Morgana's Mansion: A Tickle Horror-Comedy

[oneortheother]

Morgana's Mansion: A Tickle Horror-Comedy, Part 1

In 1717:

“Morgana Lafey, we sentence you to death for the crime of being a witch,” said Judge Wilcox, who was stern and austere in his powdered wig.

“Oh, come on,” Morgana said, throwing up her hands, “just because I’m not very nice doesn’t mean I deserve to die.”

“Being a witch, not being a bitch,” said Judge Jane, who had her lips pursed in perpetual disapproval, “though if that were a crime, you’d be just as guilty.” She tossed her greying hair back and smiled thinly at Morgana.

The audience chamber ooohed at that.

“That’s not what your husband said to me last night,” Morgana shot back. “Then again, it’s a miracle he hasn’t hanged himself being married to a shrew like you.” With the two women standing so close to each other in the crowded courthouse, there was a rather powerful juxtaposition between the two. Morgana had skin of alabaster, striking green eyes, and long straight brown hair. Her eyes would occasionally glow yellow, but they were lovely most of the time. Judge Jane was an older, chunkier woman with more than a few grey hairs. However, her eyes were brown and rarely looked like the ones Satan might have, so she did have that in her favour.

Judge Jane looked like she wanted to spit at Morgana’s words, but before she could throw an insult back at Morgana, Judge Wilcox banged his gavel down repeatedly to quell the noise.

“Guards, take this woman away.”

“Wait, wait!” Morgana raised up her hands. She had thin arms, with fingers that were long and painted black. “What makes you think I’m a witch? What evidence do you have? Aside from my fact I had a mother who was stupid enough to name me after one of the most famous witches in history.”

“You just badmouthed your mother!” Judge Jane said. “Do you have no respect for your parents? A clear sign of an impure and tainted your soul!”

“You’re joking me. Outside the courthouse, you called me a ‘motherfucking harlot’.”

“A figure of speech. And I don’t doubt the fact you are a lewd and indecent woman.”

“And that’s my crime? Then again, your mother was a whore, so I could see how you could judge me from all the way up there.”

“Slander! People of the court, do we really want such a person in our fine town of Melas?”

There were murmurs of “no!” and “burn the witch!” but many people remained silent, particularly many of the men.

“I don’t really mind,” said the local Blacksmith. “She’s aight.”

“Cheers, darling,” said Morgana, winking at him, “if I get out of this with my head, I’ll pay you a visit.”

“Do you see?” Judge Jane shouted. “Such wanton behaviour!”

“I meant as a customer! He makes the best bondage equipment. He’s hooked me up with chains, stocks, handcuffs… I’m not really helping my case, am I?”

“Alright, enough of this mummer’s farce,” Judge Wilcox said, banging his gavel again. “All those who think she’s innocent of her crimes, raise your hands.”

About half of the court raised their hands.

“You’re joking me!” Judge Jane said. “Is she sleeping with all of you?”

“How would I have time? I’m spending every other night with that husband of yours.”

Judge Wilcox rubbed his eyes. “Good people of the court, could you explain your views to us?”

“She’s quite a good laugh,” said the local gravedigger. “And she’s good for business.”

“She’s great for sales on silver weaponry,” said the local weapons dealer. “And she’s easy on the eyes.”

“Garlic sales have gone up tenfold since she moved in,” said the greengrocer. “And she’s a nice butt.”

“Thanks, guys. Superstitious misconceptions for the win! Fyi, I’m a witch, not a vampire or werewolf.”

“Look at her, speaking freely of such dark knowledge!” Judge Jane pointed out.

“Don’t you start with that,” Morgana said. “Do you have any hard evidence against me? And don’t you dare make an erection joke.”

“I wasn’t going to! We have a witness.” Judge Jane beckoned, and a young, blonde-haired woman stepped forward.

“Oh, hey, wassup girl!” Morgana said. “That was some fun we had, huh?”

“Fun?” the blonde said. “You summoned vines, spirits, and imps, to tickle me!”

“Hey, they were succubi, not imps!” Morgana scratched the back of her head as all the eyes of the court turned to her. “Oh, that doesn’t really help my case, does it?”

“Nope.”

“She’s one eyewitness!” Morgana insisted. “I question her testimony! Objection, objection! Can’t we get 18th century CSI on this or something?”

“Who do you think you are, some kind of Ace Attorney?” Judge Wilcox said, “alright, all those in favour of executing the witch, raise your hands.”

About half the court raised their hands.

“Seems to be a tie,” Morgana said, with a smug smile playing across her full lips.

“That’s fine,” Judge Jane said. “Judge Wilcox likes to get some audience involvement, but this isn’t some kind of poxy democracy. All those whose votes matter, raise their hands.” The two judges raised their hands. “Alright, Morganna, off you go. We sentence you to drowning. This might hurt a bit.”

“That’s what your husband said,” Morganna threw back as the guards hauled her out of the courthouse.

“You always need to get the last word, don’t you?” Judge Jane rolled her eyes. “Don’t you get tired?”

“That’s what he said, too.”

“Bye, Morgana, see you never again.” The guards quickly took her to the nearby river tied rocks around her ankles and tossed her in.

“Well, let’s hope we never see her again,” Judge Jane said.

“Yup,” Judge Wilcox said, “so, drinks and orgies at my place?”

O-O-O

Present day:

For three childhood girls who had looked so similar in their youth, they had turned out to be quite different now. They sat back in the lecture hall while the professor gave out instructions for the final journalism project they would need to do to graduate.

The first girl was Lee, who sat with her back straight as a bow, scribbling furiously down in her leather-bound note pad. She pushed up her horn-rimmed glasses, ignoring the murmurs of conversation going on around her. She wondering with distaste why so many of her classmates were so lazy? Didn’t they realise that a strong final year project could mean working at the New York Times and some local rag?

“Hey, want to work together on this project? You Asians always get A’s, right?” The speaker was a guy with gelled back hair, parental-rebellion hand and arm tattoo, and muscular look of the perennial academic unachiever.

For a moment, Lee wondered what about her appearance would incur such a dose of yellow fever. She had dressed as if she were going to an interview, with a white blouse, a black pencil skirt, black stockings, and brown oxfords.

“Sorry, Chad, she’s mine,” a familiar said from behind. Once she glimpsed the flamboyant blue hair, there was no mistaking who it could be. Janis, the second girl.

“Erm, my name’s not Chad…”

“Begone! Shoo!” Janis said, waving the guy away with blue-painted fingers bedecked with silver rings. With her heavy eyeshadow, dark clothing, black combat boots, and piercings, she was the kind of girl that could come across as intimidating. “Another guy trying to get into your group for the easy A, huh?

“I bet he had a D on his mind, actually…” Lee said, rolling her eyes. “Anyway, where’s Taylor?”

Janis waved a hand towards a crowd of ‘cool kids’ across the room. The third girl, Taylor sat with her long, tanned legs crossed, with a pink bejewelled flip flop dangling from the upper foot. Light glistened from her sparkling steely nail polish, her chunky silver toe rings, and her beaded anklet. She wore skinny jeans and a black crop top. It was no surprise that the buxom, blonde cheerleader who was also captain of the university tennis team would be popular. When Taylor caught them looking at her, she gave them a big smile and beckoned them to come over.

They shook their heads and asked her to come over. Taylor said a few more things to the group, giggled, and walked over. “Still too shy, huh? You don’t need to be so scared of them!”

“No, thank you,” Lee said.

“Not really my scene,” Janis said. “A bit too vanilla for me.”

Both girls looked at her.

“What?” Janis said. “You asked.”

“Have you guys given any thought to what topic you want to do for the project?” Lee asked as they sat down in a quieter corner of the room where they could discuss in private.

“Something scandalous and saucy, please,” Taylor said, faking an affected yawn. “If I have to type up another story on a lobster festival or something, I think I’ll go crazy.”

“You know, I’ve got something that might be suitable,” Janis said, “I heard a sort of folk tale, urban legend from my community.”

“Your fetish community?” Lee said with just a hint of disapproval.

“Oh, don’t give me that look.” Janis laughed. “We may all be a bunch of degenerates, but they know stuff.”

“What’s this story?” Taylor said, stroking her chin.

“A tale of witchcraft,” Janis said in a horror story voice, “of the paranormal, of a woman wrongly accused, and a possibly link to a mysterious death and disappearance just twenty years ago. And it’s almost certainly probably definitely a true story. Maybe. Possibly.”

O-O-O

“So, who was Morgana Lafey?” The three girls were chilling at Taylor’s favourite spa before they embarked on the gruelling five-hour road trip to Melas. They planned to spend a week in that small town gathering information on this story for their article.

“Well,” Janis said, zipping off her heavy black boots and pulling off her thick black socks, “she was supposed be some kind of freaky witch person. She apparently had her own cult of brainwashed followers.”

“That sounds cool,” Taylor said, slipping out of her flip flops. “I’m thinking gold today,” she said to the pedicurist. “It’s a rather auspicious colour, no? Symbolising victory, first place, wealth…”

“And vanity,” Lee said, dryly, as she rolled off her black stockings.

“Don’t be jelly because you’re too safe to do anything but red,” Taylor said with a playful smile on her face. She wiggled her long, thin feet that were tanned from her time at the beach. They were pretty well pampered from regular treatments, but coming to this salon had been more about enjoying the sensation of being spoiled for a day than anything more practical.

“Red is a lucky colour in Chinese culture, fyi,” Lee said, while her pedicurist dabbed crimson nail polish across her tiny toes. “Anyway, if this Morgana lady is ancient history, then, isn’t she? If this happened three hundred years ago, she would be.”

“Yeah, well, here’s the thing,” Janis said, smiling and biting on her lower lip as her pedicurist’s hand accidentally stroked along her high, pale arch. Her feet were chunkier, a bit wider along the arches, and pale, with bold azure toenails painted in the same flamboyant hue as her hair. “Weird murder disappearance case took place at her old manor a few years ago. That could be an interesting lead for us to follow.”

“How many years ago was this?” Lee asked.

“A couple,” Janis said. “Or maybe it was like twenty. I don’t quite remember.”

“I see,” Taylor said. “How did you find out about this weirdass story?”

“That’s a good question,” Janis said. “Well, I was deviantArt—”

“—just the website for a sexual deviant like you,” Taylor said with a giggle.

“Naturally. And I was reading this erotica about her. The author has a big boner for writing stories about historical figures and their colourful sex lives. You wouldn’t believe the story he wrote about Cleopatra.”

“Tmi, Jan, tmi,” Lee said, shaking her head and chuckling.

“Anyway, that’s how I know about her.”

“So, what’s our plan?” Lee asked.

“Drive there, book a nice hotel, and write the shit out of this article,” Taylor said.

“Yup,” Janis said. “I suggest we split up once we get there. One of us could head to the local library for research, one of us could see if we could speak to the woman involved in the murder case, and the last one could investigate this witch. She sounded pretty famous, so there might be some kind of museum or memorabilia shop about her.”

“Dibs on the libr—”. Lee suddenly wrenched her foot back from the pedicurist’s grasp. “Woah, go easy on the scrubbing! My feet are really ticklish.”

“Good to know,” Janis muttered.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“I’ll speak to the lady,” Taylor said. “No fofence, but I think I’ve got the best interpersonal skills out of us three. She’s the one whose boyfriend was found dead, right?”

“Fiancé, yeah,” Janis said. “Fyi, you might not want to start with ‘did you kill your boyfriend’, Miss Interpersonal Skills.”

“But did she?” Lee asked

“He died in highly mysterious circumstances… so who can say? And she was blathering like a madwoman afterwards. Who knows? She owns a small business, so I bet we’ll find her at her shop.”

“Alright, let’s do it,” Taylor said, she raised a hand as if making an invisible toast. “Here’s to everything going smoothly!”

“What fun would that be?” Janis said, grinning. “Here’s to hoping that many things go wrong, and we have an adventure worth talking about.”

“Are you trying to jinx us, Jan?” Lee said.

“Jinxing us would be saying ‘nothing could possibly go wrong’. Oh, look what you made me say! You cheeky girl!”

All three of them laughed.

“You know, I realised something,” Taylor said. “I’m like super ticklish all over. Wouldn’t it be ironic if this woman turned out to be some kind of tickle witch?”

“That’s not even close to what irony means,” Lee said.

“And what an odd thing to say,” Janis said as Taylor shrugged in response. “It’s almost like blatant foreshadowing, or we’re in some kind of fetish story.”

O-O-O

The Melas Public Library was run by a bulldog of a woman, a large, spectacled librarian who scowled and frowned at every noise. When Lee had make the disrespectful mistake of coughing, the librarian had tutted, shook her head, and pointed to the large sign hanging which read in bold red letters ‘SILENCE IS GOLDEN’.

Lee poured over a stack of newspaper albums that were as tall as she was—sure, she was only a shade over five foot, but it was still a lot of books to go through. She knew the curious case of the dead boyfriend and the traumatized girl had taken place around two years ago, but she couldn’t exactly remember when. To make matters worse, many of the albums had not been indexed properly, so she had to go through them manually, page by page, and book by book, to find what she was looking for.

About half an hour in, she found herself starting to fidget in her stiff wooden chair. It was not like her—before her finals, she had all but lived in libraries, studying for hours and hours at a time. Yet there was something about this dusty old librarian which made her feel restless. She kept reaching down to scratch itches, more than once untying her brown brogue oxford shoes to get at difficult spot. She wondered if she had somehow picked up fleas within her first day here at this small rural town.

A few more tingly minutes later, Lee finally hunted down a newspaper report which pertained to the bizarre homicide. The story talked about how the young couple, Adam Walker, age 23, and Cosette Collins, age 21, had gotten engaged a few weeks before this terrible tragedy.

As Lee flipped past a page showing Collins looking resplendent in the wedding dress she had planned to wear, she felt another tingle, this one bigger, firmer, a bit harder to ignore. She shifted her weight in her chair, chewing on her lower lip. It felt like something light was brushing her butt, almost, almost like a feather. But that was absurd. Had some insect somehow gotten down her skirt? She fidgeted a bit more, her chair creaking and squeaking on the wooden floor, which made the librarian looked up from her book to throw out another disapproving stare at her.

Lee screwed up her face and contemplated patting a hand down there, despite the fact she knew it was terribly uncouth and most certainly an unladylike thing to do. But the sensations were growing stronger now. It definitely felt like a feather, though Lee for the life of her could not have said why she was so sure. She only just barely choked down a chortle as the feather stroked along her butt cheeks, exploring the abundance of sensitive, ticklish skin beneath her panties.

She was imagining this, she must be, Lee told herself. She forced herself to stare down at the preserved newspapers. Collins was a pretty girl—thin with curly brown hair, and her husband was a strongly-built man dirty blonde locks that fell to his shoulders. They looked really happy in the picture. Had she really murdered him?

