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Delicious Torture (MF/F)

Captain Satan

TMF Regular
Joined
Mar 24, 2011
Messages
195
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...slithering up her ankle and coiling around her naked thigh, black scales gliding across young skin shimmering wet and golden in candlelight and arching her back as a forked tongue flicks on the soft, tender navel...

Ciara's whole body jerked awake as if coming unfrozen. She sat up and leaned against the headrest and let her eyes focus in the dark on the myriad of polaroid photographs on the wall in front of her. She took a moment to take stock of where she was and whether anything from her dream was real. A modicum of fear began to build in her and she touched the bedside lamp to life and threw open her bedsheets. Silly, she thought. Patricia had explained to her the importance of treating dreams seriously. She'd described it as 'a conference of unbridled consciousness.'

If this were so, then what kind of conference had Ciara just woken from?
---------
The rain was hammering on her bedroom window when she got the call from Glen to come and have fun at the clubhouse. Anyone else would've taken this as an invitation, but to Ciara, it was very clearly an order. Glen, Patricia, and the others were not mean-spirited as such, but they could very quickly get bored of you if you weren't around making things interesting. She danced out of her fuzzy pyjama bottoms and nearly got stuck pulling off her t-shirt before jumping into the shower for a quick scrub.

It was obvious that they didn't take her seriously. They clearly took her as just another 'goth girl' dipping her toes into the occult. 'Real diabolists don't listen to Joy Divison' Glen once snorted at her. Ciara didn't listen to Joy Divison either, but the posters on her wall and the black t-shirts in her closet were about as damning enough evidence as you could find of an affinity for all things "alternative". She wondered if tonight she'd dress differently, maybe something tasteful and rouge like what Patricia wore. But then, maybe they liked her dressing the way she did. They wouldn't have invited her again otherwise. Maybe she was their little goth girl treat.

She opted for a Darkthrone t-shirt, denim hot pants, black fishnet stockings, and her most expensive pair of New Rock boots.

All the fucking classics, she thought. She wondered for a moment if she were just some dumb paint-by-numbers goth girl, nothing more than a prop in some salivating pervert's painfully unoriginal fantasy.

She put the thought out of her head before checking to see how bouncy her tits were in her shirt.

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

The Apple Garden were another quasi-satanic clubhouse concerned primarily with the pursuit of absolute pleasure, and if some occult rites were chanted or symbols drawn in blood or fire, then it was merely happenstance. The Apple Garden, as Glen would put it, were all about 'looking into the void and finding yourself', and Ciara was sure she'd read that quote on Facebook somewhere. Regardless, she had dropped out of college in her second year to pursue this lifestyle, at least until she could really find herself, as Glen had so promised. She wondered how many more whiskey shots and spankings she'd have to take before that happened.
Besides, it's not like she didn't enjoy it most of the time. And she got a rush that went up her whole body the moment she stepped into the lighted hallway and one of Glen's 'minions' took her coat.

When she sat amongst them in the "drawing room", watching Paricia dance naked in front of gawking men and women who looked better suited to a period drama, she realised how out of place she was in her modern attire. At 20 years of age, she was the only one at the party under the age of at least 35. That made her feel kind of special in a way, and she wondered if she was being manipulated. She did often quote Glen and Patricia to her vanilla friends, even if she thought most of it was bullshit.

A few minutes went by and Glen began his usual spiel, inviting everyone to his home and making sure their glasses were filled to the brim. He was a short man with a black moustache that women either found deplorable or irresistable, and his clothing on this night consisted of black wool tuxedo and dickie bow. 'Real diabolists don't listen to Joy Division' she heard him say in her head, over and over.

'Ladies and gentleman, as we are gathered here today in absolute ecstasy and joyous disregard for our souls, let us take a moment to look around us at your fellow beautiful, lusty club members, and to spare a thought for those who have not yet accepted Satan as their master."

