Hello good TMF'ers
The torrid tale of “Temple of the Torture Goddess continues with Part 10.
Previously…
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
Part 9
Once more, a heartfelt “thank you” to all you generous and kind commentors, messagers, and readers.
Now, on with the show…
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Temple of the Torture Goddess — Part 10
A couple days after my encounter with Mistress Perone and Kelly, there was a shake-up in my routine. Rather than being taken to the laundry, all of the slave-apprentices were marched outside to an enormous walled courtyard, much, much bigger than the one I was brought to the night I first came to the temple. We joined the dozens of slave-apprentices already assembled there. The mistresses divided us up into crews, then led us out of the enormous gates into the fields and orchards outside the walls.
The priestesses typically called it “the garden” or “the orchard,” but those names were much too modest. I had been here before, of course, at night; seeing it in the daylight, it was a wonder how I didn’t get lost, or even how the guards had found me among the seemingly endless rows of trees and vineyards.
With a small crew I was put to work harvesting tomatoes. I was told that every now and then other groups of slave-apprentices were brought out to help out the regular field workers in harvesting, and that in a couple days or so we’d be back to our regular duties.
But the sun was warm and the skies were clear, and the work made a pleasant change from the laundry. Spirits were high among the slave-apprentices — the overseers couldn’t monitor us all the time, so there was a lot of chatter and a little mischief. At the end of the day, we were taken back through the courtyard. They made us strip, and then led us through the echoey, vaulted chamber where I had washed off before my meeting with Vonda. We showered en mass, and though the guards moved us through pretty quickly, all those naked, wet bodies pressed so close together was an open invitation to pinch, grope, and tickle. I didn’t get it too bad, but most of us were giggly and a little flustered when we scurried out of there to dry off and put our clothes back on.
The next day we were let out again, and once more I found myself among the leafy, shady rows of tomato vines. The good mood of the day before carried over, with the slave-apprentices chatting, laughing, and even occasionally sneaking in a quick grope when the overseers weren’t around. There were 20 slave-apprentices in my crew, most of them from the laundry. Darlene was there, the big, troublesome brunette I had seen get whipped, and so was Elyse. I hadn’t spoken to the buxom blonde since our night in my cell, though a few times she had winked or pouted at me across the laundry when I had caught her eye. Elyse was probably the biggest talker — she was certainly the loudest — and more than once Darlene told her to shut up. “You’re going to get all of us in trouble!”
Elyse would stick her tongue out at her, or make some comment, and go right on talking, as if she were trying to purposely irritate Darlene.
The trouble started the middle of the afternoon on our second day. Elyse stood up, stretching, and took a big bite of the tomato she was holding. “Mmmm, juicy,” she said, wiping the pulp from her mouth.
One of the girls spoke up. “Elyse, you know you could get in trouble for that…”
“Yeah, but they’re just so ripe and juicy I can help it,” she said, finishing the tomato. “Though they’re not the only ripe, juicy thing out here…”
There was a thwack as Elyse smacked Darlene’s fleshy butt. The brunette cried out angrily and shot up, whirling around. “Watch it you big-titted bimbo!” she snarled, eyes burning.
Elyse laughed, prancing out of Darlene’s range. “Careful Darlene,” she mocked. “You don’t want to catch the guards’ attention, do you?”
“I’ve had about enough of your big mouth and your antics…”
“What are you going to do about it?”
“Keep it up and you’ll find out!”
“Ooo, I better do what you say, then…”
We turned back to our work, but it was obvious that Elyse was up to something. I stole glances at her out of the corner of my eye, looking over my shoulder every few moments. Next to me, Darlene bent way over to pick a tomato close to the ground. Elyse stood up and hurled a tomato at Darlene’s round butt. It struck its target with a loud squelch, splattering across Darlene’s buns in their tight shorts.
“Direct hit!” Elyse cried.
But Darlene was already up, roaring, spinning to face Elyse. She had hardly turned when another tomato struck her high on the shoulder, juicy pulp spattering her face. Roaring and cursing, she grabbed a tomato and returned fire, throwing with such force and speed that Elyse didn’t have time to duck — it caught her on the side of her head, scattering pulp across her cheek and in her hair and splashing Elyse’s companion… who I noticed was also rearing her arm back, a big ripe tomato clutched in her hand…
I lurched into the middle of the row, my arms up. “Wait! Wait!” A tomato thrown from behind me flew past my shoulder, right as Elyse’s friend let fly with her own. It hit me square in the chest. Another hit me on the head, making me stumble and fall; another hit my side as I tried to get up. Darlene stood a few feet away, practically covered in red pulp, roaring as she grabbed tomato after tomato from the bucket at her feet and hurled them at the girls across the row. Others had joined in, caught up in the heat of the moment. Tomatoes flew back and forth, shouts and laughter resounding through the orchard. A few girls ran for cover; a couple others tried to break up the melee and found themselves pelted with tomatoes. I scrambled to my feet, just in time to catch a tomato thrown by a sandy-haired woman near Elyse and fire it back at her. I tried to run for it, only to fall as I was struck on the back of the head.
It wasn’t long before the melee attracted the guards, who descended on us with angry shouts, batons out and flails cracking. They didn’t care who started it or why, or who had merely been caught in the crossfire. The offenders, as far as the guards were concerned, were easy to spot. Bits of pulpy tomato clung to our skin and matted our hair, red splotches stained our garments, runnels of juice trickled down our limbs, dripping off us. The guards rounded us up, a dozen of us, and marched us off towards the temple. As we marched through the grounds, all the other slave-apprentices outside followed at the behest of the overseers, buzzing with nervous excitement.
