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Temple of the Torture Goddess — Part 14 (f/m [2 scenes; "sexual"] and f/f)

jmills

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Hello good TMF’ers

The travails of our hapless narrator continue in Part 14 of “Temple of the Torture Goddess.” There’s a lot of hot action in this one, including some (softcore) sexual tickling. Well, I consider it pretty softcore, described in the usual “Edwardian smut” style I use for such things (I can’t do really graphic language; I’ve tried…).

Previously…

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
Part 9
Part 10
Part 11
Part 12
Part 13

A since and heartfelt “thank you” to everyone who has read it, sent me a message, or left a comment.

An image I commissioned follows the story. And it’s quite an image, too.

But without further ado…

-----------------------------------------
Temple of the Torture Goddess — Part 14

It was at least several hours later that two guards took me from my cell and escorted me down a series of short corridors to a small room with nothing inside but foot stocks. They sat me down on the bench, secured my ankles in the stocks, then manacled my wrists to the cross beam above my head. That done, they went and stood on either side of the door. Just a few moments later, we were joined by a priestess and two acolytes. I had seen the priestess before, but didn’t know her name.

I shifted nervously on the bench as the acolytes knelt at my feet, the priestess standing behind them, regarding me with her arms crossed.

“I want to ask you about the attack on Mistress Wynne today out in the vineyards,” she said.

The acolytes at my feet began running their fingertips and nails up and down my arches. I squeaked, feet twitching in the stocks. “M-mistress… th-that w-wasn’t… (gasp)… my f-fault… I s-swear…”

“This isn’t about assigning blame,” she said. “This is just about establishing what happened. I’m going to ask you some simple questions. How quickly we finish depends on how you answer.”

“I’ll tell you –wh-whatever… you w-want… (tee-hee) to know… there’s no need to t-tickle me…”

The priestess ignored me. “Now, you were there when the attack occurred, correct? You were part of that group.”

“…y-yes…”

“Who else was in that group?”

Between sputters and giggles I managed to give everyone’s name.

“You were put to work, and Mistress Wynne left, correct? What happened then?”

I told her what happened as best I could. The tickling on my feet wasn’t too intense — enough to keep me giggling and squirming, not enough to make speech impossible. But if I had wanted to lie — to make up a story or obfuscate — it tickled too much for me to concentrate. I had no need to lie or deny anything in this case, and I had a feeling she already knew the answers to the questions she was asking me.

I managed to describe what had happened, even getting through an account of Darlene’s attack on me and what she had done.

“Do you know why?” the priestess asked.

“…why?… (hehehe)… I d-don’t understand…”

“Did she have a grudge with you? Did you provoke her?”

“…no mistress…”

“Then why? I know Darlene is a trouble-maker, I know she’s impulsive and aggressive, but her attack on you seems extraordinary. A little mischief I could understand, but she tickled you to the ground, stripped you, and then bound your hands so she could torment you at her leisure. It goes beyond what I’d expect, even from a woman like her.”

“… please, mistress… heee-heee-hee… oh, make them st-stop… I’ll tell you… hehehe… I swear… just please make them st-stop…”

“Tell me, slave-apprentice, then maybe I’ll have them go easier on you.”

Giggling and spluttering, I told her that Darlene had seen me come from being tickled during a training session, and wanted to see if she could do it. “… during the training, they gave me Piper’s Sugar… but all the slave-apprentices in the laundry know… I’ve been a target ever since…”

“Hmm… so Mistress Wynne came back as Darlene was tickling you…”

I went through the rest of the story — the fight between Darlene and Mistress Wynne, my own flight through the vineyards, being chased and jumped by Elyse and the others, Priestess Lafay showing up and permitting them to continue.

“Why didn’t you tell Priestess Lafay about the attack on Mistress Wynne?”

“… I tried… hahahah… I s-swear… th-they covered my mouth… I was laughing too much… heeheeehee!…”

“And Priestess Lafay watched as Elyse and the others tickled you to orgasm?”

“… y-yesssshahahaha…”

“So you were able to, even without Piper’s Sugar?”

“… hahahaa!… please, Mistress… hahaha!… I’ve t-told you everything… eeeheehee!… please st-stopp…”

“In a bit. I’d like to see for myself.”

The acolytes began ticking a little harder, their fingers traveling over my entire foot rather than just my arches, slipping between my toes and sliding over the tops. I tried to tell my interrogator that it was probably impossible, that out in the fields Elyse had cheated, but all that came out were giggles and wordless cries.

The door opened, and through eyes blurred by tears of laughter I saw Foxy enter the room. After observing for just a moment, she addressed the priestess. “Why is he still here? Hasn’t he talked yet?

