Ticklish Liasons (m/f)

The sharp tail of the whip landed flush across his buttocks, exactly where it was intended. The man yelped and raised up high on his toes, virtually all the movement he was allowed bound as he was to the frame designed for holding victims upright for beatings and other such tortures. The sound of his cry was muffled, predominantly by the gag stuffed in his mouth, and furthermore by the hood placed over his head. These tools designed to rob him of his freedom were the only coverings on his body outside of the ropes attaching his wrists and ankles to the four corners of the iron frame.

She paused to inspect her handiwork. Along his exposed backside, the welts she had gifted him from his shoulders to his thighs were becoming a red and purple sea of muddied colors and angry flesh. This latest kiss of the whip was instantly lost amongst all the marks she’d bestowed upon him this afternoon, rendering it almost meaningless, so though she was far from tormenting her plaything, this particular form of domination no longer held her interest.

She circled him in the frame, reaching out with her claw-like fingernails to drag them down his sweat-soaked chest. His body tensed under her touch, remaining a taut bow string as her nails scratched down his stomach towards his engorged manhood. She encircled him in her fist, squeezing his shaft until he gasped.

“Pathetic man. Is this what my whip does to you?” She stroked his cock once, satisfied to hear him first moan, and then groan as the action was not repeated. “Such a needy boy you are. First you need me to hurt you. Then you need me to pleasure you. Isn’t that right? Are you a needy boy?” Her hand cupped his testicles and pulled, drawing out a cry of pain from him that cut off his mumbles of affirmation.

She chuckled and toyed with the head of his cock, rolling her thumb over the pre-cum that had formed there without giving him any relief. He squirmed in his bonds, visibly and audibly tormented by this deliberate denial of the release for which he was desperate. She had no plans to give him what he wanted; this session, like all the others before it, was for her pleasure, not for the pleasure of those who subjected themselves to her cruelty. Such were the perks of being the Duchess of Fultingham.

Outside the doors to this bedroom-turned-playroom, the voice of Evangeline, the Duchess’s lady-in-waiting, brought a halt to the scene. “M’lady, a courier from the King has arrived!” Evangeline’s excitement was warranted, as rumors of an upcoming royal banquet that would last for several weeks were running rampant throughout the kingdom, and the Duchess had been beside herself in anticipation of receiving an invitation to court. This courier from the King must mean that her wait was over.

Giving her victim’s shaft one more tormenting, feather-like stroke, the Duchess slapped his bruised and swollen ass with the flat of her hand. “Playtime is over, needy boy. Perhaps next time you’ll please me enough to let you cum.” She barely heard the muffled sob of resignation as she left him hanging in his bonds to see what the message might contain.

Outside the playroom, where the light streaming through the floor to ceiling windows was best, the Duchess broke the royal seal on the letter. Evangeline was hanging on her arm, as eager to see what the letter contained as her Mistress, as an invitation to court would mean a trip for her as well.

The Duchess began to read. “You are hereby invited…”

Evangeline did not let her continue. With a squeal of pure bliss, she hugged the Duchess tightly, and the pair hopped up and down excitedly, both talking at once in hurried, frantic tones. “We’re going to court! We’re going to court!”

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A month later, the Duchess of Fultingham and her lady-in-waiting were sitting in the shade on the outskirts of the royal gardens, a spot chosen as much for the exquisite landscaping as for the view it provided of the doors in the rear of the palace that led out to the main patio. From here, the pair were both visible to those who forayed onto the patio to view the gardens, and inconspicuous to those more interested in engaging in introductions and pleasantries over afternoon tea. It was an ideal spot to scope out others invited to court.

The Duchess had been amongst the first to arrive, opting for maximum time spent as the King’s guest over arriving fashionably late. This was her first trip to court since her father was Duke of Fultingham, over two decades ago, and those memories as a child of eight years were fleeting and vague at best. In all intents and purposes, this was her first visit to the royal palaces, and she didn’t want to waste a moment or miss a thing. For the past week, as others had arrived, she and Evangeline had discovered that this spot in the gardens was the ideal place to get a first look at who was in attendance before being noticed themselves.

“No engaging prospects today, M’lady,” Evangeline sighed.

“Agreed. How disappointing to discover the nobility of England is all so…homely.”

“And old!”

The pair giggled like a couple of conspiratorial girls, which was what they were, in effect. Though the Duchess had no immediate plans for marriage, she was always on the hunt for a new playmate to entertain in her playroom. Those in her duchy were plentiful, but tormenting a subject did not hold the same appeal as tormenting an equal. Here at court, she had hoped to find a few potential victims, but those hopes were diminishing daily.