A snicker passed her lips as her stoic resolve cracked for a moment. That feather was not going away, continuing to stroke up and down her bum, especially in between her cheeks, where she had never imagined she would be so ticklish. She knew her small feet were sensitive, which was precisely why she always wore lace-up shoes to protect them, but her butt had been an area less frequented by cheeky friends. She tensed up her body as she tried to focus on the words, but when she felt a second feather suddenly flick across her inner thighs, she jolted upright and let loose a girly squeak.

“Excuse me, miss,” the librarian said. Lee’s attentions had been so focused on the book and controlling her own reactions that she hadn’t noticed the Librarian looming over her. “This is a library. If you want to giggle like a child and make so much noise, I suggest you leave.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Lee said. She forced herself to keep her face straight, but that was easier said than done when she had two feathers stroking away merrily at such vulnerable spots.

What was going on? Risking everything, she plunged a hand down her skirt, hoping to swat or pat away whatever pest that had gotten inside somehow. But there was nothing there but her own flesh. This didn’t make any sense. Had Janis spiked her lunch with acid for a laugh?

She told herself to keep going, that surely this bad trip would pass before long. She felt the feather at her thigh reach down to the back of her knees, which she had been jiggling to try to take her mind off what was happening. She reached a hand down quickly to slap at where the feather was, as if she were trying to catch a mosquito, but she caught nothing. She stared at the back of her knee incredulously, as she phantom sensations of a feather twirling along them continued unabated.

The next article talked about the strange circumstance of the man’s cause of death and the woman’s disappearance, which was exactly why Lee had come to this place. But her ability to concentrate was seriously starting to wane under the unrelenting assault of these feathers. As if reading her thoughts about how her feet were her bad spot, a new feather had somehow crept into her right shoe. She scrunched up her tiny toes, stomped her foot up and down to try to squash the invader, but it had no effect. Despite her shoes, despite her black nylon stockings, despite her best efforts, the feather had free rein to wander wherever it liked. It currently nestled in the nook between her two smallest toes, spinning away as Lee’s small hands balled up into fists that crinkled up the page she was holding.

“Focus, focus, focus…” Lee repeated under her breath. The engaged couple had decided to wander around the district looking for houses they could move into once they got married. Then, one foggy winter’s night, they had gone house hunting and not returned for two full days, in which the man had died from a heart attack and the woman had rambled incoherencies at the police station when they had picked her up on the curb, half-naked.

Lee felt half-naked to the feathers that were continuing to pester her body, especially as it seemed that her clothing offered her no more protection than bra and panties would. The feather at her bum had blessedly move on, but it was no victory as it had gone up towards her small, firm breasts. It slid across her chest in slow figure eights, circling the sides of her breasts, changing pace after each full ‘8’ to brush across her rapidly stiffening nipples. She didn’t dare look down to see if they were showing through her blouse—had Taylor spiked her with some kind of aphrodisiac? All the while, the feather at her foot continued twirling between each of her toes, one at a time, while the one at her thighs continued to drifting dangerously closer to her womanhood with every circuit across her legs.

Argh, it was just too much, too much, Lee thought with a rising panic as the feathers forced a permeant grimacing smile on her face. She whipped out her smartphone, took a few quick pictures so she could look at them later, then pushed up from her chair. She needed to get back to their hotel, needed to shower, needed to sleep this off.

“Aren’t you going to put those books back, miss?” the librarian called in a hard voice.

For a moment, lee wished she was the kind of person who could have just ignored the old woman and ran, but she had been raised by her family to be meek and respectful, so she ran back to the books on shaking legs, her lower lip trembling with laughter that was barely held in check.

But there were so many books, so many of those heavy albums. And Lee’s resistance was all but extinguished having been teased and tormented by these ghostly feathers for near on an hour. She was so focused on the feathers, especially the one at her soles, that she didn’t see where she was going and tripped. On the floor, the teasing feathers decided to stop being so nice and went full force. When they swept across her body, they multiplied, till it felt like dozens of feathers were tickling her everywhere and anywhere as she squealed and slapped at her body.

And then suddenly, it stopped. Her heart pounded hard in her chest as the frowning librarian looked over her, muttering something about “stoners” and “kids these days”. A small crowd had gathered around her. Blushing, Lee adjusted her glasses, murmured a quick apology, and ran as quickly as she could.

She could only hope those spectral feathers wouldn’t somehow follow her home. What was going on?

O-O-O

Janis wondered what kind of people would open a curio store about a woman like Morgana Lafey. She supposed it was like those shops she knew that existed for Jack the Ripper, Hitler, or other sinister yet fascinating figures of history.

“Howdy!” said the tall, dark-haired man behind the counter as she pushed the door of the shop open, which set a bell to lightly tinkling. He had had the easy smile of a lifelong salesman, and under his bow tie, he wore a name tag which read, 'Gale'. “Here to learn a bit about one of Melas's most infamous figures?”

“You betcha. Mind giving me a tour of your wares?”

“Sure thang. Excuse me while I call for my wife. She's the historian in the family. I just do the grunt work. Lola! Darling?”

“Yeah, hun?” Lola popped her head out of a storeroom. She looked to be about the same age as Gale--late thirties, perhaps. She had sandy hair, freckles, and large glasses with round frames.

“Give this little lady a tour, would ya?”

“Sure thing. You new in town?”

“Yeah, just here to write an article on Miss Lafey, in fact.”

“Righto,” Lola said with a warm smile. “Well, I’m happy to show you what I know. Just give us a shout-out in your article, okay? We’re a mom and pop business, so we’d really appreciate it.”

“No prob.”

“Great! Well, follow me.” Lola led her to a bookshelf with titles like ‘Morgana Lafey: Sorceress or Swindler?’, ‘Real Witches’, and ‘The Great Witch of Melas’. “Morgana Lafey was a strange lady. There’s so many conflicting stories about her that no one is quite sure who she was. But by all accounts, she was one fine-looking lady, and people flocked to her.”

“What do you mean they ‘flocked to her’?” Lanis asked as she picked up a little bobble-head figurine of Morgana.

“Well, some people say she was a cultist. She did the whole demon worship thing. But other sources have said she was basically like a hippie. But she had plenty of friends. Plenty of enemies, too.”

“How’d she die?”

“Judges sentenced her to drown. She drowned in a river not too far from her, in fact. We call it Morgana’s Lake.”

“Charming. You know, I have to say I’m not really understanding this part of the shop,” Janis said as she walked towards a corner which had racks of feathers, scrub brushes, rope, and other tools which bore a remarkable resemblance to what you might see at the BDSM section of a sex toy store.

“That’s a fine question, miss. Well, Morgana was somewhat of a revolutionary.”

“You’re kidding me. I thought she was a witch!”

“Well, it’s remarkable how those two threads coincide. One generation’s witch can be another generation’s feminist. Anyway, it’s not entirely clear why, but she revolutionised the torture industry.”

“Really? That’s not exactly what comes to mind when you say ‘revolutionary’.”

Lola shrugged. “Well, there are different kinds of revolutions. Anyway, Miss Lafey made friends with the local torturers in town, and she made all kinds of fuss. She had townfolk signing petition about how inquisitors suffered from so much stress because of the nature of their jobs, and how their clothes stank of blood, and stuff.”

“You’re joking.”

“They even started up a Torturer’s Union. What happened is they advocated—mainly Miss Lafey, really—for a new method of torture. Using tickling as a method of torture would reduce the mental stress associated.”

“Seriously? That’s my fetish.”

Lola gave a nervous chuckle. “I think it might have been Miss Lafey’s, too. After they successfully pushed this change through, she went and broke a bunch of laws just to get herself thrown in jail. The torture methods not only utterly failed to break her pride, but they seemed to have had a rather… titillating effect.”

“Nice.”

“Not really! Shortly afterwards, they had her tried on some other minor charges to cover up their embarrassment at being tricked. They were a prickly sort back then, easily offended.”

“So different from people nowadays,” Janis said, wanly. “Anyway, thanks for your help, Lola. I think I’ve learned enough. I’m gonna pick out a few books now.”

“Well… there is something else,” Lola said, averting her eyes. “We, erm, my husband and I, we could offer you an authentic witch experience. J-just because you’ve shown such an interest in Morgana Lafey! It could be really helpful for your article. Y’know, experiencing what it would really be liked to be tried. What do you say?”

“Hmmm.” Janis eyed the racks of implements she now recognised as obviously being tools of tickle torture. If she said yes, she was almost guaranteeing herself to being tickled silly. It was probably going to be a bit like that crazy Gimp scene in Pulp Fiction. “It’s sounds like a terrible idea. Let’s do it.”

Lola’s big brown eyes lit up. “Gale!” she called. “We got a taker!”

And in a flash, the store was closed, and Janis was led into a storeroom and strapped down to what Gale and Lola eagerly described as “an antique stockade”. For an antique, it had certainly been well-preserved as Janis’s ankles and wrists weren’t going anywhere. There were four padded holes in the stockade—the outer two bigger ones for her ankles and the two smaller inner ones for her wrists. Her body was slightly bent forward as the holes for her arms and legs were right next to each other in the same board of dark wood.

They stripped off her black boots and thick socks, cooing with relish at Janis’s freshly pedicured feet with those clean, shiny toenails.

“Well, well, witch, looks like you’re in our clutches,” Gale said in a low, rasping voice that made Janis almost want to laugh. He was trying so hard to sound menacing, though the effect was ruined as he still wore that nerdy bowtie. “And these soft tootsies of yours look like they won’t stand a chance against our righteous inquisition.”

“Indeed, witch!” Lola said. “Confess your crimes!”

“And what will happen if I do?” Janis said. She was genuinely curious. They weren’t going to like drown her or anything, were they? Surely that was a bit too hardcore, even for these guys.

“If you confess, then naturally, you’ll be punished. With more tickling.”

“Ah, so you’ve got me in quite the Catch-22,” Janis sad, and she saw their smiles widen at the verisimilitude of her statement. “Alright, bring it on, bitches.”

“You will regret those words, heathen!”

Janis’s stubby toes curled up when she saw them reach for their first tool—and they had a veritable armoury of tools, apparently, all laid out for when a customer requested this ‘authentic experience’. But she saw it was string, and she let her painted toes relax. So, they were going to tie her toes back? That made sense, she supposed, though it was a bit depressingly mainstream.

It was for this reason that she let loose a series of squeals when she felt the coarse, itchy wool of the yarn start to string through her toes. They both had a length of string and were dragging it through the undersides of her sensitive digits, as if her toes were teeth that needed thorough flossing. Janis was shocked by how much it tickled. The gap between her two smallest toes was particularly vulnerable to the rough surface of the string worming around there, and her two torturers exchanged delighted looks when they discovered this highly sensitive spot existed symmetrically on both feet.

After they flossed a few more times, they pulled the yarn between every gap at once so they could hit every spot between the toes on both feet at once, despite the wild scrunching and wiggling of her round, chubby toes. By then, Janis’s flamboyant hair was a sweaty mess, though she had not begged them once to stop.

Her torturers finished by using the string to tie Janis’s big toes back, so her feet were not taut and completely helpless.

“Ready to confess?”

Janis shook her head.

“This witch is one tough customer, ain’t she, Inquisitor Lola?”

“Right you are, Inquisitor Gale. Best we bust out the big guns.”

Janis let loose an embarrassingly girly squeal when she felt the rough bristles of a thick, handled scrub brushes sink into the soft, tender flesh of her arches. After the toe torment she had just endured, this was something completely different. They weren’t as mind-numbingly effective as hairbrushes with plastic tines on her bare feet, but they did the job well, filling every wrinkle and crevice along her arches with innumerable bristles. Those brushes were working ticklish wonders on her soft arches, so her two torturers ensured they never broke contact for a moment as they scrubbed from heel to the ball of the foot, with the main host of bristles always assaulted those arches. Thousands of tiny bristles run up and down each of my soles,

Tears were starting streak down her cheeks and cause her makeup to run as she hiccupped and howled with laughter.

“Are you okay, miss?” Gale said suddenly in the soft, caring voice of the shopkeeper. “Is this too taxing for you?”

Janis licked her lips and looked at them. “What are you talking about, inquisitors? Bring it on!”

Gale and Lola exchanged a gleeful look.

“The heathen speaks true,” Lola said with a wicked grin on her face. “We really ought not to give her time to recover, after all, in a real interrogation, we wouldn’t delay in doing something like this!” She grinned and started buffing the scrub brush over Janis’s right arch once more, though this time, her other hand wandered up to those unoccupied toes, and she began flicking her long fingernails across their pads.

“Well spoken, my dear,” Gale said. He introduced the scrub brush to Janis’s squirming toes, while he pressed a firm fingernail into the center of her soft arch and began stroking it up and down. “Confess, witch! Confess!’

Janis laughed. She laughed so hard. She laughed because of the absurdity of her situation, she laughed because of how absurdly ticklish her feet were, and most of all, she laughed because of how much fun she was having. She was sure her friends were having a more boring time than her.

O-O-O

“Thanks for taking the time to see me, Ms. Harrington,” Taylor said to the woman in the pinstriped suit. They were in the head office of a local gym. Taylor gazed out to the swimming pool behind the seated woman as the sunlight shimmered from those cool, refreshing waters. She’d love to chill in that pool a bit later if she had time.

“Please, call me Valerie,” said the business lady. Valerie had long silvery blonde hair reached her shoulders, dark-rimmed glasses, and full lips accentuated with dark red lipstick. When Taylor noticed the silver rings on this older woman’s manicured fingers, the silver anklet she wore over her high heels, and the glittering toenail polish that showed from those open-toed stilettos, Taylor thought she was looking like her future, though Valerie was shorter and paler than she was. Valerie should have been in her early forties, but she looked like a lady in her mid-thirties—Taylor could only hope she aged as well as this lady had. “And it’s no problem—business is slow in the mornings, and I’m happy to help some kids out on a newspaper project.”

“Well,” Taylor said, looking down. She played with her shoes a bit to buy time. “It may be a bit of an awkward topic. I want to ask about that time you went to Morgana Lafey’s house with your late fiancée.”

To her relief, Valerie laughed. “Oh, that? It was a silly old thing, really. Johnny and I were dared to spend a night in that creepy old manor, and being the kids that we were, we went off and did it.”

“What was it like in there?”

“Dusty? Creepy? I don’t remember it that well.”

“What do you remember?”

“I remember having sex with him in Morgana Lafey’s bed,” Valerie said with a chuckle. “I remember raiding her wine cellar and uncorking a three-hundred-year-old vintage.”

“Sounds fun.”

“It was,” Valerie said with a fond smile. The smile died. “But then… argh, my head hurts. I guess we must have drank a bit too much. We got lost in the house. We panicked. And the dusty. Johnny had been an asthmatic, and he’d left his inhaler. Everything else is a blur. I remember the cops finding us later, and Johnny being dead…”

“I’m sorry, Valerie. I know she can’t be easy for you.”

“It’s fine. It’s well in the past. I remarried, and I have a beautiful son. He works for me as a lifeguard in fact.” She pointed out the window to the buff, blonde boy with sunglasses and a six-pack wandering the pool. Taylor had to resist the urge to drool.

“Where is this house, by the way? I haven’t been able to track it down.”