“Oh yes. He was very cooperative. Everything he told us fits with what we’ve heard from the other slave-apprentices.”

“Then why are you continuing?”

“As you know, this slave-apprentice came from just having his feet tickled.”

The corner of Foxy’s mouth curled in a sneer of disapproval. “Yes. I was there. It has happened before, mistress, and this slave-apprentice was under the influence of Piper’s Sugar at the time.”

“I’m aware,” the priestess said. “But it is unusual. So naturally, I’m curious.”

“Well, mistress, I’ll humbly ask you to satisfy your curiosity at another time,” Foxy said. “Your skills are urgently needed elsewhere.”

The Priestess sighed. “Of course,” she said. At a signal from her the two acolytes stopped tickling my feet and stood up, following the priestess out the door. The two guards freed me and pulled me up. On shaking legs I followed Mistress Foxy down the corridors. “Thank you for making them stop, mistress,” I said. “I told them everything I knew.”

Foxy said nothing, merely strode ahead of us. “What’s going on, Mistress?” I asked. Still no reply. She stayed silent during the short walk back to my cell, where I was shoved inside and left alone once again. Some time later, a guard came in briefly, leaving a tray of food. When I eventually lay down on my small bed, I fell into a deep sleep, worn out by the events of the day. I slept heavily, and only when I woke did I realize that Foxy had not come for her nightly visit…

And so it went for perhaps two days. I was left alone in my cell with no contact with anyone except for the guards bringing me my meals. I thought I’d be returned to the laundry, or at least given clothes, or even a chance to wash up— I was still a little messy from my adventures in the field and my interrogation — but no one came for me. I didn’t wake up during the night to find myself chained to the bed with Foxy looming over me, nor did the guards who delivered my meals molest me. While I was happy enough to not receive the attentions of Foxy or anyone else in the Temple for a time, the long silence and lack of any contact made me a little nervous. There was something going on — it wouldn’t be too much of a leap to assume that Darlene’s attack on Mistress Wynne had something to do with it. But I didn’t know anything for sure, or why I’d be locked away like this.

Sometime on the second day, three guards entered the room. I offered no resistance as they quickly chained me to the wall. Behind them, I saw Raisha standing in the doorway, holding a bucket and a washcloth.

“Be quick about it,” one the guards said to Raisha as she approached me. “And no talking.” The guards exited, leaving the door open. Raisha began to gently scrub me with the wet cloth. “I’ll make this fast,” she whispered. “Try not to squirm.”

“What’s going on? Why have they kept me in here?”

“Shhh, keep your voice down,” she said. “I’m not supposed to talk to you.” She flicked a quick glance over her shoulder. “I think you’re the least of their worries right now. The whole place has been crazy because of Darlene and Mistress Wynne.”

“What happened?”

“They’re gone. They found Mistress Wynne’s clothes, but it looks like Darlene took her and ran. They haven’t found them yet. I’ve never seen this place in such an uproar. They’re putting all the slave-apprentices who were in your little group to the question.”

“But why have they left me here like this? I haven’t been questioned or anything. And why am I being cleaned up?”

“I don’t know. I wish I could tell you something, but I really don’t know. Now, brace yourself, this will tickle…”

I stifled a laugh. “Okay, I’m done,” Raisha said. “I’m sorry about what happened to you out there. I tried to help. I was the one who brought your mistress. I ran and got her while their attention was on you. I should have been faster.”

“Well… thanks…”

A guard appeared in the doorway. “Wrap it up.”

“Yes mistress.” Raisha gave me a quick wink before scurrying out. The guard unchained me before leaving and shutting the door behind her.

But it wasn’t all that long before the guards were back. This time, Mistress Foxy was with them, her face stern. I jumped up. “Mistress, what…”

Without a word or change in expression, Foxy stepped forward and gagged me with a strip of cloth. The guard slapped manacles on my wrists, chaining my hands together in front of me. Foxy turned, strode out of the cell, and the guards led me out after her.

What followed was the quick march up the stairs, down the hallways I already knew so well, through large double doors that opened on our approach and closed behind us. The vaulted chamber inside was quite spacious, almost as large as the main dining hall where I had served during the tribute banquet. On a high dais in front of us was a long table, in the center of which sat Tanya, flanked by Sheena and Vonda in their scarlet robes. There were many other people in the room — besides the usual assortment of guards, I saw several priestesses, including Priestess Lafay and a few others I recognized. Acolytes stood near their mistresses, and a few slave-apprentices hustled about running errands.

