spot seemed to lead to a spike in laughter or a loud gasp. I couldn’t see the sand dial from where I lay, but Marla tickled me like she had all the time in the world.
“Very good, acolytes,” I heard Priestess Lafay say. “Slow and steady is the key. Read your subject’s responses.”
But soon, the true insidiousness of this treatment unveiled itself. The need for sweet relief grew stronger and stronger, far greater than I could have imagined from just having my feet tickled. All I could think of was those three words that would bring me release — and earn me three lashes of the pleasure whip.
The mood of the chamber changed as the other slaves began to feel it, too, the moans and cries and giggles now tinged with desperation. The benches and stocks rattled as bodies began to squirm and twitch more with their growing need. I heard a girl down the row from me cry out “…oh mistress… please… touch me…” while the woman next to me whimpered in frustration, pleading with the acolyte to tickle her thighs. “I can’t stand it anymore,” she giggled. “Finish me, mistress… please…”
“That doesn’t count,” the acolyte said. “You know what you have to say…”
Deep, long groans came from Darlene on my other side. “… uuhhhhh… ohh gawdesss… uhnnnn…”
The acolytes began talking to us. “Do you want me to make you come?” they said, their voices low, soft. “Then just say it. Say ‘make me come’.”
“That’s all you have to say, and it’ll all be over,” Marla said to me. “Say ‘make me come, mistress.’ Say ‘make me come’…”
To my horror I felt the words bubbling behind my lips; it took some effort to stifle what she wanted to hear. But the urge was almost unbearable. “…ohhhh… oh mistress please… no more…”
“Then say ‘make me come.’ That’s all you have to do. ‘Make me come, mistress…’” She slipped her fingers in between my wildly twitching toes, sliding them back and forth. “Say ‘make me come. Make me come…’”
Then, to my shock, Marla leaned over and began to run the tip of her tongue along my arch. “No! No!” I screamed. She continued to work my other foot with her fingers. “Say ‘make me come’… say ‘make me come’…” she repeated in between licks. She gave me a few quick nibbles and I screeched, bouncing on the bench. Then I felt her tongue swirling around the ball of my foot, sliding up my arch to my toes. She wrapped her lips around my middle toes, sucking them into her mouth, rolling her tongue all over and between them.
“Ahh-haa-haa-haa-haa!… maahaaahaaaa!… maaaahaaahaa…!!!” I wanted to say the words, wanted to scream them, but all that came out was a wild, wordless cry. But the release I had been so desperate for came anyway. It welled up inside me and suddenly I was exploding. The surprise I felt lasted but a moment before it was quickly and totally overwhelmed by ecstasy. I cried out, my eyes rolling back in my head as I surrendered to the bliss coursing through me.
For several long moments I wasn’t aware of anything, laying on the bench with my eyes closed, luxuriating in the sweet relief I felt. Gradually, I began to make out voices. Mistress Marla was the first I recognized. “But I only touched his feet, mistress! I swear!”
“I know, Marla,” Lafay said, her voice heavy with barely contained amusement. “This is quite… unusual.” She broke into laughter. “Your slave has come from just being tickled on his feet, Mistress Foxy,” she said.
I groaned and blinked open my eyes. Through my blurry vision and swirling head I saw Priestess Lafay, Marla, and Foxy looking down at me. Lafay was laughing, Marla looked stunned and alarmed, and Foxy looked angry.
Foxy snapped at a couple guards. “Get him off the bench. Take him to his room.”
I was unbound and hauled away. With the two guards dragging me between them, we followed Foxy down a number of narrow corridors. The threw me on the bed in my room, then left me alone with Foxy. I was still befuddled, unable to sit up.
“Pathetic!” Foxy said, sneering as she looked at me. “You have no control over your desires at all!”
“I couldn’t… I don’t know…”
“Quiet! Didn’t I tell you I was the only one permitted to grant you release? I’m sure you’ve disobeyed me, but I’ve let it go. I’m not one to question the prerogatives of the High Priestess. But this…”
“Mistress, you gave me that drink…”
“It’s not supposed to make you do that!” she said. “Don’t think I’m going to let this go, slave.” With that, she stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
After Foxy left, I thought whatever punishment she had in store for me would come quickly. At the very least, I thought I’d be returned to the washing room for the rest of the day. Instead, I was left alone in my chamber. A restorative nap did me a lot of good — I was exhausted after my ordeal — and I was fully recovered, though very nervous, when Foxy entered the room sometime later…
----------------------------------------------------
Part 12 is right here, but before you go, check out the image below that I commissioned from the amazing artist bad-pierrot (aka umojar)
------------------------------------------------
For “Temple of the Torture Goddess,” I reached out to several artists on the TMF and elsewhere to commission images for some (not all) of the chapters. 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.
