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  1. #1

    Mom’s Favorite Toy (F/M, FF/M, Non-Con, Humil, Spanking, Femdom, Forced HJ)

    Mom’s Favorite Toy (F/M, FF/M, Non-Con, Humil, Spanking, Femdom, Forced HJ)

    ---

    Just a story idea that came to me recently that I decided to write out before I lost inspiration. Not the kind of thing I typically write, even within the world of fetish stuff, but what the hey.

    There is tickling in this story but I wanted to do more of a torture femdom thing rather than limit myself to just one arena. Please be advised, this content will not be to everyone’s taste. There is non-consensual torture and humiliation below.

    Also, a lot of setup and world-building. I haven’t written THAT many fetish stories before, though I have a lot of experience writing in general, so not sure how this’ll turn out, but establishing characters and some sort of situation is important to me.

    The time frame for this story doesn’t matter that much but I imagine it happening some time in the 2030s.

    I’ve split the story up into parts to make it a little easier for people to skip stuff they’re not interested in. If you want to skip to a particular part just use the character strings inside the [] brackets and do a search.

    Part One: The Beautiful Elite - Introducing characters, their backstories, and lives [01TBE]
    Part Two: A Timely Offer - Setup [02ATO]
    Part Three: Secrets - Initial twist [03S]
    Part Four: The Dark Side of the Mom - Start of Non-Con [04TDSOTM]
    Part Five: A Sadist Is Born - Start of Humil and Femdom [05ASIB]
    Part Six: A Spanking Good Time - Spanking [06ASGT]
    Part Seven: Tickle Time - Start of Tickling [07TT]
    Part Eight: A Test of Will - Forced HJ [08ATOW]
    Part Nine: A Toy All Her Own - Sequel Tease [09ATAHO]
    Part Ten: The Key To Winning - Epilogue [10TKTW]

    ---

    Part One: The Beautiful Elite [01TBE]

    Yeah, yeah, I know.

    Let’s get the obvious out of the way first.

    Daisy Scott has the kinds of problems that more than ninety-nine percent of the world wishes they had. They are a far cry from the problems of the single mother of three kids, working as a waitress, five months behind on her rent. Certainly nothing compared to the starving family living in a straw hut in Africa. And downright non-existent compared to the middle-eastern refugee, home destroyed by endless war, desperately just trying to find somewhere to live where they wouldn’t get shot at or blown up. Daisy Scott is a gorgeous, white-skinned, blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl entering her physical prime, born with a silver spoon in her mouth that at this point was more of a platinum shovel, progeny to a famous athletic phenom, and a burgeoning celebrity in her own right. We’d all trade places with her in a second. And she knows that.

    The eldest daughter of Jacob Scott, Daisy was granted access to exceptional physical genes the moment she was conceived thanks to her father’s rare athletic gifts. Seven feet tall and two hundred and sixty pounds, Jacob had been an extremely promising and highly drafted rookie in the National Basketball Association when Daisy was born. Eighteen years later, he had more than lived up to expectations, finishing up what was expected to be his final season before retirement with 12 All-Star Selections, 7 All-NBA First Team Selections, 1 League MVP, 3 NBA Championships (with the KNICKS, of all teams!), and, oh yeah, almost 550 million dollars in career earnings. Coupled with his over 200 million dollars in sponsorships and advertising deals, plus some savvy crypto investing, Jacob was a literal billionaire.

    Daisy hadn’t followed her father’s footsteps exactly, but she was certainly not content to sit around and look pretty. And, make no mistake, she could have done that without a word of complaint. The 18 year old girl had the physique and measurements of a supermodel, five foot nine and 125 pounds, full and rich wavy golden blonde hair that went just past her shoulders, and piercing blue eyes that could reduce just about any straight man to a jabbering puddle of sweat. She had always had first pick of the boys at her exclusive private school, there had been a disturbing number of internet countdowns to her eighteenth birthday, and she had already made a bikini-clad appearance in Sports Illustrated after coming of age.

    But she hadn’t been happy with just that. When your father is dominating at the highest level of competitive athletics, you can’t help but want to prove yourself capable of doing the same. Daisy spent her high school years starring in volleyball, swim team, and basketball. But her skill in those fields paled in comparison to her true love, tennis. There, she was among the best in the world. A serve that could send a tennis ball into orbit while maintaining the precision aim to William Tell an apple off someone’s head at a hundred feet. Range like an octopus, covering distance on the court in a flash to return any volley, no matter how out of position she might have been. Balance and dexterity to throw her lithe body around with reckless abandon while still accurately slapping the ball where she wanted. Foreknowledge and intelligence to see four or five volleys ahead, setting her opponents up before landing a decisive strike. Endurance to maintain her composure and continue to make the right moves during matches that could last as long as five hours. She had it all, and could do it all, on a tennis court.

    A tennis prodigy since she was old enough to swing a racket, Daisy was currently ranked #22 in the world among female professional players, with two top 10 finishes in the Australian Open, one top 10 finish at Wimbledon, and a victory at the Shenzhen Open and Delray Beach Open in the last year plus. In her (perhaps somewhat arrogant) mind, the only reason why she didn’t already have multiple grand slam titles was because of the rule changes in the post-Martina Hingis world regarding how young you could be before turning professional. But she was confident her time at the top was coming, and that she’d own the #1 spot in the rankings, as well as multiple grand slam titles, in the next year. And her confidence was probably warranted.

    So yeah, that’s Daisy Scott. Superstar tennis pro, supermodel good looks, obscenely wealthy father, world famous, blah blah blah. Lives in a massive mansion by the water in Florida loaded with servants, has a bedroom bigger than your house, a shoe closet bigger than your bedroom, filled with shoes that cost more than your car that she doesn’t even wear, you know the drill. She’s got the life.

    But you know what? That doesn’t mean it’s always easy.

    ---

    Part Two: A Timely Offer [02ATO]

    Daisy pulled herself up into the Sirsasana, or Headstand, yoga pose, on a mat in the middle of her room, wearing a pink tank top and blue short-shorts. Trickles of sweat were running up her face and dripping down to the mat, pooling beneath her, evidence of the long and grueling yoga session she was in the middle of. Yoga was just one of many ways she kept herself in the best possible shape, putting her body through all the most intense and difficult poses, working to help prevent future injuries. She couldn’t imagine how devastating it would be to make a deep run at the US or French Open, only to pull a hamstring at the end. Or, worse yet, have her career cut short by tearing a ligament. Tennis careers were short enough as it was, and Daisy wanted a room full of trophies by the time she hung up her racket.

    That pressure to succeed, pressure to be perfect, exacerbated by her famous and successful father, pressure to be beautiful, pressure to maintain a cheerful, kind, magnanimous persona so she wouldn’t just be that ‘trust fund brat’ to the general public, pressure to balance it all with college...it was enough to constitute a problem. A problem she wouldn’t have if she could just turn off her competitive streak and be content to live a life of luxury off her daddy, let her younger siblings be the overachievers...but that wasn’t happening. So, stress headaches and fear of failure was just going to be something to deal with for now.

    As Daisy transitioned into a Kakasana crow pose, she heard her bedroom door swing open. She lifted her head up enough to see the light tan yoga pants and small bare feet that she knew belonged to her mother in the doorway.

    “There’s a thing called knocking,” Daisy said quietly, though without any real malice or irritation.

    “Are you planning on doing anything tonight?” Michelle asked her daughter, crossing her arms over her chest as Daisy contorted her body.

    Michelle Wallace Scott, the settling force behind Jacob’s life that allowed him to have so much success. Closing in on a full two decades of marriage, the two had been close, faithful, and loving to each through it all, meaning that Jacob got to avoid the typical love life pitfalls that NBA players tended to fall into. He hadn’t impregnated dozens of different strippers, nor had he participated in a whirlwind series of marriages and divorces that cost him a huge chunk of his assets. He stayed with a woman who had loved him before he was wealthy and successful. A woman who wouldn’t just see dollar signs after he signed his nine figure contracts and look for any excuse to divorce away a fortune. A woman who happily birthed all six of his children, and raised them to include not only a bombshell tennis queen, but a fifteen year old high school baseball wunderkind, with her currently-preteen children showing their own propensity for athletic achievement as well.

    Despite being so obviously amazing, Michelle herself didn’t look especially amazing. Well, she was in far better shape and looked much better than any woman who had given birth six times had any right to, and Daisy knew for a fact that more than one of her younger brother’s friends had a crush on her. But next to Daisy, Michelle was merely ‘pretty’, maybe even ‘cute’, with brown chestnut hair that stopped just short of her shoulders and toned legs from her years as a dancer.

    “Not yet,” Daisy replied. “What’s up?”

    “Oh...I just had something to show you,” Michelle said, sounding just a tad evasive. “Wanted to see if tonight would be a good night.”

    “Yeah, sure,” Daisy replied, clearly not thinking too much of her mom’s offer.

    “I think you’re old enough now,” Michelle added as an afterthought.

    Now Daisy was intrigued. Falling down into a prone position on the yoga mat, she gave her mother a curious look.

    “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked.

    “You’ll find out tonight, if you want to,” Michelle said, looking down at her fingernails absentmindedly. “It’s just something that helps me relax and get my mind off things. I think it might help you.”

    “Mom!” Daisy said, sounding just a touch annoyed. “What are you being all cryptic for? Just tell me!”

    “Oh, it’s something that is best experienced first-hand,” Michelle answered. “After dinner?” she suggested, turning around and walking away. “Let me know if something comes up.”

    Daisy got up into a kneeling position, scratching her fingers through her thick, golden mane of hair. “Should I dress up?” she called out.

    “Oh no, whatever is most comfortable for you,” her mother answered, leaving her daughter to ponder the mystery. “We won’t be leaving the house.”

    ---

    Part Three: Secrets [03S]

    At that point, there wasn’t much Daisy wouldn’t have been willing to cancel in order to clear her schedule for whatever her mother wanted to show her. It wasn’t like her to be playing a prank, where she was just building suspense for something mundane, so she wasn’t thinking that as much of a possibility.