“There was that beautiful young man attending the Duke of Persimmony,” Evangeline offered.

The Duchess wrinkled her nose. “Yes, but he was but a valet”. Hearing her own words, she patted Evangeline’s hand. “No offense.”

Evangeline tittered. “None taken, M’lady. With your permission then…”

The Duchess waved her hand. “Of course! By all means. Ravage the boy, as long as you promise to tell me all about it!” The girls giggled again as Evangeline adjusted her corset to make her chest more prominent.

“I shall share every scandalous det…”

The words died on Evangeline’s lips, as making an appearance on the patio was a man that demanded both her and the Duchess’s attention. He was older than they, perhaps by as much as a decade or two, but looked anything but old. Streaks of silver blended into the darkness of his hair along his temples and in his beard, but there was a hint of youthful mischief in the corners of his eyes that could be detected even from this distance.

“Who is that?” Evangeline whispered, though none were close enough to hear them speak.

“That is the newly appointed Duke of Maldenshire. The King granted him lands and a title as a reward for the many years spent as a Knight in the King’s service. Unlike most of these noble pretenders, that’s a man who has earned what he’s been given. He’s cultivated quite a reputation for both his skill in combat as well as for his looks.”

“I can certainly see why. He’s…breathtaking.”

The Duchess smirked. She was equally enamored with the Duke, but was far better at maintaining a poker face than her lady-in-waiting. “Yes, he is, and he would make for a wonderful conquest, don’t you think?”

Evangeline’s eyes grew wide at the idea. “Indeed he would! This…he…would be your crowning achievement, m’lady!”

The Duchess pursed her lips, imagining the Duke of Madlenshire bent over her spanking bench, his ass bright-red from one of her paddles. Or the sound of his mewling from behind a gag as she teased his cock unmercifully. So lost was she in these daydreams of sexual domination that she failed to notice that not only had the Duke spotted them, but that he had descended from the patio and was headed their way.

“M’lady!” Evangeline hissed. “He’s approaching!” She fidgeted, visibly undone by the imposing gentleman striding with a purpose in their direction.

The Duchess composed herself quickly. She was no amateur in the game of sexual conquest. Temptation was her sword, detachment was her shield, and she wielded both to great effect. She was youthful, unmarried, beautiful, rich, powerful…the superlatives in her favor when on and on. There wasn’t a man alive outside of the clergy that did not desire her, and she was pretty sure she could tempt most of them as well. Yes, the Duke was formidable in appearance, but she knew her value, and more importantly, she knew how to win at this game each and every time.

The Duke stopped before them. No valet stood by his side. “Good afternoon. Please allow me to introduce myself. I am Eamon Cross, retired Knight of the Realm, now Duke of Maldenshire,” he said, bowing formally at the waist.

Evangeline rose to her feet, eager to fulfill her duties. “M’lord, allow me to present Miriam Gould, Duchess of Fultingham.” The Duchess did not rise, but instead offered her hand, upon the back of which the Duke gently place a kiss, as was proper etiquette. She was about to open her mouth to reply, but the Duke then broke protocol by turning his attention to Evangeline.

“And you are?”

Evangeline blushed hard and looked to her mistress for guidance. The Duchess gave an almost imperceptible nod of her head. “I….I am Evangeline, lady-in-waiting to the Duchess.” As before, the Duke took Evangeline’s hand and placed a kiss upon it, which was highly a breach of etiquette.

“I am pleased to meet you both,” the Duke said. “May I join you?”

The Duchess was none too pleased with the new Duke’s lack of social graces. First, no valet, and then this treating she and her lady-in-waiting like equals. She would remind him of this when she was squeezing his balls in her fist. Rising to her feet, she said, “Actually, we were just heading back inside. I’d like to lie down a bit before the evening’s festivities."

If the Duke was rebuked, he did not show it. His eyes, which were either blue or green, depending on how the light struck them, still held that hint of mischief. “Of course. I will see you at the banquet then?”

“Perhaps,” the Duchess said. Without a word of parting she headed back to towards the palace. Evangeline mumbled a brief good bye to the Duke before hurrying to join her.

“Do you believe the insolence?” the Duchess cried when they were out of earshot. “Do they not teach manners to Knights?”

Evangeline blushed again. “Yes, m’lady...but still...he’s quite dashing.”

The Duchess grinned in spite of herself. “I know. He really is, isn’t he?”

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At the banquet later that evening, the Duchess reviewed the plan of attack with Evangeline one more time. They had their own table that they shared with other members of the Duchess’s entourage that had traveled to court, but the Duchess spoke only to Evangeline who was closest to her in age and as much of a friend as she had in this world.