They took us through the gates into the main courtyard. As I said, it was a huge, open space, different from the smaller entrance where the guards had taken me when I was first captured. But like that one, this courtyard boasted stocks, two long rows of stocks for the neck and wrists that faced each other across a space of about 10 yards or so.
To the delight of the crowd that had assembled in the yard, the brawlers were stripped, shouting and protesting as we were forced into the stocks. I cried out that I had been an innocent bystander, drawn into the fight through no fault of my own, but like the other slave-apprentices who could have said the same thing, I found myself right next to many of the instigators, kneeling naked on a padded bench with my wrists and neck locked into the holes, my feet restrained behind me. In this position we couldn’t sit back on our heels; we were forced to lean forward, the neck and ankle stocks holding us in place. I felt incredibly exposed. Darlene was next to me, on my right, still struggling and cursing. Across from me I spotted Elyse, huge tits dangling heavily beneath her.
There was a lot of noise and activity in the courtyard: shouting overseers, the babbling crowd of slave-apprentices brought in with us from the field, the cries of those in the stocks. Other apprentices and guards scurried about, some carrying buckets filled with soapy water. Four buckets, the wooden handles of brushes sticking from the water, were placed on the platform in front of me. I noticed girls leaving buckets in front of the other stocks, too. An overseer strode into the space between the rows of stocks, arm over her head. With a shout and a whistle from her the hubbub quieted down.
“These slave-apprentices are guilty of an intolerable lapse of discipline and order,” she barked. “They will be severely punished for their behavior. But before the proper punishment begins…” here she pointed to the crowd of apprentices. “… you will clean them thoroughly. Any sign that you are ‘going easy’ on these trouble-makers will get you the whip. Understood? Then begin!”
Judging from the gleeful eagerness with which the assembled slave-apprentices rushed towards us, “going easy” was the last thing any of them had in mind. Clusters of women gathered around each of the stocks, snatching up brushes and sponges from the buckets as they laughed and chattered with excitement. Perhaps five or six surrounded me, many of which I recognized from the laundry room.
They started lathering me up, wasting no time going to work with the fluffy brushes and soft sponges. The woman on my left was already shrieking. “Gawds no!” she howled. “No please! Not my feeeheeheehee… hahahahahaa!”
I gasped and twitched helplessly as bristles and sponges and hands scrubbed my most sensitive spots, breaking into squeals of laughter at the insistent swirling of brushes on the soles of my feet and the backs of my thighs. “… yeee-hee-heee-hee!… eee-hee-hee-hee!…” Brushes slid in my underarms, flicked back and forth over my trembling belly. I was covered in soap, my wet skin only seeming to make it easier for the brushes and fingers to slide over me. A soft sponge made its way up and down my ribs and waist; another rubbed my inner thighs. One girl even washed my hair, though she took the opportunity to flick her fingers lightly over my ears and neck and she did so. “…ahh-ha-ha-ha…! yeee-heee-heee…!”
My tormentors laughed and chatted merrily as they scrubbed me clean.
“…don’t forget to get between his toes…”
“… behind his knees, too…”
“… I’m going to get these buns all nice and shiny…”
“… aahaahaahaa! …nohohohoho!”
They laughed at my futile attempts to get away, my screams and frantic struggles as the bristles landed on a particularly sensitive spot. My own hysteria was matched by the other girls in the stocks, all of us receiving the same treatment. Darlene’s crazed cackling was interspersed with curses, the stocks rattling as she struggled. The woman on the other sides of me simply screamed. When the overseer gave the command to stop, I didn’t even hear her. All I knew was that the horrible scrubbing had stopped, the tickly bristles removed, and I was doused with a bucket or two of water, the suds rinsed off me. I was gasping, water dripping off me, the other slaves in the stocks moaning or groaning or sobbing with relief.
“Very good,” the overseer said. “Now that their bodies are clean, it is time to cleanse their fiery spirits and teach these trouble-makers a lesson. You may make them suffer, but be warned — if any of them comes, you entire little group gets the whip!”
The girl in stocks on my left wailed. “No! I can’t take anymore! Mistress, pleeezzz… EEE-YAA-HAA-HAA-HAA!”
Fingers snaked into my underarms, wriggling deep. Clutching hands vigorously massaged my ribs. Fingertips and nails stroked and poked my belly. More nails scraped up and down my arches and under my toes. I screamed with laughter, my body thrashing side-to-side, back-and-forth on pure animal instinct. But their fingers were everywhere, tormenting my butt and my thighs and the sensitive spots behind my knees. Someone dug into my hips, squeezing them mercilessly. Tears trickling down my cheeks, I begged them to stop, but all that came out of my mouth were gales of laughter. And just when I thought I couldn’t laugh any harder, I felt a set of fingers lightly flutter between my legs…
My hysterics rose to a piercing shriek. I bucked and thrashed uncontrollably, my body possessed by a hurricane of tickling sensations. The tiny part of my mind that was still capable of thought was certain that I would simply pass out from exhaustion or sensory overload. But that mercy was denied me. I could only scream as my body convulsed and jumped…
The tickling probably didn’t go on for long, but it felt like forever. I realized at some point that I was no longer being tickled, though I continued to laugh as I slumped in the stocks. The overseer was telling the slave-apprentices that their “break” was over, it was time to get back to work.
The clusters of girls dispersed, guards herding them back through the gates and out to the orchards. I thought for sure we’d get the pleasure whip. Instead, four guards used the flail on us. It was two guards per row; starting at the ends, they worked their way down, delivering ten strokes each across our butts and upper thighs. The ticklish tingle increased with each stroke, and by the time they were finally finished with me, I was left with the maddening sensation of dozens of multi-legged insects delicately dancing across my buns. Giggles and squeals filled the courtyard for a long while afterwards as our hips twitched and shimmied desperately trying to shake off the feeling.