Part 11’s image comes to us from an artist many of you are probably familiar with — bad-pierrot, otherwise known as Umojar. He’s illustrated several MTJ publications, among other things. Here’s his deviantart page. If you’re unfamiliar with him, you definitely need to check him out.
In part 11, several slave-apprentices are bound to benches and have their feet tickled by acolytes. Bad-Pierrot’s image is of a random slave-apprentice in that scenario. A little qualification — when I commissioned the image, I said the woman was bound to a bench with her legs sticking straight up. I was thinking bound length-wise to an “exercise bench” type thing. Bad Pierrot thought “park bench”… The fault was all mine (shoulda been more specific, or sent a reference), so when I got the finished pic, I didn’t ask him to change it (which I’m sure he would have — he was very professional).
Doesn’t diminish from the awesomeness of the image, though. What counted for me was getting the ticklee right, and I think you’ll agree, she looks amazing. She’s not a proper character, just a random slave-apprentice, but what a cutie! I almost feel bad subjecting her to this treatment. Almost.
The laugh-filled epic “Temple of the Torture Goddess” continues with Part 11 — a kinda shortish installment, largely f/m, but there are some f/f descriptions as well — in which our hapless (lucky?) narrator finds himself part of an especially devious training session, and once again tries the patience of stern Mistress Foxy…
Just to recap…
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
Part 9
Part 10
Many, many thanks are due to those who have read it, left a comment, or contacted me via private message. Even a simple “nice one!” does wonders.
An image I commissioned follows the story below. Now, let’s get to it…
-------------------------------------------
Temple of the Torture Goddess — Part 11
After our time out in the fields and orchards, we resumed our usual routine back in the laundry. Two or three days went by; Foxy came for her usual nightly visits, but she didn’t seem to treat me any more harshly than she had before the tomato fight had landed me in the stocks.
I was busy in the laundry, carrying a large basket of folded sheets, when a topless slave-apprentice came scurrying around a corner and crashed into me. I lost my grip on the basket, a few sheets tumbling out onto the wet flagstones.
“Hey! Watch where you’re going…”
The girl didn’t apologize. She was busy rapidly squeezing herself into her bra, casting anxious glances over her shoulder. “You better make yourself scarce,” she said breathlessly. “They’re rounding some of us up, and the Mistress of Alchemy is with them…”
She dashed off, hoping to hide away among the hanging laundry and shadowy corners of the big chamber. I grabbed the basket and headed towards the nearest trough with the aim of ducking behind the thick pillar… and practically ran right into Mistress Foxy. “Put that down and come with me,” she commanded.
I did as she told me and followed her through the chamber towards one of the exits, joining several other slave apprentices, mistresses, and guards headed the same way. They lined us up against the wall of the wide corridor outside the laundry chamber. Sessilia, the Mistress of Alchemy, was there along with her two acolytes, each holding a small wooden box with a number of small, neatly organized vials inside.
Mistress Foxy approached me. She held up a small vial. “Drink,” she said. I only got a brief glimpse of the cloudy liquid inside before she held my head back and tipped it down my throat. Whatever it was had no taste at all, and went down easily. I saw the guards and trainers giving the other girls similar vials. A few girls resisted; one of these was Darlene, the tallish, dark-haired trouble-maker. It took four guards to make her swallow the stuff. I found myself next to her as they marched us down the corridors. “What was that stuff they made us drink?” I asked her, my voice pitched low. I could definitely feel a slight tingling along my nerves, and my face felt warm. One of the girls with us had particularly fair skin, and I noticed a pink flush spreading along her throat and cheeks.
“It’s called Piper’s Sugar,” she said, a snarl in her voice. “It’s this powder they make from the seeds of some plant. It basically… well, whatever arousal you feel while being tickled, it cranks that arousal up by about a gajillion percent.”
I groaned. “What are they going to do to us?”