The whole room erupted into laughter and applause. When he spoke, he had Ciara at the edge of her seat. Her fingers dug into her seat and her toes dug into her boots.

'Tonight, we will be examining the lusts of the sleeping mind. Those red, sweaty fantasies so lurid that they must be shackled to our dreams and surface nowhere else. Tell me, who among you has been plagued by such dreams?'

Ciara felt as if the question were there for her and her alone. She hesitated, but Glen saw her black lips quiver in a word half-spoken.

'Ciara, our lovely Ciara.' Glen looked at her for the first time since she entered the room, as though he had been ignoring her until now. He took her in with his eyes and licked his lips, 'I can only image the kind of dreams a girl of your age might be having.'

Patricia, who had opted to enjoy the party without a shred of clothes on, interrupted him, 'everyone, if you haven't met Ciara yet, she's our dear little convert. We stole her away from college, and she's here to learn much older things than philosophy.'

The room raised a glass to her and she blushed slightly and smiled at everyone but no one. Now she felt singled out. But soon Glen took her by the wrist and brought her up to the central altar from where he spoke.

'Tell them a bit about yourself, Ciara.'

'I'm not sure, ehm...' she began, hesitating once again. Patricia frowned at her. She had taught her that freedom for a woman is in baring herself to the world and making it look. She wasn't sure what that meant until now.

'Well, my name's Ciara Oxley, and I've come to The Apple Garden for a good time.' she said, and the whole room erupted into laughter and applause once again.
'Tell us, Ciara, does your boyfriend not satisfy those urges any longer?' Glen asked, his hand now on her waist.

'I don't have a boyfriend.' she said.

Glen leaned into the audience with a wink and the menfolk returned with a 'hurrah!'.

'And tell us now, Ciara. Tell us about your dreams.'

At first she tried to resist, but the more she looked into Glen's eyes, the more she felt herself powerless. She tried to think of a cover dream, but her imagination was lame in the heat of the moment. She could only speak the truth.

'I, I was in my bed, I think.' she began, 'I was laying naked there on white sheets, and a great, black snake had crawled onto my bed. I looked at it and it looked at me, but I wasn't afraid, even though it was so large. It flicked its tongue over my toes, and then began to glide up my body.'

Everyone in the room seemed to be hanging on her every word. The men tensed where they stood, and the women threw their eyes over her flirtily.
'It flicked its tongue on my skin and it kept slithering up my body, and...'

'And how did it feel, my love?' Patricia asked, her red finger tips circling the her own bare nipples.

The room waited for her to respond, but she was caught in the moment. Here she was, baring her innermost dreams to a room of about twelve strangers. She was admitting to something she had not yet even admitted to herself. Her whole body tensed up and Glen could feel it with his hand.

'It tickled,' she said softly and quietly, 'it really tickled.'

Eyes widened all around her and she thought she could hear the sound of wet mouths clapping and salivating after her and eyelashes fluttering over her small figure. Glen seemed to come alive with joy and devilment in his eyes.

'So, we've a ticklish girl have we?' he laughed, 'The Apple Garden know how to deal with a ticklish girl, don't we folks?'

Ciara couldn't even hear the raucous applause as she was so lost in the moment. She was already being sat down on the altar.

'Don't be shy about your pleasures, dear Ciara.' said Glen, 'let us strip you of those hindering thoughts and let you float in the magnificence of your own true self.'
Before she knew it, her Darkthrone t-shirt had been lifted over her head and her boots were being unbuckled.

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


There was a momentary lull amidst the gawking spectators as Ciara lay bared upon the altar. Her wrists had been tied above her head and her ankles tied together with black rope, which reminded her of the snake from her dreams. The smell of incense could not foil the sinister air that hung around the room as Glen and Patricia looked down at her like a meal for tigers.

She had been stripped down to her shorts and fishnets, and Patricia took delight in kissing each of Ciara’s naked breasts as she hovered over her head.
‘This is what you want, isn’t it sweetness?’ Patricia whispered in her ear, pulling back strands of Ciara’s black hair.