“You’ll stay there and reflect on your disobedience until we see fit to release you,” the overseer said as we giggled in the stocks, buns tingling and twitching.
But even then they didn’t really leave us alone. The courtyard was a hive of activity, with slave-apprentices bustling to and fro on some business or other, and they would often sneak in a quick pinch or poke in passing. Some even lingered briefly to tickle and tease us, scurrying away when the guards admonished them to get back to work, which the guards seemed slow to do. Occasionally, one of the guards might even give us a few strokes with the flail. Since the stocks prevented you from seeing what was behind you, there was no way to brace yourself for the sudden feeling of fingers on your soles or legs, the “thwack” of the flail across your buns. Though I could only hear the surprised reactions from the girls in my row, I had a great view of the row across from me. Watching Elyse singled out was enticing — when she was tickled from behind, the blonde’s struggles would set her large breasts swinging back and forth like a pendulum.
The afternoon dwindled away, and the women working out in the grounds were brought back in when their shift was finished. As they were led through the courtyard towards the shower, they poked and pinched and goosed us in passing. As the day ended and the gates were closed and barred, we were left alone in the courtyard, with only a few guards walking the top of the walls. Night fell. We were fed at some point, and then the yard grew mostly quiet, with only the occasional moan or whimper of frustration to disturb the hush.
The position I was in — and the state I was in — wasn’t really conducive to sleep, but I dozed off briefly, only to be awakened by a burst of cackling coming from the row across from me. In the flickering light of the lanterns I could make out three figures clustered around one of the stocks, all draped in the shimmering crimson robes of the High Priestess. The cackling that had woken me became a long scream that rang off the walls. That initial scream was followed by another, and another, each one as piercing and long as the first. I couldn’t see what they were doing to the stocks’ poor occupant to make her scream like that, but the sound sent chills up my spine. When the final scream trailed off, the courtyard seemed unusually silent for a few moments.
“Very good, High Priestess Sheena,” I heard one of the robe-clad figures say. “You certainly made her earn her mercy.”
When they turned, I recognized Tanya, Sheena, and Vonda, the three High Priestesses. A gasp came from a girl down the row from me; another girl groaned. “The Goddess granted her mercy, not me,” Sheena said. As they talked, the High Priestesses slowly walked down the center aisle between the stocks.
“Of course,” said High Priestess Tanya. “Now who else among these disobedient apprentices has seen the error of their ways and is ready to receive the Goddess’ mercy?”
She was talking to Sheena and Vonda, not us slave-apprentices, but perhaps out of desperation a woman across the way from me spoke up. “Please, mistresses,” she gasped. “I was carried away in a moment of madness. I’ve learned my lesson. I beg you… end my suffering.”
The High Priestesses converged on the woman who had spoken. “So you believe you have no more suffering to offer the Goddess?” Tanya said to her.
“I’m only a slave-apprentice, mistress,” the girl answered. “I wouldn’t presume to know what satisfies the Goddess. I’m only asking to… yaahaahaahaa!”
High Priestess Tanya started doing something to her, but once again I couldn’t see. I heard the girl’s laughter grow more and more hysterical, reaching a level of intensity that seemed impossible to sustain. Yet it went on, filling the courtyard, until at last it dropped away with a final, abject wail.
“It seems she still had much more suffering left to give,” Tanya remarked as the priestesses moved away, leaving the girl slumped in the stocks, unconscious, her long silky light brown hair hanging in front of her face.
I heard Sheena snort. “I would have had her whipped for daring to presume she’s had enough,” she said. “In fact, I would have had all these slave apprentices whipped for their lack of discipline, and show them what true suffering is.”
Tanya laughed. “You think this punishment isn’t fitting? Gang-tickled by their fellow slave-apprentices, spanked with the flail, left in such vulnerable positions…”
“Such an extreme lapse of discipline requires a severe response,” Sheena said. While talking, the three High Priestesses had slowly ambled across the aisle to our row.
Vonda spoke up: “Well, High Priestess Sheena, if you think this punishment isn’t harsh enough, you’re really not going to like what I have in mind.” She held up her hand, waving around a long, fluffy plume.
“A feather, High Priestess?” Sheena said disparagingly. “You’re much too gentle with these slave-apprentices.”
“I doubt anyone would claim I was gentle, High Priestess,” Vonda laughed. “But in some circumstances, a more subtle approach can be more effective than a harsh one. Take this slave-apprentice here…” She indicated Darlene.
“Darlene!” Tanya said, sounding amused. “When I heard of the incident today, I just knew she had to be involved.”
“An incorrigible trouble-maker,” Vonda said. “She’s felt the kiss of the whip countless times, been forced to please the Goddess, yet it hasn’t tamed her fiery nature, hasn’t made her less defiant or more obedient. Maybe such a tough girl needs soft treatment…”
I heard a sharp intake of breath from Darlene accompanied by the rattle of the stocks, a gasp and a snort… and then the giggles started, slowly at first in fitful sputters but multiplying rapidly. “…neee-hee-heeheee… eeeheeheehee… oooo… neeeheehee…”
“I didn’t know such a fearsome woman could giggle like that,” Tanya said.
“Giggling is not suffering,” said Sheena. “That plume won’t make her scream.”
“I’m sure I could make her scream just from tickling her with this plume,” Vonda replied. “Perhaps I will. But she’s suffering now, High Priestess. For such a prideful woman, being so vulnerable and helpless and reduced to uncontrollable giggles by just brushing this feather along her skin is a torture as bad as the whip.”
“…ooo-hoohoo…neeeheehee…no-ho-ho…not th-therrrr…yeee-heeheeeh!!!…”
“By the Goddess,” Tanya said. “I think she fears the feather on her ass more than the whip.”