“Mistress Foxy,” Tanya announced. The general hubbub in the room simmered down. “I was surprised you requested a hearing before the disciplinary council. I can’t remember the last time that happened.”

“I apologize, Mistress, for taking the council’s time during this crisis, but I felt this slave-apprentice required special attention.”

“Hmm… well, how so?”

Vonda spoke up. “If I may, Mistress… I believe he was the slave-apprentice that Darlene attacked in the orchard. The noise brought Mistress Wynne to check…”

“Ahh, yes,” Tanya said. “I know who he is. Has he been questioned?”

“Yes, mistress,” Foxy said. “He had nothing to add to what we already know. He was a victim. However, I do hold him partially responsible for what happened. It’s part of a larger problem I have had with training this slave-apprentice.”

“Please explain, Mistress Foxy.”

“Simply put, his susceptibility to being touched and tickled has made him a distraction among the others. That’s true of slave-apprentices and even some priestesses. They can’t keep their hands off of him, and he enjoys it too much. I even think he purposely puts himself in provocative situations…”

I protested quite vehemently behind my gag, though of course no one could understand a thing.

Tanya laughed. “With all due respect, Mistress Foxy, I find that hard to believe,” she said. “And I don’t quite see how he can be held responsible for the incident in the fields.”

“Darlene went after him in a flagrant violation of the rules. Then, a group of slave-apprentices chased him and jumped him in the orchard, even though they knew Darlene had attacked Mistress Wynne. Then, a number of women — including Priestess Lafay — stood there and allowed the group of slave-apprentices to tickle him into submission…”

Priestess Lafay gave a divisive snort. “I’ve explained myself to the High Priestesses, Foxy. We’ve been through all this. If you have further issue with me, then why don’t you say so? If your slave-apprentice bursts into orgasm from a little tickling, I don’t see…”

Foxy’s hair flew as she whipped her head around to face Lafay. “I train my slaves with a strict adherence to the proclamations of the Goddess!” she snarled, as angry as I had ever seen her. “A Priestess of Zyriss should do the same!”

“Why Mistress Foxy, are you actually questioning my faith?”

“You’re a Priestess of Zyriss,” Foxy said. “What a priestess chooses to do is her prerogative. And what she chooses to do should be dictated by…”

Tanya pounded on the table. “Enough!” she shouted. “That’s enough. Mistress Foxy, no one is questioning your devotion here.”

“Mistress, the incident in the fields happened because others could not curb their appetites…”

“Maybe, Foxy,” Tanya said. “No one is arguing that what happened isn’t of the utmost seriousness. Why it happened… well, this isn’t the place.” Tanya gave Foxy an indulgent smile. “Your devotion is exemplary Foxy,” she went on. “We could all learn from it. Of course, I might argue in general that some enjoyment on the part of the torturer is desirable since it brings us closer to the goddess, and allows us to share in some of the joy that the suffering of our victims brings her, even if it’s just a little bit…”

Foxy opened her mouth to speak, but Tanya, still smiling, gently stopped her with a gesture. “But we’ve had this discussion before, and I dearly look forward to having it again, Foxy. But now is not the time, and it doesn’t really apply here, as I’m sure you were about to remind me. As you’ve rarely called for a discipline trial, Foxy, I know the lapses of this slave-apprentice must be truly egregious and deserving of special treatment. I trust your judgment completely on this. So, I’ll leave it to you: what do you want? Exile? Ritual? Punishment by Ordeal?”

“If it pleases the Goddess and the council, punishment by ordeal.”

“Very well. As punishment he will be denied what you claim he craves. He will spend three cycles under the attention of Mistress Parvati’s acolytes. He is not to be allowed to come. Does this sound sufficient, Foxy?”

“Mistress, what pleases me does not matter. It’s the pleasure of the goddess…”

“Very well, Foxy,” Tanya said. “In your considered judgment, knowing this slave-apprentice as you do, do you believe this punishment will cause sufficient suffering to please the Goddess?”

“Yes, Mistress, I do.”

“You also know this slave-apprentice, High Priestess Vonda. Do you agree?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Very good. Priestess Parvati, you have acolytes trained for such treatment whom I sure would relish the opportunity to hone their skills. I will leave the particular methods up to you. Mistress Foxy and High Priestess Vonda can inform you of his particular weakness and predilections. As I said, Priestess Parvati, the treatment is to be constant, and he is not to be allowed to come for the length of his sentence. If any of your girls makes him come, she will receive seven lashes of the pleasure whip.”