Ciara had never felt as naked as she did in that moment. Her body and her fantasies revealed for an audience. Her two captors hovering over her like hungry vultures with hungry vulture expressions. And despite all of this, and despite her inability to protest – this is exactly what she wanted. Her exposed skin tingled and shivered.

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ Glen spoke with the confidence of a college professor as he selected a long black ostrich feather from his case of goodies, a sight which made Ciara tense up in her bonds, her fingers and toes clenching, ‘the world of dreams is every bit as pertinent as the world of the waking, more important so, in that the waking world can lie – but dreams are true consciousness.’

Glen twirled his moustache between his fingers as he looked down on the bound Ciara, whose big blue eyes were trained on him like a doe on its predator.
‘So, here’s to our dreams!’ he laughed maniacally, testing the ostrich feather with the palm of his hand before rubbing it over Ciara’s breasts.

It began almost pleasantly, but as the feather’s tendrils touched persistently upon her exposed breasts and nipples, and with the realisation that she couldn’t make it stop, her body soon began to wiggle in her bondage, much to the delight of the spectators.

Her torturer delighted also in what he saw as an extension of his power, making her yo oung body writhe at the flick of his wrist. He dusted her nipples gently, over and over again, until he was satisfied that they could become no harder. Then he guided the ostrich feather to her exposed armpit.

She squeaked as the feather tip found her armpit, but she relented for a few moments. She didn’t like the look on Glen’s face and she wanted to challenge him. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of breaking her. But she felt ever single millisecond of the feather teasing under her arm.

‘And there, gentlemen, is the sign of a stubborn housewife…’ Glen winked at the menfolk once again, who were too engrossed in Ciara’s pale, writhing body to take in his words. Too engrossed in the feathers intruding upon her soft skin.

‘…when she won’t even give you the gift of her laughter.’ Glen continued, alternating between her armpits while making sure to brush over her chest and under her neck.

Ciara was trying her hardest to keep the laughter in, but every second was proving impossible to stand. I just can’t take it, she thought.
‘Say what you want to say, my dear.’ Glen said as Patricia began to drag her fingernails from the palms of Ciara’s hands down towards her pits.
‘I just can’t take it’ the worst burst out of Ciara’s mouth as she tried to ignore Patricia’s fingers as they swiftly advanced towards the hollows of her armpits.

And then suddenly, as if a switch had been turned on - she couldn’t ignore it anymore.

‘Hahahahahaha! Please! I can’t take it! It’s hahahahah! It’s too-hoo much!’ she exploded into fits of laughter, which Patricia, Glen, and the spectators all drank in so deeply. Her laugh was spritely, high-pitched, and almost musical. Wine to the alcoholics.

She giggled helplessly as both Glen and Patricia fondled and tickled her. Glen had yielded to Patricia and allowed her right of passage to Ciara’s armpits while he enjoyed her soft midriff and thighs. Patricia’s red nails danced under Ciara’s arms, counted her ribs, and fluttered from her taut nipples to her neck.

‘You’ve got such a gorgeous body, Ciara, you should show it off more. Like I do!’ Patricia cackled while tickling the helpless girl and cooing and whispering in her ear; ‘you can’t get out, can you?’ ‘tickle, tickle, tickle’, ‘we can do what we like to you now, coochie, coochie, coo!’

Ciara’s eyeliner was running and staining on her wet cheeks. Her body twisted and glistened in the candlelight, and her audience were silent but for a few interruptions of laughter and ticklish jeering. Her laughter was now constant and her bare tits jiggled merrily under the torture.

Glen’s feather had meanwhile found its way down her legs and ankles, and the moustachioed torturer’s face contorted evilly as he reached two feet that were dancing in their ropes. Patricia, who was now tickling Ciara’s belly with one hand and pleasuring herself with the other, looked up at Glen and nodded in approval.
‘The feet, the feet, we simply must get the feet!’ he laughed and twirled his moustache once again, ever the showman.