“I’m not surprised. It’s a bit out of the way in the hills. I’ll give you some directions if you want.”

“Okay, thank you… I have to ask, is there anything else you remember? Anything sort of otherworldly?”

Valeria brought a varnished nail to her chin as she thought. “I remember we played around in the basement. There was some kind of… dungeon down there. I must have got locked in one of those devices by accident.” She shivered. “There were things down there. Dark things.”

“You mean rats, right?”

Valerie sighed. “I don’t know. I would tell you not to go there, but you wouldn’t listen, would you?”

Taylor shrugged. “YOLO.”

“Well, I suppose. That’s what Johnny thought as well. The young are not immortal. Be careful.”

“I will. I’ll be there with my friends, and we’ll take precautions. By the way, do you mind if I use your pool before I go?”

“Feel free. Reception can hook you up with a locker.”

At the pool in a pink swimsuit she had luckily had the foresight to bring, Taylor cooed under the sun’s warm kisses. Her sequined flip flops slapped on the floor as she walked towards a pool chair in the centre of the pool. With her designer sunglasses, flowing blonde hair, long, shapely legs, and ample bosom, Taylor knew she turned heads, and with any luck…

“Hey, I’m Tyler,” said the handsome lifeguard she had spotted earlier, Valerie’s son. He looked to be about her age and well up for it.

“I’m Taylor,” she said. She wiggled her gold-painted toes to watch them glitter in the sun like precious metals. She caught him staring at them, at her toe rings, and she realised that maybe a quick foot worship session would not be out of the question—nice. She was no stranger to that sort of thing, as many a boy had become quick infatuated with her goddess soles. “Wow, our names sound so alike! Let’s like hangout.”

He laughed. “Right-on.”

The two of them retreated to a more discrete corner of the pool, where they made small-talked for a while mischievous hands wandered along certain sensitive areas.

“Hey, you want a blunt?” Tyler said, after such a session came to an explosive end.

“Sure. Pot?”

“Not exactly. More a local delicacy.” He pulled out a lighter and a white rollup from his shorts.

“Just an fyi, if you try to roofie me, I’m not calling the cops, but I’m coming back with her my posse and baseball bats,” Taylor said, taking the joint with a wink that managed to appear both flirtatious and intimidating.

She took a puff, and everything began to spin, like she had been sucked into a cyclone. When she blinked and the world stopped blurring, the world had become hellish. The blue sky had turned red, her chair had become some kind of booby trap that kept her wrists and ankles shackled in place, and in sweet Tyler’s place were three little imps who floated in the air, leering at her.

Taylor tried to scream, but her mouth seemed to have stopped working. The arms of the plastic she had been lounged in had turned into green, scaly arms that grabbed her by the wrists and spread them. At her ankles, slimy wet tentacles had spread from the ground to wrap around her shins and legs.

“Hi, Taylor!” said the first of the three imps. Taylor squinted, and she suddenly saw that all three of the black and silver demons had faces she recognised. They were about the size of cats, albeit cats with bat-like wings, horns, and pink hair. One had Lee’s cooler than ice look, one had Janis’s cheeky smile, and the last one looked like the portrait of Morgana Lafey.

“Wassup, girls,” Taylor said. “What’s going on here?”

“Kinky fun?” Janis imp offered.

“Probably a bad trip,” Lee imp said.

“Tickle magic, yo,” Morgana imp said, wiggling her long black talons. “Alright, let’s get to it. I have a hair appointment in an hour.”

Taylor’s mouth soon remembered how to laugh. And the three flying imps dug in. Janis imp dove for Taylor’s toned and trim stomach, wiggling her claws all over but aiming in particular for that cute pierced navel. The claws left her tummy red from their sharp and fierce touches.

Lee imp approached the tickling with a methodical curiosity. At Taylor’s soft, smooth hollows, she lightly them stroked up and down, up and down, up and down. Her eyes constantly darted from those quivering armpits to Taylor’s flushed face as if she was getting empirical data on the effectiveness of her technique.

Morgana imp hovered at Taylor’s right foot, and this imp had a tongue that seemed unfairly long for a creature of that size—it was the kind of tongue you expected from a serpent. The long, slithery tongue slid around her tanned soles till they were wet as if she had just stepped out of the pool. They constantly snaked through the toes, especially aiming for the second toes where those shimmering silver toe rings were.

“It tihihickles! It thihihickles!”

“That’s the point, sweetie,” Morgana imp said. She stopped using her tongue to rake her claws up and down the soles rapidly as fresh tentacles sprouted to ensnare those big toes to keep the foot taut and in place. “Cootchie cootchie coo!” she said, aiming her hands at those sparkling golden toes of hers.

“Pretty fun, huh?” Janis imp purred. “I’m a little jelly of you. It’s pretty hot to get triple teamed…” She triple-attacked Taylor’s upper body as soon as she finished talking. Her tongue crept into Taylor’s belly button while two claws pounced on her quivering sides.

Lee imp had discovered that the very centres of Taylor’s soft spots were a place where even the lightest motion set the blonde to squeaking, so she focused her claws on those spots. She drilled circles, shapes, and crisscrossing lines all over that area. Taylor’s biceps strained against the arms that held her in place, but her 120 miles per hour tennis serving speed did her no good her, as every time she seemed to be making a bit of traction, a touch to those armpits would render her muscles to jelly.

And at Taylor’s legs, more tentacles appeared, probing along her knees, her inner thighs, stroking dangerously, dangerously close to her secret lady spot…

“Shitballs!” Taylor exclaimed as consciousness came flooding back to her.

“How was it?” Tyler asked. He was still sitting beside her, bathed in sunlight.

“Well,” She said, blinking and examining her hands. They glittered in the strong sunlight, her rims and golden fingernails beaming. She was sitting back in her white poolside lounge chair. “That was freakiest trip I ever had in my life. Got another?”

O-O-O

“So, how did it go?” the girls asked each other all at the same time as they rendezvoused at the hotel room they had booked for their week of research. They all sat on the bed, barefoot and in their pyjamas.

“It was okay,” Taylor said, wondering if she should mention her drug-fuelled hallucinations of tickle imps.

“Could’ve gone worse,” Lee said, pondering if she should mention the imaginary feathers that had stoked her half to orgasm.

Janis looked at her two best friends. Taylor kept looking down at her nails. Lee was chewing on her lower lip. Without a doubt, they were both hiding something.

“Mine went fine,” Janis said, “Okay, I can tell we’re all bullshitting. I got the crap tickled out of me by these two shopkeepers. How about you guys?”

“When I was in the library, I felt feathers tickling me all over. But when I patted my body, there was nothing there.” Lee crossed her arms and tched. “I don’t suppose either of you drugged me with ecstasy or something, did you? Because that would be the only natural explanation.”

“What? I had tickle demons gang up on me!” Taylor hugged herself as if she could still feel the claws that had raked all over her sensitive bodies. “And one of them had Morgana’s face…”

“My experience was a bit more mundane,” Janis said, stroking her chin. “But they did mention Morgana was a huge fan of tickle torture. And now that I think about it, it is rather convenient that they happened to be tickle fetishists themselves… after they had worn me out, the man rather casually asked if I would like to help tickle his wife for a bit of revenge. That’s not quite normal behaviour, is it?”

Of course, Janis had accepted, taking a particular amount of joy on using the string and scrub brushes that had proved so effective on her on Lola’s wrinkly feet, but that was something she probably didn’t need to mention at this particular juncture in time.

“So, we are actually dealing with a tickle witch, aren’t we?” Taylor said. “What does that make us? Ghostbusters?”

“This could still be explained away with science,” Lee said, “I might have—I don’t know—got some food poisoning or something.”

“Yeah, and I did puff on a blunt before those tickle imps appeared,” Taylor said with a shrug.

“I’m not going to ask why you did that when you asked a forty-year old woman about the murder of her fiancée,” Lee said. “Anyway, what’s our plan?”

“Buy some garlic?” Taylor offered.

“That’s for vampires, nimrod,” Janis said.

“Well, what else can we do?” Taylor said. “Buy a proton pack? Call Danny Phantom? Get Casper to help us?”

“Your pop culture references aren’t helping,” Lee said. “What are you suggesting? We give up and go home?”

“You know, I’m surprised you aren’t more worried about this. Your name is literally Lee, as in ticklee. You know you’re going to be tickled like crazy, right?”

“Will changing my name to ‘Cindy’ help? Come on, there’s not much I can do about my name!”

“Alright, let’s all calm down, ladies,” Janis said. “What we need is a plan. How about we go to this abandoned manor—”

“—aka, the haunted house,” Lee interjected.

“Yeah, there. We go there, take a quick look around, get some pictures, then we skedaddle.”

“I think that’s a good plan,” Taylor said, “but there’s no way we end up sticking to it. I mean like zero percentage chance that is what happens.”

“Not with that kind of attitude!” Lee said, her eyes wide and aghast.

“Hey, I’m just saying.”

“Well, I suppose no plan survives first contract with the enemy,” Janis said. “But still. Try to stick to it? Anyway, let’s get a good night’s sleep and head out first thing in the morning.”

“For real? I’m more an 11 a.m. waking up time kind of girl…” Taylor said.

“We are not staying there once the sun goes down!” Janis said. “Have you never seen any horror movies? Like not even a single one?”

“Alright, fine, fine… You guys will help wake me up, right?” Taylor said as she sat up from the bed and went to the fridge.

“Sure thing,” Janis said, winking at Lee and wiggling her fingers in an unmistakably tickly motion.

Lee shook her head. “Why do I have the feeling we’ve already caught some kind of tickle bug?”

“Enough talk about that,” Taylor said as she pulled a six pack of beer from the fridge and handed one to each of her friends. “Let’s drink! A toast to our imminent success!”

As the girls lifted up their cans, they all heard a high, whispering, feminine voice that cut through the room like a chilly wind. “Cheers…”

The girls looked at each other. Taylor downed her can and reached for another. “Well, that was fucking weird, huh? Another drink?”

 

[oneortheother]

Morgana's Mansion: A Tickle Horror-Comedy, Part 2

At the edge of dawn, a ringing phone alarm blared in the girls’ hotel room. Two of the girls stirred, while one continued to appear dead to the world. Janis yawned, swept a fringe of bright blue hair out of her face and turned off her phone alarm. Lee was blinking herself awake. Her petite frame wandered to the bathroom where the Chinese girl quickly made herself presentable.

“Taylor isn’t up yet, huh?” Lee said as she came out a few moments later with wet tousled hair and a toothbrush in her mouth.

“Let’s give her another few minutes till we bust out the big guns.”

The two girls quickly changed into their accustomed attire. Lee was perennially prim and professional, and she wore a white short-sleeved blouse, a navy-blue skirt, black nylon stockings, and her brown oxfords, with her long black hair bound back in a studious bun. Janis preferred a more laidback, goth look, so she wore a black t-shirt to go with ripped black jeans and her black boots—as always, her blue hair and blue nails were the only things that were not monochromatic on her.

Even after both girls had finished straightening their hair and lacing up their boots, Taylor continued to slumber in bed in the oversized t-shirt that served as her pyjamas. Janis shook the blonde girl roughly by the shoulders, yet she still slept on, dead to the world.

“You wanna bet she’s just faking it?” Lee said.

“There’s only one way to find out, isn’t there?” Janis has a mischievous glint in her eye. She went over to the foot of the bed where Taylor’s feet were hidden beneath the snug duvet. The university tennis team captain slept without socks, so when Janis pulled back the covers they saw the pair of tanned, long bare feet, adorned with sparking gold toenail polish and a pair of silver toe rings on the second toes of both feet. Taylor slept on her back, so the feet were upright and ready. The two feet were huddled together, with the left foot covering the right foot, almost as if in protection for what it subconsciously must have sensed was coming.

“Wakey wakey, Taylor,” Janis said in a sing-song voice as she used her index finger to skate from heel to toe. Taylor had only just gotten a pedicure the other day, so her feet were as pampered as they had ever been, so soft Janis almost felt like they were tickling her fingers as she brushed up and down them. “Give me a hand, Lee.”

With Lee adding her finger to the mix, the two teasing fingers were starting to make the sleeping girl giggle in her sleep. Her toes were starting to wiggle and flex as the girls’ long fingernails brushed past them. A smile was starting to form on Taylor’s voice. “Tired of pretending to sleep yet, Taylor?” Janis asked, but the blonde girl made no response.

“Guess she must want us to tickle her more,” Lee said in a voice that was all innocent.

“Must be that.”

Taylor’s feet had spread apart during their last bout of wiggling, so Janis and Lee repositioned themselves around one foot each. They both used only their index fingers to see how much they could do before Taylor either woke up or decided the end this charade of being such a heavy sleeper.

Lee positioned her fingers at Taylor’s high arch. She stroked them up and down the arch like a pendulum, with one fingernail dragging up the foot as the other nail went down it. The arch kept wrinkling and unwrinkling in response to this constant up down motion teasing her sensitive soft arch.

Janis decided she wanted to play with Taylor’s flexing toes. She knew from extensive personal experience that the gap between the toes was so often a sweet spot because of how protected it tended to be, so her goal was to tease that spot on Taylor’s long, immaculate feet as much as possible. Her tickling was much less steady and constant as Lee’s persistent, tireless attack on the arch. She was much more stop and go, poke and leave. The toes would constantly be curling and wiggling from the onslaught on her other foot, so Janis would simply would till the toes opened for her to sneak a few quick finger strokes along those fleshy undersides. Then, she would wait for that spot to open again, and hit another spot around the toes. And if she ever grew too impatient, she knew all she had to do was flick her fingers across the soft pads to get those toes to burst open like ripe, ticklish fruit.

Taylor was breathing heavily now, chortling with soft laughter.

“Fun as this is, I think we really need to go soon,” Lee said. She shifted up and sat on Taylor’s ankle.

“Agreed.” Janis did the same. They looked at each other and at the same time, scribbled all ten of their fingernails across Taylor’s trapped feet. Twenty fingers ravaging across her hypersensitive feet were far more than a girl as ticklish as Taylor could stand, and she flew upright, wailing with laughter.

“Good morning, Taylor!” Lee and Taylor said in unison as their fingers continued to scrabble across her wiggling and flapping bare feet. “Ready to wake up?”

The two girls kept it up for a while longer before Taylor managed to twist her feet from under them. Taylor curled up on her body in the foetal position, still laughing as she rubbed away the lingering sensations on her soles. “Better than an alarm clock, huh? C’mon, let’s get moving.”

“I hope you girls know… this means war,” Taylor said, with her hair a dishevelled mess. “Revenge will be mine!”

“If you can wake up on earlier than us tomorrow, I say you perfectly deserve to tickle the shit out of us,” Janis said.

“What do you mean ‘us’?” Lee said, frowning. “I didn’t agree to this!”

All three girls laughed, Taylor headed to the washroom, and in twenty minutes, the girls set off for the manor of Morgana Lafey.