“Who knows?” she snorted. “One thing’s for sure: these bimbos are going to make us beg for an orgasm…”
“Quiet slave!” a guard snapped, giving Darlene a swot on her fleshy backside. Darlene just sneered.
The room they brought us to was pretty simple — brick walls, a high ceiling, a couple arched windows; a number of padded benches with tall poles on the ends were the only “furniture” in the place. Priesstess Lafay was there again, waiting with her group of acolytes. The guards forced us to lay on our backs on the padded benches. Our wrists were locked into cuffs, keeping our arms at our sides. Our legs were lifted straight up, ankles fastened into small horizontal stocks so that the soles of our feet faced the ceiling. Darlene resisted as they fastened her to the bench next to me. I heard a moan from another woman down the line.
“Acolytes, these slaves have been given a dose of Piper’s Sugar,” Priestess Lafay said. “You’re all familiar with its effects. There is a sand glass in front of you. Before the sands run out, you must make your slave say ‘make me come.’ But… you are only allowed to touch their feet.”
Another moan, a slight whimper, from a couple of the slaves. The priestess went on. “Slaves, if you say ‘make me come,’ you will get what you want… eventually. After you get three lashes from the pleasure whip. Acolytes, failure — or violating the rules — will also earn you three lashes. You may begin.”
I sucked in my breath as I saw the acolyte who had gotten me — it was Marla, the slim blonde with the “fiery nature,” at least according to Lafay. Marla leaned over me. She gave her fingers a little flex, and then slowly began scraping her nails along the arches of my feet. I knew it would tickle, but I didn’t expect it to feel so good. I yelped in surprise, my eyes wide. “… ooohoohoo… ahhh …” I gasped, shaking my head.
Beside me, Darlene gurgled and gave a deep, rich chuckle. The girl on the other side of me giggled and gasped. “… ooo… ooo-hoohoohoo… ooo mistress… that feels so nice…” she tittered.
“It can feel even nicer,” said the acolyte ticking her. “All you have to do is say ‘make me come’.”
“… oh, but I like this, mistress… I don’t want it to stop… I want you to keep going… mmm…”
I knew just how she felt. The sensations Marla’s fingertips and nails were inflicting on the bottoms of my twitching feet were wonderful, like waves of tickly pleasure gently washing from my soles, down my legs, and throughout the rest of my body. I chuckled and moaned, wanting nothing more than for the feeling to go on and on. The other slaves were experiencing the same thing. The giggles and cries and titters filling the room weren’t the hysterics of torture but the noises that came from being tickled affectionately and playfully. Even feisty Darlene seemed to give into the feeling, her eyes closed and a huge smile on her face as she groaned. “… ohhh, that’s it, sugar…” she said with a husky chuckle. “… make me suffer for the goddess…”
Mistress Marla may have had a reputation as a hothead, but there was nothing hurried about the way she was tickling the bottoms of my feet. She stroked and scratched my arches with methodical patience, tracing random patterns, giving a little extra attention to whatever spot seemed to lead to a spike in laughter or a loud gasp. I couldn’t see the sand dial from where I lay, but Marla tickled me like she had all the time in the world.
“Very good, acolytes,” I heard Priestess Lafay say. “Slow and steady is the key. Read your subject’s responses.”
But soon, the true insidiousness of this treatment unveiled itself. The need for sweet relief grew stronger and stronger, far greater than I could have imagined from just having my feet tickled. All I could think of was those three words that would bring me release — and earn me three lashes of the pleasure whip.
The mood of the chamber changed as the other slaves began to feel it, too, the moans and cries and giggles now tinged with desperation. The benches and stocks rattled as bodies began to squirm and twitch more with their growing need. I heard a girl down the row from me cry out “…oh mistress… please… touch me…” while the woman next to me whimpered in frustration, pleading with the acolyte to tickle her thighs. “I can’t stand it anymore,” she giggled. “Finish me, mistress… please…”
“That doesn’t count,” the acolyte said. “You know what you have to say…”
Deep, long groans came from Darlene on my other side. “… uuhhhhh… ohh gawdesss… uhnnnn…”
The acolytes began talking to us. “Do you want me to make you come?” they said, their voices low, soft. “Then just say it. Say ‘make me come’.”