Seven lashes was a harsh sentence, but it didn’t appear to phase Parvati. “My acolytes are well aware of what’s expected of them, and the consequences if they fail to meet those expectations, Mistress.”

“I have no doubt,” Tanya said. “He’s all yours. Take him away.”

With a guard taking each arm I was marched out of the large audience chamber. We paused outside the double-doors. Foxy turned towards us. “Take him below,” she told the guards. “I have something to take care of. I will meet you when I am finished.”

As the guards led me away, I turned to watch Mistress Foxy walk across the wide, bustling hallway. I lost her in the crowd for a moment, but right before the guards took me through an archway I saw Foxy talking Sessilia, the Mistress of Alchemy.

We went down a wide flight of steps, passing several landings. At the bottom was a nondescript corridor like a dozen others I had seen in the temple. We had gone just a few yards down when suddenly I was tripped from behind. I stumbled then fell to the floor, grunting behind my gag.

“Clumsy slave!” It was Mistress Foxy. She was on one knee beside me. The guards hadn’t noticed my fall, and had walked a few steps ahead before Foxy’s voice made them stop and turn. “I’ve got him,” Foxy said. “Get up!” She rose to both feet, pulling me up to my knees, standing between me and the guards as she did so. She slipped off my gag and pulled my hair, tilting my head back. Then she emptied the contents of a small vial down my throat. “Come on! Get up, slave!”

Her commands covered up my confused spluttering. The gag was back over my mouth and I was on my feet before the last of whatever liquid she had given me trickled down my throat. It tasted sweet and “light,” almost bubbly.

“It’s called the Nectar of Rhianna, slave,” Mistress Foxy said to me under her breath. “It will increase your suffering tenfold. I wanted you to know that before you begin your ordeal.”

Not long after we stopped in front of one of the wide doors along the wall. The room beyond was pretty simple — a square about 30’ by 30’, dimly lit, with dark stone walls and flagstone floor, a high ceiling and another wide door in one of the walls. A woman with long, straight brown hair stood to our left, several feet away from the wall. Her arms were chained above her head, wrists in two manacles that hung from the ceiling. Her back was to us, and she turned as we entered.

But all my attention was on the object across the room from us, and towards which I was being guided. It was a narrow, rectangular cage, perhaps seven feet high and maybe just a little over two feet across, made up of vertical and horizontal bars. My hands were freed, the guards turned me around so I was facing the door we had just come through, and ordered me inside. The cage door slammed shut. It was a tight fit. Though the bars weren’t pressing against me, there was very little room to move. My arms were trapped at my sides, and there was no room to bend my knees.

One of the guards removed my gag, and then Foxy pulled a lever jutting from the wall. The cage rose up, pulled by a thick chain hanging from the ceiling, stopping about three feet above the floor. “Mistress Foxy, wait!” I called out as she strode towards the door. “What’s that stuff you gave me? What’s…”

The door crashed shut behind Foxy and the guards, leaving me alone with the other prisoner. “Looks like we’re both in trouble, aren’t we?” she said. “What did you do?”

I recognized her — she was a slave-apprentice named Vicki. I had seen her a couple times when I worked in the kitchens. She was topless, clad in only her shorts.

“What’s the Nectar of Rhianna?” I said. “Mistress made me drink it. What does it do?”

Vicki’s eyes went wide and she tittered. “Ooo you must have really made them mad.”

“Why?”

“It’s… well, when you drink it, it’s almost impossible for you to come. They can do anything they want to you but you won’t be able to… you know, ‘finish’ until it wears off. It just builds and builds…” She gave a pretty little shiver.

I moaned. A chill went through me. “How long is a ‘cycle’? I’m sentenced to three cycles, they said.”

“I’m not sure. I…”

Just then the door opened. Vicki whipped her head around. “Mistress Kyndell!” she said.

The woman who entered was a slim, tallish black woman with short hair. The garment she wore was of the same yellow as the acolytes robes, and seemed made of the same shimmering material, but looked more like a gown, and revealed a lot more skin. Two thin cords went over her shoulders, leaving her long arms bare, while the neckline plunged in a sharp “V” almost all the way to her navel, displaying the inner swell of her large breasts. Slits ran up the sides almost to her hips, revealing glimpses of her smooth legs as she walked over towards Vicki and stood behind her.

“Vicki, Vicki, Vicki,” she said, smoothing the girl’s long hair and pressing up against her. “You’re in trouble again, aren’t you?” She smiled warmly as she spoke, her tone gently chiding.