O-O-O

After they took a bus and trekked up a hill for about twenty minutes, Taylor complaining all the while about wearing her flip flops instead of her tennis trainers, the three university students had arrived. Lee manned the camera as they went for a nice wide shot of Morgana Lafey’s manor. Outside the manor there was a sign which read, “NO TRESPAPSSING, TRESPASSERS WILL GET THE SHIT TICKLED OUT OF THEM IF THEY’RE CUTE OR PELTED WITH DUNG IF THEY ARE NOT. WITH THE EXCEPTION OF GIRL SCOUTS. I LOVE COOKIES. THIS IS NOT A TRAP. SIGNED, MORGANA LAFEY.”

That strange sign aside, the manor was not exactly what came to mind when one thought of a haunted house. In fact, it looked so jarring that Lee was almost worried it would not be taken seriously if they were to publish it in their article. The manor was massive and sprawling, and it looked like it might contain half a hundred rooms, but it was painted a gaudy pink, for instance, though much of it had faded over time so it was more a faint peach pink that the hot pink it must have been at its inception. Vines and moss splattered some of it, but it looks worryingly like a sorority house. The rusted gates were open and welcoming, though the statues of naked women being tickled by stony fingers built into the main pillars of the gate were considerably more ominous.

“Pretty tacky,” Lee said, patting on of the women on the head as they walked past.

“You take that right back,” said a mysterious voice from behind them. “Those statues cost me an arm and leg to commission.”

“Morgana Lafey,” Janis said with a gasp.

The witch was far prettier in person than in the faded old portraits they had found, though perhaps it wasn’t that fair to use the phrase ‘in person’ when you were looking at a ghost. She had dark brown hair that tumbled to her shoulders, powerful green eyes, and pale skin, though they have just appeared pale because everything about her was tinged in a faint blue glow. Morgana wore long-sleeved black robes which cut off mid-thigh, and she was barefoot with long, black-painted nails. From the lack of sound her footsteps made on the leaves at their feet, she was floating instead of walking.

“Sup,” she said, “so you three are the university girls, here to write an article on me. I’m awfully flattered.”

“You, you are?” Janis said, a reluctant smile spreading across her face. “That’s great. We’d love an interview with you. What’s it like being a ghost?”

“Not too bad. There’s some prejudice, some discrimination, but it has its perks. You’re Janis, right?”

“How’d you know?”

“I know everything that happens in my town. Did you guys enjoy the little obstacles I threw at your little quest?”

“That was you?” Lee said, gasping. “I know there was something spooky going on!”

“Oh, don’t be so gauche, Lee. I know you’re pissy because of how much I teased you in that library, but you must agree, it makes things much more rewarding if you have to work a bit harder to get what you want.”

“So, what now?” Taylor said. “Are you going to try to steal our souls?”

Morgana shook her head. “I’m much more interested in ticklish soles, as you’ve probably gathered. I’ll let you three enter my humble home, write some notes, take a few souvenirs, snap a few selfies, do whatever you like. But you’ll remain my guests until you can complete this challenge I set for you—revenge.”

“Revenge?”

“I’m the one responsible for your tickling earlier. You naturally want revenge, no? My real body is somewhere in that house—perfectly preserved of course, as it’d be no fun to tickle skeleton. Show me a good tickling, and you can walk out of here.”

“What’s stopping us from walking out now?” Lee demanded, and as soon as she had finished talking, the metal gates clanged shut.

“Trust me, I have the power to fuck you up in a thousand different ways, so try not to tempt me.” Morgana gave them all a sweet smile. “Alright, good luck.”

She disappeared as the doors of the manor opened wide and invitingly.

Lee groaned. “What’ve we gotten ourselves into...”

“The scoop of our lives?” Taylor said. “Seriously, we just spoke to a ghost!”

“She didn’t sound like someone from the 18th Century,” Janis observed.

“Well, maybe she’s one of those hip old ladies who keeps up to date with the times,” Taylor said.

“Did you just fucking call me old?” screeched Morgana’s voice out of nowhere, and suddenly Taylor disappeared in a puff of blue smoke.

“Dude, what the fuck!” Janis exclaimed. She swatted at the smoke where her friend had been, but Taylor was gone. “She called you hip as well! Come on!”

“Don’t sass me, girl!” said the disembodied voice once more, and Janis too disappeared.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Lee said, suddenly finding herself all alone. “Did you kill them? Where are they?”

“Chillax, girl. I just sent them to different rooms in the manor. Be kinda boring if they all stuck together, anyway. Goes against the spirit of the whole haunted house thing. Have you never seen any horror movies?”

“You’re joking! That’s so cheating!”

“Fo’ shure. Now you better a movie on. Maybe you’ll get lucky and you’ll run into them inside after a few rooms.”

With nothing else that could be done, Lee trudged inside, her shoes clacking on the wooden floorboard. The heavy pink door swung shut behind her.

O-O-O

Janis had never felt more like a suckling pig in her life.

She had woken up in some dim corridor, with only faint sunlight drifting through the edges of the curtains to light her way. She pushed open the varnished wooden door to the next room, and in a flash, a blindfold had been whisked over her eyes, and she had been grabbed, spun around, bound up, and carted away elsewhere. It didn’t make a lick of sense, but nothing in this manor seemed to make much sense.

And now, here she was with an apple roughly shoved into her mouth, her wrists bound behind her back, and her ankles propped up through some kind of chute. She was flat on her back on something soft and fuzzy with her legs straight up into something firm and unyielding—she couldn’t pull her feet out nor shift them around at all. And with the blindfold on, she saw nothing, but she heard a persistent clink and clang of metal on some kind of hard surface, the low murmur and laughter of conversation, and there was an unmistakably aromatic smell wafting throughout the room. Her toes were tied together by something silky, possibly a ribbon, but she couldn’t work out anything more about her bizarre situation. It sounded like she was at some kind of dinner party, but that didn’t make any sense! Who were the people talking in the room? More ghosts?

Luckily, Morgana Lafey came to clue her in on what was going on before long.

“And how is my pièce de résistance?” Morgana said as she sidled up beside the bound and gagged girl. “Comfortable?” She gave a little giggle. “Your tasty little feet are going to be the star attraction at my party tonight, dear. Thanks so much for volunteering!”

There was the sound of a cover before removed from a dish, and suddenly Janis felt cool air and warm light bearing down on her pale, bare soles, a second before metal prongs began tracing across her feet. She wailed in her gag a one, two, three, five, seven, she lost count soon after as too many forks began scraping their cold metal tines across her feet. She felt like some kind of morsel being poked and prodded at, like a cheeky child playing with her food.

And those forks were teasing, their mysterious wielders using them with consummate skill as they glided all over Janis’s captive feet. Forks were the kind of tools that needed to be used with care, Janis knew from her own in-depth experimentations, if you applied too much force, they ceased to tickle and began to hurt, which might be what some people were after, but that wasn’t really her fetish.

These mysterious dinner guests of Morgana’s seemed to understand stand that, and they would drag the fork lightly across the expanse of her bare feet, occasionally adding in little wrist turns so there was a bit of kneading of flesh in addition to the scratching. Her tender arches always had forks stroking away at them, as did her plump blue-painted toes, which must have looked like ripe blueberries to them, as they kept poking away at them as if they wanted to spear them. These spots were well-covered, but the other forks were equally devastating in her less-frequented tickling areas. She would never have imagined the tops of her feet were so vulnerable to the light touches like this, nor the sides of her wide feet, even her yellowish heel, which by all accounts was the least sensitive spot on her feet.

All these spots were plumbed for every scrap of ticklish laughter, like the most diligent of eaters devouring every inch of food on their plate till it was spotless. And thanks to the ribbon binding her toes together, Janis’s feet weren’t going anywhere.

Janis shrieked, but the apple in her mouth was forced in with tape, and she could do nothing but wiggle her body about on the carpeted floor as forks picked away at their favourite spots on her chunky feet to make her squeal.

“Why do you keep wiggling towards me, huh?” Morgana said with a giggle. “I’ll have you know I’m usually not that kind of lady… but maybe I’ll make an exception just this once.” As the forks continued to dance across her bare feet, Morgana sent her long fingernails scurrying on the back of Janis’s knees, tickling through the thin fabric of her black jeans. She went all the way along the thighs till she got at the point where they met the hips, dangerously close to Janis’s womanhood.

A chuckling Morgana kept this up till Janis felt an ominous tingle between her legs, and then, pandemonium. Janis surged forward, shaking her head so wildly her blue hair slapped backed and forth like a whip. All the forks had suddenly disappeared and were replaced by marauding hands. Some hands were gloved in velvet, some hands were bare, some hands had long cruel fingernails, some hands were rough and callused, but what they all had in common is they tickled like hell, and they had been paying close attention to all the spots on her poor feet. There had been about ten or so forks teasing her feet, and it became apparent that each fork had been wielded by one person, as Janis felt close to a hundred fingers now on her bare feet.

They had pulled the stringy ribbon binding her big toes away, and that should have been a cause for celebration, but no, it just meant they could her feet away from each other so they had more space to operate. Certain spots had been spared because of how her feet had been tied to each other, like the inner sides of her feet, for instance, but no longer.

Strong hands pulled her toes back to keep her twitching foot in place—not to mention to make it easier to feast on the bounty of sensitive spots around her stubby toes, and all the other fingers fought over the choice dishes of ticklishness on her quivering feet. Sometimes they would hit the same spot and cancel each other out, but even if a hand or two was ineffectual, there were still plenty of others to pick up the slack.

The swarm of fingers scampering all over her feet was far too much for Janis to stand. There wasn’t a spot on her foot that those fingers weren’t tormenting—not one.

“My guests are so uncouth, aren’t they?” Morgana whispered in her ear. “It’s so uncivilised to eat with your hands. I’ll go have a word with them.”

Morgana stood up, leaving Janis to suck air frantically through her nose as she tried to get her breathing under control, as well as ease the throbbing between her legs. After a few seconds, the hands disappeared, and Janis managed a sigh of relief.

It turned out to be a premature one, though, as moments later, tongues began lapping along her feet. Her feet twisted in alarm, but there was nowhere to go. Janis had experience the joy of foot worship on occasion, and she had always adored how the ticklishness of her own feet coupled with the innate sensuality of it made it such an enjoyable experience. But that was too much! The ten or so tongues crawling over her feet, not caring if they touched each other, was overpowering. And the insistent tingle of her womanhood was getting strong and stronger as the tongues slathered her feet in saliva. Her feet flapped and wiggled as best they could, sometimes brushing against a bristly beard or a few strands of hair, but the tongues were tireless. And after letting her feet squirm around for a bit, a pair of mouths claimed her big toes to not only unleash a shuddering groan from the girl, but keep her feet trapped in place for the other tongues to do their business.

Janis’s eyes were starting to roll back as she felt a pair of talented tongues suckle her littlest toes as well. That was when Morgana suddenly returned to her side once more, giggling.

“There, now isn’t that much better? My guests wish to pass their compliments to your delicious feet, by the way… and they say they can’t wait for their second course!”

Janis gasped at the tongues suddenly disappeared all at once. A lock of blue hair was clinging to her damp forehead as she panted and panted. She only had a moment to brace herself before the forks returned.

“And they’re very eager to get started!” Morgana said as Janis wailed in ticklish frustration.

O-O-O

The next room smelled surprisingly clean for a musty, grimy old manor.

Taylor has woken up in some dark, foreboding corridor. She could hear the steady trickle of water, so she followed it a room nearby, turning a brass door knob to gain entry. As she took her first step in the dimly-lit room, Taylor’s flip flops stepped right into a puddle, the cold water sloshing over her bare feet. She wasn’t sure what she would call a room like this—it was the manor’s bathroom, that was apparent from the sinks, the half-empty bottles of perfume, and the white tiles everywhere.

But to call it a bathroom gave no credit to its scale. The grand tub in the centre of the room was sunk into the ground, and it was almost a small swimming pool, with a dozen brass taps pumping water into it. The taps seemed to be working, somehow, as the room was quickly filling with steam. It was more a bathhouse of sort, Taylor decided. She spied fresh towels lying on a hook beside the door, and she suddenly become very aware of how sweaty she was from her exertions. She was sure she had picked up some of the dirt and dust from the place just by being in it.

“This is a trap, isn’t it?” Taylor said aloud, not truly expecting a reply.

“Totally, yo,” said a voice from the far corner of the tub. And to her surprise, Morgana Lafey was there, naked and bathed in a ghostly blue glow. She had her pale, slender arms propped up against the edge as her legs make cycling motions in the water. “The only question is if you’re going to jump in, or if you’re going to need to be thrown in.”

Taylor mulled over those words and kicked off her flip flops before beginning to strip off her clothing. Well, if it was going to happen anyway, she might as well try to make the most of it. She dunked her head in the warm waters and sighed. It was the perfect tonic after all her hardships.

“When’s the last time you had a bubble bath?” Morgana said as she tossed some bath salts into the tub. “They really are quite nice.”

“I didn’t know bubble baths were around in the 18th century,” Taylor said as she allowed her entire body to submerged in the soothing waters. “I always thought they were a rather modern invention.”

“How dare you!” Morgana scowled with mock outrage. “Are you accusing me of being anachronistic?”

“I’m not a hundred percent sure what that means. Something to do with time?”

“It means you’re being a cheeky girl,” Morgana said with a wide smile, “and cheeky girls get punished in Lafey Manor.”

“You were just waiting for any excuse to tickle me, weren’t you?”

“Possibly.” Morgana snapped her fingers. “And the brass taps at the sides of the tub suddenly reared wrapped around Taylor’s wrists and ankles like handcuffs. They slowly pulled her body until everything taut and spread. She ended up in a position where she was half in the water and half out. Her bum and womanhood remained in the water along with most of her legs, though her bare ended up sticking out, as well as most of her upper torso, from the middle of her ribcage to her shoulders.

Morgana came swimming over, with a bar of soap in her hand. “Don’t worry, I plan on tickling you. I just wouldn’t want to dirty my lovely nails on anything dirty.”

“Aren’t you a ghost? How would the dirt cling to you? Aren’t you, like, transparent?”

“For your insolence, I’m gonna give you an extra thorough scrubbing.” Morgana gave the bottom of Taylor’s nearest foot a slap. The sole was a noticeably paler than the tanned tops and legs that preceded it. “Especially on those cute toe rings of yours. Don’t worry, I won’t stop till the metal is gleaming!”

Taylor groaned. “No fair.”

“Get used to it, honey. Even the laws of physics don’t play fair in my house.” She rubbed the soap around in her hands for a while as good thick lather built up before rubbing it across Taylor’s bare feet.

As she rubbed the soap into her feet, Taylor sat back and sighed with contentment. It felt rather like a foot massage, and those were always appreciated. Things would not stay this pleasant for long, she knew. Once the long, tanned feet were covered with the thick, soapy bubbles and smelling like daisies, Morgana held up a single, long, sharp fingernail and began stroking at the center of Taylor’s arches, the left foot for a stroke, then the right foot for a stroke, back and forth, back and forth. The metal taps that had wrapped around Taylor’s toned limbs like vines clanked and creaked as the university tennis star tried to break free, but they proved sturdy as Taylor quivered with burbling laughter.