“Now remember, when the Duke of Maldenshire asks me to dance, I will refuse, telling him that I’ve promised all my dances to another. He will of course be jealous, his evening ruined, and as I’m dancing with whichever lucky gentleman asks me next, I want you to keep an eye on the Duke and let me know when he exits the banquet.”

“Then will I be free to dance with the Duke of Persimmony’s valet?”

“Yes, then the rest of the night is yours, to do as you wish!”

As the meal concluded and the musicians switched from dining music to dancing music, all around the great hall men were asking ladies to join them on the dance floor. The Duchess politely refused several requests, biding her time to enact her plan. She noticed Evangeline giving hand signals to the Duke of Persimmony’s valet, who looked as impatient as she to join her on the dance floor. “Your boy is an eager one, is he not?” The Duchess giggled. “He has no idea how you plan on devouring him.”

Evangeline chuckled, but she was anxious for her own night to begin. “Where is the Duke?”

The Duchess did not know, and the longer he made her wait, the more foolish she felt for sitting here alone while others were enjoying the festivities of court. As she was pondering whether or not this plan would work at all, the Duke emerged from the crowd, resplendent in his formal attire and looking very much the epitome of nobility. He stood before the Duchess. “Will you join me in a dance, m’lady?” he asked, extending her a hand.

She smiled up at him and said, “I’m flattered, m’lord, but I’m afraid I’ve promised all my dances this evening to another.” The Duke was late for his cue, but the plan would work in the end.

Without missing a beat, the Duke turned to Evangeline. “And how about you?” he asked, his hand still extended.

Evangeline was speechless. This was highly irregular, and flat out insulting to her mistress. “I don’t think…”

“She would be honored, wouldn’t you, Evangeline.” The Duchess cut her off. She was seething inside, but refused to give the Duke even a hint of satisfaction. “Go and dance with the Duke. I’ll be out there shortly myself, and now you won’t have to sit alone.”

The Duchess’ lady-in-waiting was at a loss, but did as she was told. As both the Duchess and the valet to the Duke of Persimmony looked on, flabbergasted, Evangeline was escorted onto the dance floor by the Duke. A moment later, he was turning and spinning her with ease, and despite bizarre circumstances, the sounds of her unmistakably delighted laughter could be heard above the instruments in the hall.

The Duchess bit her bottom lip, hard. This was NOT the plan, and every moment she sat here, she felt the fool. Having already refused so many dance partners earlier in the evening, there was no one approaching her now. Her plans to wait were backfiring greatly.

Thankfully, a portly Earl who was old enough to be her grandfather and who had consumed enough wine not to care what his wife thought finally asked her to dance. She accepted at once, kicking herself for allowing the Duke to think that THIS was the man to whom she’d promised all her dances, but even this part of her plan soon when awry. As she struggled to maneuver her elderly dance partner into a position where the Duke and Evangeline would have no choice to but to see them, the Duke shocked her once again by leading Evangeline off the dance floor and out of the banquet hall.

Furious, the Duchess concocted a flimsy excuse about having a headache and exited the banquet hall shortly thereafter, retreating to her chambers to await the return of Evangeline.

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Evangeline did not return until the following morning. The Duchess has waited up most of the night, but eventually sleep overtook her, and it wasn’t until Evangeline was gently rocking her shoulders that she was aware her lady-in-waiting had returned.

The Duchess was no longer furious. Her plans to manipulate the Duke had backfired, but already she was preparing a new attack. As skilled as she was in the arts of sexual war, Evangeline was no slouch herself, and if the Duke had seduced that easily, he was indeed a formidable foe. Any anger she felt at the events of the evening had been replaced by a desire to know her enemy better, and in this, Evangeline could provide invaluable information.

“M’lady, allow me to ap…”

“Never mind that. You did nothing wrong. Who you share a bed with is your decision. I care only that you are all right.” That wasn’t all that the Duchess cared about, but the rest would come in time.

Seeing that her mistress was not angry, Evangeline quickly became the pinnacle of happiness, eager to share her good fortune with her noble confidant. “I’m more than all right, m’lady. I can’t remember the last time I felt this right!”

The Duchess felt a flash of jealousy that she quickly extinguished. After all, the Duke has asked her to dance first, so this euphoria could easily have been hers to share, had she been willing to play the Duke’s game instead of her own. “That’s wonderful to hear. You realize you are obligated to share every detail with me, of course.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Evangeline giggled. “So, we started to dance…”

The Duchess waved her ahead. “Skip to the part where he cast this spell of happiness over you.”