“But I didn’t do anything really bad…”

“But you’re such a little trouble-maker.” Mistress Kyndell’s hands caressed Vicki’s naked torso, slowly sliding across her stomach and up and down her sides. She cupped a breast, gave it a soft squeeze. She put her mouth close to Vicki’s ear. “We’ve tried almost everything with you. We’ve spanked you with the flail, we’ve put you in the stocks, we’ve even whipped you… but you still won’t behave. You just can’t keep your hands off the other kitchen girls, can you? It’s very distracting.”

Vicki gasped and sighed, twisting a little and trying to keep her face from breaking into an involuntary grin. As I watched, I had to remind myself that Mistress Kyndell’s warm smile, her gentle tone and caresses were all a part of the treatment. She was under the instruction of Priestess Parvati, who taught her acolytes to inflict suffering using more subtle, sensual methods, according to what Vonda had told me. Still, knowing this didn’t prevent the positive response I felt inside me.

Vicki gave a tiny whimper. “I’m sorry, mistress. I’ll try better to control myself. I promise.”

“But you always say that. Since we’ve tried everything else to get you to behave, let’s see if some tender treatment doesn’t curb that rambunctious streak you have.” She began slowly sliding her fingernails down the undersides of Vicki’s arms. The brunette gasped and let out a squeak, jingling the chains as she tried to scrunch up her shoulders.

“…tee-hee-hee… oh mistress… hehehe…”

Slowly, Mistress Kyndell drew her fingernails back and forth down the length of Vicki’s arms, going out to the girl’s bound wrists before making a leisurely journey back in. With each trip she’d get a little closer to the smooth hollows of Vicki’s armpits; sometimes, she’d spend a little more time on Vicki’s upperarms, sliding back and forth three or four times before traveling out to her wrists again.

Vicki hopped from one foot to the other, gasping and tittering. Occasionally she’d give a fetching little shiver. I noticed how Mistress Kyndell pressed up against her from behind, how close her mouth was to Vicki’s ear.

Kyndell’s fingernails delicately spidered their way into Vicki’s underarms. A flurry of breathy giggles popped out of the slave-apprentice as she squirmed. “…heeheeheehee… please stop mistress… ooohoohoo…”

“But I’m not tickling you very hard at all,” Kyndell said. “I’m barely touching you. Is just a little tickling so bad for you? I’ve seen you endure much, much worse.”

Vicki only giggled, her eyes scrunched shut. Kyndell didn’t linger in her underarms for too long; she trickled her nails and fingers down the girl’s sides, across the curve of her hips and all the way down to her thighs. Standing behind Vicki, Kyndell’s arms seemed to wrap around her, almost holding the slave-apprentice in an embrace as her hands began to explore the bound woman’s torso.

Vicki whimpered, her hands balling into fists. “Ohh mistress… what are you doing?” she gasped.

“Teaching you a lesson,” Kyndell said, her voice low and gentle. “The little tricks you play on the other girls, the little tickles and pinches… it all adds up into something bigger. Just like what I’m doing to you. Tickling a little, touching a little, running my hands all over you… it can be as bad as anything they can do to you in the courtyard stocks, isn’t that so?”

“… ohh, yes mistress…”

“I’m just using the tips of my fingers and my fingernails to tickle you, and look how you’re suffering.”

“… eee-hee-hee-hee…” Vicki writhed slowly, sinuously, like a dancer, twisting her torso and hips as Kyndell’s fingers fluttered across her skin, tracing wavering lines and serpentine loops on her belly and sides. Sometimes, the acolyte’s hands would disappear from my view, traveling their slow way behind Vicki to fondle her buns or brush across her back. It always seemed to catch Vicki by surprise; she’d give a little squeak and bounce, shivering and giggling. As Mistress Kyndell continued her treatment — lightly tickling one moment, stroking or brushing the next — she evoked a range of reactions from Vicki. Giggles and titters fought with little cries and gasps, even moans.

Watching Vicki endure this slow, sensuous torture at the knowing hands of Mistress Kyndell had got me really wound up. In the tight confines of the cage, my shaft was pressed up against one of the cross bars, trapped in between the bar and my lower abdomen. I shifted in the cage a bit, hoping to relieve some of the pressure. I was a little too successful. To my horror, my shaft sprang out of one of the open squares formed by the crossing horizontal and vertical bars. It thrust out into the open as if asking for attention. I felt very exposed. I scrunched my eyes closed, trying to calm down by shutting out the sight of Kyndell and Vicki, but Vicki’s light, silvery giggles, her coos and gasps, were inescapable. Her breathy pleas for Kyndall to stop only served to stoke my arousal.

When I opened my eyes, Kyndell was skittering her fingernails across Vicki’s big, round breasts, making the poor brunette throw her head back and shake all over with high pitched, squealing laughter.