“That’s all you have to say, and it’ll all be over,” Marla said to me. “Say ‘make me come, mistress.’ Say ‘make me come’…”
To my horror I felt the words bubbling behind my lips; it took some effort to stifle what she wanted to hear. But the urge was almost unbearable. “…ohhhh… oh mistress please… no more…”
“Then say ‘make me come.’ That’s all you have to do. ‘Make me come, mistress…’” She slipped her fingers in between my wildly twitching toes, sliding them back and forth. “Say ‘make me come. Make me come…’”
Then, to my shock, Marla leaned over and began to run the tip of her tongue along my arch. “No! No!” I screamed. She continued to work my other foot with her fingers. “Say ‘make me come’… say ‘make me come’…” she repeated in between licks. She gave me a few quick nibbles and I screeched, bouncing on the bench. Then I felt her tongue swirling around the ball of my foot, sliding up my arch to my toes. She wrapped her lips around my middle toes, sucking them into her mouth, rolling her tongue all over and between them.
“Ahh-haa-haa-haa-haa!… maahaaahaaaa!… maaaahaaahaa…!!!” I wanted to say the words, wanted to scream them, but all that came out was a wild, wordless cry. But the release I had been so desperate for came anyway. It welled up inside me and suddenly I was exploding. The surprise I felt lasted but a moment before it was quickly and totally overwhelmed by ecstasy. I cried out, my eyes rolling back in my head as I surrendered to the bliss coursing through me.
For several long moments I wasn’t aware of anything, laying on the bench with my eyes closed, luxuriating in the sweet relief I felt. Gradually, I began to make out voices. Mistress Marla was the first I recognized. “But I only touched his feet, mistress! I swear!”
“I know, Marla,” Lafay said, her voice heavy with barely contained amusement. “This is quite… unusual.” She broke into laughter. “Your slave has come from just being tickled on his feet, Mistress Foxy,” she said.
I groaned and blinked open my eyes. Through my blurry vision and swirling head I saw Priestess Lafay, Marla, and Foxy looking down at me. Lafay was laughing, Marla looked stunned and alarmed, and Foxy looked angry.
Foxy snapped at a couple guards. “Get him off the bench. Take him to his room.”
I was unbound and hauled away. With the two guards dragging me between them, we followed Foxy down a number of narrow corridors. The threw me on the bed in my room, then left me alone with Foxy. I was still befuddled, unable to sit up.
“Pathetic!” Foxy said, sneering as she looked at me. “You have no control over your desires at all!”
“I couldn’t… I don’t know…”
“Quiet! Didn’t I tell you I was the only one permitted to grant you release? I’m sure you’ve disobeyed me, but I’ve let it go. I’m not one to question the prerogatives of the High Priestess. But this…”
“Mistress, you gave me that drink…”
“It’s not supposed to make you do that!” she said. “Don’t think I’m going to let this go, slave.” With that, she stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
After Foxy left, I thought whatever punishment she had in store for me would come quickly. At the very least, I thought I’d be returned to the washing room for the rest of the day. Instead, I was left alone in my chamber. A restorative nap did me a lot of good — I was exhausted after my ordeal — and I was fully recovered, though very nervous, when Foxy entered the room sometime later…
----------------------------------------------------
Part 12 is right here, but before you go, check out the image below that I commissioned from the amazing artist bad-pierrot (aka umojar)
------------------------------------------------
For “Temple of the Torture Goddess,” I reached out to several artists on the TMF and elsewhere to commission images for some (not all) of the chapters. 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.
Part 11’s image comes to us from an artist many of you are probably familiar with — bad-pierrot, otherwise known as Umojar. He’s illustrated several MTJ publications, among other things. Here’s his deviantart page. If you’re unfamiliar with him, you definitely need to check him out.
In part 11, several slave-apprentices are bound to benches and have their feet tickled by acolytes. Bad-Pierrot’s image is of a random slave-apprentice in that scenario. A little qualification — when I commissioned the image, I said the woman was bound to a bench with her legs sticking straight up. I was thinking bound length-wise to an “exercise bench” type thing. Bad Pierrot thought “park bench”… The fault was all mine (shoulda been more specific, or sent a reference), so when I got the finished pic, I didn’t ask him to change it (which I’m sure he would have — he was very professional).
Doesn’t diminish from the awesomeness of the image, though. What counted for me was getting the ticklee right, and I think you’ll agree, she looks amazing. She’s not a proper character, just a random slave-apprentice, but what a cutie! I almost feel bad subjecting her to this treatment. Almost.
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