Evangeline blushed and continued. “Well, I suppose it started right away. You already know I think he’s ridiculously handsome, and dancing with him and being held by him only added to that effect. He’s so confident…he’s like you in many ways…so self-assured. So when he invited me to grab some air, I accepted.” She paused, waiting to see if her mistress was getting impatient, and when she saw that the Duchess was listening intently to every detail, she continued. “On the balcony, he touched me, and kissed me, and I swear he had me swooning. I knew it was wrong, but I didn’t want him to stop…He took me back to his suite. I was powerless to refuse him. He undressed me, and my goodness, that was the most sensual thing that’s ever been done to me. I felt like a gift that he was unwrapping, and when he had me undressed, he led me to a column in his bedchamber…And that’s when I found out he was more like you than either of us knew. He tied me to the pillar, my wrists high over my head, and more ropes around my hips. I let him, willingly.”

At this news, the Duchess found herself leaning forward, hanging on every word. The Duke was kinky as well, which might work in her favor when the time came to dominate him. “Continue.”

“He place a cloth around my eyes. There I was, naked, lashed to this post, unable to see, and that’s when he began to touch me.” Evangeline erupted in a flurry of giggles at the memory. “Or should I say, that’s when he began to tickle me.”

“Tickle you?”

“Oh yes, and it was heavenly torture. I laughed and screamed and wriggled, but there was no escaping his touch, tied as I was. And he was thorough, dancing his fingers all over me; discovering sensitive spots on my body that I had no idea were so ticklish. And all the while, he’s telling me how delicious I look, and how wonderfully ticklish I am, and how he’s going to torture me all night if I don’t beg him to use me.”

The Duchess felt those pangs of jealousy again, and along with them, distant memories of being tickled as a child by her father, the Duke. She’s always loved it, being chased, being caught, being helpless to fight off the tickles her father would inevitably give her. These were cherished memories, but she’d never associated them with sexual domination, until now. Much like whipping her playthings and denying them orgasm was a form of power, she could at once see how tickling could be used in this same manner. “And did you?”

“Oh yes!!! I begged and begged, and still he did not show me mercy. Honestly, I was okay with that. I’ve never been tickled like that before, but it was such an unbelievable experience, I wasn’t sure I ever wanted him to stop. So when he finally did use me, I was beyond ready.”

The Duchess found the details of Evangeline’s evening highly intoxicating. For the first time since having laid eyes on the Duke, she was thinking not of what it might be like to have him as her toy in her playroom, but the other way around, to be at his mercy for tickle torture. She pictured herself in Evangeline’s place, wondering if she too would experience that sexual desire from being tied and tickled. Given the hardness of her nipples and the hint of wetness between her legs from simply listening to Evangeline's recount, she suspected she already knew the answer.

“So he took you like that, tied to the post?”

Evangeline blushed again, this time more deeply. “No. How I wished he would have though. I begged him to, like a whore. But he said he was saving his cock for another.” The Duchess flushed an unfamiliar shade of pink at these words. “But he didn’t leave me disappointed. The man has magic hands, m’lady. He touched me, here,” she said, pointing between her legs, “and made me scream in pleasure like no cock ever has. And the worst part of it all…or maybe the best part…is that he tickled me the entire time he used his fingers to satisfy me. And he satisfied me…a lot. Don’t ask me how many times, because I can’t honestly say.”

The Duchess was lost in her own imagination, once again wondering how she might react to this treatment from the Duke. Wondering if she had accepting his dance offer, if it would have been her tied to his post and tickled and made to scream with pleasure. Wondering if it was she for whom he was saving his cock, and what it might feel like to be bound, fucked, and tickled all at the same time.

Evangeline slumped over onto the bed beside her mistress. “I’m ruined now. I don’t know if I’ll ever be satisfied this way again. The Duke has set the bar too high for other men.”

The Duchess snapped out of her daydream. “What about your conquest of the Duke of Persimmony’s valet?”

Evangeline shrugged. “Yes. I suppose that will be fun. But all I want now is to be tied up and tickled and pushed beyond my limits again.” She threw an arm over her eyes. “Damn that Duke.”

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That afternoon, the Duchess sat in the shade of the royal gardens, alone. Evangeline was in need of recuperation, so with her mistress’ permission, she was resting in bed instead of by her side as usual.

The Duchess found herself at a crossroads. Never before had she been so conflicted over a man. They had always been viewed as playthings, as conquests, and the Duke of Maldenshire was no different. Except he was different. He was like herself in so many ways; a master of seduction, and a lover of domination. She’d never found herself face to face with someone of such equal footing. The urge to dominate him remained strong, but the urged to be dominated BY him was suddenly in the forefront of her thoughts.