“I think so, too,” Vonda said. After a few more moments, Vonda stopped. “More later,” she said as Darlene gasped and moaned.
“Now this one…” Vonda stood in front of me, smiling at me, flanked by the other two High Priestesses.
Tanya peered at me. “I recognize this one. The first to be ravished at the banquet. I believe Foxy is in charge of his training.”
“Yes,” said Vonda. “He’s very ticklish. His body cannot hold back its response to whatever is done to it.” The plume traced its way down my side. I sucked in my breath, stifling a squeak. Vonda walked around me, dabbing and brushing at me with the feather. I snorted and gasped and tittered.
“If that’s the case, I’m surprised Foxy’s training hasn’t driven him mad,” said Tanya.
“Oh, I’m sure it’s been very difficult for him,” Vonda said, slowly drawing the plume down the length of my spine, making me cry out and shiver. “And I’m sure he’s learned much about our order from Mistress Foxy. But with a slave-apprentice such as this, I wonder if a softer touch might prove more effective in making him a true devotee.” She began brushing the feather up and down my buns and the backs of my thighs. I squealed, my ass doing a frantic dance under the plume’s caress. The giggles gushed out of me. “…eee-heee-heee-heee… ooohoohoohoo…yeeheeheeee…”
“Now, he’s not a ‘hard’ case like Darlene. Far from it,” Vonda said. “But like her, the more subtle torment gets under his skin, sows confusion and a yearning he can’t control or resist.”
“But I think he enjoys this treatment, Vonda,” said High Priestess Sheena.
“Oh, part of him does,” Vonda replied. “He wishes he didn’t enjoy it, but he does. He doesn’t know whether he wants it to stop or continue. He’s desperate for mercy, but he doesn’t know if it will ever come.” The plume slid down my legs to brush my wildly twitching feet and toes until my giggling was on the verge of turning into screams. Then Vonda flicked the feather up my sides and slid it underneath me, where it flittered across my stomach and chest. “…hooohooohoooo…neeheeheehee…oh-hohoho…m-mistress pleeheeheezz…”
“I still think it’s much too gentle,” I heard Sheena say.
It was Tanya who replied. “Maybe it is ‘gentle’, High Priestess Shenna, but he certainly seems to be suffering.”
Still plying the long plume across my stomach and chest, Vonda came around to stand in front of me. “High Priestess Sheena doesn’t believe you are really suffering, slave-apprentice,” she said, leaning down in front of me. “Maybe she’s right. Maybe this is too easy for you…”
“…yeeeheeheehe!… no, no mistress… eeeheehee…!”
“Tell her. Tell the High Priestess.”
“…heeeheeheee… oh, it t-t-tickless so much… ahahahah!… I’m s-so ticklish m-mistresss… hehehe… I kant stand it… pllleeezzz stahahapp… hahahah… pleeezz have m-merceee-heeheee…!”
“Do you beg the Goddess for mercy?”
“…yes! YESSS!… hahaha… I b-beg-g-g… heee-heee-heee!…”
“I still don’t think High Priestess Sheena is quite convinced,” Vonda said. “Perhaps if I did this…”
“…YAAAA-HAAAAA-HAAAAHAAA!!!… AHAAAHAAAA!!!!…”
Over my own hysteria, I heard Sheena’s voice. “You’re granting him mercy, High Priestess? You’re going to make him…”
“I won’t, Sheena. Or not until I choose to.”
I howled at the top of my lungs, writhing as the feather tickled along the length of my shaft and teased my balls. “… ohhhh gawwwwwdss!… yaaaahaaaa!!!!… missstressss pleeeeeeze!…” The stocks rattled and swayed, the courtyard resounding with my insane cries. “…YYAHHHAAA…! AHAHAHAA…!” I tried to beg, but words were beyond me. All I could manage was “mercy,” over and over in a piteous, drawn out shriek, until hysterical wailing overcame me.
I don’t know how long it went on; I was utterly consumed by the excruciatingly ticklish tease. The voices of the High Priestesses somehow reached me through my torment. “By the Goddess, High Priestess Vonda,” I heard Tanya say. “While I have no doubt of your skills, I thought Sheena was correct in saying this slave-apprentice would not be able to endure. But you’ve made his suffering go on for far longer than I imagined possible.”
“The Goddess has granted me insight, that is all,” Vonda said. “I can read the ‘nature’ of some people. Doubtless he will succumb to oblivion eventually, but I can continue his suffering for much longer, should I wish. Or I could end it in a moment. What say you, High Priestess Tanya? Has his suffering pleased the Goddess?”
“I think the Goddess is most pleased. Grant him her mercy.”
I don’t know what Vonda did — tickled faster, perhaps, or maybe focused on one spot — but in moments the first of several powerful spasms crashed through me. My body jerked and bucked and I screamed, a blinding light flashing behind my eyes before darkness overtook me…
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Part 11 is right here, but before you go, check out the image below of High Priestess Vonda I commissioned from artist "superposer."
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For “Temple of the Torture Goddess,” I reached out to several artists on the TMF and elsewhere to commission images for some (not all) of the chapters. Most of these are portraits of characters. I didn’t ask the artists to read the section — mostly I gave them a short description of what I was looking for, and we went from there.
For Part 10, I reached out to an artist called superposer (here’s his deviantart page). He’s a cartooinst who does “sexy superheroine stuff, at least on his deviantart page (he also does realistic portrait illustrations of celebrities). He's not "one of us," but one of his characters, Berry, looked very similar to how I imagined High Priestess Vonda…
So, here’s superposer’s take on the ravishing, voluptuous Vonda. In Part 10 of the story, she’s wearing her full-length robe, but I requested her in a more casual outfit for the image. She looks AMAZING!
The great Josh Flynn did a couple of commissions of Vonda for me for Part 8.