The crowd, both the men and the women, had settled into the show and were enjoying it with smiles, laughter, and the odd tickle to their partner. One woman was eagerly caressing the stomach of her younger toy boy and fluttering her feather boa in his face.

Patricia reluctantly stopped her tickling and waited impatiently as Glen produced a large ceremonial knife from the mantelpiece. It shimmered golden as he passed it between Ciara’s legs, and he slowly tore a hole from the thigh of her stockings all the way down to the tip of her toe. He did the same with her other leg until both were bare. Glen bent down to Ciara’s feet and flicked his tongue over her tiny, black polished toes, and smiled diabolically as they wiggled and stretched.
Patricia couldn’t contain herself and was sliding her fingers along her wet pussy, exciting in Ciara’s helplessness and, deep down, her pleasure. She danced her fingernails from her navel down to her thighs and cackled as Ciara’s body jolted with the sensation.

At first Glen tested Ciara’s small feet with the ostrich feather, dusting the soles of her feet and watching the laughter build and build in her until she couldn’t keep it in any longer.

‘HAHAHAH! PLE-HEASE! PLEASE! AHAHAH HAHAHAH! MY FEET! AHHAH TOO TICKLISH! HAHAH’

The feather twirled and flicked on the sole of her foot and Glen found that he had to hold the girl’s toes back to stop them from curling – so that her skin felt every tendril and sensation – adding to her complete powerlessness.

Glen watched lovingly as his wife began planting kisses on Ciara’s thighs, sometimes digging her nails inside of her shorts to pinch and tickle whatever skin her hungry fingers could reach.

The room was becoming hot and red, and the spectators were slowly but surely becoming active in their own games. A man with a grey beard had his wife hold her arms above her head while he dug his fat fingers into her armpits. The lady had stripped her toyboy of his dress shoe and had begun peeling his black sock from his foot as he winced.

The ostrich feather was too big for Ciara’s dainty feet and Glen went about selecting a feather more suited to her tiny size 4 feet. Patricia began licking the sweat on Ciara’s belly, dragging her tongue all the way up to her armpits, where she lapped up the taste of salt and the sound of Ciara’s desperate please for mercy.

‘HAHAHAAAAH! PLEASE! I CAN’T TAKE HAHAHAH! I CAN’T HANDLE IT HAHAHA!’

He twirled the feather in front of Ciara’s face, watching her soft, young features contort into a frown. Glen ran his thumb and index finger up and down the slender black feather before sliding it between each of Ciara’s toes, causing her whole body to squirm. She began to snort laugh while Glen prodded her big toe with the devilish tip of the feather.

The room had now melted into total ecstasy, an orgy of laughter and feathers and fingers passing over bared flesh. Nipples tickled by tongues, fingers squeezing thighs, and different shades and octaves of laughter ringing out around the room. The mistress was quite enjoying the bare feet of her toyboy, who couldn’t have been any older than 25, and she danced her fingers along his toes and tickled him with her feather boa as he simply lay back and took his treatment as prescribed.

Patricia moaned as she touched herself, faster and faster, all the while drinking in the sight of Ciara’s lithe body jerking and her black lips parting in impotent laughter. Glen appeared like a mad scribe as he wrote nameless poetry on the pink soles of her feet. He worked busily from her heels to her arch, switching from one foot to another. Her girlish laughter ringing in his ears and egging him on.

‘HAH HAH HAAAAH! GLEN! I’M DONE! HAHAHAHAHA I’M REALLY DONE!’

But he couldn’t hear her anymore. He was serving a higher purpose.

He began to playfully flick his tongue over her toes, watching her jolt, beg, and laugh with every hiss. Her entire body was a playground, but her feet were especially soft, virginal, and in need of more sinister attention. He couldn’t help himself, neither could his wife, and it now seemed as if they were under Ciara’s spell, where she was once under theirs.