What had happened to Evangeline would not have happened to her last night; she’d never have allowed it. In her need to be in control, she would have refused him at some point as she did when he invited her to dance. She wouldn’t have left the ballroom with him, or returned to his chambers, or allowed him to undress and bind her like a…plaything. She would have put a halt to things at any one of those points and denied herself the experience that had so wonderfully wrecked her lady-in-waiting. Her desire to be the one in control would…nay, it had…robbed her of an experience that might change her life. It had certainly changed Evangeline’s, and given how alike they were…

And yet, was this exactly what he wanted her to think? Was his seduction and domination of Evangeline all just parts of a plan to seduce her? Was he playing the same sort of mental games on her that she did on others, and was it working?

Among the Duke’s other alleged talents, his ability to arrive when the Duchess was most off her game appeared to be one of them. As she mentally wrestled with her inner dilemma, he approached where she was sitting. “M’lady, may I join you?”

“If it pleases you,” she said, trying to recapture the haughtiness she felt yesterday and finding it lacking. She DID want him to join her, but she was still unsure to what end.

He sat beside her, his muscular form apparent under his well-tailored clothes. The Duke was not much on protocol, but he knew how to look his best at all times. “Thank you. I noticed Evangeline is not with you. Is she all right?” The ever-present mischievous hint in the corners of his eyes did not give away if he was being sincere or testing how much her lady-in-waiting had shared.

“Yes, she’s just resting. She’s not used to so much…dancing. This is our first visit to court.”

The Duke played along. “Yes, well she danced beautifully. I do apologize for keeping her from you all night. I quite enjoyed her company.”

The Duchess resisted the urge to bristle. The Duke was testing her. She refused to let him win. “No apologies necessary. I’m certain she’ll be in attendance again tonight, so you’ll be free to enjoy her company all you like. She’s very easily captivated. You are a Duke, after all.” She knew that Evangeline was NOT easily captivated and that the Duke had enthralled her like no one before, but she did not feel it necessary to be entirely truthful about that bit of information.

“Oh, Evangeline is lovely, but I won’t be spending time with her again. Will all due respect, I prefer the ladies I….ahem, dance with...to be a little more challenging. As you said, being a Duke takes all the sport out of finding worthy dance partners.”

“Unless you are dancing with someone at your own level.”

“Exactly, which is why I asked you to dance and not her.”

The Duchess had been mulling over that very point for hours now. “Indeed. And what makes you think I would enjoy dancing with you the way Evangeline did? I’m not so easily impressed by titles.”

“No, I imagine you are not. But I also imagine that a woman of your station, and of your beauty, also tires of dancing with those who she does not consider her equal.”

The Duchess did not blush, having been complimented enough in her lifetime to not be so easily manipulated. “M’lord, I do not believe we enjoy the same kind of dancing.” Her words lacked conviction, and she knew that he knew it as soon as they were past her lips.

“Can you be so sure? I do believe this was Evangeline’s first time dancing my kind of dance, and she certainly seemed to enjoy it.” The Duchess dare not tell him just how much of an understatement that was. At the same time, he was echoing her thoughts. Would she enjoy it? She was almost certain she would. But if she did, where would that leave her in the game of sexual conquest? It would leave her as the conquered, and that thought terrified her.

“Yes, I’m certain she did,” the Duchess said, feigning ignorance. “But Evangeline has less to risk in trying out new dances.“

“Very little that is worth having comes without risk.” He stood up. “I shall ask you to dance again this evening. Please consider accepting this time.”

The Duchess opened her mouth, but she had nothing witty at the ready for a retort. The Duke bowed and departed, leaving her alone in the garden to wonder what she was going to do, knowing exactly what would happen if she were to say yes.

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Evangeline was by her side again at the banquet that evening, fully recovered from the previous evening’s events. They did not talk much; there was no elaborate scheme in place. The Duchess was waiting for the Duke’s invitation to dance, and then she would decide whether or not to accept.

The valet to the Duke of Persimmony wasted no time in asking Evangeline to dance. She politely accepted, but her heart wasn’t in it like before. It was going to take her some time to mentally find that place again where she longed to be in control. The valet had no idea how lucky he was.

The Duke did not make her wait as he had the previous evening. He stood before the Duchess, proud and regal and dashing as always, and offered her his hand. She looked up at him, that fateful moment of truth, and gave him her hand in return.

They moved onto the dance floor, his hands always in contact with her. She was always highly aware of where his hands were, whether clasped in her own, and placed along her waist. She did not dance often, as being a woman, she was not allowed to lead, and thus this was not an effective way to seduce prey, but he guided her effortlessly. Apparently, Knights of the Realm are trained how to dance. He spun her. He dipped her. He pulled her close and pushed her away. He waggled his eyebrows at her when their faces drew close, making her burst out in giggles. He was much larger and stronger than she, and he manipulated her easily, almost like a child, and she found herself loving the freedom that came with being led by him. Her pulse was racing and her cheeks were flushed when he spun her around, placing his lips behind her ear and asked if she would like to get some air. She said yes without hesitation.

