Sablesword
TMF Master
- Joined
- Jun 13, 2001
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Part two of a story. Part 1 is here.
Kathleen - part 2
by Sablesword
A month later, Kathleen stood on the stone block from which slaves were sold. Not for the first time, nor the second, nor the third. Four times she had been set in chains, nude, and presented to a leering audience to be bid upon. Four times she had passed into the hands of a new owner. And each time her new master would attempt to tame her rebelliousness. (For they all knew that a genie named 'Kathleen' was sure to be a defiant and insolent wench.)
Each time her new owner would fasten her down and tickle her silly in an attempt to tame her. They would tickle the soles of her feet and the button of her belly. They would tickle her sides, and her arms and legs. They would tickle her behind her knees, on the back of her neck, and between her toes. And as they tickled they would demand that Kathleen speak begging words of surrender. It was as well that Kathleen liked being tickled, for the Iron Collar she wore kept her from speaking even if she had been willing to surrender. So Kathleen was tickled long and long, more than enough to drive mad any female who found tickling to be an agony.
Eventually, however, each of Kathleen's masters would discover that she could laugh but not speak; that the collar she wore was indeed the Iron Collar of Sisshoth the Horrible. Then some would give up in disgust, while others would speak terrible Words in futile attempts to unlock the collar. But whatever the master's initial reaction, Kathleen would quickly find herself on the auction block once again, nude and chained for the bidding.
The fifth time, however, there was no bidding. Kathleen stood on the stone block of a small local market, and instead of a leering crowd only one buyer came to look at her. He wore a mask, a mask of iron and magic that concealed not only his features, but also his very kindred. It altered his voice with an iron tang, and it confused the eye so that one could not tell if his hands and skin were those of a djinn, or of a red demon, or of a golden spirit from fabled Sian, or of any of the other kindreds who might be found in the wonderful world.
But whatever his kindred, the gems he placed in the slave dealer's hand were fair enough: A gleaming pearl, an emerald the color of oak leaves in the spring, and a ruby that sparkled as brilliantly as the swordplay of a master swordsman. The dealer nodded, Kathleen's chains were removed, and her new master bound her wrists behind her with a strip of basilisk leather.
There was no escaping that tie, but Kathleen still made a stubborn attempt to do so as Iron Mask marched her through the dusty streets to a local inn. Still bound, as well as ever, she was brought to a halt at the inn's threshold. The innkeeper gave her master a significant look, and Iron Masked nodded in acknowledgement. He spoke a Word, and Kathleen gasped as cold water suddenly drenched her. Another Word and the water vanished, along with the dust of the street and the grime of the auction stone.
"Greetings, honored guest," the innkeeper then said. "Your suite awaits as before, and food and drink are prepared for you."
"I thank you, excellent host," Iron Mask replied. "I beg that you hold the food and drink ready, for my slave will serve me with the spells of a servant."
The iron collar around Kathleen's neck prevented her from making an indignant denial, as her master led her to his suite. The door closed behind her, the lock snicked, and only then did Iron Mask untie Kathleen's hands. She stood in the center of a room strewn with rugs and pillows, facing a traveler's chest of pine and brass, marked with a sigil of a swooping falcon.
"Kneel," Iron Mask commanded, and Kathleen shook her head. No. "Very well then." He sounded amused. "The surprise would be if you were not the most stubborn female of fallen Danjeer."
He clapped his hands, and the chest opened. As usual, it was larger on the inside than the outside, and so had plenty of room to store the two poles that emerged from it. Poles of oak they were, with leather strips fluttering from either end, and before Kathleen knew it, the strips had bound her. She found herself on the rug, half sitting and half lying, with each wrist bound to one end of a pole, and the opposite ankle bound to the other. The two poles crossed behind her back, leaving her unable to defend herself when Iron Mask knelt beside her and began to tickle.
His fingers started at the back of her neck. One hand worked up and down her spine, while the other tickled her shoulders, and under her chin, and around her ears. Then the fingers began to expertly tease her arms, one hand to each arm, running slowly up to Kathleen's own helpless hands and then back down to tickle her armpits. Kathleen wiggled and giggled, unable to do anything else.