    After finishing her yoga routine, she showered off, got a massage from the family massage therapist (who basically lived in a guest room of the mansion), and ate dinner. Soon after, Michelle led Daisy down into the basement, confirming that, whatever this was, it was in the house.

    But her intrigue spiked especially high when Michelle went over to one of the many large bookshelves down in the northwest corner of the basement, and started pulling out books, seemingly at random, each one being pulled out about halfway before she stopped.

    She did it to seven different books, and Daisy was about to ask if she couldn’t find what she was looking for, but as soon as the seventh book had been partially removed, a large section of the shelf began to slowly retract down into the floor, with barely so much as a whisper of sound. Daisy’s jaw fell open as a secret passageway was revealed.

    “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Daisy said after a few seconds to let the surprise pass through her. “Really?” It was so damned corny, straight out of a cartoon or comic book, had her mother just told her about it, she would have laughed it off. So, as usual, the middle-aged matriarch was correct. This was something best experienced first hand. “Why—”

    “You’ll see,” Michelle said, starting to sound a little playful and sly now, reaching down into the descending passageway and flicking a switch on the wall to illuminate a downward staircase. She started down the steps, Daisy standing there behind her, a little hesitant. Wild fantasies ran through her head for a moment, like wondering if her parents were members of some cult, and they were going to sacrifice her to some evil God in a ritual, but just as quickly as those concerns showed up, they disappeared. So too did the thought that her mother was actually a superhero and she was about to reveal her secret lair to her. Far more likely, there was some priceless family heirloom or rare artifact, kept hidden in a vault even more secret and secure than the main vault, that she was finally ready to show her. So, she quickly scurried down the steps after her mother.

    “I expect that you’ll have the respect and common sense to not tell anyone about this place,” Michelle said, not sounding very stern or harsh, as if she knew her daughter’s compliance in this matter to be a given. “Not your friends, boyfriends, uncles, aunts, anyone. Under any circumstance.”

    “Y-yeah,” Daisy said, starting to play with a lock of her hair, twirling it around her right index finger. She was looking around the staircase, surprised by how well-maintained and seemingly well-used it was. You’d expect a secret passageway like this to be dark, damp, creaky and eerie, or at least be covered in dust and cobwebs, but it was almost as if these steps were used routinely.

    “And, what’s down here is not yours, nor is it your right to use it whenever you’d like,” Michelle continued, coming to the bottom of the steps, where a steel door that looked like it belonged on a submarine was the only thing waiting for them. “This is a privilege, and I expect you’ll treat it with the required respect.”

    Michelle started punching in a long code of numbers on a keypad in the center of the steel door, Daisy not even bothering trying to spy on her button presses or memorize the passcode. With a pneumatic hiss, the door popped open and slid upward. Daisy eagerly looked over her mother’s shoulder, half-expecting the Crown Jewels or a row of authentic Van Goghs to be waiting inside.

    Reality was far less impressive. Another room, dull and plain, grey walls all around, two steel doors on the left wall and two on the right, a fifth one on the far wall, each one almost identical to the one they had just passed through. Again, she was surprised by how clean and neat the room looked, as she would have assumed visitors down here were rare, but otherwise nothing in particular caught her attention.

    “What is this, a...bomb shelter?” Daisy asked, watching her mother go over to the closest left-side door. A glance down surprised her even further, as the floor was covered in a lush carpet. If there was ever a room in human history that demanded the presence of a cold, hard, bland, concrete floor, it was most certainly a room at the end of a secret hidden passage in the basement. And yet…

    “I suppose it could serve as one in a pinch,” Michelle admitted, sounding like she enjoyed her daughter’s confusion. To the left of the door she was in front of, there was a covered panel, and her left hand was now pulling the panel open to reveal a series of knobs and switches. She flicked a couple of the switches as her right hand reached over to the other side of the door, grabbing a palm-sized device attached to the wall by a cord off of a hook. Michelle cleared her throat and put it up to her mouth. “Assume the position,” she said.

    “Whoa whoa whoa,” Daisy said, finally going into the room and up behind her mother. “What is going on here?! I-If this is some kind of...surprise party, then telling everyone to get into position when I’m standing right here kind of defeats the purpose.” She was vaguely aware of the door behind her swinging shut and closing, which instinctively spiked her concern, but she quickly suppressed it.

    Michelle’s focus, however, was on a clock on the wall right above the main entrance door down into the bunker, a digital timekeeper with large red numbers, keeping time to the second. After waiting what seemed to be about fifteen seconds, she grabbed a tiny knob in the upper center of the door that Daisy hadn’t noticed before and pushed it to the right, sliding a circular disc away that was covering up a glass window. Michelle put her face up to the view portal for a second, reaching over towards the panel to her left and flipping another switch.

    Daisy, now practically dying of curiosity, craned her head up to peer through the little sliver of window she could. She couldn’t help but give a rather sharp yelp of surprise at what she saw.

    “Ow!” Michelle hissed, wincing and reaching up towards her right ear. “Sweetie!”

    “I...I...what the...mom!” Daisy stammered. “What the hell is this?!”

    ---

    Part Four: The Dark Side of the Mom [04TDSOTM]

    Through the window, Daisy had been able to see a naked man, restrained in a set of pillory stocks that forced him into a kneeling position close to the ground. The remaining details of the scene had been lost on her, but that had been more than enough to freak her out.

    Michelle started to tap a passcode into the keypad on the door. “Didn’t you ever wonder what your mother liked to do to take the edge off in her free time?” she asked.

    “Uh...not really?” Daisy replied, still utterly confused and contemplating if she should be bolting out of here. She gave her head a quick shake. “Uh, stop being so cryptic! Mom, who the hell is that?!” she pointed towards the door.

    “My favorite toy,” Michelle answered simply, as if that was supposed to answer all of her daughter’s questions. With that, the door started to swing open, another powerful hiss and release of air accompanying the heavy steel moving.

    Immediately, Daisy heard a terrified shriek from inside the room, followed by what sounded like whimpers. It seemed like a single second couldn’t go by without something else freaking her out and confusing the everloving crap out of her. She just stood there, mouth agape, watching blankly as her mother sauntered forward into the room, towards the tightly imprisoned man.

    “Special surprise, baby,” she said, in a playful, maybe even sexual, tone that sounded very weird to Daisy, coming out of her mother’s mouth. “I know you haven’t seen that many different people lately, so I brought someone new for you to meet!” She crouched down over his nude form, still using that bizarre, overly sweet and honeyed tone.

    Daisy looked mildly horrified, now seriously contemplating if her mother had gone insane. Her first, and at this point her most optimistic, guess was that her mother had decided it would be a good idea to invite her daughter to an extreme BDSM session with a guy she was cheating on her husband with. And yet, as she looked down at the naked, kneeling man, his wide eyes, shivering body, and contorted expression of abject terror convinced her that his fear and distress was real. Which was no small task, as the thought of anyone ever being scared of her mother was difficult for Daisy to imagine.

    Michelle Scott, you must understand, is a sweetheart. Not just to her family, or people close to her, but basically everyone she encountered. Mellow and cheerful, she was a woman who knew how to keep a smile on her face at all times, and treat people as kindly as they could be treated. Born and raised in the lower class, the life of luxury she had married into was beyond her wildest dreams, and she loved spreading the good fortune around when she could. She and her husband took part in many charitable foundations and causes, as expected of ones of their high means, but for those she knew personally, even in passing, it went beyond that. When Daisy turned fourteen, she got to take twenty of her friends to a five-star ski resort for a weekend. When Troy, her brother, turned thirteen, his entire class left his birthday party with the latest Playstation model in their gift bags. Every time one of her kids had friends over, Michelle made sure she had the most exquisite baked goods and treats were laying around. Becoming friends with one of Michelle’s children was akin to gaining access to a world that these kids would otherwise have never been able to so much as sniff, all thanks to Michelle’s generosity. She was as sweet as they came.

    And yet, here was this stranger, looking as if he was about ready to piss himself just from her presence.

    Michelle looked over her shoulder, jerking her head towards the terrified prisoner. “Come on, sweetie, say hello.” She sounded as if she thought all of this was entirely normal.

    Trepidatiously, Daisy took one step into the room, this time slowly examining the prisoner and the way in which he was restrained. The pillories that pinned his head and hands in place were secured together by metal strips on either side of the thick wooden boards. A metal apparatus beneath his lower torso was forcing his rear end up high behind him, also wrapping a strap around his waist. His ankles and knees were also secured down on the floor, ensuring he couldn’t move very much. Daisy didn’t really know that much about bondage or restraints, but it seemed fairly elaborate. This room also had a lush carpet, but the area under and immediately surrounding the imprisoned man was concrete, with a drain underneath him.

    “U-uh…” she gave an awkward little wave towards him. “Um…hi?” She didn’t really know what else to do, torn between the unconditional trust she had in her mother and the indisputably macabre scenario that was playing out right in front of her eyes. The naked prisoner looked Daisy over a few times, and despite his obvious terror and awful situation, was able to acknowledge her beauty with an obvious erection. Daisy blushed at the sight, but Michelle just chuckled.

    “Oh, he’s really happy to see you!” she enthused. Her tone did an immediate flip, voice becoming dark and stern as she glared down at him. “I suppose that must mean he finds me ugly, then.”

    Immediately, the man snapped his attention back to Michelle, enthusiastically shaking his head no in response to her implication, bondage rack jangling back and forth. He whimpered and groaned fearfully, but did not offer a verbal reply, at least not one containing any actual words.

    Michelle gave a warm smile and bent back down to stroke his head a few times. “Don’t worry about it, baby. She’s hotter than me, I get it.”

    Daisy snapped herself out of her semi-stupor. “Mom!” she hissed, gesturing emphatically with her right hand. “Come over here!”

    Michelle stood back up, going over to her daughter’s side, wrapping her right arm around Daisy’s shoulders. Daisy unconsciously shied away from her touch, still not sure what to make of all this, questioning everything she thought she knew about her mother.

    “Oh, don’t be like that,” Michelle said, keeping her voice low and quiet. “What’s the matter?”