Outside, in the night air under a blanket of stars, he held her from behind. She leaned into him, reveling in how small she felt next to his imposing frame. Beauty and the Beast, except this beast was both charming and handsome. His hands encircled her, touching her over her gown, giving her a taste of what might happen if she let him continue. His lips found her neck, and she gurgled with pleasure, the fine hairs of his beard tickling just below her ear. “This is what it feels like to swoon,” she thought to herself. She was lost in the moment, keenly aware of every spot his lips and his fingers touched, but completely unaware of the world around her. A crowd of onlookers could have been watching, and she would not have known. Or cared.

“Come to my chambers,” he whispered.

“Yes,” she breathed, willing to agree to anything he asked at this point.

Her arm in his, with her heart pounding in her breast, he led her back to his suite. It was not too late to turn back, to put a stop to this, and maybe even to eventually turn the tables on the Duke, but those thoughts were nonexistent. Instead, she envisioned being stripped. Being bound. And being dominated.

Back in his chambers, with the doors closed and locked, he turned his attention to her. Taking her face in his hands, he kissed her deeply, so much that her knees threatened to give way. He detached his lips from her far too soon. “Take off your clothes.”

She was confused. Evangeline had said that he had stripped her, and that it was one of the most sensual experiences of her life. Why was he changing the script? “But…”

“Don’t question me! Do it.”

The Duchess was shocked. No one had ever dared speak to her that way, and she expected to be outraged. Except she wasn’t. The switch in her head was fully thrown. Her need to be dominated was overwhelming, and this commanding tone of his voice only added fuel to that fire. “Yes, m’lord,” she said weakly, and proceeded to comply without another word.

She stood in his bedchamber, slowly undressing herself, peeling always all the layers of protection left to her, while he sat in a chair beside the bed and watched. It was humiliating, but in a very erotic way, as when she was finally fully bared before him, still fully dressed, it was clear that he was in charge, and she was the…plaything. She felt small. Vulnerable. Exposed. And he seemed more intimidating than ever.

“Shall I stand by the post?” she asked, finally revealing that she was fully aware of everything that had taken place between the Duke an Evangeline.

He smiled, that mischievousness playing in the corners of his eyes as always. “No. I have something better in store for you.”

He approached her long enough to pull away all her discarded clothes from where they puddled at her feet, leaving her standing utterly alone and unmasked. Gone was her physical protection, but also gone was her shield of detachment. He had disarmed her without much of a fight, and here she stood, his willing plaything, ready to accept whatever he had planned for her. Not just ready to accept it…craving it.

He returned with a trunk, carrying it easily as though it were a tray of sweet, and dropped it heavily to the floor. From it he withdrew a narrow, multi-tiered leather bench with wooden legs on hinges, and when he opened those hinges, it was revealed to be something very much like her own spanking bench back in her playroom. There were even anchor points for wrists and ankles.

He pulled four cuffs from the trunk. Without a word, he placed them on her wrists and ankles. She stood silently, afraid to ask questions, instead just reveling in how surreal this scene was. It was upside down. Backwards. She was supposed to be him, and he was supposed to be her. But here she was, the plaything, getting ready to be played with.

When her cuffs were on tight, he ordered her to lie on the bench. She obeyed without question. The leather was cold on her breasts and stomach, and she flinched at the initial contact, but she didn’t not rise or complain. There were lower leather rails for her knees and shin, and it was rather comfortable to straddle the bench in that position. He cuffed her wrists to the front legs, and her ankles to the ends of the lower rails, and there she knelt, her ass, pussy, and feet all facing him, while she faced the opposite direction.

It was the first time she’d been tied, and strangely, she didn’t mind it one bit. The circumstances might have had something to do with that. That so much of her was exposed in this position of helplessness heightened the moment. She imagined that he must be contemplating all these vulnerable spots on her body, trying to decide where to torment her first. There was a wetness between her legs that he could not help but notice from his vantage point.

He surprised her next by roughly shoving a wad of cloth into her mouth and then using another to tie around her head to hold it in place. She’d gagged many a plaything in this manner, but it was entirely different to be the one who was gagged. No longer could she protest. No longer could she beg. He’d taken away any chance she had for asking for relief or mercy. The wetness between her legs intensified.