The torrid tale of “Temple of the Torture Goddess continues with Part 10.
Previously…
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
Part 9
Once more, a heartfelt “thank you” to all you generous and kind commentors, messagers, and readers.
Now, on with the show…
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Temple of the Torture Goddess — Part 10
A couple days after my encounter with Mistress Perone and Kelly, there was a shake-up in my routine. Rather than being taken to the laundry, all of the slave-apprentices were marched outside to an enormous walled courtyard, much, much bigger than the one I was brought to the night I first came to the temple. We joined the dozens of slave-apprentices already assembled there. The mistresses divided us up into crews, then led us out of the enormous gates into the fields and orchards outside the walls.
The priestesses typically called it “the garden” or “the orchard,” but those names were much too modest. I had been here before, of course, at night; seeing it in the daylight, it was a wonder how I didn’t get lost, or even how the guards had found me among the seemingly endless rows of trees and vineyards.
With a small crew I was put to work harvesting tomatoes. I was told that every now and then other groups of slave-apprentices were brought out to help out the regular field workers in harvesting, and that in a couple days or so we’d be back to our regular duties.
But the sun was warm and the skies were clear, and the work made a pleasant change from the laundry. Spirits were high among the slave-apprentices — the overseers couldn’t monitor us all the time, so there was a lot of chatter and a little mischief. At the end of the day, we were taken back through the courtyard. They made us strip, and then led us through the echoey, vaulted chamber where I had washed off before my meeting with Vonda. We showered en mass, and though the guards moved us through pretty quickly, all those naked, wet bodies pressed so close together was an open invitation to pinch, grope, and tickle. I didn’t get it too bad, but most of us were giggly and a little flustered when we scurried out of there to dry off and put our clothes back on.
The next day we were let out again, and once more I found myself among the leafy, shady rows of tomato vines. The good mood of the day before carried over, with the slave-apprentices chatting, laughing, and even occasionally sneaking in a quick grope when the overseers weren’t around. There were 20 slave-apprentices in my crew, most of them from the laundry. Darlene was there, the big, troublesome brunette I had seen get whipped, and so was Elyse. I hadn’t spoken to the buxom blonde since our night in my cell, though a few times she had winked or pouted at me across the laundry when I had caught her eye. Elyse was probably the biggest talker — she was certainly the loudest — and more than once Darlene told her to shut up. “You’re going to get all of us in trouble!”
Elyse would stick her tongue out at her, or make some comment, and go right on talking, as if she were trying to purposely irritate Darlene.
The trouble started the middle of the afternoon on our second day. Elyse stood up, stretching, and took a big bite of the tomato she was holding. “Mmmm, juicy,” she said, wiping the pulp from her mouth.
One of the girls spoke up. “Elyse, you know you could get in trouble for that…”
“Yeah, but they’re just so ripe and juicy I can help it,” she said, finishing the tomato. “Though they’re not the only ripe, juicy thing out here…”
There was a thwack as Elyse smacked Darlene’s fleshy butt. The brunette cried out angrily and shot up, whirling around. “Watch it you big-titted bimbo!” she snarled, eyes burning.
Elyse laughed, prancing out of Darlene’s range. “Careful Darlene,” she mocked. “You don’t want to catch the guards’ attention, do you?”
“I’ve had about enough of your big mouth and your antics…”
“What are you going to do about it?”
“Keep it up and you’ll find out!”
“Ooo, I better do what you say, then…”
We turned back to our work, but it was obvious that Elyse was up to something. I stole glances at her out of the corner of my eye, looking over my shoulder every few moments. Next to me, Darlene bent way over to pick a tomato close to the ground. Elyse stood up and hurled a tomato at Darlene’s round butt. It struck its target with a loud squelch, splattering across Darlene’s buns in their tight shorts.
“Direct hit!” Elyse cried.
But Darlene was already up, roaring, spinning to face Elyse. She had hardly turned when another tomato struck her high on the shoulder, juicy pulp spattering her face. Roaring and cursing, she grabbed a tomato and returned fire, throwing with such force and speed that Elyse didn’t have time to duck — it caught her on the side of her head, scattering pulp across her cheek and in her hair and splashing Elyse’s companion… who I noticed was also rearing her arm back, a big ripe tomato clutched in her hand…
I lurched into the middle of the row, my arms up. “Wait! Wait!” A tomato thrown from behind me flew past my shoulder, right as Elyse’s friend let fly with her own. It hit me square in the chest. Another hit me on the head, making me stumble and fall; another hit my side as I tried to get up. Darlene stood a few feet away, practically covered in red pulp, roaring as she grabbed tomato after tomato from the bucket at her feet and hurled them at the girls across the row. Others had joined in, caught up in the heat of the moment. Tomatoes flew back and forth, shouts and laughter resounding through the orchard. A few girls ran for cover; a couple others tried to break up the melee and found themselves pelted with tomatoes. I scrambled to my feet, just in time to catch a tomato thrown by a sandy-haired woman near Elyse and fire it back at her. I tried to run for it, only to fall as I was struck on the back of the head.
It wasn’t long before the melee attracted the guards, who descended on us with angry shouts, batons out and flails cracking. They didn’t care who started it or why, or who had merely been caught in the crossfire. The offenders, as far as the guards were concerned, were easy to spot. Bits of pulpy tomato clung to our skin and matted our hair, red splotches stained our garments, runnels of juice trickled down our limbs, dripping off us. The guards rounded us up, a dozen of us, and marched us off towards the temple. As we marched through the grounds, all the other slave-apprentices outside followed at the behest of the overseers, buzzing with nervous excitement.
They took us through the gates into the main courtyard. As I said, it was a huge, open space, different from the smaller entrance where the guards had taken me when I was first captured. But like that one, this courtyard boasted stocks, two long rows of stocks for the neck and wrists that faced each other across a space of about 10 yards or so.