    “W-what’s the matter?!” Daisy repeated. “I...okay, Mom.” She pointed over towards the prisoner. “I don’t know if you think this is...normal, or something. Like, it’s something that doesn’t have to be explained. But I assure you, it’s the furthest thing from normal. So, explain this to me! Explain all of it! Who is that?! What is this?!”

    “Calm down, darling,” Michelle said. “He’s nobody. No one. He’s my plaything. My favorite toy. That’s all there is to it.”

    “Uh...f-favorite toy?” Daisy repeated, face still contorted in confusion as she glanced back over towards the terrified prisoner. “No, no, seriously, who is he?!” Daisy took a second to study the actual man rather than just his circumstances. There wasn’t a ton to say, he was a relatively skinny and fit-looking young adult, maybe a few years past twenty, with short black hair. Somewhat generic, but if you looked past his abject terror, he seemed pretty normal, and maybe even a little attractive.

    “He’s my toy,” Michelle re-iterated with a shrug. “That’s all he is now. There’s nothing else to him. Whatever kind of person he was or life he was leading, that’s all been wiped away now. He’s my toy, and I thought you might be interested in playing with him a bit. I don’t mind sharing my toys. I think you’re old enough to appreciate him now.”

    “U-uh…” Daisy scratched the side of her face, still feeling like her mother was assuming far too much normalcy about keeping a naked man chained in in a secret basement chamber. “Mom, you’re freaking me out right now!” She pointed towards him again. “I...that’s a person.”

    “Was a person,” Michelle corrected. “The moment he was brought here, he ceased to be anything beyond my plaything, existing only for my amusement and at my whim. When you were three, you had a favorite doll, the bunny doll, remember? You took it everywhere and did everything with it. When you were seven, you had that giant dollhouse, you played make-believe with it every single night. When you were nine, you got your own cell phone, and it never left your side for more than five seconds until you got a new one. Think about those things, sweetheart. They all existed for no reason other than to serve you in one way or another, everything they did was because you wanted them to do it, and as soon as you no longer had a need for them, you got rid of them. Well.” She gestured towards the prisoner. “Those were your toys. This is mine. You get it now?”

    “No!” Daisy snapped. “W-Well...yeah, I guess, but...w-what did he do?”

    Michelle shrugged. “Exist. Catch my eye. Not be a person of significant value who might be missed.” She easily interpreted the look on her daughter’s face, so continued on. “Think about it, sweetie. It’s hard, going through life, no matter who you are or what you do. Life finds a way to be difficult for us all, at some point. Some people alleviate it through therapy or medication, some people suppress it with drugs, alcohol, video games, television, or sports, some take it out on their spouses, children, or pets, but...for those of us with the means to make someone disappear off the streets, why shouldn’t we be able to relieve our stress and take out our frustrations on a human toy? People like us, of wealth, power, talent, beauty, shouldn’t we have extraordinary ways to have fun?”

    Daisy was not entirely convinced, eyes darting back and forth between the male prisoner and her mother, her mind practically having to reboot entirely in light of this side of her mom that she had never seen before. “Uh...wow.”

    Michelle nodded knowingly. “Take it from me. Nothing helps slurp away the stress of being a caring, loving mother of six children and the sweet wife of a celebrity all day quite like having fun with a human toy in your free time.”

    Daisy grimaced, scratching the back of her head. “But, I don’t...w-what do you do with him?”

    She couldn’t believe she was asking that, like she wanted to know. But she was actually sort of curious now. In some weird, twisted way, Michelle actually had managed to talk Daisy down a little bit. At the end of the day, say what you will about ethics, morality, concern for human rights, or whatever else constituted being a good person, the deepest fear was ultimately getting caught and being in trouble. And if what her mother was saying was true, there was no concern of that.

    ---

    Part Five: A Sadist Is Born [05ASIB]

    “I’ll show you, be right back,” Michelle said, shuffling past her daughter and leaving the room. Daisy put her hand up to her chin, staring over at the restrained prisoner, who had not stopped panting heavily in fear since the two women had gotten there. He glanced up, noticing Michelle was gone, then looked over at Daisy.

    “P-please,” he panted under his breath, just loud enough for Daisy to catch it. She saw tear streaks down his face, evidence that he had been sobbing.

    “Huh?” The gorgeous blonde strided over towards him, swallowing her mild embarrassment at his nudity.

    “Please, help me!” he whispered.

    Daisy stopped a couple steps away, studying him, hand up by her chin again.

    “Look, Miss, please, I’m begging you, you gotta get me out of here!” he said, words frantic and panicked, spilling out of his mouth at record speeds. “You don’t get it, the shit she does to me, I...I don’t even know how long I’ve been here! Please, Miss, I’ll do anything you want, just get me out of here, I can’t do this anymore, please!”

    Either this man was the greatest actor in the world, or he was under the impression that Michelle was going to come back with a hammer and start systematically breaking every single bone in his body. There didn’t seem to be much of a middle ground.

    “R-really, I’ll do anything, just get me out of here!” he continued, voice raspy, as if he hadn't used it a lot lately. “PLEASE!”

    “Who are you?” Daisy asked. It was a ridiculous question, given the circumstances. As if his answer could affect her next decision somehow. But she didn’t really know what else to say.

    “U-Uh…” he gave his head a violent shake, sending flecks of sweat in all directions. “M-Mark, I’m Mark.” He looked up at her. “I’m twenty-two years old, I...I worked for Amazon, I...I was a driver…”

    “So...you don’t want to be here?” Daisy asked, aware that the question probably sounded extremely stupid to Mark. But part of her was wondering if this was just some very convincing act or roleplay. And if it was, she didn’t want to do anything stupid.

    “Wh-no! I don’t! I really, really don’t! Please, I’m begging you, help me get out of here and—”

    Mark fell silent instantly as Michelle re-appeared in the doorway, wheeling a large cart in front of her into the room. He gave Daisy a pleading look, wide-eyed and desperate, clearly hoping that his begging had reached her. And it had. Unfortunately for him, it had reached her in a decidedly unexpected way. A way that was not going to help him get any closer to escaping his imprisonment.

    Daisy had never considered herself a sadist before. She couldn’t recall ever getting any enjoyment out of watching others suffer or go through misfortune. Quite the opposite, in fact. And yet, listening to this man desperately beg her to help him out of his captivity, to hear the frantic tones he used that spoke to his agony, and to know she held so much power over him, gave her a thrill. And, as she mulled her choices, she couldn’t lie to herself. The thought of denying this man the mercy that she could grant him was far more exciting than just granting it.

    Learn something new every day.

    She didn’t show any of this outwardly. Not yet. She was self-aware enough to know that her deviant thoughts were not something to be proud of. But deep down, she knew she had already made her decision. Mark wasn’t going anywhere.

    “So, what do you think?” Michelle asked, wheeling the cart over next to her daughter and her prisoner, opening the top lid with a little pop.

    Daisy wasn’t quite sure how to answer that yet, so she silently studied Mark further. This third inspection revealed that he wasn’t actually one hundred percent nude. He had a thin ankle bracelet on his right ankle. She didn’t think much of it other than simply noting that it was present.

    “So, let me guess.” Michelle reached down into the cart and pulled out a metallic rod from it, gripping the handle in her right hand. “While I was gone, my little toy here decided to speak out of turn.”

    “Hm?” Daisy turned to glance over her shoulder at her mom, practically jumping away at the sight of the nasty looking rod in her hands. “Ah!”

    “You’re not the one who needs to be scared of this thing,” Michelle said cheerfully. It seemed that Mark agreed, as his shaking and terrified whimpers only intensified at the sight of the tool. “Now, am I right?”

    Daisy thought back to their conversation, or at least what loosely passed as one, replaying it in her mind. “Uh...you mean, did he say something first?”

    “He’s not allowed to talk unless directly asked to respond to something,” Michelle explained. “Those are the rules, and without rules, there is only anarchy. And without punishing rule violations, then there may as well be no rules.” She went up next to Mark, who did all he could to move himself away from her, which was not very much at all. “Well?”

    “Umm…” she looked at Mark’s pathetic, shivering figure, and decided she was curious about what ‘punishing’ entailed. “Y-yeah.”

    Michelle pressed a button on the handle of the rod with her thumb, causing a blue arc of electricity to start dancing on the tip of the tool. She jabbed it into the side of Mark’s torso.

    The guttural scream of pain from Mark, an order of magnitude beyond even his pathetic sobbing and whimpering, certainly left an impression on Daisy, and she felt the instinctive tug of pity towards him. His whole body convulsed for the entire duration of the shock, which was a good two seconds, from what Daisy now realized was probably some sort of cattle prod. When she finally pulled it off of his side, Mark was heaving out breaths, saliva dangling from the corners of his mouth, still spasming from the aftereffects.

    “Ten,” Michelle said, propping the rod up on her shoulder. “And...women’s intuition has me suspecting that he might have spoken out of turn in order to ask you to help him escape. Right?”

    Daisy watched him shudder in his bonds, sucking down heaving gasps to try to settle the sharp pain he had just been subjected to. Once that reflexive bout of conscience had simmered down, she had to acknowledge the perverse appeal of observing someone suffer extremely disproportionate retribution. It was a testament to the complete and absolute power that Michelle held over this man, that she was free to electrocute him for the misdeed of saying words. Deviantly, Daisy wanted to see more of it.

    “That he did,” Daisy admitted. With a frighteningly cheerful look, Michelle pressed the prod back into Mark’s side and ignited it. He screamed yet again, an animalistic howl that Daisy had to admit was reaching her in ways that she hadn’t been reached before. The blonde bombshell was very used to being in control in life. Her father’s immense wealth, her stunning good looks, and top percentile athletic abilities usually made her the one holding all the cards. But this level of control, she didn’t think would appeal to her. It was.

    Michelle kept the prod in for a good five seconds this time. By the time she had released Mark from the intense shocks, he was crying again, snot dripping down his upper chin in a gross testament to how far he was being pushed physically.

    “Twenty-five,” she said. “And you’re lucky it’s not more, just for being that stupid. Did you really think I’d be bringing someone down here if I thought there was even a remote chance they’d consider doing anything to take my toy away from me?”