“Hmm.” Morgana changed up her approach, using all ten of those long, pointed nails to rake up and down Taylor’s tanned feet. With her feet trapped in place, all Taylor could do was try to clench her toes shut to defend the soapy onslaught on her soles, but before long, it would always become too much to take, and her digits would spring open to allow those wicked nails to scratch under and between the toes with ease. “not a bad reaction, but we can do better, can’t we?”

She stared coating Taylor’s squirming feet in a fresh layer of suds as the university girl panted like she had just finished a five-set thriller.

Morgana swam forward till she was beside Taylor, who was starting to sweat all over again. “Hey, do you see those things over there?” She put an arm around Taylor’s tense shoulders as if they were buddies. When Taylor saw the pair of wooden scrub brushes, she shook her head.

“No, no, no!”

“Oh, so you don’t see them? I’ll bring ‘em closer.” Morgana beckoned and the scrub brushes flew through the air to hover an inch away from the slick and soaped-up soles of the super-ticklish Taylor. The brushes were big, chunky things, about the size of Taylor’s hand, and they looked like they would be very capable of inflicting a high amount of ticklish damage. And Taylor was right as the brushes picked up speed as they skated up and down her feet, making the blonde girl throw her head back and howl with laughter.

Whistling an infuriating casual tone, Morgana picked the soap back up and swam back to Taylor’s midsection. “You look like you do a lot of sports, eh? Your armpits must reek of BO afterwards. But don’t worry, I got the perfect thing for you, honey.”

A pair of wooden-handled, thick shaving brushes appeared behind her. Taylor’s eyes grew wide.

“Let's see how you like these brushes, sweetie. Last boy I had in here, oh, we had such fun with these brushes and his ticklish little cock.” Morgana shivered then smiled. “Let's see how you like them in your armpits. After we get the surface nice and soapy, of course.” Even rubbing that soapy lather into her armpits proved to be a ticklish affair, to the extent Taylor wasn't sure how she would possibly handle the shaving brushes when they started 'cleaning' her underarms. The answer was that she didn't handle them. She screamed and shook with wild abandon as the wet bristles slid across slick and oh so sensitive skin. They weren't as large as the scrub brushes rampaging across her soles, but that was the only good thing that could be said about them.

Her body must have been tormented by hundreds if not thousands of these tiny bristles, each one eliciting their own harrowing ticklish response on her slippery, soaped-up skin. The only consolation was her sensitive navel was submerged in the warm, bubbly bathwater, so she should escape a cleaning of her belly button, but that was it.

“What are you thinking, darling?” Morgana asked with a finger on her chin, “clean enough?”

“Yehehehes! Yehes, yes, yehehehehes!”

“You know, I get the feeling you’re lying. You don’t really think that. You’re just trying to be nice to spare my feelings.” Morgana gave Taylor a belittling pat on the head. “I appreciate that, but I am a perfectionist! We’re gonna do this right! For instance, I just don't think I'm doing a good enough job over here.” Morgana swam over to where the scrub brushes were working tirelessly away at Taylor’s feet. Much of the arches were already tickled pink. “I promised I’d get those lovely rings of yours squeaky clean! These big brushes just aren’t capable of giving your toes a good enough service, are they?”

Taylor squeaked at the sight of two more of those accursed shaving brushes flying towards her toes, where they immediately set to worth swirling over the tips and tops of those shiny gold-painted toenails. She begged and pleaded with the witch that she was doing a fine job, that her feet were definitely clean enough, but the witch just tutted as she went to work. The brushes would do the cleaning by themselves as they floated in the air propelled by some mysterious magic, but Morgana would pluck a pair of them out of the air and opt for a hands-on approach.

“Awww, you’re looking a bit worn-out. One more cleaning spot, and I’ll leave you to it, I promise.” Morgana gave Taylor a wink as she reached for the soap once more.

Great, Taylor thought. Knowing her luck, it would be those hellish brushes in her navel. She was wrong however, when Morgana began lathering up her bountiful breasts and nipples. She gaped in shock—or she would have, if she weren’t laughing so hard.

A bit of sensual rubbing of the soap lather later, Taylor arched her back as the soft bristles of the shaving brush flicked across her rapidly hardening nipples. The blonde girl gnashed her teeth as those brushes swirled circles all over her highly sensitive orbs, especially those prominent pink points of her nipples.

Before long, Taylor was grinding her hips and more than a little grateful her submerged womanhood must be concealing her wetness. And yet the all-abating tickling continued undaunted, any hopes of an orgasm impossible from her ticklish distress.

Morgana must have known, the consummate tease, Taylor thought. The cruel witch was just pretending not to notice as she flitted from spot to spot, re-applying soapy lather on those fun cleaning spots. Only after Taylor was so flushed and hot she felt like her body was aflame did the witch stop, with orgasm a hair’s breadth away.

“Clean enough, I say. Gtg. Have fun with your shower.” Morgana disappeared with a parting wave, and the taps that held her limbs shrank away. Taylor panted and gasped, her hand hovering over her throbbing womanhood. Well, there was only one sane thing to do now…

O-O-O

Lee’s brown oxford shoes clacked on the creaking floorboards as she made her way along the narrow corridor, her heart beating hard in her chest. There was a crystal chandelier above her head with candles that provided a dim light, yet the small Asian girl still found herself jumping and flinching at every sound. At any other team, she might have been drawn to the fine oil paintings of landscapes, at the dusty busts of long-dead figures, or at the moth-eaten tapestries hanging from the walls.

What was going on here? The hyperrational Chinese girl was struggling to corroborate the strange occurrences at this manor with the world of logic she had known so well. And now she was alone, alone in the queer place. She hoped her friends were doing better than she was…

It was as all these doubts and fears were sweeping through her mind that Lee’s right foot must have stepped on a rotten plank of wood, as her right leg suddenly swept through. She yelped, and for a half a heartbeat, she feared she might tumble through to an untimely death. But it soon became clear that the hole was only large enough for one small foot to fall through, not her entire body.

She would have breathed a huge sigh of relief, if not for the fact something strong and pincer-like had just gripped her by the ankle. She tugged and tugged using her hands for leverage, but her trapped right foot would not budge.

“Yeah, you know what they say about old houses,” said a voice from behind her. She spun and suddenly the witch herself, Morgana Lafey was behind her. The witch shone with a ghostly blue translucence as she sat with her back propped against the wall, barefoot and smiling. “You know, I’ve called people to try to come and take a look at the house, but no one seems to want to take the job. Whatever happened to professionalism, eh? They must have stopped making honest workers in my time.”

“My foot…”

“What’s that?” Morgana smiled. “You really must watch your step, my dear. After all, I might have some critters dwelling in my humble home.”

Lee gasped and bit on her lower lip as she felt something playing with her trapped foot. It felt like a scaled, clawed hand. She felt her shoe plop out and fall away, leaving her foot alone with only the thin fabric of her black stockings for protection. And they proved capable of very little protection at all.

Rough fingers began to wriggle against her soft sole, which caused Lee to try to kick her feet free, but the wooden hole had somehow closed around her knee, leaving her foot trapped from the shin down. She pursed her lips together, giggles already starting to spurt free as she felt something smaller, about the size of a shoelace snake up her foot to slide in between her toes to tickle them through her nylon stockings. Lee balled her finger into fists as she felt the tickling start to increase. Just what was down there? There was definitely more than one, and she could hear a low rumble that must have been them talking to each other.

“Yeah, you can probably tell I have a bit of a reptile problem,” Morgana said. “Don’t worry, I’ll sort it out. It’s on my to-do list after world peace, abolish all pornography, and get a commission from oneortheother.”

That was one riddle unravelled, which might have been good for Lee’s mind, but it did no favours for her body, which was at the mercy of whatever Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles were tickling the shit out of her feet with what must have been their fingers and tails.

There were five fingers spidering away at her heels and arches, but the real damage was being done by the tail that was tormenting her petite, red-painted toes. That nimble, quick, slender thing proved to be especially bothersome. Lee tried to use her toes to grab the rough thing with her toes, but it always evaded her clumsy attempts at capture, and it would always launch a fierce counter attack, darting around the other way to stroke the base of her toes or along their quivering tips.

After a while, one of the hands tugged at the toe of the stockings and pulled them down towards the ground to force her foot straight. Lee would never have imagined her own nylons could be used against her. It was so cruel to be betrayed by her own socks. Her own stocking was being used to imprison her right foot to keep it in place for the brutal tickling that was inflicted upon it, as bad as ropes around each toe. Her foot twisted and strained and tried to get free, but she didn’t dare try too hard lest she end up ripping her stockings—her feet were ludicrously ticklish even in stockings, but bare foot? She wouldn’t have a chance at all at keeping composure, she feared…

Yet before long, as Lee shrieked and squealed, it became apparent that the tail was trying especially hard to worm between her toes, which would mean that the fabric of her nylons would… rip. There was a small hole at the gap between big toe and second toe at first, but the tail went scurrying inside straight away to get at the creamy flesh of her bare foot, without even the scant resistance her stockings had offers her.

Fingers quickly joined the tail, and before long, Lee’s stocking was reduced to shreds, and her foot was bare and completely exposed as the creatures ravished it with tough fingers and rough scratchy tails. She pounded and slammed the wooden floorboards as Morgana sat there smirking at her.

As fingers began questing through the gaps between all her terribly ticklish toes at once, Lee found a fresh reserve of strength to squirm and struggle against her bonds. She slammed her palms down at the floor again and again, till she heard the cracking splinter of wood. She looked down and saw that she might have been a bit too successful—the floorboards all around her were breaking!

Morgana chuckled. “I guess you don’t know your own strength. I expect to be reimbursed for damages, by the way.” The floorboard fell apart, and Lee was falling, falling down into the deep unknown.

O-O-O

The next room was dusty and dark. Well, dustier and darker than the other ones in this old, creaky manor. As the door swung shut behind her like it always did, Janis found herself struggling to make light of what was even a few inches in front of her. She blinked steadily, waiting for her eyes to acclimatise to the darkness, it was then that something bit her on the neck, and everything started to blur…

“Come, come, my dear, I haven’t got all day,” said a familiar, mocking voice. “I have places to be, people to tickle, TV shows to watch…”

Janis opened her eyes to see the sight of Morgana Lafey standing on the ceiling, illuminated by candles. It took her groggy, drugged-out mind a moment to realise that it was only because she herself was upside down with her long brightly-coloured hair in her face. She squirmed a bit, but the cocoon had her firmly encased in the strong silken material.

Morgana smiled at her. The ghost witch still had the same spectral blue glow to her, but her attire had undergone some transformation. She was barefoot as always, her toenails shimmering in the faint light, but she now wore grey silken stockings and a white evening dress that would not have looked out of place at any dinner party in the world. “Admiring my stockings?” Morgana said, having noticed where Janis was looking. “My guests helped make them for me.”

“Guests?” The drug-addled mind worked slowly, and Janis only figured out what the witch meant when she felt a dozen or three tiny, hairy, quite ticklish legs scramble across her feet—the only part of her aside from her neck that had neglected to wrap up in their webs, evidently was her right foot, though her left one remained bound, in a curious case of asymmetrical bondage.

The transgressive girl found herself instantly breaking into laughter. Each spider couldn’t have been larger an inch or two, but that seemed to be the perfect size of their purpose. They were large enough that their presence would be unignorable, and they were small enough that plenty of them were able to roam all over the sensitive spots on Janis’s chunky, wide feet. The silken webbing that bound Janis’s right foot like a sock was made of thin, gossamer that did little to block out the sensations, so both feet managed to tickle terribly.

And it was not for nothing that so many of the tickle erotica that Janis had enjoyed spoke of fingers ‘spidering’ across ticklish stomachs or feet. The spiders were maddeningly effective as they scurried wherever they wanted. They clustered along her arches, especially the deep crevice in the centre of them, but plenty of them had migrated to other spots. Their light, ethereal touches itched terribly along the tops of her feet along the insteps, as well as the ankles and sides of the foot.

“Tell me, which foot seems to tickle more?” Morgana was lying on a settee, her stocking-clad feet propped up on one of the armrests. Janis tried to focus on that pale foot with those high, soft-looking arches. Focusing on tickling the bejeezus out of those soles helped make her situation infinitely more bearable. “Do stockings make the tickling worse? I was hoping we could do a rather empirical study on the manner?” She wiggled her toes. “Answer me helpfully, and I may even let you get a quick tickle on these feet you so apparently lusting over.”

Janis scrunched her eyes shut to try to focus on the sensations. The nylon-esque covering on her right foot did block out some of the tickling, albeit not much, and it smoothed out the crinkles and wrinkles of her sole as if they were lathered in baby oil, so she hypothesised that they would be more vulnerable to long strokes up and down the soles. These small spiders, as effective as they were tormenting her ticklish soles in unison, weren’t really able to do that, however.

“Thehehehy both tihihickle a lohohohot! Cahahahan’t say!”

“You can do better, dearie,” Morgana floated up into the air, and the spiders parted like the red sea to allow the witch’s long fingernails a chance to dance across Janis’s bare feet. And this, oh, this tickled like hell. Morgana drew her nails in a firm line from heel to toes, before changing course to zigzag her way back down again, always starting with a stroke across those pedicured toes. With her foot pulled back in Morgana’s grip, her foot was taut and perfectly vulnerable.

“You tihihhickle beheheheter than the spihihiderrs! On wehehehehebbed foohoohoot!”

“Well, of course I tickle better than the spiders, dear,” Morgana said with a laugh, her fingers never breaking contact with Janis’s flapping feet for a moment. “I mean, that surely goes without saying. But it would be wrong to deprive them of practice, wouldn’t it?”

Morgana shifted both hands to the right foot—the one with the silken stockings intensified every sensation from her long, raking nails, and the spiders flooded back over left foot, which was bare and perfectly exposed to the fuzzy touch of their legs. As the spiders crawled along and between Janis’s toes, she tried to grab some of the spiders with them and squash them, but somehow it never seemed to quite be successful. Of course, it was hard to focus too much on something like that when you had Morgana’s expert fingers stroking up and down her foot as if it was a fine fabric to be caressed.

“But I’m a woman of my word,” Morgana said, and she removed her fingers from Janis’s right foot. The spiders were quick to reclaim that spot as she floated back down and extended her foot in front of Janis’s face. “Go on, before I change my point. Biting on the ball of my feet drives me crazy, as do licks on my arches. Those are my two most awful spots.”

Janis tried to shift her head forward towards that alluring, immaculate foot, but tickling at her own feet was just too intense! It was impossible to get any kind of oral tickling going on when her jaw kept clamping shut to laugh. And then, just like that, the moment was gone.

“Well, would you look at the time?” Morgana said and moved away. “Afraid I’m a very busy lady, and I don’t have time for you to muster up the courage to tickle me. A shame—my feet are really quite sensitive. I’ll have the spiders let you out before tooooooooooo long.” She gave Janis a wink and disappeared, leaving the punk girl with only regrets, anger at being cheated on her vengeance, and a pair of very ticklish feet at the mercy of a cluster of spiders.