“… please mistress… ooo-hoo-hoo… please stop… heehee… p-punish me however you see fit b-but… ahhh… j-just st-stopp this…”

“I told you, this is your punishment.”

“…ohhhh… then just tickle me, mistress… make me suffer for the goddess… just please stop p-playing with me like this…”

“But you are suffering, Vicki,” Mistress Kyndell said, lightly drawing her nails up and down Vicki’s waist.

“… hee-hee-hee… n-no, mistress… I’m not suffering… ahhhh!” Vicki cried out in surprise as Mistress Kyndell slid her hands up Vicki’s torso to clasp the bound girl’s breasts. She gently squeezed them as Vicki moaned and gasped.

“You can’t lie to me, you little trouble maker,” Kyndell said, her voice still warm and gently chiding. “You are suffering. I can tell. The pleasure you feel from my gentle touch is slowly growing stronger and stronger. You don’t know how much more of it you can stand. You wonder when it will overwhelm you. Suffering comes in many forms, slave-apprentice, and all of it pleases the Goddess.” Her fingers tenderly plucked at Vicki’s stiff nipples.

“…oh! oh! oh!… d-don’t dooo th-that, mistress, plee-heeheezz!…”

“You’ve played the tease many times, Vicki, tickling and groping the other slave-apprentices, preventing them from fulfilling the duties and commands given to them.” One of Kyndell’s hands slid into Vicki’s underarm, while the other tickled her ass. “Perhaps next time you are tempted, you will remember how a body can suffer from a little tickle here, a little stroke there, how maddening such treatment can feel when it goes on and on, without the prospect of mercy.”

“… eee-hee-hee-hee… oh yes mistress… hehehe… ohhh I will… I will!… please stop… I swear I’ll behave… uhhhnnn… I p-promise!…”

As Kyndell continued her slow treatment, Vicki’s cries and constant writhing became more desperate. “Oh!… have mercy, mistress!… I’m begging you!… ohhh!… no more… show me mercy… ahhhh!… I’ll behave! I’ll obey!… ”

But Mistress Kyndell was not finished with her yet. She kept stroking, tickling, fondling, her hands and busy fingers slowly traveling over the squirming slave-apprentice. Vicki could barely plead anymore, only gasp “mercy” and “please” between the giggles and moans.

I was so mesmerized watching all this that a sudden, especially loud wail from Vicki caught me by surprise. “Oh gawdesss! Ohhh!

While one of Mistress Kyndell’s hands continued to play over Vicki’s body, the other had slipped between the bound girl’s thighs to slowly stroke her over the thin fabric of her tight shorts. Vicki cried out again, practically sobbing. “Oh mistress! Ohh!”

Vicki’s eyes were closed, her hips rocking back and forth in time with the strokes. “Ohhh… mistress… please don’t stop… oh please… go faster…”

Of course her mistress didn’t go faster. Rubbing slowly, steadily, she kept Vicki moaning and rocking her hips. “The Goddess is pleased with your suffering,” Kyndell said sweetly. “She is ready to be merciful.”

ohhh… thank you mistress… thankyouthankyouthankyou…”

“Now sing for her. Sing for the Goddess…”

It didn’t take long, though doubtless every moment seemed an excruciating eternity to Vicki. “AIEEEEE!” The slave-apprentice threw her head back. Her back arched, her body stiffened as tremors seemed to shoot through her. Then her knees buckled, her legs gave out from under her. She collapsed, hanging limp in her chains, chin dropping to her chest, hair in front of her face.

Mistress Kyndell gazed at the unconscious girl for a brief moment. She tugged on a rope hanging behind her, then turned her gaze and her smile my way. Though there was only a fraction of an inch between me and the bars of the cage, I instinctively pulled back, pressing against the far side of the cage. As she sauntered towards me, two guards entered and quickly and discretely released the unconscious Vicki, carrying her out of the room. The door shut before Mistress Bounty had even closed the short space between us. She smiled at me. “I see you enjoyed watching that,” she said. “Would you like me to do that for you?”

I moaned in fear, very conscious of my exposed member sticking through the opening.

She pursed her lips in sympathy. “But I can’t. You know I can’t.” Standing in front of me, she ran the end of her index finger just once up the length of my shaft. I squealed, jumping in my cage. “I’d like to, though,” she said, her voice low. “I’d like to make you come. You’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

She stroked me again with that single fingertip, this time going much slower. “Eeee-hee-hee-heeheee… heeheehee… ohh, mistress… pleeeheeeheeezz…!” She drew lazy patterns up and down the length of me while I giggled and gasped. “… ohh… ohhh…”

She withdrew, leaving me gasping, my shaft bobbing comically through the bars. “You’re supposed to be quite ticklish,” she said. She reached through the bars and gave my balls a quick tickle, making me shriek. She did the same on my belly. Though both were very brief, they were a terrifying reminder of how little space I had in the cage, how impossible it was to defend myself.