    Daisy, for the first time since being shown this secret chamber, cracked a bemused grin, thinking about how much she had been considering bailing out of this over the last five minutes, and how many times she had been downright scared of what her mom was revealing to her. Now, however, you couldn’t have dragged her away. She wanted to see what happened next. See if this unabashed cruelty continued to push her buttons.

    “You know, it’s been awfully long since I’ve had to discipline you. I thought you were starting to figure out how things worked around here,” Michelle admonished.

    Daisy, even though she was fast becoming more comfortable with this situation, couldn’t help but still be a little curious about how this came to be. “M-Mom, uh...Mark didn’t do anything to you to end up down here, did he?”

    Some part of her was convinced this had to follow some logic route. Maybe he had attempted to sexually assault her mother, or swindle her father out of a large sum of money, something where he at least deserved his current situation to an extent. Even something on the level of him being rude to one of them in public, or stealing their parking spot. Maybe none of that justified what she was seeing, but at least it would give some cause and effect.

    Michelle shrugged. “I had never crossed paths with him in my life before—…” she trailed off. “What makes you think his name is Mark?”

    Mark’s strangled cry of fear made it clear he knew exactly where this was going. And even if there was something she could do at this point to spare him what was coming, Daisy found that she honestly didn’t want to.

    “He told me,” Daisy replied.

    Michelle shot Mark a withering look, which provided a brief warning before she jabbed the prod back into Mark’s side and activated it.

    The shock lasted so long, this time, Daisy could see wisps of smoke and smell burnt hair by the time it was over. Michelle kept that prod active for a good ten seconds, although it certainly felt far longer to Mark. It lasted long enough that Daisy was about to express concern that he was going to kill him, before Michelle stopped.

    Mark was hanging limply in his bonds, sweat streaming out of every pore on his body and bawling beyond coherency. His hair had noticeably shifted into a haphazard mess, making Daisy think of those cartoons where someone would get electrocuted and end up with mad scientist hair. So that did actually happen in real life…

    “Fifty. You don’t have a name anymore, and you’ve been here more than long enough to know that,” Michelle said sternly, although the ability of her prisoner to hear her right now was in question given he was still working to recover from the brutal shock torture. “Your predecessors would never have remembered their name after four months as my toy, I’m disappointed.”

    “Predecessors?” Daisy repeated, head snapping over to look at her mother.

    “Oh, he’s not the first toy I’ve had down here,” Michelle said, immediately mellowing out from her serious lecturing of the prisoner. “Not by a long shot.”

    “Where are the others?” Daisy asked, twisting around to look around the room, as if they might be somewhere here and she simply hadn’t noticed them before, as absurd as that notion was.

    Michelle shrugged. “What do you do to a toy when you no longer have any use for it?” She spun the prod around in her hand and went back over to the cart, returning it to the slot it had previously occupied. “And no, he is here because I wanted him to be, and everything I do to him I do because I want to. There is no other reason for any of it.”

    Daisy nodded, feeling her inhibitions continue to slowly melt away. She liked that answer, and she was becoming less and less ashamed of that. For this to be some sort of sick, or even disproportionate, retribution would have been one thing. But for there to be no cause or reason for it at all, for this man’s only crime to have been simply existing, for this sick and twisted fate to be his because of nothing he did, and just because Michelle wanted it, and she had the power to force that fate on him...that was the true thrill.

    ---

    Part Six: A Spanking Good Time [06ASGT]

    “Alright, well, this one’s not going to discipline himself,” Michelle said nonchalantly, withdrawing a wooden spatula from the cart.

    “What were you counting earlier?” Daisy asked, eyeing the tool in her mother’s hand. “What’s fifty mean?”

    “It’ll all make sense in a moment,” Michelle assured her daughter, going around behind Mark. His reaction to all this, surprise surprise, clearly indicated that he knew that this was going to be bad for him, as he tensed up and tried to lean away from her.

    “Remember, I’ve never been much for counting, so you’ll be keeping count,” Michelle said, holding the spatula up as she kneeled down close to his nude rear end. “And if you lose count, we start over.”

    “Y-Yes, Mistress,” he sobbed, nodding his head up and down.

    With that, Michelle started bringing the spatula down onto his buttocks with great force, drawing a sharp and satisfying slap of sound on impact that was coupled by a yelp of pain from Mark.

    “AHHH! One!” he forced out, which prompted Michelle to repeat the strike on his rear with the spatula. “AHHHH! TWO!”

    So it went on, Mark forcing out an incremented number from his mouth on every stroke. Daisy just watched, letting herself forget how she was ‘supposed’ to feel at this sight, and simply allowing herself to feel whichever way she actually felt. It was certainly odd. Daisy had never been spanked by Michelle, nor had any of her siblings. She wasn’t that kind of parent. And as Michelle continued to beat on Mark’s tender ass, Daisy found herself very grateful that she wasn’t. But it was those agonized yelps from Mark that stuck with her, really.

    After ten spanks, Michelle got back to her feet. Mark remained tense, face contorted and eyes squeezed shut in anticipation of eleven, but it didn’t come. Finally, he cracked open one eye, blinking away the tears just in time to see Michelle stand up right in front of him.

    The middle aged brunette lifted her right foot up right in front of his face. Clearly, Mark knew exactly what this gesture meant, as he leaned forward and kissed it. “T-t-thank you, Mistress, I am honored and humbled that y-you would...take the time to correct my behavior,” he sobbed out, clearly working through pain to force the words out.

    Daisy was just about sold now. Forcing him to kiss her foot in total supplication, making him profusely thank her for spanking him into a sobbing mess. The complete and utter domination that she had over every single aspect of him, just watching it was exciting her almost as much as her Shenzhen Open victory had. Not only did she get it, she wanted it.

    And then, with one final move, Michelle had her daughter on the hook. She extended her right hand out towards her, spatula offered to her. Daisy stared at it, quickly putting together what was being offered.

    “Oh, don’t think you’re getting off that easy,” Michelle said. “I said fifty, you’re getting fifty. I just thought my daughter might like to give it a try.”

    “O-oh,” Daisy said. All things considered, she certainly should have at least been hesitant to take her up on the offer. But she simply wasn’t. In fact, it took her maybe a second to grab the kitchen utensil from her mother’s grip, and then start waving it around, feeling the weight, and swinging it back and forth in the air. “Well, alright.”

    She could feel the dejection and despair in Mark’s facial expression as she wielded the spatula and clearly indicated intent to use it. It was yet another injection of heart-pounding excitement to Daisy, seeing that hope be snatched away.

    As Daisy went around behind Mark, Michelle bent down in front of him, giving him this genuinely sweet look and playfully running her fingers through his hair.

    “You wouldn’t happen to be familiar with my daughter, would you?” she asked him, voice honeyed and pleasant, as if she was talking to a small child. If Daisy wasn’t so taken by this perverse scenario, she would have contemplated how it was exactly how Michelle had talked to her when she was a small child, and perhaps been disturbed by it.

    “N-No, Mistress,” Mark stammered, shaking his head.

    “Fair warning, baby,” she continued, glancing up as her daughter took the position. Unlike Michelle, Daisy remained standing, going through the follow-through of an uppercut-like swing that would allow her to strike across his buttocks while standing. “I’m just a housewife. My daughter, however, is a professional tennis player, so you might say this is her area of expertise.” She glanced up at Daisy. “What’s your record serve? One hundred and twenty-three miles per hour?”

    “One twenty-five,” Daisy said, winding up.

    Michelle gave Mark a look best described as sarcastic sympathy, conveying the agonizing experience he was about to have and mocking him for it all the while. Daisy, meanwhile, let loose with a mighty swing, even adding the loud grunt characteristic of tennis players.

    SLAP!

    “AAAAHHHHHH!”

    It wasn’t exactly the same thing, of course. There was a difference between swinging to hit a tennis ball, which was certain to be sent rocketing across a court by the force, and striking something that was meant to remain stationary and simply absorb the force, and she had to adjust accordingly. She would have died of embarrassment if she actually injured herself doing something like...this, and would have never forgiven herself if the injury had been significant enough to cause her to miss a major tournament, or even practice time. But the difference between her strikes and her mother’s were abundantly clear.

    “ELEVEN!”

    It took Mark at least three seconds to manage to yell out the number, as he had spent those three seconds screaming through gritted teeth.

    Oh God, it was everything she imagined. His helplessness, his inability to move so much as a muscle to lessen the agony, his animalistic howl of pain, and the cherry on top, him having to validate the whole thing by helping her count the number of spanks. It was that perfect cocktail of torture and humiliation. She was immediately sure that this was her kind of thing.

    SLAP!

    And so it went for several minutes, Daisy using her exquisitely-toned arm muscles to apply a thrashing to the toy’s buttocks that put her mother’s previous disciplinary spankings to shame. Every single time, he would scream bloody murder, and make all manner of visceral noises that thrilled Daisy as he tried to cope with the pain. He was able to scream out the appropriate number every time, although each callout was less coherent than the last.

    On three different occasions, the spatula would snap in two on impact. Michelle would wordlessly produce an identical one from the cart each time, clearly indicating that there were plenty of spares. She’d toss the new one to her daughter, and she’d deftly catch it before resuming.

    When Daisy got to forty, Michelle raised her hand up towards her daughter, prompting her to stop. Daisy assumed that she felt that the toy had gotten the point, and didn’t want to push things too far.

    Not so.

    “I like to mix things up for the final ten,” Michelle said, reaching back into the cart and withdrawing a large wooden paddle. Mark, who at this point was bawling in sheer agony, found another level of dread to express via a moaning groan.

    Daisy went over to her mother, carefully taking grip of the paddle’s handle, feeling the strong wood between her fingers. But what really got her attention was the fat part of the business end. One side was covered with smooth leather, and the other was pocketed with rawhide knots. She didn’t know the first thing about spanking, but she could guess that this latter side was the more severe one.

    “Smooth side, sweetie,” Michelle said. “The ‘nuclear option’ gets saved for special occasions.”