Iron Mask shifted his position and began to tickle Kathleen's ribs. And her breasts. His teasing touch ran across her collarbones above her breasts, and along the space between her breasts and beneath them. Around and around her nipples his fingers danced, and then lightly, maddeningly, over them. Kathleen, squirming and giggling, could not do anything about it. Not anything at all. The straps around her wrists held her hands out of the way, and the rigid poles between her wrists and ankles kept her from curling herself into a protective ball. Iron Mask had her in his power, and could make her writhe with laughter just as he pleased.
After a time spent tickling Kathleen's arms and ribs and breasts, it pleased Iron Mask to tickle Kathleen's belly. All of it; every bit of her belly, not excluding her belly-button. Then his fingers traveled slowly, inexorably down to Kathleen's hips, and down her legs, seeking vulnerable expanses of blue-green skin that they had not yet tickled. On the outside of her thighs, and on the inside. On her kneecaps and behind her knees. Along her calves and on the tops of her feet.
Kathleen did not and could not protest any of this. The Iron Collar, locked around her neck, kept her from speaking. But it didn't keep her from laughing. From giggling, from howling, from mewing. From gasping for breath when the tickling briefly paused to let her recover. Or from the little shriek that Iron Mask always managed to force from her when he once again applied his light, expert, maddening fingertip touch.
"Are you ready to have your soles tickled?" her new owner asked, his voice teasing despite the iron tang given it by his mask. Squirming and laughing, Kathleen found herself unable to either shake her head no or to nod yes. She knew that soon, very soon, he would start to tickle her soles no matter what she did, and she awaited that moment with both eagerness and apprehension. She enjoyed being tickled, but her new master's touch was almost too much of a good thing. Almost. Her soles wrinkled as her toes clenched and stretched, awaiting that final tickling touch.
It came. Kathleen howled as expert fingers raked the bottoms of her feet from toes to heels, first on her left foot, and then on her right. She twisted in her bonds, giggling uncontrollably as squirmy wiggling tickles alternated with long slow strokes and quick sharp tickling touches. As the most sensitive spots on her soles were discovered and exploited. As the tender places on and between her toes were gently and irresistibly teased, and then again as that teasing was abandoned to rake her insteps once more.
She strained at her bonds as she laughed, knowing that it was useless, but unable to keep herself from doing so. Master Iron Mask had her completely in his power, and there was nothing, nothing at all she could do to keep him from tickling her whenever and wherever he wished. And he wished to keep tickling her feet; that tickling went on and on and on.
At last it stopped. "Now then," Iron Mask told her. "You will cast the unspoken spells of a servant, and you will lay beside me tonight as my concubine."
Kathleen shook the tears and sweat from her eyes and met Iron Mask's gaze. She shook her head again. No.
"Very well." Iron Mask sounded amused. "I see I will have to tickle you some more." He sat back and produced a feather. A wing feather, Kathleen saw, with just the right combination of stiffness and softness for the best tickling effect. It wiggled slightly in her owner's hand, and she wiggled in response as she imagined its tip wandering over her vulnerable skin. But then Iron Mask's voice took on a sterner tone. "However," he said, "if you continue to rebel, I will have to find some other way to punish you."
Kathleen looked up at the expressionless mask that hid her master's face, and again at the feather that still wiggled slightly in his hand. He knows, she thought. He knows that I like being tickled. But he's willing to pretend otherwise if I do too. And if I don't, he'll be disappointed.
Kathleen bowed her head and silently cast the first spell of the servant, a spell so simple that the Words for it didn't need to be spoken aloud. She felt the tingle in the air as it waited to pour a cold drink for her master when he called for refreshment.
