A tickle session from my novel-in-progress *Sophie's Fortune* (MMM/FFF)

Note: This is set in 1959 my "Demancipation" alternate history, where women in the 20th century, instead of gaining the vote, were universally enslaved (a happy comfy enslavement, with lots of bondage and hold the SM please). And in the late 1950s, tickling was a fad that bid fair to become a cultural institution.

[ start excerpt ]
As she entered Mr. Arnold’s game room with the others, Patty kept a tight mental grip on her expression of reserve. She liked being tickled. She liked it a great deal. It was as if her body was trying to make up for twenty years of going without it. What she found mortifying was gushing about it beforehand, the way Olive sometimes did. It was a matter of an older woman’s stubborn pride that she not do so.

Olive believed that Patty didn’t want to jinx herself, and had shared that belief with both Mr. Arnold and Mr. Hunt. Patty felt a twinge of guilt about that, but her stubborn pride was stronger and so she let the deception stand.

Master Louis, of course, knew the truth. He was, after all, her owner and master. He was also willing, bless him, to keep her confession confidential.

Now Patty watched as Sophie wandered about the room. Learning that Sophie was a natural ticklee had come as a surprise, and as a reminder that women with low Rhine scores were often hard to read. Even now that Patty knew better, she still sensed Sophie vaguely as being a woman who still hadn’t acquired a taste for the tickle.

The room was a little crowded with the outside patio closed and the patio furniture move inside for storage. The red carpet had a very low ‘institutional’ pile, and the green-painted walls had hooks and hangers for various and sundry restraints and tickle-toys. Sophie nodded appreciatively as Olive pointed out the various implements. Patty smiled and extended her extra senses again. Sophie was still hard to read, but Patty now though she had the aura of a connoisseur as she took in the tickle devices and the pieces of restraint-furniture.

That furniture included a set of wooden stocks built for one captive, a second set of stocks built to hold two women, a table with a padded leather top, and a carpet-covered ‘whipping post’ with an oversized feather-duster hanging beside it. There was also a short rod with clothes-hangers that the three women made use of, stripping down to their bras and panties. Mr. Arnold looked them over and turned up the thermostat by a couple of degrees.

Mr. Hunt was helping Sophie into the double stocks. Master Louis caught Patty’s eye and pointed silently. After giving him a quick read, Patty decided to return his humor from dinner.

“Do I have to, master?” Patty asked with an exaggerated whine. She saw his lips twitch, before he forced a glower at her.

“Yes master!” Patty said quickly. “I obey, I obey!” She and Master Louis exchanged flashing grins, as she hurried to the stocks.

Sophie already occupied the right seat, so Patty took the left. The upper ankle-board came down to secure them both, and their masters applied padded leather cuffs to their wrists. For this session, the wrist cuffs were secured to steel staples set between their legs, rather than to the attachment points above their heads. Master Louis and Mr. Hunt both seemed in the mood for foot-tickling, despite the bare bellies their slave women also presented. Olive, on the other hand, looked to be in for a whole-body session.

“I beg the tickle, master!” Sophie said, when Mr. Hunt finished securing her.

“I beg the tickle, master!” Patty echoed, no longer trying to hide her enthusiasm.

Sophie turned to Patty. “Maybe next time we can do a chorus.”

They both giggled, halfway to being tickle-drunk even before the tickling began.

Then the first touch of the feather came, followed by a second, third, and fourth touch. A trail of pleasure followed the stiff feather-tip as it made a circles on Patty’s soles. Patty giggled again as the tickle sensations sank in. She couldn’t keep from squirming, but she could save the exciting, futile struggles against her bonds for later. For the moment it was easier to give in to the giggles, as Master Louis applied his teasing touch.

It did tickle enough that Patty needed to be held in place. That just made it more delightful, however. The squirming felt all the better when the ankle-stocks and wrist cuffs kept her from escaping. In any case, Patty didn’t want to escape the feather, she just wanted to try. She was enjoying the vulnerability of the bare soles of her bare feet, and the way Master Louis softly and steadily tickled them. It was a wonderful, inescapable tickle. It was the tickle she had begged for. It was a tickle she would beg for again. And again and again and again.