O-O-O

Lee’s eyes took a few moments to adjust to the harsh light. In a sharp contrast to the dark and dreary room she had expected, this room was bright and well-lit. The windows were thrown open and the curtains were drawn back to allow in the midday sun.

She soon realised why—she was in the manor’s infirmary, though perhaps experimentation room might have been a more apt descriptor. All around her were glass jars of unknown, strange-looking substance. Herbs hung from the ceiling. She saw rolls of bandages, stacks of wooden splints, strange implements she did not recognise. Lee found herself tied down to a metal surgical bed, with lengths of high-tensile straps binding her firmly in place. They were especially thick around her wrists, which were tied above her head, and her ankles. One foot was bare from her earlier encounter and the other remained sheathed in the black stocking.

“Ah, my favourite patient is up,” said a familiar voice from the other side of the room. Morgana Lafey had changed her garb to resemble that of a nurse. She had the white nurse’s hat with a red cross, a short white dress, and white stockings. The smug look on her face was not that of a benevolent healer, however. “How are you feeling?”

“Um, not great,” Lee said as she tested her bonds. They were implacable.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Morgana said, not sounding very sorry at all. “but while you’re here, how about we do a little examination?” She reached for a utensil with a shining metal wheel of serrated teeth on its end. She rolled it along her fingers, smiling.

“That’s a bit anachronistic, isn’t it?” Lee said in the airy voice of the know-it-all. “Wartenberg Wheels definitely weren’t around in the 18th century when you were supposed to have lived.”

“That’s a tracing wheel actually. They’re used to transfer markings from patterns onto fabric.” Morgana’s face scrunched up into a frown. “Also, has anyone said you’re a real killjoy?”

“You know no one even uses pinwheels anymore?”

“What are you taking about it? It’s all scientific and shit. This wheel will systematically test your nerve reactions and sensitivity… an essential part of any medical examination!” Morgana reached out and grabbed Lee’s right foot, the one that was bare. She held the tiny toes firm so the pinwheel could run a line across the pads of all her toes at once.

Lee jerked up, repressed laughter coming out a shaky grunt. “People don’t even use these things anymore! They’re outdated! They’re unsanitary! You know how many germs you get from using one of those things in a medical setting?”

“Well, thank goodness this isn’t a medical setting, then. Thanks for ruining the illusion.” Morgana sighed and shook her head. “And I even dressed up for this. Gosh, I’m mighty tempted to break out some hairbrushes and oil and just tickle you till you cry. But you’re lucky I’m such a professional.”

Still holding Lee’s bare foot straight with one hand, Morgana ran the pinwheel lightly over the surface of that small foot. Lee gritted her teeth as laughter came whooshing through the gaps in her teeth. It was outrageous how much it tickled, and her keen analytical mind was having difficulty with comprehending how tiny metal prongs were capable of inducing such a response from her sensitive soles. Fingers and feathers made sense—they resembled scampering insects, and tickle reflex had evolved as a method of detection of critters that might damage the body. But those sharp spikes?

It didn’t make a whiff of sense, yet ticklish sensations continued to surge up her legs as the pinwheel drew lines vertically up and down the sole.

“You’re responding very well here,” Morgana observed with a giggle as the pinwheel forced a squeal from Lee’s pouty lips when they zipped along her pale, soft arch. “I’ll have to compare and contrast with that other foot in a moment. I wonder if it’ll be worse with the nylons on.”

It was hard to imagine things being much worse than they were already, Lee thought, as Morgana changed to horizontal lines across her soles. This was especially true as Morgana seemed to be starting with Lee’s petite toes. From her instant squeaking hysterics, they were were almost as bad as her arch when it came to the pinwheel’s cold, prickly touch.

After Morgana was finished with her vertical lines, Lee’s milky white feet were started to redden, and they reddened even further when Morgana decided that she needed to run a few more tests before moving onto the other foot.

“Feel free to tell me which spot tickles more, dearie,” Morgana said as she alternating between teasing the pink arch and the bubble-like toes with that dreaded pinwheel of hers. Lee was shaking and shuddering in her binds, but Morgana’s grip was iron, and the pinwheel continued to roll up and down across her foot.

After another eternity of this, Morgana walked over to the other foot which had so far been spared. The nylon-covered foot immediately curled up and scrunched, but Morgana yanked by her red-painted toes with ease. “Now, now, dear, for science!”

As the pinwheel ran over and over her helpless foot, paying particular attention to her arch and those small toes of hers, Lee’s scientific mind was starting to come to the rather unhelpful conclusion that nylon-clad feet really didn’t mix well with pinwheels. In fact, they might double the sensations. Lee’s frantic squeals and thrashing probably made this clear, though that wasn’t enough for Morgana.

“Which foot tickles more? Tell me! Tell me!” Morgana kept asking as tears of laughter rolled down Lee’s face. “I must know!”

The evil witch then found a new spot—the base of the toes, that little ridge just beneath those small digits that proved exceptionally vulnerable to the pinwheels. She went at that spot on the right foot and then the left, stroke here, stroke there, let the wheels run along them slowly, slowly, slowly.

“Thehehehe leheheheft! The stohohohockings!” Lee finally burbled out after Morgana changed foot for the umpteenth time. Regardless to how monotonous and predictable the action was, the change in targets catching her off-guard like it had every time before. Why did she feel like she was becoming increasingly ticklish as opposed to becoming accustomed to the sensation? Lee wished she knew. It didn’t make sense that her nerves should scream in surprise to a change that she knew was coming, yet they did, and it tickled so much.

“Aww, was that so hard?” Morgana said, focusing her pinwheeling efforts entirely on the left foot. Base of toes, arch, and toe-pads. She went back and forth around this unholy trinity of ticklish agony till Lee was a breathing mess.

“Thank you for your contributions to science, honey,” Morgana said, leaning down to kiss the panting girl on the forehead. “I’ll leave you to recuperate. Ciao, baby!”

 

[oneortheother]

Morgana's Mansion: A Tickle Horror-Comedy, Part 3

The next door Taylor opened led her down a creaking wooden stairway to what must have been the basement of the house. The blonde knew that this would not bode well for her. Basements were always where murderers or captives lurked in horror movies. But would Taylor be able to buck the trend? She certainly hoped so.

More candles illuminated her path down the stairs, and when she walked off the final step, she felt the term basement could no longer apply to what this place was. It was a dungeon. She saw chains, a variety of bondage apparatuses, and trays and tray of utensils likely designed for the gruesome purpose of tickle torture.

“I was hoping you would be the one to stumble down here,” said the husky voice of Morgana Lafey. She was seated and bound in a wooden and steel stockade, though her expression was very much that of a woman at ease, not a prisoner. She stood up, passing through the heavy-looking shackles as if they were not even there. “You’re the one who spoke to one of my former guests here, no?”

It took a moment for Taylor to work out who Morgana was eluding to—Valerie. The woman whose boyfriend had died mysterious in this manor, the woman who must have undergone unimaginable tickle torment, the woman who had shown Taylor such kindness.

“What to know what she experienced?” Morgana said with a wide, thin smile. “But talking about it would be boring, so why don’t I just show you?” She snapped her fingers, and the world seemed to jolt underfoot.

“Omigawd, this is so not cool!” said a stocked girl who had not been there moments ago. She looked a bit like a hippie with her tie-dyed shirt, straw hat, short denim shorts, and brown gladiator sandals. Her silvery blonde hair curled around her shoulder, she wore round glasses, and her ears were full of piercings. When Taylor noticed the silver anklet and the brightly-painted yellow toenails, she saw the resemblance to the more mature woman she had met. This was the young Valerie. They must all be in some kind of memory.

“It’s also not cool for you and your boytoy to pee on my carpet,” Morgana said. “So just for you, I’ll put you in something a little special.”

Valerie whimpered as Morgana removed her sandals in a few deft movements. Her feet were lightly tanned at the tops, but the soles remained creamy. The large stockade could have seated two, which gave Taylor a sense of foreshadow-y trepidation as to what fate might await her next. With your ankles shackled in those holes and your arms tied above your head, you would be helpless to any ticklish ministrations in that thing.

“I picked this up from a pianist with the most delightfully receptive feet I ever saw,” Morgana said as she reached for several little wooden metronomes from a shelf. “Let’s see how you handle it.”

At the end of the metronome were a bundle of white, stiff feathers. Morgana positioned one of them under each armpit where they swept away in time to their clicking beats. The tie-dye shirt that Valerie wore was very fashionable, but the sleeves were very short and failed to provide more protection to her obviously sensitive armpits. Valerie was already shaking with giggles as the feathers struck again and again. The colourful shirt also cut off a few inches before it reached her waist, so another metronome was put to work brushing back and forth across her pierced navel.

“Now, I think you need to learn how to keep the noise down,” Morgana said in a stern voice as Valerie spluttered and twitched. “I’ll have you know you very inconsiderately interrupted my beauty sleep. So, here’s how this is going to work.” Morgana snapped her fingers and two more metronomes positioned themselves at Valerie’s scrunching feet, though these two seemed to not be on. “If you laugh, these two are going to join in. So, do yourself a favour and STFU.”

Morgana walked away, leaving Valerie to grit her teeth and chew on her lower lip as she tried to get her body under control. It was a thing easier said than done when three feathers were dancing along one’s sensitive skin, however.

Taylor watched as Valerie’s eyes closed with the effort of suppressing her body’s natural reaction to such ticklish pressure. Poor her, Taylor thought, and even if Valerie could hold back her snorts and giggles for a while, it was a battle she was inevitably going to lose.

“Enjoying the show?” Morgana said, putting an arm around Taylor’s shoulder. “It sure looks like you are. I never knew you were such a voyeur, sweetie.”

“I am not!”

Morgana tilted her head—her face was a mask of innocence. “Oh, so you’re not content just watching? Well, I understand that… you’d much rather be participating. I imagine you’re thinking what a weakling dear Valerie is, and you’re saying to yourself ‘oh, I bet I could handle that no problem, easy peasy lemon squeezy!’ Am I right or am I right? Say no more!”

Taylor took a step back as realisation dawned on her once more. And in a flash, she found herself seated beside Valerie with her arms raised, ankles in the stocks, flip flops gone, and tickling metronomes starting their regular sweeps along underarms and belly.

“Oh, and just for you, I’ll give you something a bit special.” Morgana pointed a finger at a tray of utensils, and a series of guitar picks floated. “Thought we might as well keep with the musical theme,” she explained. “I obtained these from some wannabe rock star with a belly button to die for… If you start making too much noises, these picks are gonna starting strumming along those pretty tootsies of yours, so best you try to keep silent.”

Tossing her head back, Taylor sucked in breath desperately through her nose as those feathers stroke under her spots with the monotony of a pendulum. Yet somehow, knowing it was coming made it no less bearable. Beside her, she could feel Valerie fighting the same battle. Those feathers were soft, and their bristles swished madly as they came again and again and again. No sooner had the nerves settled down from their previous slash would another arrive. Over and over and over again those feathers came as the girls’ panting breaths grew more and more ragged.

Taylor couldn’t say which feather was the worst. The feather swiping at the edges of her toned biceps brushed against the centre of her armpit hollows was awful, but it was her stomach that was driving her mad. The feather seemed to be placed at the perfect location. It just skirted along the rim of her navel, and with every motion seemed destined to dip into that terribly ticklish little spot, yet it didn’t. The fear of that moment coming kept Taylor fixated on that feather, and she was probably making it tickle her even more than it should have because of the way she was psyching herself out.

Maybe it was because Taylor had leaned forward a bit too far, or she had tensed her abs a bit too much, but either way, the feather at her stomach came whisking towards her navel at just the right angle to give the inside of her belly button a quick ticklish lick, and the floodgates opened. Laughter poured out of her, and then it gushed out of her when those guitar picks came to life at her feet.

Perhaps it was because Valerie had somehow heard her companion’s resistance crumble to nothing, or perhaps it was simply curious timing, but the hippie-esque girl burst into laughter a moment later. And with her laughter, the metronomes at her feet sprang to life to ensure she could make no more further attempts to get her laughter under control. And in much the same way, Taylor’s laughter had become a runaway train she had no hope of catching. Those guitar picks plaguing her feet were like fingernails—but the idealised perfect fingernail for tickle torture. They were long and sharp, and they could be used to pluck away at sensitive spots with abandon, unlike a normal fingernail of that length which had to use a bit of caution lest she risk breaking that nail. Not to mention their size made them perfect for darting around squirming and scrunching toes, and Taylor’s long, gold-painted toes were definitely vulnerable to their vile presence.

Together, their laughter made a strange symphony of hysterical giggles and spluttering guffaws, and they laughed and laughed till the dungeon rang with sound of their musical mirth.

O-O-O

Lee walked through the corridor, her feet padding across the dusty floor. Her shoes had long ago been stolen away, and for now, still had one foot in her nylon stockings while the other foot was bare. She considered remove the stocking on that foot as well for symmetry, but it seemed foolhardy to remove one of the few protections that remained to her.

As she pushed her way through the next door, a polished, painted door of faded purple, she expected to find herself in another ghastly torture chamber, probably with a rack or stockade just waiting for her. But this room was different. The rest thing that hit her was the smell of sweet perfume—it smelled of wild flowers, of herbs, of cinnamon. In contrast to the other filthy rooms and grimy corridors, this room seemed relatively free of dust. There was an open window letting in rays of bright sunlight. It must have been midday, for the sun was still high in the air. Lee tried to push the window open, but it held firm, and she didn’t dare try to break it open to escape. Part of it was because she was somehow on the third floor, despite the fact she didn’t really remember going up any stairs, and also because of what Morgana Lafey had said on that foyer hours ago. This would only end when that witch had enjoyed her fill.

Sighing to herself, Lee tried to work out how this room planned to torment her. There was another side door at the opposite end of the room, but it refused to budge either. Lee was familiar enough with the bizarre expectations of this manor that she recognised something would need to happen before the entrance to her next challenge would open, and that something would probably involve copious amounts of tickling.

But what was there in this room that could lead to that? By the looks of things, this was Morgana’s dressing room or something. Lee examined the floor in case there were rotten floorboards like before, but this room has plush carpets that felt wonderfully soft on her feet. There was an ornate closet in the corner that looked like contained clothes, but Lee wasn’t sure she wanted to open that door lest shirts and trousers suddenly fly out to tie her up or something. She was starting to get an inkling of how this manor worked…

The only other feature of note in the room was a series of stained and cracked mirrors that lined one wall. Perhaps time and nature had warped them, but the reflection they showed resembled that of a carnival hall of mirrors. None of them quite looked like Lee—a bit too tall, too short, too fat, too thin, or etc. Though Lee herself could hardly say she looked like herself right now. She had always hoped to dress to impress with a neat, professional style, but she looked like a right mess at the moment. Her long black hair looked like she had just crawled out of bed following a frantic love-making session. Her white blouse was ruffled and stained with dirt, and of course, she was shoeless and had that stocking torn off so she looked like she had just survived some kind of shipwreck.