    Nodding, pursing her lips as she gave the heavy weapon a few practice swings. A good deal different than a spatula, but her muscular, toned arms had no problem wielding it. If anything, it was more ‘racket-like’ than the spatula. She went behind the toy and squared up, unable to contain her unabashed glee at being permitted to cause more agony without repercussions. The toy was decidedly less gleeful.

    WHAM!

    He screamed like a little girl, filling the large concrete chamber with his shriek, echoing off the walls, bouncing all about in the eardrums of all present. It was almost unthinkable that he had nine more swats like that to face, but Daisy had apparently left her pity in one of her other pairs of shorts, because all she wanted was to hear the toy scream out a number before taking another swing.

    “Don’t tell me you’ve lost count,” Michelle said, a clear warning that he was about to have to start the whole thing over.

    “F...f...forty...one,” he sobbed out. Of course, all he earned for his compliance was another mighty wallop.

    By the time Daisy was done, his entire rear end was one giant bruise, and his ‘fifty’ was so incoherent they would have been well within their rights to not accept it and start the whole procedure over again if they were feeling extra cruel. The toy was still heaving out massive sobs, as if the spanking hadn’t stopped, so strong was the pain that continued to come from his rear end. Experimentally, Daisy gently touched her right index finger on one spot of the bruise, drawing an agonized hiss and shout from him before she pulled away.

    “Don’t forget,” Michelle said, gesturing down towards his head. Daisy took half a second to realize what she was talking about, then headed up to in front of him.

    Daisy stopped before him, looking down at her feet for a second and thinking. They weren’t anything like her mother’s, several sizes larger. Still feminine and attractive (not that Daisy herself knew very much about what made a foot attractive, they were about as erotic as elbows as far as she could tell), but a size twelve and a half. They had always been bigger than typical, even when she was young, something that she remembered being self-conscious about when she was a small child. Again, not ugly, but not exactly the body part she imagined would be getting kissed by a guy.

    She lifted her right foot up, putting it right in front of his tear-streaked, snot-covered, drool-leaking face. He leaned forward, moving his lips on the skin of the top of her foot in a way that roughly resembled a kiss.

    “T-t-thank...thank you...Mistress.” He wheezed out, forcing his words out through gritted teeth. “I am...am...I am...h-h-honored and...humbled that y-you would...take the time to...to...correct my behavior.”

    It was like a damn drug. His total and complete supplication, the embarrassingly pathetic state of his face, being forced to act grateful for having his butt spanked into next thursday...she loved it. She wanted more of it. She wanted to go behind him with the paddle again and go all the way up to a thousand, while forcing him to kiss her foot and thank her between every single swat. She had successfully ceased to see this toy as a human being anymore.

    “She’s not your mistress,” Michelle said sternly. “I am.”

    He looked up at Michelle, terrified that he had just earned a second round of spanks.

    “I’ll let it slide,” Michelle said just as quickly, causing him to slump over in relief. “Miss Daisy will do for her in the future.” She bent down in front of his face, giving him another sickeningly sweet look. “And just be happy it was my oldest daughter instead of my oldest son, he hit eight home runs in twenty-one games of high school baseball this year.”

    Daisy bristled just a tad at the implication that her younger brother could do something better than she could, even if it was very obviously true. Daisy’s swats most certainly did some serious damage, but a two-handed swing from fifteen-year-old Troy Scott would have caused permanent damage, and possibly even killed the target.

    “U-Uh…” Daisy looked over at her mom. “Does dad know about this?”

    “Of course,” Michelle answered quickly, with a smoothness that gave every reason to think she was telling the truth. “I could never have done all this without his assistance.”

    Daisy reasoned that, given how elaborate her toy’s captivity was, what with the hidden passageway and secret chambers, this was almost certainly true. As quickly as she had done a complete one eighty on the obvious human rights violations her mother was committing, she would have been a little uncomfortable if this was happening without her father knowing about it.

    “Trust me, he’s quite happy with the arrangement,” Michelle added.

    “Mmhm,” Daisy grunted. “So, uh...what else do you do with him?”

    ---

    Part Seven: Tickle Time [07TT]

    Michelle had rinsed her toy off with a hose brought in from the main room, drenching him in a flood of cold water for several long seconds to help rinse off the sweat, saliva, and snot. Then, she had allowed him to suck down a large amount of water through a straw from a large sports bottle. By the time she was done toweling him off, he almost resembled a respectable human being again.

    Well, that wouldn’t do at all.

    Michelle kneeled down next to the side of the semi-recovered prisoner, flexing her small fingers around. Her toy moaned in dread, knowing what was coming. Daisy eagerly watched.

    To her surprise, Michelle’s next move was to simply dig her fingers into her toy’s side and start kneading into his flesh. Somehow, she was expecting something a little more vicious. Quickly, he started to laugh, offering only a second or two of attempted resistance before bursting out into loud cackles, body fighting with his restraints to try to get away from her touch. She was tickling him.

    Really? From spanking to this? Daisy’s nose wrinkled a bit. If she wanted to tickle someone she had plenty of younger siblings, and half of them would have probably enjoyed being tickled. Hell, she had been tickled plenty in her life. Her parents, uncles and aunts, siblings, friends, the usual suspects. Sure, it made you squeal and try to flail away, you wouldn’t have called it pleasant...but it was fun on some level. Not exactly what she had in mind.

    “HehEEHEeeeh...NOO...NAHAHAAAHAHA! STAHAHAP!”

    Although, he did have a pretty loud and shrill laugh. Especially for an adult male. As Michelle dug into his flanks, in fact, his raucous laughter and violently shaking against his restraints did get Daisy’s attention. She could recall going to a sleepover when she was nine and being held down by four of her friends, one to each limb, with a fifth one tickling her stomach and a sixth tickling her feet. That had only lasted maybe thirty seconds, but what if it hadn’t?

    Meanwhile, some degree of resistance shattered for the toy, as his sporadic attempts at holding in his laughter stopped in favor of a constant flow of ear-splitting cackles. He was fighting his bondage so hard it had to have hurt.

    “NAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAOHGAAAAAAAAWDHAHA! AHAHAHAHAAHAHA! PLAHAHAHAHAHAEEEZZE!”

    Watching as the toy’s laughter became more and more frenzied and his struggling more desperate, she thought about it. Remembering struggling to breathe and being forced to expel whatever oxygen she managed to suck down in chaotic laughter, not being able to get out coherent words. For thirty seconds, just a harmless prank. But for longer? Say, much longer?

    Michelle now stood up over her captive and snuck her fingers into his armpits, playing her fingertips across the sensitive skin there. He reflexively did all he could to squeeze his arms to his body, trying to protect the hollows, but the pillories saw to it that there was always a tiny sliver of an opening that he could not close. Daisy bent down in front of him, noting that tears were starting to leak out of his eyes.

    Michelle, all the while, had this pleasant smile on her face as she worked, clearly enjoying herself as she tickled her toy silly. She looked up at her daughter. “Are you just going to watch?”

    “O-oh, uh…” She looked him over, trying to figure out the best place to start. She still wasn’t entirely sold, but was willing to reconsider, and maybe some hands-on experience would change her mind. Well, her own most ticklish spot was her feet, so she may as well start there.

    “Help yourself,” Michelle said as Daisy went around behind the bound toy. “Trust me, he’s extremely ticklish just about everywhere. Aren’t you, baby?”

    He continued to howl in laughter from Michelle’s work as Daisy kneeled down behind him. With a shrug, figuring she had nothing to lose, her fingers found his defenses soles and started to stroke along them.

    His reaction was immediate, shrieking, feet wriggling around madly in surprise. He wrenched his ankles against the straps. Daisy couldn’t help but instinctively withdraw her hands away, as if scalded. But quickly, her expertly-manicured fingernails returned, attacking his soles with rapid scribbling.

    It was an unfocused, uncoordinated attack, just haphazard scratching all over his feet. But the effect was still drastic. The toy’s laughing became louder and more desperate as four hands started attacking him all at once. Daisy marveled at how smooth and soft his soles were, finding them an absolute delight to touch and tickle. A malicious little grin played along her face as she continued, padding both her fingertips and fingernails along the sensitive skin over and over.

    “Look at you,” Michelle said teasingly, still looking at her toy with an almost motherly look, a disturbing contrast to the agony she was causing him. “The center of attention for two amazing women now!” She jerked her head over towards Daisy. “You know she’s ranked in the top twenty-five in the whole world? For women, I mean. You should see the size of the trophy she got from Shenzhen!”

    Daisy gave a tiny chuckle through her fast-developing wicked grin. Her mother sounded as if she was trying to engage her toy in conversation so she could brag about her daughter’s accomplishments. As if she was suddenly sitting on a yacht in the Mediterranean, or some VIP lounge at a five-star restaurant in New York City, trying to one-up the other rich women who also had accomplished children. She had the instinctive urge to be a little embarrassed, but then remembered the only ‘person’ present wasn’t really a person.

    She watched her victim try to curl up and protect his feet, but in his position, there wasn’t really anything he could do to make it better. Even wrinkling up his soles just allowed Daisy to playfully run her nails along the grooves in maddeningly teasing ways, and invariably he would be forced to flex his feet back the other way anyway. Between his flesh feeling so soft under her fingers, his addictive chaotic laughter starting to become accompanied by begging, and mad struggling, Daisy was already starting to get it.

    “AAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAAH STAAHAHAHAAHP! AHAHAHASTAAAAAHAAP PLEEAAAAAAAAHAAHAHASE!” he screamed. He sounded every bit as distressed and agonized as he had been when Daisy was spanking him.

    In fact, there really wasn’t that much different. Sub out yells of pain for banshee-like laughter, and it was kind of the same thing, really. He was sweating, crying, desperately trying to break out of his restraints so he could get away from it. There was a humiliation aspect, it displayed complete and total power over him. As the toy started to run out of oxygen needed to continue laughing, his vocalizations became more stunted and heaving. Long pauses between bursts of cackling. Daisy didn’t know how long they had been tickling him, but he was clearly being pushed past his limits. Yes, tickling could be torture.