To the delight of the crowd that had assembled in the yard, the brawlers were stripped, shouting and protesting as we were forced into the stocks. I cried out that I had been an innocent bystander, drawn into the fight through no fault of my own, but like the other slave-apprentices who could have said the same thing, I found myself right next to many of the instigators, kneeling naked on a padded bench with my wrists and neck locked into the holes, my feet restrained behind me. In this position we couldn’t sit back on our heels; we were forced to lean forward, the neck and ankle stocks holding us in place. I felt incredibly exposed. Darlene was next to me, on my right, still struggling and cursing. Across from me I spotted Elyse, huge tits dangling heavily beneath her.
There was a lot of noise and activity in the courtyard: shouting overseers, the babbling crowd of slave-apprentices brought in with us from the field, the cries of those in the stocks. Other apprentices and guards scurried about, some carrying buckets filled with soapy water. Four buckets, the wooden handles of brushes sticking from the water, were placed on the platform in front of me. I noticed girls leaving buckets in front of the other stocks, too. An overseer strode into the space between the rows of stocks, arm over her head. With a shout and a whistle from her the hubbub quieted down.
“These slave-apprentices are guilty of an intolerable lapse of discipline and order,” she barked. “They will be severely punished for their behavior. But before the proper punishment begins…” here she pointed to the crowd of apprentices. “… you will clean them thoroughly. Any sign that you are ‘going easy’ on these trouble-makers will get you the whip. Understood? Then begin!”
Judging from the gleeful eagerness with which the assembled slave-apprentices rushed towards us, “going easy” was the last thing any of them had in mind. Clusters of women gathered around each of the stocks, snatching up brushes and sponges from the buckets as they laughed and chattered with excitement. Perhaps five or six surrounded me, many of which I recognized from the laundry room.
They started lathering me up, wasting no time going to work with the fluffy brushes and soft sponges. The woman on my left was already shrieking. “Gawds no!” she howled. “No please! Not my feeeheeheehee… hahahahahaa!”
I gasped and twitched helplessly as bristles and sponges and hands scrubbed my most sensitive spots, breaking into squeals of laughter at the insistent swirling of brushes on the soles of my feet and the backs of my thighs. “… yeee-hee-heee-hee!… eee-hee-hee-hee!…” Brushes slid in my underarms, flicked back and forth over my trembling belly. I was covered in soap, my wet skin only seeming to make it easier for the brushes and fingers to slide over me. A soft sponge made its way up and down my ribs and waist; another rubbed my inner thighs. One girl even washed my hair, though she took the opportunity to flick her fingers lightly over my ears and neck and she did so. “…ahh-ha-ha-ha…! yeee-heee-heee…!”
My tormentors laughed and chatted merrily as they scrubbed me clean.
“…don’t forget to get between his toes…”
“… behind his knees, too…”
“… I’m going to get these buns all nice and shiny…”
“… aahaahaahaa! …nohohohoho!”
They laughed at my futile attempts to get away, my screams and frantic struggles as the bristles landed on a particularly sensitive spot. My own hysteria was matched by the other girls in the stocks, all of us receiving the same treatment. Darlene’s crazed cackling was interspersed with curses, the stocks rattling as she struggled. The woman on the other sides of me simply screamed. When the overseer gave the command to stop, I didn’t even hear her. All I knew was that the horrible scrubbing had stopped, the tickly bristles removed, and I was doused with a bucket or two of water, the suds rinsed off me. I was gasping, water dripping off me, the other slaves in the stocks moaning or groaning or sobbing with relief.
“Very good,” the overseer said. “Now that their bodies are clean, it is time to cleanse their fiery spirits and teach these trouble-makers a lesson. You may make them suffer, but be warned — if any of them comes, you entire little group gets the whip!”
The girl in stocks on my left wailed. “No! I can’t take anymore! Mistress, pleeezzz… EEE-YAA-HAA-HAA-HAA!”
Fingers snaked into my underarms, wriggling deep. Clutching hands vigorously massaged my ribs. Fingertips and nails stroked and poked my belly. More nails scraped up and down my arches and under my toes. I screamed with laughter, my body thrashing side-to-side, back-and-forth on pure animal instinct. But their fingers were everywhere, tormenting my butt and my thighs and the sensitive spots behind my knees. Someone dug into my hips, squeezing them mercilessly. Tears trickling down my cheeks, I begged them to stop, but all that came out of my mouth were gales of laughter. And just when I thought I couldn’t laugh any harder, I felt a set of fingers lightly flutter between my legs…
My hysterics rose to a piercing shriek. I bucked and thrashed uncontrollably, my body possessed by a hurricane of tickling sensations. The tiny part of my mind that was still capable of thought was certain that I would simply pass out from exhaustion or sensory overload. But that mercy was denied me. I could only scream as my body convulsed and jumped…
The tickling probably didn’t go on for long, but it felt like forever. I realized at some point that I was no longer being tickled, though I continued to laugh as I slumped in the stocks. The overseer was telling the slave-apprentices that their “break” was over, it was time to get back to work.
The clusters of girls dispersed, guards herding them back through the gates and out to the orchards. I thought for sure we’d get the pleasure whip. Instead, four guards used the flail on us. It was two guards per row; starting at the ends, they worked their way down, delivering ten strokes each across our butts and upper thighs. The ticklish tingle increased with each stroke, and by the time they were finally finished with me, I was left with the maddening sensation of dozens of multi-legged insects delicately dancing across my buns. Giggles and squeals filled the courtyard for a long while afterwards as our hips twitched and shimmied desperately trying to shake off the feeling.