Kyndell walked around the cage. The spacing of the bars was wide enough to give a hand easy access, and she made me jerk and yelp with ticklish pokes and pinches as she made her inspection. “Yes, indeed, you are very ticklish.” She fluttered her nails down the backs of my thighs and behind my knees. “I’m surprised you’ve been able to endure Mistress Foxy’s training methods. It be very hard for you.” Standing behind me, she lightly tickled my buns. “Foxy can be a cruel mistress, can’t she?”

Yeee-hee-heee!… n-no-hoho… sh-sheehee’s … hehehef-fair…” I pressed myself against the front of the cage, though the position gave me no respite whatsoever.

“No? Strict but fair, right?” Kyndell laughed. “What a loyal slave-apprentice you are, defending your mistress, when she was the one who sent you down here.” She pinched my waist a few times and scurried her fingers across the small of my back. “You must have done something to displease her, though I can’t imagine what that was. You don’t seem as though you’d be difficult to train.” She left off my back, moving around to the side of the cage. Quick pokes to my waist and light pinches on my thighs made me squeak and jump, my hands flapping uselessly as I tried to cover myself.

“Perhaps she’s not the right mistress for you,” Kyndell continued. “Mistress Foxy only understands fear. It can be quite persuasive, and I can tell she has certainly made you fear her. But will it make you a true devotee of the Goddess? Will it make you want to serve the Goddess? I don’t know, but the fact that an obedient slave-apprentice such as yourself is down here, sentenced to an ordeal that will be excruciating to someone so sensitive, says to me that something is not working with the way she treats you.”

“… (yeeek!)… m-mistress F-Foxy… eeep!… has g-given me… many opportunities to control… my passions…”

“But that’s probably the trouble. She wants you to control your passions, your desires. A mistress who understood you would know how to use those passions. If I were your mistress, that’s how I would train you.” She stopped poking and pinching me through the bars and walked behind me, out of my line of sight. “But unfortunately, I’m not your mistress, and I’m not here to train you.”

I braced myself for more another bout of teasing from behind, but several moments went by and nothing happened. I heard Mistress Kyndell moving about, the soft rustle of her garments and pad of her feet behind me.

When she stepped back into my line of sight, she held a stiff, pointed white feather.

“No! Please mistress… not that… please don’t…”

“Foxy told me what she did to you,” Kyndell said, her voice low, almost a whisper. “She told me about the Nectar of Rhainnon. She should not have done that to you. I fear Foxy gets above her station at times.”

With that warm smile, Kyndell touched the feather’s tip to the base of my shaft. I flinched at the touch. I sucked in my breath, scrunching my eyes shut, clenching my fists. “It also wasn’t necessary,” Kyndell went on. “Mistress Parvati’s acolytes don’t need the Nectar of Rhiannon to prolong your suffering.” I heard her chuckle as she noticed my posture, my clamped mouth and closed eyes. “Oh, don’t try to fight it,” she said, not unkindly. “You know you can’t resist…”

Slowly, slowly she dragged the feather tip upwards. I cried out, my body jumping in the confines of my cage. “Come on,” said Mistress Kyndell. “Sing for the Goddess. Let her hear the depths of your suffering.” The feather reached the end of its journey; Kyndell quickly lifted it up and then touched back down on the base, once again traveling the same, slow route.

“Ahhh!” My body was torn with conflicting impulses, the urge to resist warring with the desire for more. After three or four upward strokes, Kyndell stopped removing the feather tip when it reached the end. Now, she simply ran it up and down with devastating slowness, just the tip teasing the underside of my helpless rod as I screamed and thrashed in the cage.

“EEEE-HEEE-HEEE-HEEE!… OH! OH MISTRESSSS!… HEEHEEHEE!…”

My shaft twitched or jumped with each stroke. It looked ridiculous, bobbling there as it stuck through the bars of the cage, but though I was laughing plenty there was nothing funny about it. Not to me, at least.

“…HEE-HEEE-HEEE-EEEE!… IT TEEEEEEKULLSS!… MISSSSTRESSS!… HEE-HEE-HEEEEEE!”