"Very good," Iron Mask said, the amusement back in his voice. "But you must still be punished for your earlier disobedience." Kathleen felt his left hand grasp her arm, and then the tip of the feather lightly stroking her bare and defenseless belly. "We will start here," Iron Mask spoke over Kathleen's shrieks of laughter, "and work our way outward."
to be continued
Kathleen - part 2
by Sablesword
A month later, Kathleen stood on the stone block from which slaves were sold. Not for the first time, nor the second, nor the third. Four times she had been set in chains, nude, and presented to a leering audience to be bid upon. Four times she had passed into the hands of a new owner. And each time her new master would attempt to tame her rebelliousness. (For they all knew that a genie named 'Kathleen' was sure to be a defiant and insolent wench.)
Each time her new owner would fasten her down and tickle her silly in an attempt to tame her. They would tickle the soles of her feet and the button of her belly. They would tickle her sides, and her arms and legs. They would tickle her behind her knees, on the back of her neck, and between her toes. And as they tickled they would demand that Kathleen speak begging words of surrender. It was as well that Kathleen liked being tickled, for the Iron Collar she wore kept her from speaking even if she had been willing to surrender. So Kathleen was tickled long and long, more than enough to drive mad any female who found tickling to be an agony.
Eventually, however, each of Kathleen's masters would discover that she could laugh but not speak; that the collar she wore was indeed the Iron Collar of Sisshoth the Horrible. Then some would give up in disgust, while others would speak terrible Words in futile attempts to unlock the collar. But whatever the master's initial reaction, Kathleen would quickly find herself on the auction block once again, nude and chained for the bidding.
The fifth time, however, there was no bidding. Kathleen stood on the stone block of a small local market, and instead of a leering crowd only one buyer came to look at her. He wore a mask, a mask of iron and magic that concealed not only his features, but also his very kindred. It altered his voice with an iron tang, and it confused the eye so that one could not tell if his hands and skin were those of a djinn, or of a red demon, or of a golden spirit from fabled Sian, or of any of the other kindreds who might be found in the wonderful world.
But whatever his kindred, the gems he placed in the slave dealer's hand were fair enough: A gleaming pearl, an emerald the color of oak leaves in the spring, and a ruby that sparkled as brilliantly as the swordplay of a master swordsman. The dealer nodded, Kathleen's chains were removed, and her new master bound her wrists behind her with a strip of basilisk leather.
There was no escaping that tie, but Kathleen still made a stubborn attempt to do so as Iron Mask marched her through the dusty streets to a local inn. Still bound, as well as ever, she was brought to a halt at the inn's threshold. The innkeeper gave her master a significant look, and Iron Masked nodded in acknowledgement. He spoke a Word, and Kathleen gasped as cold water suddenly drenched her. Another Word and the water vanished, along with the dust of the street and the grime of the auction stone.
"Greetings, honored guest," the innkeeper then said. "Your suite awaits as before, and food and drink are prepared for you."
"I thank you, excellent host," Iron Mask replied. "I beg that you hold the food and drink ready, for my slave will serve me with the spells of a servant."
The iron collar around Kathleen's neck prevented her from making an indignant denial, as her master led her to his suite. The door closed behind her, the lock snicked, and only then did Iron Mask untie Kathleen's hands. She stood in the center of a room strewn with rugs and pillows, facing a traveler's chest of pine and brass, marked with a sigil of a swooping falcon.
"Kneel," Iron Mask commanded, and Kathleen shook her head. No. "Very well then." He sounded amused. "The surprise would be if you were not the most stubborn female of fallen Danjeer."
He clapped his hands, and the chest opened. As usual, it was larger on the inside than the outside, and so had plenty of room to store the two poles that emerged from it. Poles of oak they were, with leather strips fluttering from either end, and before Kathleen knew it, the strips had bound her. She found herself on the rug, half sitting and half lying, with each wrist bound to one end of a pole, and the opposite ankle bound to the other. The two poles crossed behind her back, leaving her unable to defend herself when Iron Mask knelt beside her and began to tickle.
His fingers started at the back of her neck. One hand worked up and down her spine, while the other tickled her shoulders, and under her chin, and around her ears. Then the fingers began to expertly tease her arms, one hand to each arm, running slowly up to Kathleen's own helpless hands and then back down to tickle her armpits. Kathleen wiggled and giggled, unable to do anything else.