Another strip of cloth was wrapped across her eyes, taking away her vision. Her helplessness was complete now, unless he decided to plug her ears and nostrils. A hood was thrown over her head and tightened around her neck, making it difficult by not impossible to breath. She would have considered all these acts unnecessary and over the top if she did not employ the very same tactics herself. This is how playthings are treated, and being treated in this way is part of what they love, as she was coming to find out.

The surface of the bench upon which her torso lay was narrow enough that her curvaceous breasts dangled down on either side. This was intentional, as she soon found out, because the Duke took a moment to make sure each nipple was at the peak of hardness by rolling it between his fingers before attaching weights to them. She tried to buck and protest, but a strap across her lower back held her firmly down in place. There was a pain in her nipples as they were held fully engorged and forced to suspend weights, but it was an electrifying pain that shots pleasure signals right down between her legs. She ground her hips into the bench, desperate for some attention back there.

The Duke wasn’t quite done prepping her yet though. Missed during her initial observation of this expanding bondage apparatus to which she found herself secured were tiny eyelets down under the shin rails in the back. Using some kind of thin leather or twine, the Duke secured her big toes to these anchor points, which in conjunction the cuffs around her ankles, left her feet completely immobile. She couldn’t even scrunch her toes.

“My goodness….what have I gotten myself into?” She thought again about the story Evangeline shared, about how he tickled until she begged to be used, and then he tickled her more, and then continued to do so while he forced her to orgasm repeatedly. Is that what he was going to do to her? Is that ALL he was going to do to her, a woman he considered a worthy conquest? The humiliating undressing and the nipple weights suggested otherwise.

She found out almost at once how right she was. The unmistakable sound of a switch cut through the air. “Please be ready for this…please be ready for this…” she repeated to herself over and over in her head.

“Welcome to my dance, Miriam,” he said, dropping the pretense of formalities. Playthings don’t deserve fancy titles. “Congratulations on accepting the risk. Now, let’s find out if the reward was worth it.”

The switch cracked a line across the sole of her left foot. She screeched in pain through her stuffed mouth and hood, and she fought to escape, but there was literally zero movement of his caning target. Another blow landing across her other foot, equally painful. Her feet were soft and pampered, as befitted her station, and were like exposed nerves to the effects of the switch.

Tears sprang into her eyes as he continued to cane one foot, and then the other. The stinging went from painful to excruciating after only a few blows. Struggling was instinctual, even as she knew it was useless. Yet in spite of the pain radiating up from the soles of her feet, her desire to be his plaything never wavered. If anything, it intensified. “Playthings need to be hurt. Playthings need to be punished.” How many times had she said that to her toys? And now she knew she was right all along. Every blow of the switch hurt like the sting of many bees, but she welcomed it and anticipated the next one eagerly.

He played mind games with her by switching to dragging his fingernails up and down her feet. This was a fresh new hell, one that tickled as much as it hurt on her swollen and sensitive soles. She bucked on the bench hard enough to make the entire apparatus hop, but there was no relief for her feet from his fingernails. Those tiny leashes around her big toes turned out to be incredibly effective in keeping her soles taught and still for him to torture. Screams of agony mingled with screams of laughter, thought it all came out garbled and muffled. She was beside herself.

The Duchess quickly discovered the meaning of tickle torture. Evangeline hadn't emphasized the torturous part enough, for if she had, different decisions might have been made this evening. The bottoms of her sensitive feet were unbearably ticklish, and the Duke, who clearly had a skill for this particular form of torture, was unmerciful and relentless in his fingernail attack. She ached for relief from those wicked nails almost as much as she ached to be touched between her legs. Inexplicably, the more he tickled her feet, and the more her frantic need for him to stop tickling her grew, the more her pussy ached for attention. Why knew ticking could lead to such heightened arousal? Maybe that's why Evangeline had called it 'heavenly torture'.

The Duke knew what he was doing. Sensing that she was nearing stimulation overload, he switched tactics yet again, giving her a taste of what Evangeline had described as his magic hands. One hand continued to lightly tickle along the bottoms of her feet, while the other massaged her pussy with a purpose. It didn’t take much to have her cumming hard into his hand, despite (or perhaps because of) the nails continuing to tease her soles. She moaned long and loud at the release, trembling violently on the bench as she came. Her hooded head slumped, thankful for that release that had been so needed.

The Duke was not done with her. She felt her ass cheeks being parted, and something cold and viscous being fingered into her tight anus. The strap along her back held her in place, unable to wiggle away from this new torment, but soon the finger was gone, leaving behind a very slick and slippery empty tunnel. It did not remain empty for long, however, as the Duke corkscrewed something phallic into her bottom, which she had no choice but to accept. It filled her in a strange but satisfying way, and the stretching hurt but in that same good way the cane had hurt. As in only being a top, she was learning so many new ways in which her body could process pleasure. In what other ways could this magnificent man deliver her pleasure?