Sophie was giggling and squirming too, as she sat beside Patty. She couldn’t escape either. Neither of them could possibly escape, until their masters choose to release them. The stocks were well-designed and well-built, and Patty’s and Sophie’s best efforts combined couldn’t even make them creak. They were trapped for the tickle, and it was a trap full of pleasure. It felt wonderful. Patty could thrash her feet, since Master Louis hadn’t secured her toes – not yet. But even that thrashing was futile. Her feet were too far apart to protect each other, and neither foot could avoid the sweet sweet touch of the feather that Master Louis held.

The touch of two feathers: Master Louis now had a long, stiff feather in each hand. She could feel them both, on the far side of the stock-boards. Sometimes they tickled both her feet at once, and sometimes they alternated. It didn’t matter. Patty couldn’t avoid the feather-strokes. Gentle strokes, persistent strokes, seducing Patty into giggling more and more as they applied their happy tickle.

Master Louis was now fully absorbed with feeding giggles to Patty. With making her squirm. Patty started to pull at her wrist cuffs, feeling the pleasant shock as the kept her from escaping. She felt her master apply line after line of tease to her bare feet. Mostly on her soles, but sometimes on the tops of her feet or between her toes. Sometimes alternating between the left and right foot, and sometimes running over both feet at once. Sometimes up and down and sometimes back and forth. But it all tickled. Patty had begged for the tickle, and this was the tickle she had begged for.

Patty caught her breath as the tickle paused. Master Louis was tying the toes of her left foot. Then the tickle began again with a new and different tease. Her right foot could continue its futile thrashing, but her left foot was helpless – helpless! – as the feathers reached in to touch and tickle. But the feathers were kissing both her soles, and her bare feet didn’t just feel bare. They felt nude. Naked. And her increased awareness of her feet made her feel helpless all over. Excitedly helpless. Like a collared slave woman. Owned by Master Louis. Because she was. And she was glad of it.

She was fully tickle-drunk now, she realized. The giggles made it impossible to speak, but Patty nodded vigorously when Master Louis gave her an inquiring look. Yes! She wanted more. Much more. And she wasn’t at all ashamed to admit it, in the depths of being tickle-drunk. The pleasure of the tickle was too much to refuse.

Master Louis grinned and continued his tickle tease. Tickle tease. Tickle teeeease. And Patty laughed like a shameless, helpless, ticklish slavegirl. It felt marvelous.


Olive squealed happily, delighted with the squirmy tickle-sensations imposed on her by Master Maxwell’s quick-moving fingers. She could sense, vaguely, that Patty and Sophie were receiving a foot-tickle, but most of her attention was on her own skin.

Master Maxwell had secured her on the padded table, face up, spread out and strapped down. Now his cheerful fingers worked energetically on Olive’s vulnerable body. Everywhere. He started the tickle at her wrists and worked down her arms. As he came to her shoulders and started tickling her armpits and sides, he began to sing ‘The Tickle Song.’ Olive called out the “Oh yes!” at the appropriate places, in between her giggles. Master Maxwell would pause just long enough for her to do so.

The tickle reached Olive’s belly. She felt Master Maxwell’s fingers dancing all over her bare belly. A forefinger would occasionally poke and wiggle in her belly-button before joining the others in a squirmy dance that spilled from her belly to her sides. His tickling tune came to an end, and Master Maxwell gave her a brief massage, preparing her for the next round of tickles. Then he held up various implements for Olive’s inspection, one at a time, as he gave her a chance to catch her breath.

The tickle-dance resumed, with Master Maxwell briefly applying two tickle-implements to Olive’s belly before running them down her legs. Olive was aware of them both as they ran past her knees and toward her ankles. She twisted and squirmed. She couldn’t keep from struggling any more than she could keep from laughing. And the uselessness of those struggles made the tickle feel brighter. Better. Olive wanted to laugh and struggle. She wanted to struggle hard, because struggling felt so good – as long as she didn’t succeed.