Iron Mask shifted his position and began to tickle Kathleen's ribs. And her breasts. His teasing touch ran across her collarbones above her breasts, and along the space between her breasts and beneath them. Around and around her nipples his fingers danced, and then lightly, maddeningly, over them. Kathleen, squirming and giggling, could not do anything about it. Not anything at all. The straps around her wrists held her hands out of the way, and the rigid poles between her wrists and ankles kept her from curling herself into a protective ball. Iron Mask had her in his power, and could make her writhe with laughter just as he pleased.
After a time spent tickling Kathleen's arms and ribs and breasts, it pleased Iron Mask to tickle Kathleen's belly. All of it; every bit of her belly, not excluding her belly-button. Then his fingers traveled slowly, inexorably down to Kathleen's hips, and down her legs, seeking vulnerable expanses of blue-green skin that they had not yet tickled. On the outside of her thighs, and on the inside. On her kneecaps and behind her knees. Along her calves and on the tops of her feet.
Kathleen did not and could not protest any of this. The Iron Collar, locked around her neck, kept her from speaking. But it didn't keep her from laughing. From giggling, from howling, from mewing. From gasping for breath when the tickling briefly paused to let her recover. Or from the little shriek that Iron Mask always managed to force from her when he once again applied his light, expert, maddening fingertip touch.
"Are you ready to have your soles tickled?" her new owner asked, his voice teasing despite the iron tang given it by his mask. Squirming and laughing, Kathleen found herself unable to either shake her head no or to nod yes. She knew that soon, very soon, he would start to tickle her soles no matter what she did, and she awaited that moment with both eagerness and apprehension. She enjoyed being tickled, but her new master's touch was almost too much of a good thing. Almost. Her soles wrinkled as her toes clenched and stretched, awaiting that final tickling touch.
It came. Kathleen howled as expert fingers raked the bottoms of her feet from toes to heels, first on her left foot, and then on her right. She twisted in her bonds, giggling uncontrollably as squirmy wiggling tickles alternated with long slow strokes and quick sharp tickling touches. As the most sensitive spots on her soles were discovered and exploited. As the tender places on and between her toes were gently and irresistibly teased, and then again as that teasing was abandoned to rake her insteps once more.
She strained at her bonds as she laughed, knowing that it was useless, but unable to keep herself from doing so. Master Iron Mask had her completely in his power, and there was nothing, nothing at all she could do to keep him from tickling her whenever and wherever he wished. And he wished to keep tickling her feet; that tickling went on and on and on.
At last it stopped. "Now then," Iron Mask told her. "You will cast the unspoken spells of a servant, and you will lay beside me tonight as my concubine."
Kathleen shook the tears and sweat from her eyes and met Iron Mask's gaze. She shook her head again. No.
"Very well." Iron Mask sounded amused. "I see I will have to tickle you some more." He sat back and produced a feather. A wing feather, Kathleen saw, with just the right combination of stiffness and softness for the best tickling effect. It wiggled slightly in her owner's hand, and she wiggled in response as she imagined its tip wandering over her vulnerable skin. But then Iron Mask's voice took on a sterner tone. "However," he said, "if you continue to rebel, I will have to find some other way to punish you."
Kathleen looked up at the expressionless mask that hid her master's face, and again at the feather that still wiggled slightly in his hand. He knows, she thought. He knows that I like being tickled. But he's willing to pretend otherwise if I do too. And if I don't, he'll be disappointed.
Kathleen bowed her head and silently cast the first spell of the servant, a spell so simple that the Words for it didn't need to be spoken aloud. She felt the tingle in the air as it waited to pour a cold drink for her master when he called for refreshment.
"Very good," Iron Mask said, the amusement back in his voice. "But you must still be punished for your earlier disobedience." Kathleen felt his left hand grasp her arm, and then the tip of the feather lightly stroking her bare and defenseless belly. "We will start here," Iron Mask spoke over Kathleen's shrieks of laughter, "and work our way outward."
to be continued