The answer was more pain. The switch was back, this time across her ass. As before, she was unable to move, stuck firmly in place to receive every blow. Though she cried out each time the switch landed, feeling a fresh new burn that would likely rob her of the ability to sit for many hours if not more, she found herself relishing the stings. The Duke had unlocked so much hidden away inside her, including a love of being beaten like a disobedient slave. These blows hurt different than those across the soles of her feet, where the nerve endings were far more pronounced. These hurt in a satisfying, hit-me-harder kind of way, and had the benefit of being in close proximity to her soaked pussy as well. She didn’t know how many blows he rained down on her ass, but by the time he was done, she was primed for more of his magic hands.

The Duke was not one who followed a predictable script, however. While she mewled through her gag like a bitch in heat, needing sexual release in the worst kind of way, the Duke denied her the pleasure of his hand. Instead, her world was filled by the unmistakable feeling of a massive cock entering her pussy. The Duchess eyes rolled back in her head. Nothing had ever felt so good or so right. All the pain was instantly forgotten the moment he claimed her as his own. She wanted to buck into him, but as ever, she was as unable to move. She was his plaything, to use as he wished.

He pumped his hips into her, and she came almost immediately. Whatever Evangeline felt, she hadn’t felt this, and the part of the Duchess that still clung to reality was supremely delighted by that fact. This was hers, or rather, she was his.

Her achieving orgasm did not stop the Duke. He continued to use her body as his personal fuck toy. But he wasn’t done torturing her yet. Instead of using her hips for leverage, his fingers found her waist and hips, digging into to tickle her while he fucked. The Duchess screamed and thrashed, caught between the unbelievable pleasure between her legs and the unbearable torture along her sides. She was in the place where Heaven and Hell conjoined, trapped in paradise and purgatory at the same time. Like a flickering candle, her body spasmed between trying to escape and trying to milk his cock. Coherent thoughts became impossible. She became nothing more than a primal creature, unable to think but instead consumed only with the instincts of both survival and mating.

Among the Duke’s many other talents, he was a good lay. His hips moved in a controlled, rhythmic manner, neither hurried nor spastic. Through a mixture of a disciplined mind and body, he was able to hold back his own orgasm, and let it build up. Ten minutes passed. Then twenty. The Duchess had never been with a man who had so thoroughly conquered her mind and body. Euphoric was not a strong enough word to describe what she was feeling. When the Duke noticed she began to tire from all the rib and waist tickling, he reached back to tickle her feet again. Thirty minutes passed. When she was beyond the ability to make any noise other than incoherent, tortured moans, and her pussy had convulsed in orgasm around his cock six or maybe seven more times, and her thighs were soaked with the all the juices she had leaked, he finally unleashed his own powerful orgasm into her aching womanhood. She barely registered this happening.

The Duke had been too much for her, this time, but she would develop more of a tolerance over time, if he would have her.

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The Duchess awoke in the Duke’s bed. He was lying beside her, sleeping softly while holding her. She dared not move and wake him, but instead took those quiet moments to revisit what had happened to her.

Her body ached all over, both from the beatings and from the struggling, and her pussy was sore like she’d never felt before. Gingerly, she reached behind herself to feel the raw flesh of her bottom and discovered the plug was still in her ass. She didn’t mind, nor did she think she would be able to remove it without his help.

Her nipples also tingled, as those weights had been unmerciful in pulling on them without any relief. Her jaw ached from biting down on the cloth gag. Her wrists and ankles ached from pulling in the cuffs. “All these pains will fade,” she thought to herself. “But the memories of this evening will last a lifetime.”

Tentatively, she reached down under the sheet to touch the penis that had rocked her world. She wanted to see it, to be sure it was real. It began to twitch as she touched it, and so she continued to do so, hoping to awaken it fully from its slumber. As it began to rise, the Duke’s eyes fluttered open, and he was instantly aware of what was going on. “Haven’t had enough yet, Miriam?”

She giggled, flushing from head to toe despite all the soreness and aches and pains. “I’m a pathetic, needy plaything, m’lord”.

He chuckled, throwing back the sheets to reveal his muscular and battle-scarred body, fully nude like hers. Her hand succeeded in bringing him to the point of full arousal. “Indeed you are. Well then, get your breakfast, plaything.”

The Duchess purred. “Aye, m’lord,” she said, slithering her way down his torso, aching jaws be damned.

A true masterpiece. Very well done

This was absolutely incredible!

I do love this story! But I may be a bit bias ��