As she stared at herself in the mirror, she thought she saw one of her reflections wave at her. She blinked and no, she was just looking at herself, albeit a version of herself twisted in that ugly mirror.

It was then Morgana finally made her appearance, the way she did for every room. She appeared in front of the mirror, though the ghost made no reflection. “You know that phrase that you’re your own worst enemy? Let’s put that to the test, shall we?”

Lee took a step back as the reflections of her in the mirror all took a step forward and suddenly became three-dimensional. There were six of them: too tall, too short, too thin, too fat, too pretty, and too ugly. They all looked just like her, but she knew they must be reflections for they all had bare left foot while her own right foot was bare.

They pounced and overwhelmed her, dogpiling her to the ground. They were all giggling as they did so, a noise which Lee found so familiar yet so foreign. She had never really ‘heard’ herself laugh before like this, after all. But before long, she was hearing herself laugh heartily. Trapped on her back, she twisted and bucked as bed she could, but she had no chance when she was being sextupled teamed.

Two of them, too tall and too short, were sitting on her arms, which were pinned above her head, and they were spidering all ten of their fingernails in each underarm. They would graze along the edges of the armpits and then dive back into the hollows, shifting gears every few seconds or so. The right armpit was especially awful as too tall had longer fingernails than Lee herself, as they scraped and raked the soft flesh there viciously.

“Plehehehehease stahahahp! Don’t do thihihihis to meheehehe! You are meheheheeee!”

“What are you going to offer me to stop, huh?” asked too pretty, sneering at her. “Let me guess—anything? Well, what if I told you what I wanted was to tickle you even more? What are you gonna do about that?”

Too pretty had a slimmer face but a larger bust, and Lee had a good view of both of them while she was perched on Lee’s midsection. Her nails focusing on the prominent collarbones and neck that Lee’s white blouse left exposed. Worst of all was her lips, fuller than Lee’s own. They mocked and teased Lee in both English and her native Putonghua, telling her what a weak little ticklish girl she was, how she couldn’t even stand a few tickles, how she probably was a little slut who was enjoying every second of this. Lee never knew she could hate herself so much.

Too fat was sitting on her thighs, putting her weight to good use to keep Lee’s legs from going anywhere as she traced and squeezed her fingers along Lee’s knees.

Too thin and too ugly had spread Lee’s legs and sat down across her ankles. With her feet pinned beneath them, they had free rein to scamper their small, nimble finger all over Lee’s soles. Just as before, the bare foot and the foot still in stockings felt different, and although they were being tickled by the same mischievous fingers, it seemed vastly different on each foot, which of course meant that it tickled more.

“Let’s really get her feet,” said too pretty suddenly at Lee’s neck, and in a flash, as if all the reflections shared but one mind, they stood up and piled around her feet. Lee’s arms were suddenly free, but she couldn’t wrench her feet from the six reflections that had clustered around her tiny ticklish feet.

They wriggled their adroit fingers under her clenched, red-painted toes and pried them back till the Lee’s petite feet were taut and immobile. And then sixty (give or take the hands holding her quivering feet in place) wicked fingers engulfed her soles in a wave of sensations. And they knew every sensitive spot on Lee’s small feet well, from her arches, to between her toes, to the soft balls of the feet—they were her, after all.

Lee tried slapping at the backs of her reflections or tugging on their shoulders, but there were too many of them, and the all-powering foot tickling was quickly driving the resistance out of her, one gushing guffaw at a time.

“You know,” Morgana said as she watched Lee pound her palm on the carpeted floor, “I always thought it was impossible to tickle yourself. Thanks for proving me wrong, dearie.”

O-O-O

Janis had learned not to expect too much in terms of realism when it came to the malleable laws of space and time in this manor, but somehow, she still found what she saw in the next room to look incredibly odd, even though it probably wasn’t really that remarkable. It was so mundane that it might not have even been magic, yet there was something jarring and perplexing about the sight, like when you saw an old friend with a crazy new hairstyle.

The candlelit room was small, sparse, and spartan. There were a few paintings on the wall, an armchair covered with dust, and a copper hat rack in the corner. The only truly remarkable feature was the door, and not the door that Janis had just entered through, which naturally had slammed and locked itself shut as soon as the blue-haired girl had stepped inside.

This oaken door was a bold whorehouse red, and where the door knob should have been, a pair of pale, slender bare feet protruded from the wood. It looking like the door had grown around the feet, as the fit seemed so snug. The feet wiggled at the sound of Janis’s approach, like a rabbit twitching its ears at the sound of potential danger.

Just above the feet, Janis could make out a little dial. The faded writing on it said ‘close’, but it had another setting that said ‘open’. She tried to twist the dial, but it seemed stuck.

“You’ll need to tickle those feet to get out,” said the voice of Morgana Lafey, though the witch herself didn’t seem to be in the area. “I wonder if you can dish out what you can take. Good luck…”

Janis brushed an experimental finger down the foot in closest to her. It wrinkled up immediately, and it certainly felt real and warm enough to be a real foot. The feet before her were long, though not as long and large as Taylor’s. They were pale, dainty things, a bit similar to her own but thinner, and when Janis pushed the foot down to examine them a bit better, she saw that the tidily-trimmed toenails had a smooth shine to them and black nail varnish. From their creamy pinkish tan, Janis guessed they probably belonged to a Caucasian girl, perhaps some kind of goth girl, though from how unbelievably soft and pampered these feet were, it wouldn’t have surprised Janis at all if they belonged to some snotty prima donna alpha bitch type. Janis solemnly hoped they did, as that would make it make easier to tickle these pretty things guilt-free.

As Janis rubbed her fingers into those immaculate feet, she could hear a steady stream of slow giggles from the other side of the thick wooden door. Well, there was no kindness in teasing the girl by keeping her waiting in suspense any longer, Janis decided, and she started right away by digging her fingers firmly into the silky flesh of the arches of both feet. Those deep, high arches proved to be an immediate goldmine of sweet spots, as Janis’s blue nails focused over the area between heel and ball of feet, relishing in the squeals and gasps that could be heard from beyond. Whoever this girl was, she seemed as ticklish as any girl Janis had ever seen. It was a crying shame that Morgana had not thought to supply her with any tools. A hairbrush in particular looked like it would have tremendously fun to treat these buttery-soft arches too, or perhaps maybe a backscratcher for a more precise touch. Oh well, she digressed. She would just have to make do with what she had. At least she got to tickle for once in this place.

And as she tickled, the dial on the door was beginning to turn. It was about one third of the way to open now. Good, Janis thought, she was making progress. But now she had to find the spots that really make this girl tick…

After playing with the wrinkles of those arches for a while, Janis refocused her attacks on one foot at a time—the left foot first. She started at the heel, scurrying up the foot with all ten of her long fingernails like a ravaging horde of ticklish mayhem. Her nails would swarm up the sole, then swarm down, up and down, up and down. The girl beyond the door would also shriek when the skittering fingers would dash past her arch, and she would always let loose machine-gun laughter when the motion reached her toes. It was cute how like clockwork her reactions seemed to be. Janis supposed she respected how consistent her reactions were. There was nothing bad about being reliable, was there?

While Janis had her way with that left foot, the other foot began to clench and unclench its toes, wiggling and flexing as if trying to wave to get Janis’s attention. The trapped feet were a bit too far away from each other for the foot to reach over and take a few ticklish blows for its twin, but that didn’t seem to stop it from trying. It was an adorably futile gesture, and every now and then Janis couldn’t resist brushing her nails along the black-painted toes as they desperately strained to protect the besieged left foot. Those slender toes would also splay open and flex back, as if shocked by the sudden touch, but they could never stay away for long. And Janis would greet those grasping toes with another swipe to get them to recoil once more, and then the cycle would repeat itself.

After Janis did the same with the right foot, which prompted the same cutesy toe defence, she noticed the dial was nearly at open. Well, it was time to bust out the big guns and find out where those fun arches of hers were really ticklish. Using just her index fingers, she focused her efforts on the centres of them, probing slowly and listening for the girl’s wild whoops of laughter. It didn’t take long to find that the base of the arches was a particular delightful spot to tease. Janis dug two fingers into that spot on the arch, moving back and forth to hit the same place on one foot then the other, and luckily for Janis but unluckily for the girl, that tender spot seemed present and equally ticklish on both pampered feet.

Janis couldn’t have said how long she kept this up for, though the pale feet were certainly a shade pinker at this point—she was all too familiar with the adage that time flew when you were having fun. And Janis was having all kinds of fun. Tickling was her fetish, after all, and she was undecided on whether she enjoyed being more on the delivering end or the receiving end. And although this girl’s slim feet looked nothing like her chunky, wider ones, as her fingers flew over the soft, succulent, pliable flesh of her soles, Janis’s toes curled as she empathised with the girl and imagined cruel, vicious fingernails ravaging across her own feet as well. It was the sort of thinking that made her heart beat a little faster, made her bite her lower lip, and turned on the tap downstairs.

After a while, the girl’s laughter beyond the door started to fade, but Janis knew the girl must have simply gone into silent laughter, because both feet were still twitching and thrashing as if they had all the energy in the world. And them the dial clicked in place, and door unlocked and swung open.

Janis gaped as she realised who she had been tickling. Morgana Lafey herself pulled her long, shapely legs from the wall still giggling to herself. “Not bad,” she said. “Not bad at all. You tickle pretty well.”

“It is kinda my hobby.”

“Well, it heartens me to see a strong young woman following her passions,” Morgana said with a chuckle, her eyes glowed yellow, and they sparkled with mischief. “Follow me. It’s time for the grand finale.”

O-O-O

To call where that door led a ‘room’ would give it serious injustice, Janis thought. It was more a great hall, a large, majestic place which seemed almost too big to fit into the manor. It was definitely bigger than any of Taylor’s tennis courts, that was for sure. The centre of the room was elevated with stone steps, and the steps led to a great throne carved of jutting metal. Seated cross-legged on the throne was Morgana Lafey.

“How very Game of Thrones,” Janis said by way of greeting.

“Why thank you,” Morgana said, her voice booming from the throne as Janis slowly walked towards her. “Do you like my chair? I added a few personal touches to it.”

On the right armrest of the throne, Janis saw a pair of tanned bare feet protruding within easy reach of Morgana’s long, black fingernails. Janis recognised those silver toerings, so it must have been poor Taylor trapped under the throne. When her eyes followed those lone feet down, she saw the metal of the throne had engulfed the feet’s owner entirely, binding them in the base of the chair so that only their feet was the only part of their body that was visible. As Morgana spoke, in a casual, relaxed motion, she would brush her nails lightly across the feet to make them squirm and struggle. Muffled echoes of laughter were audible. And on the other side, on the other armrest, the small feet that were curled up in anticipation of the ticklish fate that was due to befall them had to be Lee—there was no mistaking those tiny toes and those black stockings, though she only had one foot with the stocking still on.

Morgana laughed when she saw where Janis was looking. “No need to glare at me! Don’t you worry, I was just keeping your friends entertained why they wait for you.” She gave Lee’s petite feet a quick parting scratch, then clapped her hands together, and Taylor and Lee appeared beside Janis in a puff of black smoke, gasping and coughing. It was good to see her friends again, Janis thought, and although all three of them were undoubtedly a bit worse for wear, at least they were all fairly unharmed.

“Thanks,” Lee said. “If we get out of here, I swear I’m changing my name. It really is tempting fate.”

Taylor said, “What’s happening now? Are you finally going to let us do that interview unmolested?”

“What a curious choice of words there,” Morgana said with a wry smile on her face, “but I digress. Anyway, here we all are, at the final frontier, as a reward for all your efforts you get the ultimate blessing of all. You get to tickle me.”

The three girls all looked at each other. After all they had been through, the chance at ticklish comeuppance and revenge was a sweet tonic indeed.

“But how?” Taylor asked. “Aren’t you like a ghost?”

“I am, but ghosts have bodies.” Morgana snapped her fingers and a coffin burst from the ground—it sent dirt and dust flying everywhere. There was a harsh scraping sound the air as the heavy black coffin slowly slid open. When the girls finally got a look at the thing inside the coffin, they were surprised to see it was almost identical to the Morgana Lafey who sat on her throne, only minus the ominous blue glow that clung to her. The ‘real’ Morgana smiled up at them. She was also only wearing a black lace bra and panties which certainly did not look like they had been around in the 18th century.

“Wow, why aren’t you a skeleton?” Lee asked. “It’s been three hundred years, hasn’t it? I expected some… well, decay and overall grossness, to be honest.”

“I’m surprised that’s the first thing you noticed. Anyway, I was very well preserved.”

“And hold on,” Janis said. “Weren’t you drowning? If that’s how you died, shouldn’t you look, I don’t know, a bit more like a Pirates of the Caribbean villain?”

“Yeah, why aren’t you wet and slimy or gross?” Taylor added.

“You’re talking to a ghost with vaguely-defined powers and you’re complaining about realism?” Morgana shook her head and chuckled. “GTFO.”

Another flash of light and the black coffin had transformed into a black table. The real Morgana was bound across it with fur-lined chains at her wrists and ankles to pull her eagle-spread. A black ball-gag in her mouth muffled her. At the corner of the table was a tray of tickle implements.

“Wow, you’re going to let the three of us tickle you all at once?” Lee said. “You don’t stand a chance.”

“Well, about that,” Morgana said, “I think you may have noticed I love to tickle—almost as much as I enjoy being on the receiving end, so why not get the best of both words?” She snapped her fingers and an identical table popped up opposite the one that held her physical form. “And I think I’ll start with you, though don’t worry, all of you will get a turn.” She pointed at Lee, and the Chinese girl suddenly found herself bound to the table in the exact same way the real Morgana was. “Let’s begin, shall we?”

Taylor and Janis didn’t need telling twice. With Morgana’s body exposed and bound, they had their pick of spots to attack, not to mention their pick of which implement to use thanks to the tray of tickle tools the witch had so thoughtfully provided. Janis picked a comb while Taylor decided she wanted to adopt a more hands-on approach.

Janis took a quick peek at Morgana’s pale feet. They feet were very wrinkled, the way they got after swimming in the pool for a while, and they were also very soft to a touch. Janis set to work exploring those wrinkles with the fine-toothed wooden comb right away. She was delighted by the way Morgana reared up, her black-painted toes flexing and scrunching as best as those tight binds would allow. It was good to know those gorgeous feet were every bit as sensitive and ticklish as they looked.

Taylor was having a ball of the time with Morgana’s armpits as well. She wasn’t exactly sure how big a thing personal grooming was at the time of Morgana’s death, but she wasn’t about to complain with her finger attacked those smooth, hairless hollows. Morgana’s biceps were thing and lightly muscled, unlike Taylor’s arms strengthened from years of playing tennis, but those arms were straining all the same as Taylor fluttered her nails all around them. Morgana’s green eyes were closed as the gag continued to eat up and muffle her frantic laughter.

“Now, you, my darling, are way too uptight,” the other Morgana said to Lee, who was gagged. She seemed unaffected by the potent tickled being inflicted on her true form by the other two girls, aside from the fact her grin seemed to be wider than before. “Let’s see if we can’t get you to loosen up a bit.”