    Soon, he had been reduced to a state that was every bit as pathetic as the one he had been in after the spanking. He couldn’t even laugh anymore, vocal chords not producing anything other than an occasional squeak or whine.

    “It’s not easy, keeping his feet that smooth and sensitive,” Michelle said, picking her head up towards Daisy. “I work hard to take good care of them.” Now that the toy was only able to silently laugh, it was easy to hold a conversation.

    “Effort well spent,” Daisy replied, finding the smooth, velvety flesh under her fingertips to be intoxicating.

    “This might be more than you ever wanted to know about your father, but he wasn’t exactly keen on letting me ever do anything like this to him,” Michelle continued. “He respected and understood that I had an itch that I would like to be able to scratch, but being humiliated and tortured like this wasn’t something he was going to agree to.”

    Not that Daisy had ever thought about it before, but that certainly made sense. Her father was a massive, muscular man who seemed to thrive on always being the one in control, clearly very proud of being able to project a strength that did not need threatening words to back up. Yes, she doubted very much he would enjoy giving that up, even in utmost privacy.

    “So, we compromised. I’d get to scratch my itch with someone else, and better yet, I’d get to do it whenever I wanted, on a toy, with absolutely no limits or rules. What I do to him is limited only by my own imagination.” She moved her fingers down to his sides again, expertly finding all of his most ticklish spots that she knew as well as the back of her own hand at this point.

    “No matter how much money your father made, or how successful he was, or how many maids and nannies and servants we hired...it was never easy being a mother of six. The moment one child gets to that age where you don’t have to be looming over them twenty-four hours a day, you’re popping out the next one. Playing the loving, submissive wife and the caring, doting mother every day for decades on decades, it was a task I happily took on. But it was never easy. And it was always stressful. Without my toys, I don’t know if I could have managed it.”

    Suddenly, a blast of urine fired out of the toy’s penis, a spurt of liquid that stopped as soon as it had started. Daisy stopped tickling in surprise for a moment, Michelle doing the same. Finally given a respite from the tickling, the captive immediately sucked down a lungful of oxygen, body sagging in the restraints as he was finally able to relax. With that ability to relax came the rest of his bladder’s contents, pouring out onto the floor. Daisy suddenly understood why, even though the rest of the room was carpeted, the area beneath the pillories was concrete with a drain hole.

    Michelle stood up tall over her toy, hands on her hips, giving him a very stern look. Well, in fairness, it was the same look she might have given Daisy when she was eight after catching her eating cookies an hour before dinner, or Troy when he was six playing baseball inside the house. But Daisy couldn’t help but think that this look wasn’t going to end with the target of her dismay being sent to their room or having their toys taken away.

    “Did I give you permission to relieve yourself?” Michelle asked.

    At first, watching the stream of pee flow into the drain, Daisy had been grossed out. But then, after giving it more than a second’s worth of thought, it clicked. What could possibly be better evidence of breaking someone through torture than pushing them so far they lost control of their bladder? What was more humiliating than pissing yourself in the company of others? Just like just about everything else she had tried for the first time today, initial dubiousness was fast making way for understanding and appreciation.

    The toy, for his part, was so busy sucking down oxygen and dealing with lingering laughs from the tingling feelings on his body that he didn’t respond.

    Michelle glanced over at her daughter and nodded. Somehow, instinctively, Daisy knew what she wanted, and brought her hand across the toy’s buttcheeks as hard as she could in a powerful slap. Child’s play compared to the paddle, but the bruising back there was enough to force him to scream in pain.

    “OOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!”

    “Did I?” Michelle asked.

    “...no...no...I’m sorry...I’m sorry…” he managed to just barely squeeze out of his vocal chords, sounding hoarse from all the laughter. “Sorry...please…”

    Even though he was obviously dead tired, Daisy heard the fear in his voice. And all it did was excite her for what would come next.

    “I guess you’re going to need some additional bladder control training. And right in front of my daughter, too, don’t you have an ounce of shame?” She picked up the giant sports bottle again and put it underneath his face. “You leave so much as a single drop, and Daisy will be introducing you to the other side of that paddle for the rest of the night.”

    He needed no further motivation than that. So, through a face that was absolutely covered in sweat and tears, as well as a stomach that hurt from all the laughing, he forced himself to suck down water through the straw. It took about thirty seconds for him to drain the rest of the bottle.

    Immediately, Michelle was back digging around into the cart, Daisy feeling as if she was watching Santa Claus reaching into his sleigh to pull out her Christmas gifts. She produced two fistfuls of electric toothbrushes, her toy able to pick his head up enough to see and now possessing enough stamina to moan in fear.

    “Remember. Every time you lose control of your bladder, it gets worse,” she said warningly, although gone was her harsh tone, replaced with playfulness. Though for her toy, it was hard to say if one was better than the other.

    Armed with the myriad of tools, Michelle went behind her victim, kneeling down alongside her daughter. “Want to learn his best spots?” she asked, looking more alive than Daisy had ever seen her before.

    Daisy nodded, and Michelle wasted no time in reaching forwards, where his testicles were hanging. Her fingers easily found the little crevice where his thigh met his groin, jamming it right next to his balls, and started to goose her fingers on the inner thigh.

    Despite mentally preparing for it, he screamed in shock, and began desperately trying to squeeze his legs shut. The straps up near his knees, however, made protecting his most private area impossible, and no matter how hard he tried to cover up, there was nothing he could do about that little window back there that Michelle was reaching through. Soon, his screams were intermixed with hoarse laughter. He sounded like a wild animal, and struggled in his bonds like one as well.

    This time, Daisy felt only a few microseconds of surprise at seeing her mother reaching in so close to his private parts. She was, in fact, touching them. With each torture and embarrassment heaped on this toy that she witnessed, her ability to stop thinking about him as a human was becoming more and more advanced. She was no virgin, and had seen male private parts before, but normally this degree of intrusion on a man’s privates would have made her uncomfortable. However, looking at him as just a toy, existing just to serve and amuse them, made it easy.

    Michelle was not kidding, as he reacted very strongly to the tickling here. She worried that the straps that kept him in place might break. It seemed to go beyond mere superficial tickling here, each little teasing squeeze and prod making him react as if he was being branded. Michelle did not let up no matter how loudly he squealed.

    She jerked her head down towards his feet, reminding Daisy that this was a team effort, and she went back to work on his soles. Scratching up and down on the pale, sensitive surfaces, thrilling in the reactions she could generate with the simplest of strokes and scratches.

    It took much less time for him to lose, pissing himself yet again. He was so worn down and exhausted from what he had already been put through, the effort to clench the muscles needed to hold it in was just too much to ask.

    “Disappointing,” Michelle said, although she didn’t sound disappointed at all as she got back to her feet.

    The cycle repeated itself. She had him drink a large amount of water, then went back around behind him. This time, however, she picked up one toothbrush, clicking it to life, causing intense vibrations and a buzzing noise from it.

    “Very well,” she said warningly towards her toy, who was still sucking down oxygen with all his might. And then, she gestured towards his penis, glancing over towards her daughter with a welcoming, warm smile.

    This time, Daisy didn’t even hesitate. Her tanned fingers easily found that sweetspot, right between his testicles and thigh, and started pulsing right on it. He gasped, she felt his muscles tense in an attempt to protect the sensitive area, and then, the shrieking laughter started.

    Michelle, meanwhile, started utilizing the electric toothbrush on his soles, running those whirring bristles up and down his feet. He screamed again, as if each new torture was allowing him to unlock some reserve compartment in his lungs that allowed him to vocalize his duress for a brief moment.

    “Remember, every time you lose control, you get another brush,” Michelle said conversationally. It was a deliciously evil game that could not be won, and if anything locked the victim in a vicious cycle that made losing all the more inevitable. “So, sweetie, what do you think?”

    Daisy was practically getting drunk, digging her fingernail around in the crevice, relishing in how she could make him squirm and twitch so frantically with a single finger. “I think I want to know where you got this toy, and if they have any more,” she answered wryly.

    ---

    Part Eight: A Test of Will - [08ATOW]

    Daisy didn’t know exactly how long she and her mother spent down in that secret room that night. They had gotten lost in the fun of torturing the toy out of his mind, forcing him to pee over and over again, trapping him in that entirely unfair cycle. Listening to him beg for mercy during every break and looking at his tear-stained face was a delight, a thrill that could only be achieved by making someone suffer at your hands. He must have pissed himself a good ten times before they decided he had had enough.

    In the coming weeks, Daisy learned the system by which her mother would take care of her toy. He was kept caged in a hidden compartment of the wall, in relative comfort, but restrained. When playtime came, Michelle would open the door of the compartment from outside the dungeon, and instruct him via an intercom system. The bondage rack in the room, which could be changed out, could be controlled entirely from the control panel outside the room, the restraints able to open and close via a switch, so he could get into position and be fully bound before the door to his cell was even opened. It was very important to have complete control over him at all times, no matter what, and not allow so much as a sliver of an opportunity to escape, or fight back. Survival instincts, adrenaline, and desperation were powerful, and neither woman wanted to find out just what he would be willing to do in order to get out of his situation.

    Care also had to be taken to make sure that he wouldn’t be able to hurt himself, as suicide was probably starting to look pretty appealing to him. Nothing could be left in the room that could be used as a makeshift weapon, and he could only be allowed short windows of time to move from his compartment to a rack unsupervised, lest he get up to something. Only very specific foods could be given to him, and given to her in very specific ways. She also learned that the anklet he wore was capable of delivering an electric shock, as a sort of final guard against him not behaving as ordered. A few of the live-in servants knew about the prisoner’s existence, and could be called on to help care for him in the event of the Scott family being out of town for more than a day, but most of them needed to be kept in the dark.

    But the reward for all that was, a few times a week, the two women got to experience the pure relief and unadulterated glee of tormenting their captive into a stupor. Tickling was always the main course, and Daisy had quickly discovered why. Not only was it very much a form of torture, it might have been the purest, most effective form of torture imaginable. Making it impossible for you to breathe, forcibly stimulating your most sensitive nerve ends, making your whole body thrash uncontrollably, and what’s more, it never left a mark and it could be done virtually forever without worry of causing any actual harm. You could eventually run out of bones to break or skin to peel off, but tickling could go on forever.