“You’ll stay there and reflect on your disobedience until we see fit to release you,” the overseer said as we giggled in the stocks, buns tingling and twitching.
But even then they didn’t really leave us alone. The courtyard was a hive of activity, with slave-apprentices bustling to and fro on some business or other, and they would often sneak in a quick pinch or poke in passing. Some even lingered briefly to tickle and tease us, scurrying away when the guards admonished them to get back to work, which the guards seemed slow to do. Occasionally, one of the guards might even give us a few strokes with the flail. Since the stocks prevented you from seeing what was behind you, there was no way to brace yourself for the sudden feeling of fingers on your soles or legs, the “thwack” of the flail across your buns. Though I could only hear the surprised reactions from the girls in my row, I had a great view of the row across from me. Watching Elyse singled out was enticing — when she was tickled from behind, the blonde’s struggles would set her large breasts swinging back and forth like a pendulum.
The afternoon dwindled away, and the women working out in the grounds were brought back in when their shift was finished. As they were led through the courtyard towards the shower, they poked and pinched and goosed us in passing. As the day ended and the gates were closed and barred, we were left alone in the courtyard, with only a few guards walking the top of the walls. Night fell. We were fed at some point, and then the yard grew mostly quiet, with only the occasional moan or whimper of frustration to disturb the hush.
The position I was in — and the state I was in — wasn’t really conducive to sleep, but I dozed off briefly, only to be awakened by a burst of cackling coming from the row across from me. In the flickering light of the lanterns I could make out three figures clustered around one of the stocks, all draped in the shimmering crimson robes of the High Priestess. The cackling that had woken me became a long scream that rang off the walls. That initial scream was followed by another, and another, each one as piercing and long as the first. I couldn’t see what they were doing to the stocks’ poor occupant to make her scream like that, but the sound sent chills up my spine. When the final scream trailed off, the courtyard seemed unusually silent for a few moments.
“Very good, High Priestess Sheena,” I heard one of the robe-clad figures say. “You certainly made her earn her mercy.”
When they turned, I recognized Tanya, Sheena, and Vonda, the three High Priestesses. A gasp came from a girl down the row from me; another girl groaned. “The Goddess granted her mercy, not me,” Sheena said. As they talked, the High Priestesses slowly walked down the center aisle between the stocks.
“Of course,” said High Priestess Tanya. “Now who else among these disobedient apprentices has seen the error of their ways and is ready to receive the Goddess’ mercy?”
She was talking to Sheena and Vonda, not us slave-apprentices, but perhaps out of desperation a woman across the way from me spoke up. “Please, mistresses,” she gasped. “I was carried away in a moment of madness. I’ve learned my lesson. I beg you… end my suffering.”
The High Priestesses converged on the woman who had spoken. “So you believe you have no more suffering to offer the Goddess?” Tanya said to her.
“I’m only a slave-apprentice, mistress,” the girl answered. “I wouldn’t presume to know what satisfies the Goddess. I’m only asking to… yaahaahaahaa!”
High Priestess Tanya started doing something to her, but once again I couldn’t see. I heard the girl’s laughter grow more and more hysterical, reaching a level of intensity that seemed impossible to sustain. Yet it went on, filling the courtyard, until at last it dropped away with a final, abject wail.
“It seems she still had much more suffering left to give,” Tanya remarked as the priestesses moved away, leaving the girl slumped in the stocks, unconscious, her long silky light brown hair hanging in front of her face.
I heard Sheena snort. “I would have had her whipped for daring to presume she’s had enough,” she said. “In fact, I would have had all these slave apprentices whipped for their lack of discipline, and show them what true suffering is.”
Tanya laughed. “You think this punishment isn’t fitting? Gang-tickled by their fellow slave-apprentices, spanked with the flail, left in such vulnerable positions…”
“Such an extreme lapse of discipline requires a severe response,” Sheena said. While talking, the three High Priestesses had slowly ambled across the aisle to our row.
Vonda spoke up: “Well, High Priestess Sheena, if you think this punishment isn’t harsh enough, you’re really not going to like what I have in mind.” She held up her hand, waving around a long, fluffy plume.
“A feather, High Priestess?” Sheena said disparagingly. “You’re much too gentle with these slave-apprentices.”
“I doubt anyone would claim I was gentle, High Priestess,” Vonda laughed. “But in some circumstances, a more subtle approach can be more effective than a harsh one. Take this slave-apprentice here…” She indicated Darlene.
“Darlene!” Tanya said, sounding amused. “When I heard of the incident today, I just knew she had to be involved.”
“An incorrigible trouble-maker,” Vonda said. “She’s felt the kiss of the whip countless times, been forced to please the Goddess, yet it hasn’t tamed her fiery nature, hasn’t made her less defiant or more obedient. Maybe such a tough girl needs soft treatment…”
I heard a sharp intake of breath from Darlene accompanied by the rattle of the stocks, a gasp and a snort… and then the giggles started, slowly at first in fitful sputters but multiplying rapidly. “…neee-hee-heeheee… eeeheeheehee… oooo… neeeheehee…”
“I didn’t know such a fearsome woman could giggle like that,” Tanya said.
“Giggling is not suffering,” said Sheena. “That plume won’t make her scream.”
“I’m sure I could make her scream just from tickling her with this plume,” Vonda replied. “Perhaps I will. But she’s suffering now, High Priestess. For such a prideful woman, being so vulnerable and helpless and reduced to uncontrollable giggles by just brushing this feather along her skin is a torture as bad as the whip.”
“…ooo-hoohoo…neeeheehee…no-ho-ho…not th-therrrr…yeee-heeheeeh!!!…”
“By the Goddess,” Tanya said. “I think she fears the feather on her ass more than the whip.”