Her fingers crept into short sleeves of Lee’s blouse to tease along the armpits as she began to softly kiss and lick along her neck and collarbones. Lee scrunched her eyes shut and tried to twist her head away. That tongue… it felt like it was half a feather and half a tongue. It sent tingly tendrils of sensation crawling through her body with every tender lap.

“Does that feel nice, sweetheart?” Morgana giggled and began to unbutton Lee’s blouse, causing the Asian girl to struggle even harder.

Her friends saw what was happening and quickly tried to move to her rescue. Janis began sawing the comb between Morgana’s long toes, the wooden teeth of the comb scratching and stimulating the hypersensitive flesh of the undersides along the toe webbing. Taylor was spidering all five of her fingers in each armpit, sometimes scratching hard and other times teasing slowly. The bound Morgana’s eyes bulged and tears began to trickle down her cheeks, yet the other Morgana continued unimpeded. Morgana’s tongue began to slide across Lee’s slim stomach.

Lee was going mad from this light touch alone, though the fact Morgana’s fingers had begun to brush along her pale sides probably didn’t help. Lee tried to twist to the side, tried to suck in her stomach, but that devastating tongue continued to follow her. The tongue began to skitter slow, clockwise circles around her navel, spiralling closer to her belly button each time with every lap around that quivering, spasming stomach, with Lee’s giggles growing more intense once her hyper analytical mind realised where that tongue was due.

“You’ve got such a tasty tummy,” Morgana said in a husky purr before she finally slipped her tongue into her navel. It wiggled around as Lee exploded with laughter. “Let’s see if your feet are the same.” Morgana traced that crazy feather-soft tongue of hers down Lee’s inner thigh and shin as she made her way down to the feet.

She quickly took up shop at the right foot, which was bare. As her tongue licked up and down the foot and attacked those red-painted toes, pushing through the gaps to drive Lee to more hysterics, her other hand raked up and down Lee’s left foot, which was still clad in the stocking.

Meanwhile, Taylor had relocated to Morgana’s feet as well, launching a furious ten fingered assault on her right foot while Janis and her comb continued to attack the left. But again, the effect it had on the other Morgana’s was minimal, though Morgana’s body seemed like she was suffering spectacularly.

“Yum, yum, yum,” Morgana said. “I wonder how you taste up there as well…” She licked her way back to the inner thighs, which we still covered in Lee’s nylon tights, though they still provided a feeble amount of protection from such a powerful tongue as the one Morgana possessed. And she licked and licked, one thigh and then the other, while her fingers continued to play with Lee’s trim stomach or her tiny feet. After there was a while, there was no mistaking the way conservative Lee’s hips were grinding together. That devilish tongue was close to coaxing an orgasm out of her. “Hmm, I’m not sure you deserve this, though.”

Lee glanced down at her, her expression twisted in lust and confusion and in a flash, Lee and Janis had swapped places. Janis was strapped down, Lee was free and beside the trapped body of Morgana Lafey. Lee put her hands on her knees. She was panting, with her legs weak from the teasing she had just undergone.

“Oh, you bitch,” she said and picked up a pair of feathers. She instantly set them to work on Morgana’s inner thighs, in particular the point where they met the hip. She hugged her heaving chest. “Grab some feathers and get her nipples, Taylor.”

“Dayum, girl, she really did a number on you, huh?” Taylor said, her eyebrows raised. “but I gotta say, I like pissed off Lee. You go, girl! Let’s do this!” She picked up a pair of feather dusters, tugged down Morgana’s black bra, and set to dusting those pink, erect nipples right away.

“Ooooh, your girls now how to spoil a girl,” Morgana said, rubbing her neck. She grinned at the gagged blue-haired girl in front of her. “I guess you’re feeling a little jealous of your friend getting the taste of my talented tongue? Well, I don’t plan on depriving you of anything. But I do find doing the same thing over and over again a bit boring… so let’s how you handle this?”

Morgana waggled her tongue, and suddenly it grew to ten times its normal length. Morgana smiled, resembling some massive great snake, and she went down towards Jani’s chunky, white feet. The long tongue wound around the right foot several times before pushing its way through several toes as Janis howled with laughter.

And Janis could already feel herself shuddering as the throbbing between her legs grew stronger and stronger. Janis had been having a wonderful time tickling the bound Morgana—there was something about sweet revenge that was so powerfully arousing, and not to mention the fact that Morgana was a very alluring woman with that dark hair and those captivating eyes of hers. And shit, that tongue of hers… it was like the craziest, most ticklish foot worship session she had ever had multiple by a thousand. And there was more. Everywhere that the saliva touched, Janis’s skin seemed to grow warmer as it trickled across her bare feet. And the saliva seemed thicker than normal spit would be.

“You’re noticing, aren’t you?” Morgana said as she switched feet. “My ‘venom’ is making you even more sensitive…” When Morgana stroked a finger down the foot she had just finished licking, the truth of her words hit Janis like a train. As Janis’s other foot was set aflame by that long, roving tongue, Morgana over fingers danced across the hypersensitive foot. She didn’t need to concentrate her efforts too much on that that foot—a simple scrabbling of nails up and down the slick, soft foot was enough to drive Janis wild with laughter. It was clear Morgana’s attention was clearly focused on using her mind-numbingly effective tongue to its full utility. She took care to slide her long tongue through the gaps of every single one of Janis’s blue-painted toed so not a spot would be spared from being slathered in her sizzling saliva. And when she was finally finished, she licked her lips, then quickly spidered her fingers up and down both feet at once.

“I know you’re loving this, you little tickleslut,” Morgana said with a giggle, “so I wonder, can you get an orgasm just from? I don’t know if it’s possible, but let’s make an honest attempt at it, shall we?” On that, she dug her fingers fiercely into both feet. She scratched her nails deep into Janis’s arches, wriggled her nails through the gaps between those pedicured toes, and raked her nails across the fleshy balls of her foot.

The other girls were doing their best to drive Morgana mad with such sensual tickling as well. Lee was demonstrating her tremendous capacity to multitask with a three-pronged attack—her mouth was nibbling and licking away on the big toe of Morgana’s right foot, one hand with sliding a feather against the thighs, and the other hand was squeezing along the knee cap. Taylor had picked up a pair of toothbrushes and was scrubbing away with gusto. Those perky nipples were an obvious target, though Taylor made sure to brush circles around them as well. She had her pick of sensitive spots on the torso, so every now and then, she would send a toothbrush to Morgana’s stomach or an armpit as well, which from the witch’s tear-stained cheeks must have been effective.

After a while, as Janis’s pale feet began to redden from insistent scratching, Morgana realised her goal would likely forever remain out of reach. “Wouldn’t be fair to just leave those sensitive tootsies all alone, though,” Morgana said with a giggle and she pointed at some feathers on the tray of tickle tools on the table. Those feathers floated open in the air and made a beeline for Janis’s feet while Morgana strutted her way to Janis’s torso.

Janis’s feet were still hypersensitive from the stimulating effect of that saliva, so the feathers were more than enough to keep her laughing steadily. And there were half a dozen of them eagerly feathering away. Some were fluffy, some were stiff, some were white and some were grey, but all of them tickled madly on Janis’s spots. They could dust all over her feet with light swiping touches, twirl through wiggling blue-painted toes, or slide up and down those damp arches with quick strokes. It all worked, and the soft, light kiss of those feathers felt like a giggly massage to the punky girl, a massage which did some turbulent things to her tingling womanhood.

Her womanhood was further agitated when Morgana’s tongue starting slipping under Janis’s sleeves to get her armpits. Like before, where the tongue went felt feverish, the skin heating up and becoming more sensitive to subsequent touches. And Janis had never felt anything like Morgana’s long tongue circling and stroking away in one armpit then the other. She jumped and bounced on the table as much as her bonds allowed while the longing in her legs grew and grew. She wanted to scream when Morgana’s long fingernails began tracing along her breasts, her fingers someone reaching through the fabric so she could acutely feel every single flick and stroke.

Morgana leaned in close, her tongue brushing against Janis’s ear for a moment, “Having fun, dear?” As she spoke, her fingers phased through Morgana leaned in close, her tongue brushing against Janis’s ear for a moment, “Having fun, dear?” As she spoke, her fingers phased through Janis’s undergarments once more so she could give her hard dark nipples a quick teasing pinch.

Janis was torn between admitting yes and shaking her head because of how it wasn’t nearly enough. She eventually went with the latter, which prompted Morgana to chuckle. “Not enough for you, huh?” And on that note, her fingers started raking hard into Janis’s slick and smooth armpits while the feathers at her feet sped up their attack, almost like she was being attacked by a plague of tiny birds. Again and again they ran between her toes or through her arches. Again and again Morgana pressed her fingers deep into the soft, silky flesh of Janis’s underarms and dug. And just when the tickling was finally driving her to the point of pure bliss… it stopped.

Taylor found herself gagged and in Janis’s spot from before. Janis wailed and looked like she wanted to punch someone. Lee gave her an understanding pat on the shoulder and passed her a hairbrush, with one already in the Asian girl’s hand. The real Morgana shook her head, pleading comprehensible syllables into the gag, but those two girls had been teased far too much for mercy. They both took a foot each, pulled those long, black-painted toenails back, and began brushing those ferocious bristles fiercely across each sole.

“Hey, cutie,” the other Morgana said the bound blonde in front of her. The ghost shifted her weight from foot to foot, but that seemed to her only physical concession to the speedy scrubbing that was being inflicted on her ticklish bare feet. What was her secret? Taylor wondered. Her sharp eyes shifted over to where Janis and Lee were diligently working away with the plastic-tipped hairbrushes—well, it was more than diligence spurring them on. Was there some way that Morgana was repressing the sensations in that body to prevent from transferring to her ghostly form? Unfortunately, it became difficult to focus on metaphysical matters of souls and spirits when the other Morgana grinned at her and lifted up a hand. Morgana’s black fingernails were about half an inch long, but she wiggled her fingers and those nails suddenly lengthened till they were several inches long—long talons which would be harrowing for any ticklish girl like Taylor to endure. And Morgana wasted no time getting started right away on her long, tanned feet with these new nails of hers. They slashed and scythed up and down Taylor’s feet in long, unhurried motions. She knew she had all the time in the world to torment Taylor’s slender, flawless feet.

She was wrong, however, Taylor realised as she spied movement out of the corner of her eye. She willed herself not to respond, not to react, even when those long, evil fingernails began scratching under her sparkling gold toes, right along her silver toe rings.

In a surprising feat of athleticism that Taylor would never have expected from her more sedentary friends, Janis and Lee suddenly tackled Morgana—they had completely ignored the ‘real’ Morgana who was gasping on the table in favour of a newer target. Morgana seemed as taken aback as she was quickly tickled to the floor. Janis had jumped onto her back with two hands plunging wildly into each armpit as Morgana tried to rise. After a few attempts, Morgana’s arms shook, wobbled and crashed down. Lee sat across Morgana’s bare calves to further secure the squirming and shouting witch in place, and her fingers were soon flying across Morgana’s pale, shapely feet to try to distract her from any attempts at escape with more fierce tickling.

As Morgana shrieked and squealed, Taylor found the shackles that bound her to that black table starting to fade away—they were smoking, almost like they were the last vestiges of a cigarette fast being consumed. And before long, she was free and very eager for revenge.

“Nice work, girls,” Taylor said over the shouting whoops of Morgana’s laughter. “I brought you guys some gifts for all your hard work.” She showed them the tray of tickle tools, and they both exchanged quick high fees. Lee scooted up to sit on Morgana’s ankles with a wooden fork in hand that she eagerly out to work under and between Morgana’s black painted toes. Taking advantage of the new spot that was open to her, Taylor took a few feathers to see if Morgana’s bare behind and thighs were sensitive to them—the answer was yes.

Janis, whom Taylor believed had been most slighted but the sensual tickling, was scrubbing away in those armpits with a toothbrush, and she was saying something to Morgana as she did so. Janis’s voice was too low and Morgana’s laughter was too loud, but Taylor had seen enough trash talking on the tennis courts to recognise the smug look of a victor on her friend’s face.

Morgana writhed beneath them, slapped her hands on the stony ground or tried to make attempts to tickle them with her hands, but Taylor noticed that not once did she beg them to stop. When she did talk, it was that of the observational variety, a “thahahahat tihihickles sohoho much!”, a “wohohow, my tohohohohoes!” or “hohoholy shit thahaht bruhuhsh!”

All these reactions plus the fact that Morgana had displayed an abundance of otherworldly powers sent a shiver down Taylor’s spine. Sure, they were winning right now. But was this a true victory or a feigned one? Were they only winning because Morgana was letting them?

Taylor got her answer when suddenly Morgana was no longer there—they were sitting on the ground, tickling nothing but air with their tools. Morgana floated above them, smiling.

“Well, that was a fun change of pace,” Morgana said, her eyes glowing green and then a feral yellow. “What, you guys didn’t really think you had me beaten, did you? Oops, psych.”

Fear blossomed on the faces of Lee, Janis, and Taylor. They took a step back as Morgana hovered above them.

“I never got finished with you,” Morgana pointed at Taylor and a stone crucifix sprouted from the ground with the blonde girl bound to it. Stone hands grew and began wriggling at armpit, ribs, and feet.

“Shihihihit!” Taylor wailed.

“This was your idea, wasn’t it?” Morgana nodded at Janis. “I like the way you think.” Stony hands shot out from the ground and grabbed Janis by the ankles. The hands lifted her up in the air till she was dangling upside down. “Of course, I like the way you laugh more.” Vines and vegetation sprouted from the cracks in the stones to swarm over Janis’s feet till she was laughing as hard as Taylor. Some of those naughty tendrils wandered along her thighs and belly and armpits as well.

“Yohohoho’re such a tehehehease!” Janis shouted as her shook from the ticklish stimulation.

“And don’t worry, I ahven’t forgotten you, honey,” Morgana said as a fresh batch of stony hands grabbed Lee by the ankles and spread them till she was almost doing the splits. Smaller hands about the size of pennies swarmed over her feet, knees and thighs. “Anyway, I promised you guys anad interview, so feel free to ask me any questions you like.”

When the only sound that greeted her was more raucous laughter, Morgana shrugged with an aloof smile on her face. “Come, come, my dearies, don’t be shy! If you have anything you want to know at all, ask away! I’m happy to answer any queries you may have. Want to know how I became a ghost? What powers I have? How many celebrities of course I’ve tickled? Ask and ye shall receive!”

Taylor tried to ask, but the big hands at her smooth, sensitive armpits scrabbled harder to choke off her words.

Janis tried to ask, but the vines at her bare, creamy thighs teased her and teased till she was close to drooling.

Lee tried to ask, but the tiny hands had lodged themselves in her stocking-clad feet, and they refused to leave her toes alone.

“Nothing? Really?” Morgana’s eyes went from girl to girl as she grinned. “I thought your newspaper people would be very curious. Well, then I’ll have to tickle you till you can think of something! Cootchie cootchie coo, my darlings!"