Master Maxwell now stood at Olive’s feet. She heard him set his tickle-toys aside and felt the quick stroke of his fingertips across each of her soles. She once again fought the straps holding her, and again those straps made her feel marvelously excited and deliciously helpless. She heard Patty and Sophie laughing in the nearby stocks, and Olive’s tingled with an echo of their tickle, as well as with anticipation of the tickle to come. It was just what at bond witch would feel, Olive thought smugly.

Then the master-fingers surrounded her left foot, and the fiercely loving tickles sank into that foot from everywhere: Across the top of her foot, into her arch and heel and ball, and into and between her toes. Her left foot was being tickled all over, and she couldn’t possibly lie still for that. But she had to. The straps held her in place, and she could do nothing be laugh and laugh. And when she tried to squirm, it only made her feel more ticklish. Especially when Master switched his tickle to her suddenly sensitive right foot.

Olive squealed gleefully as the exciting tickle-pleasure ran through her. She struggled against the straps, for the burst of pleasure that came every time she failed to escape. She laughed and laughed, unable to stop, as Master Maxwell poured tickles into each foot in turn and caused the laughter to fountain out. Olive was helpless under the tickle, a helpless tickle slave. A woman being tickled by her master. And Patty was being tickled by her master. And Sophie was being tickled by her master. They were all the Ticklish Slavegirl, being tickled by their masters on their ticklish bare feet.

A brief pause brought a pang of disappointment. It couldn’t be ending yet! Then the foot tickle resumed, a different tickle, from two different implements. Master Maxwell ran a little plastic rake over Olive’s soles. He drew something silky-soft between her toes. The plastic rake returned to tease, followed by something with bristles. Tickling teasing bristles, bringing gleeful tickle-giggles. Olive drew in deep breaths, the better to giggle with, but she wanted more.

“More!” she gasped. “Please master. Heeheeheeheeha! More!”

Master Maxwell glanced up at the clock, considered Olive, and smiled. And more came.

There were two tickling brushes now, tickling both of Olive’s bare feet. Tickling both of her helpless soles at once, and Olive could not keep from laughing and did not want it to stop.

Olive knew that it had to stop eventually. She could trust Master Maxwell to stop before she became over-tickled, even if she did beg again for just a little more. But Master Maxwell hadn’t stopped tickling Olive yet and she didn’t want him to stop. She had begged for this tickle. She didn’t want it to stop.


Sophie giggled as the lambswool duster did its work. It felt soft and gentle – and Master Allen still managed to make it tickle. A gentle, desirable tickle, while still being irresistible. It helped that Master Allen had tied her toes, making her soles feel extra-bare.

She pulled at her wrist-cuffs. With her hands in front like this, Sophie could defend her exposed belly – but Master Allen wasn’t tickling her belly. He was tickling her feet, and doing it well. Not a fierce tickle but a soft one. Just enough to make her giggle.

Sophie felt a brief pang of envy for Olive’s full-body tickle. It quickly passed. If Master Allen were to tickle her sides and belly, he wouldn’t be tickling her feet – and she liked the way he was tickling her feet. The gentle tickle was just enough that she couldn’t hold still for it, not without being locked in the stocks. But being locked in the stocks was part of the fun. It felt good, and it would make the stronger tickles to come feel even better.

Master Allen gave her a few quick taps of the wooden handle against her arches, and paused. They exchanged looks. Master’s smile told Sophie that he knew just what he was doing with his unpredictable little touches. Then Sophie felt the soft end of the duster delicately tease her soles again.

After a time, Master Allen set the duster aside, switching to a finger-tickle. A light finger-tickle that quickly increased in tempo. A tickle that set teasing sensations running up her legs. Again the tickle make Sophie want to struggle and she did struggle. She couldn’t keep from struggling against those dancing fingers, even when her struggles just made her more excited and more sensitive. Or because they did so.

Sophie couldn’t possibly escape the stocks and cuffs that held her. She didn’t want to escape. She just wanted to try, to prove her helplessness as the tickles poured into her vulnerable bare feet. She wanted to be tickled, and being helpless was an essential part of a proper tickle.

The tickling paused, and Sophie caught her breath. She closed her eyes, then opened them wide again as she felt the next tickle, the squirmy touch of a broad paint brush, dry-painting her soles. Two brushes, tickle-painting both soles. Running up and down and back and forth, tickling all over her bare feet. “Oh!” Sophie said. “Heehee hahaha! Oh my!”