    But Michelle definitely knew other ways to have fun at her toy’s expense. Right now, he was bound to an X-Frame rack that forced him into a kneeling position, strapped in by his wrists, waist, ankles, and thighs, as well as criss-crossing his chest. It was just the perfect position to have all of his most sensitive areas exposed, which they were most certainly exploiting. But that was only part of the game.

    Michelle was behind him, hands roaming his exposed torso, splitting attention between his armpits, ribs, and sides with an expertise born of doing this for years. Her fingernails, just perfect for this kind of work, wreaked havoc all over his body, making him howl like a wolf and scream like a banshee, mouth wide open in laughter, tears somehow squeezing out of his tightly shut eyes. His body glistened with a mixture of sweat and a smooth sheen of body oil.

    Daisy, however, had a gentle grip on his penis, right hand’s fingers wrapped around the shaft. She was playfully running her fingers up and down his ultra-sensitive tool, eyes right on his beet red face as the contrasting emotions of agony and pleasure warred within him.

    “I think he’s enjoying this more than either of us!” Daisy called out over his laughter, feeling his erection surge in her hand, playfully rubbing his testicles with one of her fingers. “After all this time, he’s still harder than steel.”

    It didn’t matter that he was being imprisoned against his will, kept in dehumanizing and restrictive captivity, and being tickle-tortured to the brink of insanity. An extremely beautiful young woman, the kind of woman he would never even consider approaching in his everyday life, was playing with his cock. He could close his eyes, he could try to convince himself that he was getting jerked off by a guy, or his grandmother, but deep down, he knew. And that was arousing, no matter the circumstances.

    “Well, the timer’s at three minutes. If he can prove that he’s not enjoying this, we’ll let him go,” Michelle said, revelling in how his sensitive body twitched under her tickling.

    Through the incessant torture, he tried everything he could to resist, but it was no use. Like clockwork, Daisy’s hand brought him towards yet another orgasm. He had already been forced to cum six times, so it was actually starting to get a little painful and exhausting. But that wasn’t even the real problem.

    Michelle had promised him that, if managed to go a full 30 minutes without cumming while given a handjob, she’d let him go, no strings attached. Of course, every time he came, she’d take advantage of his hyper-sensitive post-orgasm body and tickle him senseless for several minutes, then start it over. To his eternal frustration, he never came close to winning.

    But with Daisy now participating, the game had gotten more complicated. Now, he was getting tickled while given a handjob, the two women trading off every round. You’d think the simultaneous torture would give him a better chance to suppress his orgasm and reduce his arousal, but you’d be wrong. If anything, even if it just made things worse for him, the addition of a girl like Daisy into the equation just made him hornier. Not even being mercilessly tickled could stop him from inevitably spurting his seed forward.

    Every orgasm was accompanied by a furious, this time two-person, tickle frenzy, but they had decided to add an extra level to the punishment. After taking advantage of his increased sensitivity, he would then be covered in another layer of this evil body oil that decreased friction on his body and made him all the easier to tickle. At this point, he was so slick that he probably could have body-surfed the length of a football field if tossed with enough force.

    Daisy drummed her fingers along his shaft in a gentle, playful way that drove him crazy, and he could feel the unwanted orgasm approaching. It didn’t matter that Michelle had the power to simply break her promise even if he did win the game, nor did it matter that applying a half-second of thought to it would have made it very clear that she would never let him go, under any circumstances. He wanted to win. That tiny sliver of hope she was giving him was better than nothing.

    And then, he lost again. More of his seed joined his previous ejaculations on the floor in front of him. His insane laughter was joined by a moaning groan, a guttural lament at his own inability to control himself.

    “Looks like he still wants to be here,” Daisy said, digging her fingernails into his inner thighs and scrabbling away, making him scream and convulse. “Whatever might come out of his mouth, his body tells the real story.”

    “AAAAAHAAHAHAHAASTAAHAHAAAHAAAHAHAAASTAAAHAHA!” he screeched, his heart pumping incredibly hard, as it did every time they cruelly took advantage of how sensitive he was right now. Perhaps one of these times, it would simply give out under stress and he could be set free from this miserable existence. But this wasn’t that time.

    A couple minutes passed before they stopped, both of them looking down on their broken toy with malicious amusement.

    “You’ve orgasmed more in the last hour than you probably did in a week of your former life,” Michelle teased him. “Of course you’d never want to leave.”

    He struggled to hold onto reality, finding that with each exhausting round he was less able to remember who he was, where he was, what was going on, what he wanted...his entire existence was fast becoming nothing but a bundle of nerves being stimulated. As if he was created and existed only to be tickled. In short, every day of this unbearable torture moved him one step closing to truly being what the two women wanted him to be.

    “Please...please...please…” he couldn’t even beg coherently anymore, not that that would have helped him. Just that one word, it was all he could hold onto as he huffed and puffed his way back into lucidity.

    “Well, if you really want to stay here longer, fine, but you know the rules,” Daisy said, pulling over a bucket filled with the thin yellow-ish liquid. “More oil.”

    Both women dipped their hands into the bucket and started slathering the slippery oil all over his naked body, giving absolutely no clearance or respect to his privates. It was unbelievable, really. Here he was, being oiled up all over his naked body by an attractive older woman and a supermodel-worthy teenager, and being jerked off in rotation by both of them like he was a milk cow, and he hated it.

    “No...no...no more…” Other words began to return to him as he was given something of a respite. Though that was a loose usage of the word, given that he was still giving little shrieks of laughter and twitches as the two rubbed all over his body.

    “Baby, we can see your salute down there,” Michelle said, covering the soles of his feet in the evil substance. “You’re having just as good a time as we are, even if you won’t admit it.”

    “Do you have any idea how many guys out there would kill their mothers to trade places with you right now?” Daisy followed up. As much as it was a comment meant to make fun of him, there was some real truth to it.

    He whined, diaphragm aching, every word he said causing more pain. He slumped over in his bonds, trying to relax every muscle in his body.

    “Trade off!” Michelle called out, moving around to his front and kneeling down next to him while Daisy went behind him. “We’ve only been playing this game for six months now, you’d think you’d be able to win eventually.”

    Daisy gave a playful scratch through his sweaty, matted hair. “He loves us too much to ever want to leave.”

    Even though it was obviously a very rigged game, and they were just mocking him, on some level, he was affected by their words. No matter how hard he fought, no matter how much he resisted, if these two wanted him to cum, in a matter of minutes, he would. And that level of pathetic helplessness could not help but wear on him.

    Michelle wrapped her right hand around his member. Yes, she wasn’t quite the knockout that Daisy was, but it didn’t particularly matter. Under her skilled, practice hand, he couldn’t win. No matter how empty he thought he was, she always had just one more little trick she could use to force out a little bit more.

    Daisy wiggled her fingers around eagerly, eyeing his helpless feet. She loved tickling his feet. There was just something special about the ticklishness of feet, above all other potential tickle targets. During those surprisingly common moments in her life when she would tickle one of her younger siblings, or a friend, it was usually the feet she would go after. And her mother’s toy was no exception to that.

    “And...go!” Michelle called out, starting a small timer on the carpet next to them before rhythmically stroking her nimble fingers on his cock. He gave a helpless groan as it started up again.

    Daisy dug into his soles, forcing him to draw on yet another deeply-buried reservoir of strength to offer a futile struggle, feet writhing around and body thrashing. At this point, it took only seconds for that reservoir to run dry, and he was able to do nothing but hang there and take it. As those devilish manicured nails attacked his feet, his voice was quick to give out as well.

    “Oh yeah, I almost forgot,” Daisy said, looking up towards her mother, fingers not missing a beat even as she engaged in conversation. “Katy got accepted into Stanford.”

    “Wow, bet the house on the Cardinal to win the Women’s Softball World Series this year,” Michelle said casually. “Is she excited?”

    “Of course,” Daisy replied. “Not going to see her as much for a while though, kind of a shame.”

    Whenever he would lose the ability to laugh audibly, the two women would sometimes engage in idle conversation about random topics. Partially to make him feel even more pathetic, as if his presence was so insignificant he could be right there and have a conversation happen that had nothing to do with him that he could not participate in. He may as well be a piece of furniture. And to hear bits and pieces of their discussions about things like expensive five-star restaurants, luxury cruises, celebrity hangouts, Daisy’s tennis career, and other such perks of wealth, further hammered home the fact that these two women were continuing to live amazing lives, suffering no consequences for how they had ruined his life.

    “PLEASE!” he managed to wheeze out, feeling his erection rise again in Michelle’s hand. Both women were quite surprised to hear him manage even a single word right now.

    “You’re obviously not tickling him hard enough back there,” Michelle said wryly.

    “Roger!” Daisy said, picking up a pair of plastic forks from a tray next to her and starting to run them along his soles in repeated patterns to hit all his most sensitive spots. He wasn’t expecting the sudden change, and the new sensation sent him to the next level of tickle hell. But his penis didn’t seem to agree.

    Sure enough, with a wave of unwanted pleasure, he came again, at this point more of a loose trickle than any kind of explosion, but still representative of the fact that he could not control himself. Sure enough, the crazed tickling started again.

    “By the way, sweetie. I’ve had a lot of fun the last few weeks, but if you get tired of sharing, or maybe want a little variety, just go talk to your father.”

    “Really?” Daisy asked, now attacking the backs of his thighs with her fingers, pinching them up and down.

    “We didn’t build multiple dungeon rooms for no reason,” Michelle said with a smirk, now starting to teasingly tickle his balls.

    ---

    Part Nine: A Toy All Her Own - [09ATAHO]

    Three Weeks Later

    Daisy whisked the burlap bag off of James Rodgers’s head. He immediately squeezed his eyes shut and bowed his head down, even the very mild lighting in the room giving him difficulties after having no vision for an extended period of time. He blinked out the tears for a second, groaning into his red ball gag with renewed vigor on seeing the exact nature of his situation, tugging on his wrist restraints.