Mistress Kyndell seemed pleased by my reactions. Her smile was amused but not gloating. “Of course it tickles,” she said. “But it’s more than just the tickling, isn’t it?”

“Yes! YESSS… OH-HOHOHO MISTRESS!…” It was true. The touch of the feather’s tip was maddeningly delicate, each stroke sending wave after wave of pleasure crashing through me. “…PUHLEEEZ STAHPP MISTRESS!… PUHLEEEHEEHEEZZZ!…”

The ticklish pleasure consumed me, my laughter and cries reaching new heights with each slow, steady trip of the feather up and down, up and down. I screamed for mercy, I babbled and gibbered and moaned and laughed, tears flowing from the corners of my eyes. I shook the cage so much that it swung on its chain, my body’s reactions far beyond my control — hips thrusting forward one moment, arched like a bow, straining for the feather’s touch; pulling back the next, trying to curl up to protect myself when the sensations became too much. But the confines of the cage were much too small to permit me to protect myself, and no matter how much I thrust forward, practically offering my throbbing member to Kyndell and the feather, I could not achieve the release I craved.

Mistress Kyndell continued to smile up at me. “As I’m sure you know, many here at the Temple don’t really value this kind of treatment,” she said. “They consider things like the soft caress, the teasing feather, to be too gentle for a devotee of Zyriss to use. But they’d probably change their minds if they could see you right now, hear how you sing for the Goddess. Your Mistress Foxy might even concede that the gentler means of worship can be quite effective, on the right body.” She chuckled softly. “But probably not. She’s a hard case, your mistress, though I find it hard to believe that she thought she could ‘toughen you up,’ someone as sensitive as you. Perhaps she could — she’s the finest trainer at the Temple, and her devotion is without question. But why would she want to? On someone like you, the bonds of pleasure can be stronger than the bonds of fear and cruelty.” Still working the feather, she reached through the bars with her other hand to tickle my balls.

“YEEEEHEEHEEEHEEEEHEEEEE!” My body didn’t so much jump as go into wild wriggling spasms. “YEEEHEEEHEEHEEE!”

“You can’t control your body’s response,” she said kindly, withdrawing her hand after a few more tickles. “So don’t try. Let yourself go. You can’t escape, you can’t come, so surrender to the Goddess. Accept that your only purpose is to please her by your suffering. Your ordeal will perhaps go easier for you…”

I had no idea what Mistress Kyndell was talking about. I could barely hear her, her voice only registering as a gentle purr, her tone kind and almost affectionate. Though some part of me knew her voice and kind manner were simply another part of the torture, I could no more resist those more subtle elements than my shaft could resist the teasing caress of the feather. It all combined to turn me into a howling, gibbering wreck, sure I would go mad or pass out if I couldn’t find relief.

When she at last withdrew the feather, my knees buckled and I slumped in the cage, the close bars all around me the only thing preventing me from collapsing. The moans kept coming, tremors shooting through me even though I was no longer being tickled. “The Goddess is pleased with your suffering,” Mistress Kyndell said, smiling at me as she backed away.

Behind her, a group of guards had entered the room, surrounding the cage. A guard behind me slipped a blindfold over my eyes. The cage was opened and I pitched forward. Hands caught me before I hit the ground, cuffs locked around my wrists, and I felt a guard grab hold of me under each arm. I cried out, fighting them as much as I could in my weakened state, but soon I felt more hands take hold of my legs. I was half dragged, half-carried through what I guessed was the other door in the room. It slammed behind us.

------------------------------------

Part 15 is right here, but before you go, check out the below image I commissioned from the incredible einom

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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.

This hot, hot, hot image of Mistress Kyndell playing with Vicki comes to us from Einom, who did the image of Raisha in Part 5. Einom 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 really need to check out his deviantart page.

I love this image. Mistress Kyndell and Vicki are just “one off” characters — we don’t see them again in this story — but this image makes me wish I had found space for them somewhere. But we’re in the homestretch now, so… maybe we’ll get to see them another time.

Hope you enjoy.

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Oh wow, what a fantastic piece of art.

Great chapter jmills, looking forward to the next one.
 
Wonderful chapter! :D
I like what you call the "Edwardian smut" style.
 
Finally got around to reading the whole thing. Tremendous job dude. So sorry I wasn’t able to to get back to you in a timely manner for a commission.

I’m leaving my praise here Since (unsurprisingly) this is by far my favorite part with 13 not trailing too far behind. These two have such a nice domino effect going and it was played perfectly. It really gave me that pit in my stomach that I always look for in stories and try to replicate myself. This has for sure given me some cool ideas for some new stuff. Again, great work. Hope to see more like it.
 
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