“Oh my!” Patty echoed.

The two women were being tickled in tandem now, side by side in the stocks. Allen kept dry-painting Sophie’s feet. Mr. Watkins had finally set aside his twin feathers, and was going brush-brush-brush with a stiffer brush. Sophie couldn’t see that hairbrush and didn’t feel it directly, but she could sense it. Patty was a bond witch, sharing her sensitivity as she sat right next to Sophie. Mr. Watkins was applying his brush exactly in time with Master Allen’s. The result was twice as much tickle, four times as much tickle, as Master Hunt could produce if he were tickling Sophie alone.

A break, giving them all a chance to breathe – the masters as much as the tickled slavegirls. Sophie felt a surge of affection toward Master Allen. Patty was nodding vigorously to Mr. Watkins. Olive, strapped down over on the table, was still laughing as Mr. Arnold attended to her. Mr. Watkins worked out the stiffness in his hands, and Master Allen stood and stretched. He stepped around to stroke Sophie’s hair and give her a considering look through his glasses. Sophie returned a huge, happy, tickle-drunk grin. She felt immensely pleased with herself, with Master Allen, and with the whole world. She was trapped and helpless, well tickled and about to be tickled again, but of course that was exactly what she had begged for. And she looked forward to the pleasure of it.

Master Allen stepped back around to the foot of the stocks and pulled out his wallet. He extracted a hundred-dollar bill, displaying it to Sophie. Slowly he rolled it into a tight tube and sat down. The rolled up bill dropped out of sight, below the stock-boards.

Sophie squealed and exploded with laughter, as the end of the bill stroked her feet. It tickled! It was just a light, slightly scrapey touch, but it tickled. It ran down her helpless right sole, and it tickled. It ran across her equally vulnerable left sole, and it tickled. It tickled like anything. It tickled like everything. It tickled more than it should. It tickled much more than it possibly could.

It must be a psychosomatic effect Sophie thought. But it tickled too much for Sophie to follow that thought. She felt enslaved. She felt nude. She felt utterly vulnerable and aware of her feet. Aware of the tickle her feet received. A tickle that soaked into her soles. A tickle that ran up her legs and into her body. A tickle that made her tingle all over. A tickle that had laughter pouring out of her. A hundred-dollar tickle from the hundred-dollar bill. A tickle that seemed to come not just from her helpless bare feet but from everywhere.

Beyond Sophie’s feet, the room seemed to echo with tickle. It certainly echoed with giggling laughter. Sophie’s psychic senses were weak (for a woman), but the psychic atmosphere in the room was thick now. Olive was laughing delightedly, under Mr. Arnold’s hands. Patty giggled in spurts, from the slow tempo of the hairbrush. “Oh my!” she’d sometimes call out between tickle-strokes.

“Oh my yes,” Mr. Watkins replied to her.

Master Allen didn’t say anything. He just kept grinning at her as he applied the rolled-up bill. He was enjoying himself, and his tickle-touch was perfect.

The tickling would have to end sometime, of course. Cuddling and blissful relaxation would follow. But not yet. Not quite yet. Master Allen was still applying that maddening, impossible, hundred-dollar touch. She struggled to escape it. She couldn’t stand not to struggle. But she was terribly glad she couldn’t escape. Because she wanted more. Not just more tickling, but more of that special rich tickling from Master Allen.

Master Allen broke his silence. “What do you have to say, Sophie?” His tickling didn’t stop.

“Heeheehee haha!” Sophie answered. It was too much. Porthos House, the country club, Master Allen’s new wealth… It was all too much. But too much was just right. Master Allen buying her a second time was just right. Like a second hug, or a second tickle-feather. And he hadn’t paid the dealer too much for her, despite his new wealth and how much he wanted her. Sophie knew her market value, she knew how much Master Allen had paid, and the two figures matched almost exactly. That was just right. Sophie wasn’t one of those silly women who boasted of selling for a high price, and Master Allen wouldn’t have wanted her if she was.

“Hahaha heehee!” Sophie cried out. “I like being owned by a wealthy master!”

Especially when that master was Master Allen.