    A blank room of grey walls and brown carpet, with a beautiful young woman in front of him, and tied to a standing bondage frame that put him in a spread eagled position, while naked. Honestly, James wasn’t sure if this was a bad thing or not yet. Particularly when, signified by a look of dawning recognition on his face, he recognized the woman in front of him.

    “Of course you’d remember me,” she said, making a model pose in front of him, wearing nothing but a set of black lingerie. “Can’t take your eyes off me at the pool. Kept expecting you to get fired one of these days when they realized that a half-dozen children could drown right in front of you when I was doing laps and you wouldn’t even notice.”

    Oh, yes, James definitely recognized the golden-haired goddess in front of him. Daisy Scott was one of the many recurring users of the public swimming pool at Trinity Preparatory School, where James worked as a lifeguard. Of the many beautiful, rich girls who utilized the pool, Daisy stood out in both categories. She took laps at the school at least twice a week, and James could only pray to any God that might listen that he would be working his shift during those laps. She looked absolutely dynamite in a bikini, and there was something hypnotic about watching her cut through the water like a marlin.

    “Well, understandably, you never had the courage to approach me or talk to me, though I’m sure I was running through your mind every evening after your shift at the pool was over and you were at home jerking off,” Daisy continued.

    She wasn’t wrong. And despite his frantic struggling in his restraints, his building erection at the sight of his crush may as well have been him saying ‘yes’ to her accusation.

    “So, I have good news, I suppose. You’re about to become a very important part of my life,” she said cryptically. “Because, courage to make a move or not, you’re kind of my type.”

    James was a good deal bigger and more muscular than the prisoner who was occupying the neighboring cell, an impressive six foot four frame and 225 pounds, with a lot of it on his arms, shoulders, and thighs. He was only eighteen, but had no problem convincing the elite private school of his ability to competently serve as lifeguard of their pool just based on his physical appearance. Honestly, it was a little shocking that someone of his appearance wouldn’t have the stones to make a move on a girl, but he had convinced himself that the social class disparity was too much to overcome.

    “But, you snooze, you lose,” she said, putting her hands on her hips. “Just think, if you had some balls, you could be cuddling on Miami Beach with me right now, planning a two week vacation in London while I’m playing Wimbledon. But, things being as they are, I have a better idea for you.”

    He tried to protest through his gag, but not a single word could be understood. He shook his head rapidly, sending sweat beads in all directions.

    “So, here’s the deal,” Daisy continued. “Welcome to your room. It’s the only room you’ll be seeing for the rest of your life.” She spread her arms to the sides. “I know it doesn’t look like much, but we’ve got plenty of things we can pull in to make it more interesting, and believe me, we will.”

    James was already pretty sure that whatever was happening wasn’t good for him, regardless of what his cock might have been arguing to the contrary. But now, his struggles became all the more desperate. He was clearly neck deep in something he wanted no part of.

    “Now. I live a stressful life. Every other week, there’s a major tennis tournament, I have training and practice every single day, and I’ve got to fit all that in with college. Then, you’ve got the pressures of being a young celebrity, having athletic excellence run in the family, trying to get everyone to like me, looking perfect every single time I step outside, and so on and so on. So, stress release.” She pointed at him. “That’s where you come in.”

    If he could talk, and if he wasn’t currently feeling the warring emotions of terror and anger, he would have had some choice words for her complaining about her charmed life, make some comparisons with his own life, and ask if she wouldn’t mind swapping with him.

    “More good news, you don’t really have to do anything,” Daisy said, striding behind him. James twisted his head around back and forth, trying to keep her in his sight, as if that could have made any difference for him right now. “You’ll find that my ways of relieving stress are rather one-sided.”

    She reached down towards James’s groin, right index finger finding his taint, the small spot of flesh between his balls and anus, giving it a gentle little scratch. It was a very light touch, but James jolted, practically jumping out of his own skin, an absolutely spine-chilling sensation that had him frantically trying to snap his thighs closed. It was a particularly embarrassing and humiliating thing, to have such a private area be touched by someone who was, basically, a stranger, and you not being able to do anything about it. He gave her a wide-eyed, terrified look as she smirked, relishing the impact that her finger had had on him. It was a symbolic thing as much as it was a physical thing, to be able to touch someone wherever you wanted with impunity.

    “Now, you do have a lot to learn down here, but you’ll pick it up. You don’t really have a choice. There are most certainly rules and expected behaviors for a toy, which is what you are now.” She leaned up against his muscular back, putting her head up on his shoulders, hands feeling around his torso, feeling his impressive build. “Oh, God, I’m going to have such a good time breaking you down.”

    That particular choice of phrase did nothing to make him feel like this might have been a positive thing for him. He never thought in a million years that he’d be desperately trying to get Daisy Scott to stop touching him, but there was no denying his thrashing and gagged protests as the blonde bombshell groped him. It was like she was examining a piece of meat, and he didn’t appreciate it, even from her.

    “But I suppose I’m getting ahead of myself. After all, this whole thing is an unfortunate bust if the answer is no, so...I’ll just pop the question.”

    With that eerie statement, she went back in front of him, still playfully leaning up on his side. She produced an electric toothbrush, holding it up in front of James, bringing it to life with the push of her thumb.

    James stared at it, confused, now forced to wonder if this was all some sort of extremely over-the-top dentist. The next few words out of Daisy’s mouth, however, dashed that hope, and worse yet, put a new level of fear into him.

    “Are ya ticklish?” she asked playfully.

    ---

    Part Ten: The Key To Winning - [10TKTW]

    The USTA Billie Jean King National Tennis Center, one of the most beautiful venues in the world, and home of the prestigious U.S. Open, the final of the four grand slam tournaments that did so much in determining who the best tennis players in the world were.

    One hundred and twenty-eight of the best players in the world showed up for the women’s singles side of the bracket, and only one would be hoisting that sterling silver trophy at the end of the grueling two week tournament. And given that so much of the attention and media coverage was focused on her, it seemed only fitting that the one doing it would be Daisy Scott. The more cynical viewers would probably think it was all rigged, given that she was one of the reasons why viewership had spiked this year.

    Red blooded men across the globe who otherwise wouldn’t have been that interested in tennis tuned in during her matches, as even among the many beauties who regularly took part in high level women’s tennis, Daisy stood out. Some basketball fans who didn’t typically watch tennis checked it out, just to see if the daughter of the legendary Jacob Scott could live up to her father’s legacy. So it was rather convenient for the powers that be in the tennis world that she would be the one lifting the cup above her head in the middle of the court after an obligatory handshake with the runner-up, after a grueling match of just over three and a half hours.

    The upbeat, energetic girl looked absolutely dynamite in her white blouse-and-skirt combination, standard for many female tennis players, as well as her white K-Swiss Hypercourt Supreme shoes, making just about everyone in the audience either love her or be extremely jealous of her. After two strenuous weeks of tossing herself around a hard court, getting off complex volleys and miraculous returns against the best in the world and beating them, you certainly couldn’t call her the beneficiary of nepotism, nor a spoiled brat content to live the life of a Princess off her daddy’s money. Actually, the prize money of just under six million dollars for winning the prestigious tournament would have made her independently well-off even if she hadn’t come from such advantageous beginnings.

    She practically bounced around the court, radianting a cheerfulness that other players didn’t quite have. In post-match interviews, she was earnest, funny, charming, and sexy in just the right amounts. She was a young woman that would certainly become an American darling, a person who the country would unite behind as she took her skills across the globe for as long as her body would allow her to. ESPN would cover her endlessly, her already popular instagram and twitter pages would skyrocket, and she’d become a household name within a year.

    Pumping her fist into the air, she ran over towards the southern side of the court, towards her waiting parents, who had come down from the stands to greet her. After a quick embrace, she had one last post-match interview to give. Surely, they’d ask her what she owed her success to. She’d definitely mention her parents, her trainer, her tennis-playing friends, God, her millions of supporters across the globe, and so on. The same basic platitudes most championship level athletes gave.

    She would certainly not be mentioning a certain eighteen year old former lifeguard, in a straitjacket inside a hidden compartment in a hidden chamber in a hidden basement, who provided her the perfect release after a long, hard day of training, or projecting the image of the perfect wholesome princess for the public. Slowly transforming ‘James’ into a toy for her sadistic amusement had been one of the greatest thrills of her life. And she genuinely wasn’t sure she would have been able to reach these heights on the court without his service. When she was tickling his brains out, or masturbating him wildly until he was beet red, or playing any of the other cruel games she would play with him, she could just feel all the built-up stress get sucked right out of her. It helped her push through those final moments of tennis practice when she wanted to give up, or keep a smile plastered on her face as she tired of the media hounding her.

    After more than two weeks away from home for the U.S. Open, working harder than she had ever worked in her life, she certainly couldn’t wait to get back and have a nice, long play session. And it’s hard to deny that she deserved it.

    THE END

    ---

    Might do a sequel if people seem to like it. Let me know what you think.

  2. #2
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    This is the most engaging BDSM story I have ever read.

  3. #3
    Quote Originally Posted by AlePerry View Post
    This is the most engaging BDSM story I have ever read.
    Thank you for the compliment, it's appreciated! Glad you like it.

  4. #4
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    Amazing, thank you!

  5. #5
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    wow, what a great story.

  6. #6
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    Fabulous story!
    <== the sacred soles of Goddess Shelly



    A link to my stories on the TMF.


    Buy my first novel "Sorority Sisters" here.

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    Order Today!


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    אֶרֶץ יִשְׂרָאֵל חי

  7. #7
    Quote Originally Posted by Iso View Post
    Amazing, thank you!
    Appreciate the kind words, glad you liked it.

    Quote Originally Posted by Smellking View Post
    wow, what a great story.
    Thank you very much, hope it did something for you.

    Quote Originally Posted by milagros317 View Post
    Fabulous story!
    Thought it might be in your wheelhouse milagros, lol.

  8. #8
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    I hope you ll do the part II or other stories

  9. #9
    Quote Originally Posted by AlePerry View Post
    I hope you ll do the part II or other stories
    Sequel is already in the process of being written.

  10. #10
    Very sexy and creative, looking forward to the sequel!

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