“I think so, too,” Vonda said. After a few more moments, Vonda stopped. “More later,” she said as Darlene gasped and moaned.
“Now this one…” Vonda stood in front of me, smiling at me, flanked by the other two High Priestesses.
Tanya peered at me. “I recognize this one. The first to be ravished at the banquet. I believe Foxy is in charge of his training.”
“Yes,” said Vonda. “He’s very ticklish. His body cannot hold back its response to whatever is done to it.” The plume traced its way down my side. I sucked in my breath, stifling a squeak. Vonda walked around me, dabbing and brushing at me with the feather. I snorted and gasped and tittered.
“If that’s the case, I’m surprised Foxy’s training hasn’t driven him mad,” said Tanya.
“Oh, I’m sure it’s been very difficult for him,” Vonda said, slowly drawing the plume down the length of my spine, making me cry out and shiver. “And I’m sure he’s learned much about our order from Mistress Foxy. But with a slave-apprentice such as this, I wonder if a softer touch might prove more effective in making him a true devotee.” She began brushing the feather up and down my buns and the backs of my thighs. I squealed, my ass doing a frantic dance under the plume’s caress. The giggles gushed out of me. “…eee-heee-heee-heee… ooohoohoohoo…yeeheeheeee…”
“Now, he’s not a ‘hard’ case like Darlene. Far from it,” Vonda said. “But like her, the more subtle torment gets under his skin, sows confusion and a yearning he can’t control or resist.”
“But I think he enjoys this treatment, Vonda,” said High Priestess Sheena.
“Oh, part of him does,” Vonda replied. “He wishes he didn’t enjoy it, but he does. He doesn’t know whether he wants it to stop or continue. He’s desperate for mercy, but he doesn’t know if it will ever come.” The plume slid down my legs to brush my wildly twitching feet and toes until my giggling was on the verge of turning into screams. Then Vonda flicked the feather up my sides and slid it underneath me, where it flittered across my stomach and chest. “…hooohooohoooo…neeheeheehee…oh-hohoho…m-mistress pleeheeheezz…”
“I still think it’s much too gentle,” I heard Sheena say.
It was Tanya who replied. “Maybe it is ‘gentle’, High Priestess Shenna, but he certainly seems to be suffering.”
Still plying the long plume across my stomach and chest, Vonda came around to stand in front of me. “High Priestess Sheena doesn’t believe you are really suffering, slave-apprentice,” she said, leaning down in front of me. “Maybe she’s right. Maybe this is too easy for you…”
“…yeeeheeheehe!… no, no mistress… eeeheehee…!”
“Tell her. Tell the High Priestess.”
“…heeeheeheee… oh, it t-t-tickless so much… ahahahah!… I’m s-so ticklish m-mistresss… hehehe… I kant stand it… pllleeezzz stahahapp… hahahah… pleeezz have m-merceee-heeheee…!”
“Do you beg the Goddess for mercy?”
“…yes! YESSS!… hahaha… I b-beg-g-g… heee-heee-heee!…”
“I still don’t think High Priestess Sheena is quite convinced,” Vonda said. “Perhaps if I did this…”
“…YAAAA-HAAAAA-HAAAAHAAA!!!… AHAAAHAAAA!!!!…”
Over my own hysteria, I heard Sheena’s voice. “You’re granting him mercy, High Priestess? You’re going to make him…”
“I won’t, Sheena. Or not until I choose to.”
I howled at the top of my lungs, writhing as the feather tickled along the length of my shaft and teased my balls. “… ohhhh gawwwwwdss!… yaaaahaaaa!!!!… missstressss pleeeeeeze!…” The stocks rattled and swayed, the courtyard resounding with my insane cries. “…YYAHHHAAA…! AHAHAHAA…!” I tried to beg, but words were beyond me. All I could manage was “mercy,” over and over in a piteous, drawn out shriek, until hysterical wailing overcame me.
I don’t know how long it went on; I was utterly consumed by the excruciatingly ticklish tease. The voices of the High Priestesses somehow reached me through my torment. “By the Goddess, High Priestess Vonda,” I heard Tanya say. “While I have no doubt of your skills, I thought Sheena was correct in saying this slave-apprentice would not be able to endure. But you’ve made his suffering go on for far longer than I imagined possible.”
“The Goddess has granted me insight, that is all,” Vonda said. “I can read the ‘nature’ of some people. Doubtless he will succumb to oblivion eventually, but I can continue his suffering for much longer, should I wish. Or I could end it in a moment. What say you, High Priestess Tanya? Has his suffering pleased the Goddess?”
“I think the Goddess is most pleased. Grant him her mercy.”
I don’t know what Vonda did — tickled faster, perhaps, or maybe focused on one spot — but in moments the first of several powerful spasms crashed through me. My body jerked and bucked and I screamed, a blinding light flashing behind my eyes before darkness overtook me…
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Part 11 is right here, but before you go, check out the image below of High Priestess Vonda I commissioned from artist "superposer."
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For “Temple of the Torture Goddess,” I reached out to several artists on the TMF and elsewhere to commission images for some (not all) of the chapters. Most of these are portraits of characters. I didn’t ask the artists to read the section — mostly I gave them a short description of what I was looking for, and we went from there.
For Part 10, I reached out to an artist called superposer (here’s his deviantart page). He’s a cartooinst who does “sexy superheroine stuff, at least on his deviantart page (he also does realistic portrait illustrations of celebrities). He's not "one of us," but one of his characters, Berry, looked very similar to how I imagined High Priestess Vonda…
So, here’s superposer’s take on the ravishing, voluptuous Vonda. In Part 10 of the story, she’s wearing her full-length robe, but I requested her in a more casual outfit for the image. She looks AMAZING!
The great Josh Flynn did a couple of commissions of Vonda for me for Part 8.
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