Patricia bit down on Glen’s feather and tore it from his hand.

‘It’s my turn to play down here’ she said, and Glen was only too happy to hear it.

He took his feather further up her body and began teasing her belly and breasts once again, and he was delighted to hear that the feather was as effective here as it had been further south.

‘Hahahaha! Nooo! Please, nooo! Snort! Haaaaah!’

Her laughter was becoming weaker as time went on, but there seemed to be no sign of stopping.

Patricia pleasured herself, playing in her own wetness, while using the fingers on her other hand to dance on Ciara’s soft, pink soles and toes. Ciara herself was beyond handling any of this, and had resigned herself to a kind of sub-space, laughing and begging and trying to disassociate.

But the fingers and feathers that danced up and down her body wouldn’t let her ignore them. She had to feel every millisecond of it across every crevice of her skin. Her body twisted. Her black lips shining with spittle. Soft soles dancing to the rhythm of red nails. Whispers in her ears. ‘Coochie, coochie, coo!’, ‘tickle, tickle, tickle!’. Coloured feathers waltzing around a pierced navel gathering sweat. ‘Look at you, Ciara, becoming one with yourself.’ Blue eyes scanning the room for someone with mercy, but finding only laughter and torture. Darkness enveloping. Mountain pinnacle of pleasure reached.

Ciara’s orgasm could be heard all around the room. And just like that, Glen and Patricia ceased their games and kissed each other.

Ciara panted and felt the sting of sweat all over her body. She felt new. As if some magic in her had suddenly come to life.
 
Fantastic story! The setting reminded me of some of those old Hammer horror movies and similar American movies from the 60s and 70s (I half suspect those old occult gatherings were an excuse for an orgy anyway.)

I loved how Glen and Patricia teased and tormented Ciara, stripping her and cutting her clothes away to reveal her lovely ticklish skin. You've fast become the writer whose work I'll look out for on this forum.

BRAVO!
 
Fantastic story! The setting reminded me of some of those old Hammer horror movies and similar American movies from the 60s and 70s (I half suspect those old occult gatherings were an excuse for an orgy anyway.)

I loved how Glen and Patricia teased and tormented Ciara, stripping her and cutting her clothes away to reveal her lovely ticklish skin. You've fast become the writer whose work I'll look out for on this forum.

BRAVO!

Thanks again so much, mate.

Hammer definitely played a role in this one, but I was actually trying to channel two occultists I met in college in 2014. I don't think either of them had read an
occult text in their lives, but they were both very enthusiastic about their "modern relationship", which meant that they could both sleep with and share younger
women. I wasn't a fan of their dishonesty, but at least they had an active and relatively healthy sex life.

Ciara might sound like your typical generic goth girl, but she's based entirely (wardrobe, mannerisms etc.) on a girl I used to see in college as well. Very into heavy metal and goth music, very insecure to an extent, and who I suspect may have had the beginnings of a tickling fetish herself.

Again, always appreciate your comments suikoden, we should collaborate on something. That might really blow the roof off the TMF.
 
Thanks again so much, mate.

Hammer definitely played a role in this one, but I was actually trying to channel two occultists I met in college in 2014. I don't think either of them had read an
occult text in their lives, but they were both very enthusiastic about their "modern relationship", which meant that they could both sleep with and share younger
women. I wasn't a fan of their dishonesty, but at least they had an active and relatively healthy sex life.

Ciara might sound like your typical generic goth girl, but she's based entirely (wardrobe, mannerisms etc.) on a girl I used to see in college as well. Very into heavy metal and goth music, very insecure to an extent, and who I suspect may have had the beginnings of a tickling fetish herself.

Again, always appreciate your comments suikoden, we should collaborate on something. That might really blow the roof off the TMF.

That could be fun. We should talk!
 
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